Duke pounded on the door of the apartment in Queens.

His fist was heavy, his arm numb from the cold.

He was shivering so violently his teeth were chattering, a rhythmic clicking sound inside his head.

The hallway smelled of cabbage and old cigarettes.

The door swung open.

Gus stood there, wearing a faded band t-shirt and boxer briefs, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

His eyes went wide.

"Jesus, Duke," Gus mumbled, spitting toothpaste into his hand. "You look like you swam across the East River."

He grabbed Duke by the arm and hauled him inside.

The apartment was small.

Claustrophobic.

Stacks of pizza boxes leaned against the wall like the Tower of Pisa.

A TV was blaring a rerun of Friends in the corner.

Duke collapsed onto the beige sofa.

The fabric was rough and smelled of dust.

Gus threw a towel at his head.

It was scratchy and smelled like mildew, but it was dry.

Duke buried his face in it.

"She signed it?" Gus asked, his voice low.

Duke nodded into the towel.

"And the prick?"

"He offered me a job," Duke said, his voice muffled. "As a doorman."

Gus swore.

A long, creative string of profanities that involved Simon, a cactus, and several uncomfortable anatomical locations.

"Forget them," Gus said, pacing the tiny living room. "You crash here. As long as you need. My couch is your couch."

Duke lowered the towel.

"Thanks, G."

Gus went to his room to find a spare blanket.

The apartment went quiet, save for the laugh track from the TV.

Duke lay back.

His bones ached.

The exhaustion was a heavy blanket, pressing him down into the sagging cushions.

He pulled his phone out of his wet pocket.

The screen flickered.

The battery icon was red.

4%

But the icon was still there.

Midas Protocol.

It pulsed.

A slow, rhythmic golden glow that seemed to breathe.

Duke stared at it.

It looked like one of those stupid mobile games that advertised on Instagram.

Build your empire! become a billionaire!

He let out a dry, bitter laugh.

"Why not," he whispered to the empty room. "I've got nothing else to lose."

He tapped the icon.

The screen went black.

Then, gold text scrolled across the glass, elegant and sharp.

Welcome, User 001.

Poverty is a disease.

I am the cure.

Duke rolled his eyes.

"Great," he muttered. "A philosophy app."

The screen shifted.

A massive roulette wheel appeared.

It was beautifully rendered, the graphics sharper than anything his phone should be able to display.

New User Bonus: Spin to Initialize Capital.

The wheel spun before he even touched it.

Colors blurred.

Numbers whizzed by.

$10.

$500.

$50.

The wheel slowed.

It clicked.

Click. Click. Click.

It stopped on a sliver of gold.

$1,000,000.00 (Pending)

Duke stared.

He blinked.

"Right," he said, tossing the phone onto his chest. "And I'm the King of England."

The phone vibrated against his sternum.

He picked it up again.

A prompt box had appeared.

Please link a valid bank account to activate the funding channel.

Duke hesitated.

This was the scam.

This was the part where they drained your account.

He thought about his balance.

$42.18.

If they stole it, he wouldn't even be able to buy a bus ticket out of town.

But a strange, nihilistic urge took over him.

He was at the bottom of the well.

What did it matter if he dug an inch deeper?

His fingers moved on their own.

He typed in his Chase routing number.

He typed in his account number.

He hit Enter.

Verifying...

Integration Complete.

Funds will be cleared within 24 hours.

Duke snorted.

"Sure they will."

He hit the back button.

The main interface loaded.

It was sleek. Dark mode. Minimalist.

At the bottom, there was a tab labeled Inventory.

A red dot sat on it.

He tapped it.

A single digital card flipped over on the screen.

It looked like a tarot card, but instead of a magician or a fool, it depicted a woman with a sword and scales, her eyes blindfolded with barbed wire.

Nemesis Card

Rarity: Common

Description: Input the name of an enemy. The System will generate a customized vengeance algorithm.

Duke felt a chill that had nothing to do with his wet clothes.

The cursor blinked in the text box.

Name of Target.

Duke's thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He shouldn't.

It was a game.

A stupid, cruel game.

But the image of Simon's hand on Linda's shoulder burned in his mind.

The smell of that expensive cologne.

The offer to be a doorman.

Duke typed.

Simon Thorne.

He hit Execute.

The screen flashed red.

Target Locked.

Analyzing social graph...

Analyzing financial vulnerabilities...

Analyzing psych profile...

Algorithm generating...

The phone screen went black.

Dead battery.

