Chapter 5: The First Pawns
The following week was a whirlwind of cold, calculated activity. Luca existed in a state of perpetual motion, a vortex of transactions and planning. The penthouse was sold, its contents auctioned or put into storage. He moved into a luxurious serviced apartment under a false name, a ghost already fading from his old life.
The vast sums of money flowing through his accounts were now being funneled into the next phase: manpower. An empire needed subjects. A fortress needed defenders. He needed a core of individuals who were not just skilled, but unshakably loyal. He would buy that loyalty with a currency more valuable than gold: the truth of what was coming.
His first target was a man named Markus Bauer. Former Kommando Spezialkräfte (KSK), German special forces. Dishonorably discharged after a mission in Afghanistan went sideways—officially, he disobeyed orders; unofficially, he was a scapegoat for a politician's mistake. Now, he worked as high-end private security in Seoul, bitter, dangerous, and underutilized.
Luca found him in a basement-level gym in Itaewon, a gritty, no-frills place that smelled of sweat and iron. Bauer was alone, pounding a heavy bag with a rhythmic, punishing force that spoke of controlled fury. He was a mountain of a man, with a blond buzz cut and pale blue eyes that held no warmth.
Luca waited until he finished a set. "Bauer."
The German turned, his eyes narrowing. He knew who Luca was. Everyone in the shadowy world of Seoul's security detail did. "Moretti. This is a private club."
"I'm not here to work out," Luca said, tossing a gym bag onto a nearby bench. It landed with a heavy, metallic thud. "I'm here to offer you a job."
Bauer snorted, wiping sweat from his face with a towel. "I have a job."
"Babysitting spoiled heirs and escorting corporate executives to massage parlors?" Luca's voice was laced with contempt. "I'm offering you a real purpose. A war."
Bauer's expression didn't change, but a flicker of interest showed in his eyes. "I'm listening."
"The world is going to end, Markus," Luca said, his voice flat, matter-of-fact. "In approximately eleven months, a virus will be released. It will turn people into ravenous, cannibalistic monsters. Then the nukes will fly. Civilization will collapse in a week."
Bauer stared at him for a long moment, then let out a short, harsh laugh. "You're insane."
Luca didn't smile. He unzipped the gym bag. Inside were stacks of euros, US dollars, and gold Krugerrands. Enough to set a man up for life. Next to it, he placed a satellite photo of the mountain bunker complex, and a schematic of its fortification plans.
"This is not a negotiation. It's a choice," Luca said, his voice low and intense. "You can take this money, go back to punching that bag, and die screaming when the world ends. Or you can come work for me. I am building a fortress. I am stockpiling enough weapons and supplies to withstand a decade of siege. I need a head of security. A man who knows how to train an army, defend a perimeter, and kill anything that threatens what's mine. The pay is this," he kicked the bag of money, "plus a guaranteed place inside when the gates close. The truth is your signing bonus. What's your answer?"
Bauer looked from the money, to the plans, to Luca's dead-serious face. He was a rational man, a soldier. This was the ranting of a madman. But the money was real. The plans were real. And the absolute, unshakeable conviction in Luca's eyes was terrifyingly real.
"You have proof of this?" Bauer asked, his voice hoarse.
"I have the only proof that matters," Luca replied. "I've already spent over two hundred million euros preparing for it. You can believe me and live, or doubt me and die. Decide now."
The silence in the gym was absolute. Bauer's mind, trained to assess threats and opportunities in seconds, raced. The money was a fortune. The mission was the kind of purpose he'd been starving for. And the alternative… the image of a world ending… it resonated with the cynicism festering inside him.
He picked up a stack of euros, feeling the weight of it. Then he looked at the bunker schematic. He nodded once, a sharp, military gesture. "I'm in."
"Good," Luca said. "Your first task: recruit five more men of your caliber. Ex-military, no families, no attachments. Offer them the same choice. The same terms."
The second recruit was easier. Dr. Arisaka, a brilliant Japanese trauma surgeon whose license had been revoked after a car crash that killed her husband and daughter had sent her into a tailspin of grief and professional misconduct. Luca found her in a rundown clinic in a bad part of Busan, a shell of her former self, treating gangsters and junkies.
Luca's offer to her was simple. He offered her redemption. A fully stocked, state-of-the-art medical facility. A pharmacy with every drug she could ever need, for legitimate medical use. And patients who would truly need her skills to survive. He offered to pull her from the abyss and give her a purpose worthy of her talents.
She looked at him with hollow, hopeless eyes and accepted without a word.
One by one, Luca gathered his pawns. A disillusioned structural engineer to oversee the bunker's construction. A paranoid cybersecurity expert to manage his digital fortress. A logistics wizard who could organize the mammoth task of supply acquisition and storage.
He didn't charm them. He didn't persuade them. He presented them with a binary choice: a meaningful, well-compensated role in the only future that mattered, or the oblivion that awaited everyone else. He appealed to their greed, their bitterness, their desperation, their ambition. He saw the cracks in their souls and poured his offer into them like molten lead, sealing them to his cause.
By the end of the week, he had the skeleton of his inner circle. They were damaged, brilliant, ruthless, and now, his. They knew the truth. They were the immune, and the world was the plague.
Standing on the balcony of his temporary apartment, Luca watched the city teem with life. He felt no kinship with it. He was a farmer looking at a field soon to be harvested by the scythe of death. He had his first loyal soldiers, his architect, his doctor, his spymaster.
The board was set. The pieces were moving. The game for the end of the world had begun.