Jax kicked the door open, tossed his jacket onto the rack, and let out a long, weary sigh. The adrenaline from the infiltration was finally cooling, leaving him with that hollow, post-op hum.
"The 'hibernation' just ended, and I'm already back in the dirt," he muttered.
From the living room, the frantic sounds of laser fire and patriotic screaming drifted toward him. He walked in to find the "Three Musketeers" sprawled across the sofa. The TV was blaring an episode of Republican Space Rangers.
Jax ignored the chaos for a moment, pulling out his phone to dial the only man in the city more paranoid than he was.
"Lester. It's done. The 'gift' is in the wrapping. What's the next move?" Jax asked, leaning back into his recliner.
"Good, good," Lester's voice crackled, sounding genuinely giddy. "But first, a question for the youth. Do you like those classic Hollywood blockbusters? You know, where the hero hits a button and saves the world from some self-important prick?"
Jax glanced at the TV, where a cartoon alien was being vaporized. "I'm a fan of the classics, yeah."
"Perfect. Because when this keynote starts, you're going to be the director. Just give Jay a call. I guarantee it'll be an explosive series finale."
Lester hung up after a few more cryptic instructions. Jax turned his attention to the couch, where Bruce was currently mesmerized by the screen.
"Since when do we watch the Interdimensional Cable?" Jax asked.
Bruce didn't even look over, his tail thumping rhythmically against the cushions. "Found it while you were out 'working.' It's educational. These guys in the space suits? They really hate blue people. It's fascinating."
Jax checked his watch. The Lifeinvader stream was about to go live. He stood up and walked over to the sofa, looming over the animals.
"Alright, playtime's over. I need the big screen for a work event."
"Aw, come on," Bruce groaned, crossing his hind legs in a disturbingly human fashion. "We were just getting to the part where they blow up the moon. How long are you gonna be?"
"Thirty minutes," Jax said, gently scooping Sarge the tiger cub off the sofa and onto his lap. "But fair warning: what's coming up is definitely Rated R. You sure you want to watch?"
Bruce's eyes gleamed with a predatory, mischievous light. "Rated R? Jax, buddy, I'm a dog who can talk and a bird that scouts cartel hits. I think we can handle a little 'mature content.'"
Jax shrugged and hit the input button.
The screen flickered to life, revealing a massive, neon-lit stage. Jay Norris stepped out, his blonde hair glowing under the spotlights, wearing a blue casual shirt that probably cost more than Jax's car. The crowd below erupted into a cult-like frenzy.
"Today," Norris shouted, his voice echoing through the arena, "you witness the death of privacy and the birth of the Total Connection! We've squeezed every cent out of the global data pool, and we're giving it back to you—in exchange for everything you are!"
Bruce tilted his head. "Wait... did he just say he's stealing everyone's secrets? Is that legal?"
"In this town? It's called a business model," Jax replied.
"And look at that team!" Norris continued, gesturing to a row of kids behind him. "The youngest engineers in the world! Average age: fourteen!"
"Fourteen?" Bruce barked. "That's not a tech company, that's a middle school. Does he pay them in juice boxes and V-Bucks?"
Big Black, tired of Bruce's commentary, gave the dog a sharp peck on the ear before fluttering over to Jax's shoulder.
"Hey! Watch the fur, you overgrown pigeon!"
"Quiet," Jax warned. "It's starting."
On screen, Norris held up the prototype—the very phone Jax had tampered with an hour ago. "We are connecting... now! Connect! Connect! Connect!"
The crowd's chanting rose to a fever pitch. Jax pulled up his contact list, found the number Lester had provided, and hit 'Dial.'
On the 60-inch screen, Jay Norris's personal phone began to vibrate.
"Hold on, world," Norris laughed, looking at the device. "I think someone wants to be the first to join the future."
He hit the 'Accept' button.
BOOM.
The explosion was small, localized, and devastating. One second, Jay Norris was the king of the world. The next, his hand was a red mist, and half of his skull had effectively been uninstalled. The feed cut to static almost instantly, but not before the "Red and White" splatter hit the front row.
Sarge let out a startled roar. Big Black flapped his wings in a panic.
Bruce sat frozen, his jaw literally hanging open. "Holy... mother of... Jax, when you said 'not suitable for children,' I thought you meant like... HBO boobies. Not 'Cranium Confetti.'"
Jax calmly hit the power button on the remote, returning the room to silence. "I did warn you."
He set Sarge down and pulled up his phone. The Lifeinvader stock ticker was in a free-fall that looked like a suicide jump. Within minutes, it hit a floor of $14 a share.
Jax checked his balance: $25,000—the last of his savings and the "pet medical" cash. Without a second thought, he dumped every cent into the crashing stock, scooping up nearly 1,800 shares.
"What are you doing?" Bruce asked, peeking over his shoulder.
"I'm waiting for the bounce," Jax said, a cold smile playing on his lips. "In three days, Jay Norris's death is going to buy me a new life. About two hundred thousand dollars worth of life."
He leaned back in his recliner, the "Stupid Bears" music of the next cartoon already starting to play, but Jax was already miles away, calculating the cost of the next score.