The glow of Lin Xun's screen was the only light in his cramped apartment. It bled across the cracked wallpaper, painting the room in an unnatural blue. The ceiling fan above him clicked out a repetitive rhythm, like an impatient metronome counting down to something unseen. He hadn't slept in twenty-six hours.
His laptop sat open, browser tabs stacked like fallen dominoes. Bitcoin wallets, Tor gateways, PGP keys, code repositories. And there, like a shadow between shadows, was something new. A single link sent through an encrypted forum message:
"Try this if you want to know what people really deserve. Only for the brave."
The Sin Ledger
He hovered his mouse over the link.
It wasn't a name he recognized. Not Silk Road 2.0, not anything from the usual black market circles. The icon was minimal: a gray square embossed with a single blood-red symbol—like an abstract character, or maybe a seal, pressed deep into digital parchment. He right-clicked. Scanned it. No viruses, no known trackers. But also… no source.
He hesitated, his hand suddenly clammy. Years of journalism—real journalism—had trained him to follow hunches. They never started with full stories. They started with something wrong. And this? This was wrong in a way that made his spine itch.
He clicked.
⸻
It didn't open in a browser.
It installed.
In silence, no dialog, no file path.
The screen flashed black for a moment. Then: a logo.
The Sin Ledger
Underneath, a single line in minimalist sans-serif font:
"Every sin has a price. Every debt must be paid."
Then it faded, replaced by a single prompt:
Enter your true name.
He stared at it. Just that.
No "agree to terms," no "create password." Nothing but a line of text blinking like a command line from the 1980s.
He typed slowly: Lin Xun
Not the name he used on darknet forums. Not his journalist alias. His legal name.
The screen flashed.
Authenticating…
Welcome, Lin Xun. Task incoming.
What task? What the hell was this?
His phone buzzed.
Not a notification.
A message. SMS.
No number. Just:
[The Sin Ledger] Task #001 issued. Subject: Peng Jie. Status: pending. Location: 3.2 km. Deadline: 24:00.
He blinked. Peng Jie?
The name sliced through his memory like a blade.
Peng Jie was a case he'd buried five months ago. A human trafficking middleman who'd walked on a technicality. A man Lin Xun had stalked through alleys and courtrooms, trying to find proof he knew existed. He had files. Photos. Statements. All of it dismissed.
And now his name appeared—unbidden—inside this ghost app?
⸻
Lin Xun jumped to his feet. The chair behind him clattered to the floor. He stared at his phone. The message was gone.
He opened his text app. Nothing. Checked call history. Empty.
He turned back to the laptop.
The screen had changed.
Do you wish to accept Task #001?
Target: Peng Jie
Objective: Judgment
Reward: 0.3 BTC
[ACCEPT] [DECLINE]
Judgment? What the hell did that mean?
He tried closing the app. No effect.
He clicked on the desktop icon to uninstall it—except there was no icon. No files. Nothing listed in processes. But the app was still open, mocking him.
He hesitated.
Was this a game? Some ARG? A scam?
He opened a new tab, searched "Sin Ledger App."
No results.
Not low results.
Zero.
Even on the darknet search engines.
Impossible.
⸻
Peng Jie's name hung in the center of the screen like a blade suspended in air.
Lin Xun's finger hovered over "Accept."
It felt like a trap. Or bait. Or both.
But he thought of Peng Jie—of the girl he'd trafficked from Henan who vanished into thin air, of the confession Lin had recorded but couldn't legally use. Of the rage. The failure.
Maybe this was retribution.
Maybe it was justice.
He clicked ACCEPT.
The screen flickered. Then displayed a pulsing circle. A loading icon.
Location syncing… Target active. Your presence is required. Deadline: 3 hours, 44 minutes.
Below that: a map.
An exact GPS location.
Peng Jie's current coordinates.
Real-time.
His heart thudded.
No app should have this data.
No one should.
⸻
He grabbed his jacket. Stuffed his recorder, a flashlight, a disposable burner phone, and a small folding knife into his bag. Not that he intended to use it, but he wasn't walking into an unknown situation empty-handed.
The map updated as he moved. Like it knew where he was.
More than that—it adapted. Rerouting around construction, traffic, surveillance points.
By the time he reached the building, his heart was hammering. A dim gray warehouse in the west district. The kind used by logistics firms or people who didn't want neighbors.
The front was locked. But the app—now eerily migrated to his phone—buzzed again.
Access point unlocked. Proceed.
And the door clicked open.
No sound. No guards. Just the creak of the hinge.
Inside was Peng Jie.
Alone. Smoking. Sitting on a crate.
He didn't look surprised.
He looked… resigned.
⸻
"You're earlier than I expected," Peng Jie said without looking up. "Didn't think you'd be the one."
Lin Xun froze.
"You know me?"
Peng smirked. "The app tells us. Eventually. It shows us what we've done. Then shows us who's coming."
"You accepted the task too?"
"No," he said. "I was the task."
A silence fell.
"What does it want?" Lin asked.
Peng looked up. His eyes had none of the bravado from the courtroom months ago. Just fatigue. And something close to fear.
"It doesn't want anything," he said. "It knows. And once it knows… it starts balancing."
"Balancing what?"
"Ledger. Karma. Blood. I don't know. All I know is I saw her face last night. The girl from Henan."
Lin stiffened.
"She said my time was up."
Peng stood. Hands raised.
"I'm not gonna run. Or fight. I just want to know… did you choose this? Or did it choose you?"
Lin didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure anymore.
⸻
Back in his apartment, the screen was black.
Then text appeared:
Task #001: Completed.
Disposition: Judgment Rendered. Subject: Removed.
Reward issued. Ledger updated.
Next task pending. Rest well, Lin Xun.
A new prompt blinked underneath:
Do you wish to proceed? [Y/N]
He stared at it for a long time.
The cursor blinked.
Just once.
Then again.
And again.