Chapter 5: The Hunter and the Ghost
The new apartment was a silent, sterile box on the 120th floor. A window, a real one, looked out over a canyon of gleaming spires and tangled transit lines. Will stood before it, not seeing the view. He was watching his own reflection, a ghost superimposed on the city. The Tier 2 enhancements had smoothed the hard edges of hunger from his face, replacing them with a predatory leanness. His eyes held a new, calculating light.
He had used the first Chaos Crown to secure the apartment off the books, a fifteen-minute window of digital invisibility that felt more valuable than any credit sum. For a quarter of an hour, he had been a ghost. It was a taste of a freedom he hadn't known he craved.
The freedom to plan.
The Stream Goal for defeating an enforcer pulsed patiently in his periphery. It was no longer a terrifying demand, but a tactical problem. He couldn't just pick a fight. That was for brawlers. He had to stage a masterpiece.
"Query: Corporate Security Enforcer profiles," he thought.
A stream of data flooded his vision. Personnel files, service records, psych evaluations—all the information Omni-Stream had effortlessly stolen. He filtered for local arcology assignments, looking for a specific profile. Not the biggest, or the meanest. He needed a story.
He found him.
**Enforcer Marcus Valerius.** A twelve-year veteran. Decorated. A family man, according to his file. A wife, a daughter. And a telltale flag in his psych eval: "Exhibits signs of disillusionment. Notes a 'decline in professional standards' since the integration of Omni-Stream personnel."
Perfect.
"He's perfect," Will murmured. "A noble lion surrounded by jackals. The audience will eat it up."
"His record shows high combat proficiency. The risk assessment is elevated," the Weaver cautioned.
"The reward is higher," Will replied, his voice flat. "Initiate Stream Goal: A Show of Force. Target: Marcus Valerius."
The golden heart in his vision ignited. The viewer count, which had settled into a steady tens of thousands, began to climb. 80,000. 100,000. They knew something was coming.
He didn't move immediately. He spent hours studying Valerius. His patrol routes. His favorite noodle stand. The park bench where he watched his daughter play in a secured virtual sim during his lunch break. Will learned the man's life, memorizing its rhythms and its soft, vulnerable underbelly.
He wasn't just preparing for a fight. He was writing a script.
The stage was a rarely used maintenance conduit that intersected Valerius's patrol route. It was tight, metallic, and dramatic, with steam venting at intervals—a perfect, gritty arena.
Will arrived early. He didn't hide. He stood in the center of the conduit, under a flickering light, and waited. He had traded his stylish jacket for simple, durable clothes that wouldn't restrict his movement. He looked like what he was: a weapon waiting to be used.
The viewer count passed 200,000. Comments scrolled, a torrent of anticipation.
`>>Chaos_Craver: FINALLY! Some action!`
`>>StyleSniper: The setting is a bit cliche, Will. I expect better.`
`>>Nyx: The choice of opponent is… interesting. (Donated: 5,000 Credits)`
Her donation was a spike of ice and fire in his gut. She was watching. They all were.
He heard the heavy, rhythmic tread of armored boots first. Then Enforcer Valerius rounded the corner, his broad frame filling the conduit. He stopped, his helmeted head tilting. He wasn't surprised. The man was a professional; he could feel a trap.
"Corvin," Valerius's voice was filtered, a low rumble from his helmet's vocoder. "I've seen your stream. Turn yourself in. This doesn't have to end with you broken."
Will said nothing. He simply smiled, the same terrifying smile from the garden, and beckoned him forward with one finger.
The enforcer charged. It was like a bulldozer coming to life. Fast, direct, and brutally efficient. A powered fist whistled past Will's head, denting the metal wall behind him with a deafening clang.
Will didn't meet the force. He flowed around it. His enhanced body was a revelation. He moved with an instinctual grace, ducking, weaving, using the enforcer's momentum against him. He was a matador, and Valerius was the bull.
He wasn't trying to win. Not yet. He was performing.
He let Valerius corner him, the enforcer's gauntlets sparking with stun-energy. The viewers gasped in unison, their comments a panicked flood. Will waited until the last possible microsecond, then dropped and swept Valerius's legs, sending the heavy man crashing to the grating.
It wasn't a powerful move. It was a humiliating one.
He could see the fury building behind Valerius's visor. Good. Anger made you stupid.
"Fight me, you little rat!" Valerius roared, surging back to his feet.
Will finally spoke, his voice calm, projected for the audience. "I'm not fighting you, enforcer. I'm auditing you. And you're failing."
He launched his real attack. As they clashed again, a flurry of blocked strikes and near misses, Will began to talk, his words sharp and precise, layered over the sound of grunting and impacting metal.
"Marcus Valerius. Twelve years of service. Three commendations for valor." He ducked a blow. "Wife's name is Liana. Daughter's name is Elara. She wants a real dog, but pets are a B-citizen luxury, aren't they?"
Valerius froze for a fraction of a second, his offense broken. "How do you—"
"You think you're upholding order," Will continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "But you're just a janitor for the real powers. You clean up the messes made by people like me. And your bosses at Omni-Stream pay me more for making them than they pay you for cleaning them up."
He was inside the man's head now. The fight wasn't in the conduit anymore; it was in Valerius's mind. The enforcer's attacks became wilder, more desperate.
The viewer count soared past 500,000. They were witnessing a deconstruction.
Will saw his opening. As Valerius lunged with a telegraphed, angry haymaker, Will didn't dodge. He stepped inside the blow, his own enhanced strength focusing into a single, devastating punch to the enforcer's torso, right where his armor plates met.
There was a sickening crack. Not of armor, but of bone.
Valerius gasped, the air driven from his lungs. He staggered back, collapsing against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, wet heaves. He was beaten.
Will stood over him. The goal was complete. The credits and the promise of Tier 3 enhancements flooded his system. He felt a new layer of potential unlock in his mind, his thoughts accelerating, the world seeming to slow down around him.
He leaned down, close to the enforcer's helmet.
"You're a relic, Valerius," Will whispered, the words meant for the broken man, but captured perfectly by the stream. "This world doesn't need heroes anymore. It needs stars."
He turned and walked away, leaving the enforcer broken and bleeding in the steam-filled conduit. The stream ended.
In the sudden silence of his own mind, the Stream-Weaver's voice was a reverent whisper.
"Stream Goal surpassed. Peak concurrent viewers: 587,441. You have been awarded two additional Chaos Crowns. Your ranking has improved significantly."
Will didn't respond. He walked back to his sterile new apartment, the ghost of the fight still thrumming in his muscles. He had won. He was richer, more powerful than ever.
But as he looked at his reflection in the vast window, he saw no triumph. He saw the cold, precise monster who had dissected a good man for sport and credits. And he knew, with a chilling certainty that the new neural enhancements only made sharper, that Marcus Valerius had been the last hero in that conduit.
The man walking away was just the ghost.