Chapter 10 — First Strike
Jane's world had become a pressure cooker.
Every knock at the door rattled her bones. Every buzz of her phone made her heart leap to her throat. But fear wasn't the only thing growing inside her apartment.
The Shadows were restless.
The doxxing hadn't broken them. It had solidified them. Writers who'd once whispered timidly in the chatroom now spoke with the sharp edge of rage. Marta was right—the giant had shown its hand, and instead of scattering, the Shadows had sharpened.
They weren't asking if they should strike back anymore.
They were asking when.
---
The council gathered again three nights after Jane's unmasking. Their voices filled her headphones, distorted but vibrating with urgency.
InkGhost92: "We've been waiting long enough. It's time to hurt them."
DreamFractured: "They erased my account, my entire book. That was years of my life. I want them to feel the same loss."
FallenMuse: "Talk is cheap. We need an action that makes them bleed."
Jane listened, her palms sweating. She knew what they wanted. Retaliation. Proof that they weren't just victims clinging to each other in the dark.
And they wanted her to lead it.
---
Marta sat beside her, calm as a coiled blade. She leaned toward Jane's mic and spoke for the first time in the call.
"We strike where they're weakest: their image. Their servers can be rebuilt. Their money can be replaced. But their reputation? That's fragile. One fracture, and it shatters."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the voices.
Jane swallowed. "So what do we do?"
Marta's eyes glittered. "We show the world what they don't want them to see."
---
The plan was brutal in its simplicity.
The Shadows would dig deeper into WebNovel's vaults. Not just the drafts—the metadata. Records of how submissions were handled. Logs showing how editors rejected works without reading them, or worse, siphoned ideas from "failed" manuscripts to hand to profitable authors.
Proof of theft.
Proof of exploitation.
Proof that the giant wasn't just burying stories—it was feeding on them.
Jane's role was clear. As the face of the movement, she would deliver the evidence once it was gathered. She would be the torchbearer.
And in the silence that followed, Jane realized there was no turning back.
---
The next week was a blur of clandestine labor.
Archivists combed through leaked files, piecing together timelines. Amplifiers prepped networks to spread the evidence at a moment's notice. Watchers kept an eye on WebNovel's PR machine, tracking every hint of counterattack.
Jane barely slept. Her apartment reeked of coffee and sweat. But for the first time, her exhaustion wasn't from loneliness. It was from being needed.
Every time her hands shook, Marta steadied her. Every time doubt gnawed at her, Marta reminded her: "You're not just Jane anymore. You're the movement. And movements don't hide."
---
Finally, the day came.
The Shadows dropped the files into Jane's hands:
Rejection templates stamped before authors had even finished uploading.
Side-by-side comparisons of drafts with published "original" works credited to WebNovel's golden authors.
Internal memos instructing editors to "prioritize profitability over originality."
Jane stared at the mountain of proof, nausea rolling through her gut.
"This will ruin them," she whispered.
"Good," Marta said coldly.
---
They released the strike at midnight.
Jane's manifesto went live first:
> "This is not a platform. This is a machine that devours. It tells writers they are failures while stealing their blood to feed others. Here is the proof. Here are the records. Decide for yourself who the real thieves are."
Attached were the files, organized, verified, undeniable.
The Shadows spread them across every corner of the internet. Forums. Blogs. Twitter. Reddit. Anonymous drops to journalists.
Within hours, the evidence trended worldwide.
---
The reaction was nuclear.
Authors screamed in outrage. Some discovered their own stolen words in side-by-side comparisons. Readers demanded boycotts, furious at the idea that their favorite novels were frankensteined from rejected drafts.
#WebNovelThief
#ShadowsStrike
#JusticeForWriters
The hashtags dominated. Memes flooded in. Journalists scrambled to verify documents—and found them too airtight to dismiss.
By dawn, WebNovel's stock had dipped. By noon, the first lawsuits were announced.
Jane sat in the glow of her laptop, trembling, watching the giant stumble.
They'd done it.
---
But victory was never clean.
By evening, the counterattack began.
WebNovel issued a statement:
> "These so-called 'leaks' are doctored fabrications created by a malicious group of cybercriminals. We will not be intimidated. We are working with law enforcement and cyber-security experts to identify those responsible."
And then, worse—an image appeared on a forum.
A grainy photo.
Taken from outside Jane's apartment.
The caption read: "The thief hides here."
---
Jane's breath hitched. The walls of her apartment seemed to close in, suffocating. She slammed the curtains shut, heart hammering.
"They know," she whispered. "They're coming for me."
Marta locked the door, her face unreadable, but her voice firm.
"Let them come," she said. "We've already drawn blood. Now the real war begins."