The heat in Baghdad was dry and metallic, like breathing in gun barrels. Beneath the floor of a decommissioned hospital, repurposed as a ghost facility by Iraqi intelligence, a crate was being unbolted.
Inside: American rifles, Russian RPGs, drone kits, night vision scopes, and unmarked ammunition.
To Saddam's men, it looked like a miracle. To Vekom, it was a prototype delivery — a sampler to prove he could fulfill any warlord's fantasy without raising a single flag.
The clone overseeing the exchange — one of the four embedded in the Middle East — stood silent in tactical attire, face hidden behind a scarf and mirrored shades. Around him were men in Ba'athist uniforms, a few military scientists, and a tall, thin man in a gray suit.
That man was Al-Rashid, one of Saddam's shadow diplomats.
"Everything checks out," Al-Rashid said after the inspection. "You are not cartel. You are not CIA. What are you?"
The clone gave no answer.
Al-Rashid smiled faintly. "Fine. Ghosts, then. My president is pleased."
He nodded to an aide, who placed a silver briefcase on the table.
Inside: $8,000,000 in clean, untraceable cash. Delivered in local currency.
System Notification:Middle East Node Transaction Complete.Funds Transferred to Global Armory Pool.
Back in Colombia, seated in a secure command hub once owned by a dead lieutenant of Escobar's, Vekom watched the feed.
He didn't flinch when the money cleared. His eyes were already on the next contract.
Al-Rashid wasn't finished.
"We don't just want these weapons," he said. "We want the source."
He leaned in.
"We want factories. Assembly lines. We want to learn how you make weapons that don't exist on records. We are ready to invest. Land. Workers. Whatever is needed."
Vekom didn't answer immediately. He flipped the feed to another node — Belgrade, where another clone had embedded into a shadow auction of black-market arms.
Then to Frankfurt, where a rival arms dealer had begun spreading rumors of a "ghost supplier" disrupting prices and power balances.
Then to Tripoli, where mercenaries funded by Libyan oil money were asking about unmanned drones with American specs but no serials.
The world was waking up. The whispers had started.
He opened the console.
Command:"Begin European Expansion Protocol.""Deploy 4 Clones. Identities: Arms Historian, NATO Technician, Swiss Logistics Agent, Russian Trafficker."
He turned back to Baghdad.
"Tell your president I'll consider his offer," Vekom said through the clone. "But factories are built in places I control. You don't control Iraq. Not yet."
Al-Rashid narrowed his eyes. "We soon will."
Elsewhere, the Lord of Arms System pulsed alive.
The Baghdad delivery triggered a cascade. New clients. Higher demands.
The system began expanding its database.
New Requests:
Precision munitions for desert warfare
Amphibious armored personnel carriers
Gen-3 night optics
Portable missile launchers (Soviet origin)
Low-observable UAVs
Special Inquiry – Red Flagged:"Buyer from Vienna requests nuclear material triggers. Offer: $150M USD."
Vekom paused at that one. Even for him, there were lines. Or at least, thresholds.
He moved it to "Pending Evaluation."
At the same time, the European underground grew nervous.
Prices on black-market arms were plummeting.
Old families — dealers who had run weapons since the Cold War — were being boxed out.
One, a Croatian trafficker named Dragan Vuković, had already ordered surveillance on "the ghost dealer."
In Paris, a German-born fixer under MI6 cover intercepted the whisper.
"They say the shipments have no trail. No smuggling routes. No ships. No trucks. Just—delivery. Then gone."
In Moscow, a retired GRU general asked a chilling question.
"Are we dealing with a man… or a system?"
Meanwhile, Vekom's clone in Frankfurt made contact with a desperate middleman trying to resell NATO weapons to African warlords.
The clone played dumb. Learned the routes. Bought the map.
Vekom sent a single message through the system console:
"I will burn their networks. Then I will replace them."