Medellín had always been violent.
But now, it was smart violence.
Calculated. Curated. Like watching dogs in a ring, bloodied and blind, tearing each other apart — while Vekom held the leash on both.
It started with two gangs.
Los Toros ran small-time smuggling through the mountain roads. Aggressive. Loud. No patience.La Sombra were quieter — ex-military, dealing in assassination and high-value kidnapping.
Neither liked the other.
Both bought from him.
Vekom sold Los Toros a batch of AKMs and told them La Sombra was moving into their territory. He sold La Sombra suppressed MP5s and claimed Los Toros had a DEA informant in their ranks.
It didn't take long.
Two bodies showed up in the valley.
Then six.
Then a shootout in the middle of Barrio Azul, ten dead, three wounded, half of them civilians.
The police were too slow, too scared. And the newspapers? They blamed "turf escalation."
But Vekom knew better.
He watched it unfold through drone footage, hovering unseen above rooftops. The System fed him infrared signatures, heat maps, even name tags on known gang leaders.
Every move was part of a larger pattern.
"Tactical Drone Recon active.""Heat signature overlap: high probability of gang leader confrontation within 24 hours.""Suggested course: funnel armaments to prolong conflict."
He didn't need a war.
He needed need. And nothing created demand like fear.
Nico coordinated the next drops. Camila planted false intel. Rafa quietly spread rumors in the clubs and street bars where gangsters drank and spilled secrets. Every whisper, every misstep—it was all guided.
He didn't even have to push anymore.
The city tore itself open.
And Vekom sold the stitching.
Alonso came calling again.
This time, in a different car. Bigger. Armored. The kind used when deals got real.
"You've got everyone talking," he said, stepping out with his usual smile. "Even he noticed."
Vekom didn't need to ask who he was. The name Escobar was never spoken lightly.
"We're expanding," Alonso said. "New routes. Jungle corridors. Across the border. We need more hardware. And we want you to handle it."
"How much more?" Vekom asked.
"A truckload, twice a month. Grenades. Assault rifles. Claymores, if you have them."
"I have everything," Vekom said flatly.
"You'll be paid in cash or coke. Your choice."
"Cash. I don't need distractions."
Alonso laughed. "Smart man."
They shook hands. The deal was sealed.
Vekom didn't trust him, but he didn't have to. The deal benefited both of them — and that was safer than loyalty.
With the profit from the deal, he expanded again.
"Clone Network Expansion: 10 units total.""New Agents: Mateo, Javier, Diego, Isa.""Functions: Tactical Support / Embedded Logistics / Civilian Infiltration / Foreign Communication."
Mateo was placed in a paramilitary training camp.Javier joined a corrupt customs unit at the port.Diego worked inside a cocaine processing lab in the jungle.Isa infiltrated a money laundering ring near the city's financial center.
They weren't just gathering data now.
They were building foundations.
He used Javier to delay inspections on cargo shipments. Used Isa to trace financial flows from rival suppliers. Mateo trained young recruits who'd one day unknowingly fight for Vekom's interests. Diego? He'd already sabotaged a competitor's supply with traceable markings, putting their entire operation at risk.
Each clone acted with autonomy.
But all reported back to him.
And the System translated it into control.
"Network Influence Level: 48% (Medellín Undersphere)""Market Saturation: 31%""Projected Expansion: Cali, Bucaramanga, Caracas""New Unlock: Light Armor Production / Custom Weapon Mod Kits"
His warehouse became a forge.
Suppressors. Extended mags. Laser sights. Polymer grips. Reinforced vests and Kevlar-plated jackets. The tools of death — personalized, efficient, and tested on the streets by desperate men who would kill just to keep buying.
But with success came whispers.
Other dealers were disappearing. Some fled. Others were executed in alleyways, bodies riddled with unfamiliar bullets. Police claimed rival violence.
But Vekom knew better.
He was cleaning the table.
This wasn't just about arms anymore.
It was empire-building.
And there could be no competition.
"System Notification: Tier Three approaching.""Exceed 50% saturation in active zone to unlock global access.""Warning: external intelligence agencies increasing surveillance."
The System's warning didn't rattle him.
Let them watch.
The more eyes on him, the fewer on his hands.
The next meeting with Alonso happened on a private estate outside the city.
Under armed guard, Alonso showed him a map — ports in Venezuela, contacts in Nicaragua, a possible route into Panama.
"Colombia is too small for what you're building," Alonso said, pouring two glasses of rum. "Why not spread?"
Vekom took the glass but didn't drink.
"I will," he said. "But not as a servant. Not under anyone's name but mine."
Alonso smiled. "We'll see. Just don't forget who opened the door."
"I didn't walk through it," Vekom replied. "I kicked it open."
That night, he ordered another batch of arms — older Soviet surplus, to keep traceability low. He equipped a small militia through intermediaries, claiming they were vigilantes. In truth, they were pawns — his own death squads to eliminate troublesome suppliers and scare the market into consolidation.
His consolidation.
He wasn't just "El Fantasma" now.
He was the architect of a shadow war.
One bullet at a time.