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Alexis sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by digital screens, instant noodles, and a half-functional fan that made a sound like it was dying dramatically every third rotation.
The rest of the world thought he was a broke, sleepy college student with average grades and no direction in life.
And, to be fair… it had been accurate yesterday.
Today, he owned a global shadow organization with a hundred billion dollars in hidden assets and access to a tactical system interface smarter than half the planet.
Not bad for a guy who still used student Wi-Fi.
"You have been inactive for 14 minutes. Would you like me to play relaxing music or read out war crime reports from the archives?"
Alexis blinked.
"What kind of choice is that?! Play jazz or something!"
"Acknowledged. Synthesizing elevator jazz fused with vintage Morse code."
"...you know what, I'll just focus."
He sat up straight and waved his fingers toward the main interface screen. Maps, accounts, and dormant commands floated in holographic layers around him.
Now came the hard part: building the machine.
"Let's start with the basics. I need income. Stable, clean… well, mostly clean."
"Initializing Shadow Revenue Module. Filtering all operations against administrator's ethical protocols: No drug trafficking, extortion, sex trafficking, human trafficking, or pyramid schemes involving influencers."
"Good. Let's keep it classy."
He leaned in as the screen pulsed with options. Legal routes were too slow and too visible. What he needed was discreet, high-value, and off-record.
"Recommended: Precious Resource Mobility. High-yield. Low detection. Gold and diamond smuggling channels across dormant ports and abandoned mine trades. Requires activation of two dormant fronts."
Alexis smirked.
"Gold and diamonds. Can't go wrong with the classics."
"Unlike cryptocurrency, gold does not collapse when a billionaire tweets the word 'banana'."
"Wise words."
He began drafting the outline:
Re-activate Axis Maritime Shell Corp #7
Convert it into a mid-sized logistics firm under a new brand name
Open secret contracts with aging mining operators in loophole jurisdictions
Route recovered gold and stones into off-market buyers, through shadow partners
All under the table. No public splash. No blood spilled.
Just value, repurposed.
"Name the smuggling branch…" He thought for a moment.
"Let's call it Gravehaul Industries."
"Noted. File registered under Gravehaul. You appear overly proud of that name."
"I am."
Now, the second move.
"I need a protective force. Not an army. A unit. Clean. Invisible. No connection to me or Axis."
System: "Private tactical network module ready. Recommended title: Bladelink."
He browsed the filtered candidate list. No warmongers. No failed rebels. Just precision-trained ex-operatives, some forgotten by their governments, others simply waiting for purpose.
He found eight viable operatives.
All off-grid. All proven.
"Recruit them. Keep it sealed. No one knows who they work for."
"They will believe they are contracted by an independent security firm. All instructions routed through blind AIs and scrambled orders. Zero organizational exposure."
"Perfect. And name it Bladelink. Subtle but sharp."
"Unlike Gravehaul."
"Watch it."
"My sarcasm protocols are locked. That was factual."
He exhaled.
So far, he had gold and diamonds starting to move. A mercenary cell on the way.
Now for the final touch.
"Let's do something small. Civilian. Harmless."
"Crime?"
"No. A shop."
"…a shop?"
"Yeah. I can't look like I'm sitting on treasure in a rental apartment forever. People will notice. I need a reason for upgraded clothes and groceries."
He thought a moment.
"Let's call it... 'Axis Goods.'"
"Clever."
"It sells imported gadgets, coffee, maybe vintage stuff. Something quirky enough to match my vibe. Just a storefront. Cash income. Civilian cover."
"Location?"
"Somewhere cheap, but visible. Walking distance from campus. The kind of place no one questions but everyone visits."
"Local listings scanned. One ideal target. Lease terms negotiable."
"Good. Buy it through a fake uncle or something."
"You have thirty-seven fake uncles registered. Assigning it to Uncle #19, 'Gerald the Retired Jet Mechanic.'"
"...I worry about you sometimes."
"And I monitor your breathing during sleep. We all have our hobbies."
He cracked a smile.
Everything was coming together.
Slowly. Carefully.
No blood. No mess. No headlines.
Just balance.
He looked over the room once more, the monitors casting a low glow across his face.
Tomorrow, he would give his first true command. A voice to the void.
To Nova.
She wouldn't know his face.
Only his name: Adam.
Only the mission.
And from that moment onward, the world would begin to shift.
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