The stench of saltwater and rust hit him first, even before the dull pain in his lungs or the ache in his muscles. When consciousness returned, it came like an unwanted guest—slow, intrusive, and impossible to ignore. Zero's eyes opened to a sky the color of tarnished steel, the humid air thick with the sound of distant gunfire and the cries of gulls overhead.
He coughed violently, rolling to his side as brackish water spilled from his mouth. His last memory was not of this place, nor of this body. He remembered a boardroom—glass walls, polished chrome, a skyline punctured by skyscrapers. Voices raised, accusations hurled, the metallic tang of betrayal as his vision dimmed. Then darkness. And now, here. Mogadishu, Somalia, 2010.
A mechanical chime resonated in his head, alien and yet… purposeful.
[System Initialization Complete. RED ALERT module online.]
The voice was cold, precise, and impossible to ignore. Before his eyes—though not projected in any physical sense—lines of text scrolled past, data points forming a picture that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.
> RED ALERT System: Strategic Military & Economic Simulation AI.
> Mode: Realistic Resource Constraints Enabled.
> Starting Assets: USD $5,000 (liquid), abandoned warehouse (Mogadishu Port District), fishing boat (damaged), 3 armed men (loyalty: low).
The words hung there, and he realized he could focus on them to bring up more detail. The system felt like a mixture of an advanced battlefield command interface and an economic simulation—except every parameter was real. If he failed here, there would be no reset button.
Zero sat up slowly, the body he now inhabited feeling younger, leaner, and hardened in ways his previous self had never been. The palms were calloused, the muscles wiry but strong, and the reflexes sharper. Whoever this body had been, it belonged to someone used to work—and perhaps to violence.
The port loomed in the distance, cranes frozen mid-motion like skeletal sentinels. The air was alive with smells: diesel fumes, rotting fish, and the faint metallic tang of the ocean. Somewhere beyond, the city throbbed with life and danger.
---
**The Warehouse**
Finding the warehouse was simple enough—directions seemed to exist in his head, courtesy of the system's mapping function. The building squatted in the shadows of the port's southern edge, its corrugated walls streaked with rust, its windows little more than jagged holes.
Inside, three men waited. They eyed him warily as he stepped through the doorway. The system quietly overlaid information above each of their heads.
> Hassan – ex-militia, age 32. Loyalty: 42%. Motivation: Money.
> Yusuf – driver and smuggler, age 29. Loyalty: 35%. Motivation: Fear.
> Abdi – dockside laborer, age 24. Loyalty: 38%. Motivation: Hope.
"You're awake," Hassan said, his deep voice carrying both suspicion and curiosity. "They said you nearly drowned."
Zero assessed them the way a commander sizes up raw recruits. They weren't loyal yet, but they were assets—and assets could be shaped.
"I'm alive because God still has work for me," Zero replied in fluent Somali, surprising even himself with the ease of the words. "And because we have money to make."
That earned him a flicker of interest in Hassan's eyes. Yusuf shifted uncomfortably, while Abdi straightened slightly, as though sensing purpose.
---
**System Directive**
A faint pulse in his vision drew his attention back to the interface.
[Mission Generated: Establish Sustainable Income Stream]
[Constraints: High local instability, limited capital, piracy risk]
[Recommended Actions: Secure small cargo smuggling route, acquire refurbished weapons, recruit skilled mechanic]
The steps were laid out clearly, but this wasn't a game. Every recommendation required real-world execution, and real-world consequences.
---
**Local Intelligence**
He spent the next hours questioning the three men about the port, the roads, and the factions controlling each. The picture that emerged was chaotic but full of opportunity.
Hassan told him the docks were split between two powerful clans, neither willing to risk open war. Yusuf warned that the northern roads were ruled by bandits, while the southern routes passed through government checkpoints where bribes were mandatory. Abdi mentioned the fishermen—desperate men whose livelihoods had been destroyed by foreign trawlers and who might be willing to work for protection.
Corruption wasn't an obstacle here. It was a currency.
---
**First Moves**
By evening, Zero had purchased a replacement belt for the warehouse's generator, along with enough diesel to bring it roaring back to life. The light flooding the interior drew the three men's attention—already, the atmosphere was shifting.
The fishing boat was another matter. It sat moored in a quiet corner of the port, its hull dented, its paint peeling, and its engine coughing in protest. But the system's projected profit analysis for a short coastal run was tantalizing: run small electronics from Yemen, sell them to Mogadishu merchants at triple the price.
---
**Dream of Steel**
That night, Zero sat alone on the dock, the dark water whispering beneath him. The system unfolded a long-term tech tree in his vision:
Tier 1: Small arms production. Coastal patrol boats. Encrypted radios.
Tier 2: Armored personnel carriers. Recon drones. Port security network.
Tier 3: Multi-role fighter aircraft (6th Gen). Guided missile destroyers. Orbital surveillance satellites.
The sight was intoxicating. But the system was clear—every step required infrastructure, allies, and resources.
[Optional Objective: Recruit Civilian Specialist – Medical or Engineering Background. Reward: Local reputation boost +20%.]
---
**The Doctor**
The next morning, Yusuf returned with a lead. "There's a woman at the port. A doctor. Looking for work."
Zero found her near the customs gate, wearing a faded white coat and a look of someone used to disappointment. Her name was Ayaan, a Somali doctor who had worked with Médecins Sans Frontières until funding cuts ended her post.
"I'm not here for handouts," she told him, her voice steady. "I want stability. If you can offer that, I'll work."
Zero extended his hand. "Doctor, I'm building more than stability. I'm building a nation."
She didn't laugh. That was promising.
---
**First Operation**
With Ayaan's presence giving them credibility, Zero secured a small shipment of electronics from a Yemeni contact. The run was simple but tense—Hassan handled security, Yusuf piloted the repaired boat, and Abdi acted as dock liaison.
They departed under the cover of night, hugging the coastline to avoid foreign naval patrols. Halfway across, a fast-moving vessel appeared on the horizon, but Yusuf's evasive maneuvers and the boat's modest speed kept them invisible to radar.
By dawn, they were unloading crates in a secure section of the port. The profit from the sale tripled their starting capital.
[Milestone Achieved: Operational Base Established]
[Unlocked: Local Intelligence Network Module]
---
**First Threat**
The profit drew attention. Three days later, a convoy of black SUVs pulled up outside the warehouse. Men with AKs stepped out, their leader flashing a gold-toothed smile.
"This is our port," he said. "You work here, you pay."
Zero weighed his options. The system presented three:
Option 1: Pay tribute. Short-term safety, long-term loss.
Option 2: Demonstrate force. High risk, high reward.
Option 3: Diplomatic bait. Lure leader to private meeting, then leverage personal weaknesses.
He chose Option 3.
---
**Negotiation**
That night, over drinks in a seaside restaurant, Zero listened to the clan leader boast about his cars and women. When the time was right, he leaned forward.
"You control the roads. I control the sea. Together, we double profits."
The man hesitated, then grinned. They shook hands.
---
**Closing Scene**
Back at the warehouse, the hum of the generator and the glow of the lights felt like a victory. Ayaan tended to a dockworker's injury, Hassan cleaned his rifle, Yusuf smoked quietly, and Abdi sorted through inventory.
The system's voice was calm but certain.
[Projection: If growth rate is maintained, regional dominance achievable in 36 months.]
Zero looked out at the black water beyond the dock.
"Thirty-six months," he murmured. "Let's see how far we can push it."