"Buy another ten thousand shares of Soma-Tech Logistics immediately, and do not let the corporate firewall trace the routing protocol back to this terminal," Zeldin muttered to the flickering interface screen.
The voice that echoed through the damp, concrete bunker was no longer human. It carried a strange, metallic vibration, a cold resonance that matched the polished chrome plate covering the left side of his face. For two years, the upper world believed Zeldin was nothing but dissolved ash at the bottom of Bio-Flesh Furnace 04. They had moved on, building their fortunes on his stolen blood. But deep within the forgotten infrastructure of the Low Sector, the ghost was systematically dismantling their empire piece by piece.
"The secondary servers are responding, sir," the automated terminal replied, its blue light reflecting off the extensive web of heavy scar tissue on his right cheek. "The transaction is complete. You now hold forty-two percent of the subsidiary debt."
Zeldin leaned back into his makeshift chair, his cybernetic right eye glowing with a faint, steady crimson light. The physical pain from his transformation had finally dulled into a numb, constant throb, a permanent reminder of the night Rea and Giska had dropped him into the acid pool. He adjusted his heavy trench coat, concealing the dense, black metal limbs that now formed his physical structure. He did not feel anger anymore; he felt a calculated, chilling clarity. The financial market of Neo-Soma was a playground for monsters, and he had learned to become the apex predator of the digital realm.
"Check the primary account balances," Zeldin commanded, his synthetic fingers tapping against the metal desk with blinding speed. "How much did we pull from the black-market brokers this morning?"
"Total liquidation yielded six hundred million Bio-Creds," the terminal announced. "The shell companies are fully funded. Soma-Tech Industries is officially facing an internal liquidity crisis."
Zeldin smiled, though the movement was rigid on the metallic side of his face. He remembered how Rea had screamed for a simple briefcase of credits, sacrificing his life for a cheap entry ticket to the Upper Sector. Now, he controlled sums that could buy her entire neighborhood a thousand times over. He had manipulated the Bio-Cred black market with surgical precision, exploiting every security loophole Giska had left unguarded in his arrogance. By purchasing the bankrupt shares of Giska's closest suppliers, Zeldin had quietly choked the corporation's supply lines until the executive board had no choice but to surrender their authority.
"It is time to initiate the final hostile takeover," Zeldin said, his voice flat and unyielding. "Transfer the voting rights to the primary anonymous proxy. I want the CEO seat validated by midnight."
"Processing," the computer chimed. "The corporate registry is updating. You are now the majority shareholder of Soma-Tech Industries."
The transition of power was silent but absolute. Far above the toxic smog layer, in the glittering glass towers of Neo-Soma, the digital boards were turning red. Giska was losing his company, and he did not even know the name of the man who was taking it from him. Zeldin stood up, his heavy cybernetic frame creating a loud, pneumatic hiss as his leg joints locked into place. He walked toward a secondary monitor that streamed the public social news networks of the upper districts.
"Display the recent social profiles for the high-end cosmetic districts," Zeldin ordered, his eyes narrowing.
The screen flickered, instantly displaying a high-definition video broadcast from the diamond-plated avenues of District 01. A young woman was standing outside a luxury augmentation clinic, surrounded by flashing hover-cameras and gossip reporters. It was Rea.
"Please, you have to grant me an extension on the maintenance serum!" Rea cried, her hands gripping the jacket of a clinical security guard. "My skin is beginning to lose its luster. The porcelain-synth layers require weekly calibration, or the tissue will degrade!"
"Your credit line has been rejected by the central bank, Miss Rea," the guard replied coldly, shoving her hands away from his uniform. "Soma-Tech Industries has frozen all secondary lifestyle subsidies. Without valid Bio-Creds, we cannot authorize your treatment. Please step away from the entrance."
Zeldin watched the screen, his crimson optical sensor tracking every micro-expression on her face. Rea looked radically different from the girl who had betrayed him in the grimy Waste Sector two years ago. Her body was heavily altered, covered in glittering porcelain-synth skin that shone under the neon lights, her eyes enhanced with expensive chrome lids that caught the camera flashes. Yet, beneath the expensive corporate beauty, her expression was filled with the exact same desperation she had harbored when she was poor. She had traded her humanity for an elite lifestyle, and now that lifestyle was crumbling because her financial source was drying up.
"Look at you," Zeldin murmured, his metallic voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "You became the perfect doll, but you forgot that dolls require a master to keep them wound up."
"My family debts are piling up!" Rea screamed at the reporters, tears streaming down her flawless, synthetic cheeks. "Giska promised he would cover the maintenance costs! He said the harvest from the Waste Sector would secure my future forever!"
"Giska cannot help you anymore, Rea," Zeldin whispered to the empty bunker. "Giska doesn't even own the chair he sits on."
He stepped away from the monitor, the heavy fabric of his trench coat sweeping across the dusty floor. The economic impact of his two-year campaign was fully realized. He had taken everything Giska loved, reducing the brutal warlord of the Waste Sector to a desperate debtor. But his vengeance would not stop at a simple corporate bankruptcy. A financial death was too clean, too painless for the woman who had watched his flesh melt while counting her digital currency.
"Prepare my transport to the Upper Sector," Zeldin commanded the terminal. "And draft a specialized conditional contract. Use the official corporate legal seal of the CEO."
"What are the parameters of the contract, sir?" the computer asked, its system ready to log the data.
"A full financial bailout for her family, unlimited access to the highest-grade bio-flesh serums, and absolute immunity from her current debtors," Zeldin stated, his voice turning incredibly dark. "In exchange, she will sign away her status as a legal citizen. She will become private property."
"Understood," the terminal chimed. "The Golden Cage contract is being compiled. Who is the recipient?"
Zeldin walked toward the exit of his subterranean sanctuary, his hand resting on the heavy steel lever of the blast door. He looked back at the screen one last time, watching Rea collapse onto her knees on the pristine pavement, weeping over her lack of funds to maintain her artificial body. She was completely broken, terrified of returning to the slums she had tried so hard to escape. She was prime for the harvest.
"Her name is Rea," Zeldin said, pulling the lever down. "Send her the notification that an anonymous benefactor is arriving to solve all her problems."
The blast doors ground open, letting in the harsh, cold air of the Low Sector. Zeldin stepped out into the dark corridors, his heavy boots echoing like a death knell through the concrete tunnels. He was no longer a ghost hiding in the network. He was the owner of her future, and he was coming to collect his due.
Aksara