Duke stared at the dark reflection of his own face in the glass.

He felt a strange sensation in his chest.

It was fear.

But underneath the fear, coiled like a snake in the dark, was excitement.

He tossed the phone onto the floor.

He pulled the scratchy blanket up to his chin.

Outside, a siren wailed, fading into the distance.

Duke closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamed he was standing on the roof of the Empire State Building.

The rain was falling, but it wasn't water.

It was gold coins.

And down on the street, far below, Simon Thorne was drowning in them.

Duke woke up with a groan.

His neck was stiff.

The couch spring was digging into his hip like a blunt knife.

Sunlight streamed through the grimy window, illuminating dancing dust motes in the air.

Gus was already up.

He tossed a bagel wrapped in foil at Duke.

It hit him in the chest.

"Eat," Gus said, holding a mug of coffee that smelled like burnt rubber. "You need the carbs."

Duke sat up, unwrapping the bagel.

It was stale, but he was starving.

"I was thinking," Gus said, sitting on the arm of a chair. "You should file for unemployment today. The website crashes if you wait until afternoon. And maybe... I don't know, take a few days before you look for anything else."

Duke nodded, chewing slowly.

"Yeah. Unemployment."

He looked at his phone on the floor.

It was plugged into Gus's charger.

He picked it up.

He pressed the power button.

The Apple logo appeared.

Then the home screen.

The phone started to vibrate.

It wasn't a normal buzz.

It was a continuous, angry spasm.

Notification after notification cascaded down the screen.

Emails.

Alerts.

And one text message from Chase Bank.

Duke's finger hovered over the glass.

He swiped.

Chase Fraud Alert: An inbound wire transfer of $1,000,000.00 has been detected from an offshore source. Account Frozen Pending Investigation.

Duke felt his stomach drop. Of course. It was a scam, or worse, money laundering. He was about to go to jail. He stared at the screen, panic rising in his throat, when the Midas Protocol app opened itself.

It didn't ask for permission. It just maximized.

A terminal window appeared over the banking app, lines of code scrolling faster than Duke could read.

_Intercepting SWIFT Protocol..._

_Injecting Shell Company Verification: 'Apex Consulting LLC'_

_Forging KYC Documentation..._

_Bypassing Federal Hold..._

The screen flashed green.

A second text popped up immediately after, overriding the first.

Chase: Transfer Verified. Funds Available. Thank you for banking with us.

Duke dropped the bagel.

It landed face down on the rug, cream cheese smearing into the fibers.

"Duke?" Gus asked. "You okay?"

Duke didn't answer.

He opened his banking app.

His hands were shaking so hard he mistyped his password twice.

Login Successful.

He stared at the number at the top of the screen.

Available Balance: $1,000,042.18

The comma.

The two commas.

He counted the zeros.

Six.

He felt lightheaded.

The room seemed to tilt.

"Duke!" Gus stood up. "You look like you're gonna puke."

Duke stood up abruptly.

"Bathroom," he choked out.

He scrambled into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door.

He locked it.

He sat on the closed toilet lid, breathing hard.

He refreshed the page.

Still there.

Refresh.

Still there.

$1,000,042.18

The Midas Protocol app sent a push notification.

System: Starter Capital Delivered. Don't spend it all on candy.

Duke laughed.

It was a hysterical, jagged sound.

He stood up and looked in the mirror.

His eyes were wide, frantic.

This wasn't a game. This wasn't just luck. The App had just hacked one of the biggest banks in the world in under three seconds. It had manufactured a reality where he was a legitimate millionaire.

He grabbed the sink, his knuckles turning white.

This was power.

This was a weapon.

He splashed cold water on his face, gasping as the chill hit his skin.

He needed to calm down.

He couldn't tell Gus.

A warning box flashed in his mind from the App's terms of service he had skimmed the night before.

Protocol Rule 1: Silence is Golden. Disclosure to non-users results in immediate account termination.

He dried his face with a towel that smelled like damp dog.

He took three deep breaths.

In. Out.

In. Out.

He unlocked the door.

Gus was standing right there, looking worried.

"Dude, seriously, are you sick?"

Duke forced a smile.

It felt tight and unnatural on his face.

"No," Duke said. "Just... checked an old crypto wallet. I had some leftover coins from years ago. They... uh... they went up a bit."

"Really?" Gus's face lit up. "Like how much? A couple hundred?"

Duke nodded. "Something like that. Enough to cover rent for a while."

Gus punched him on the shoulder.

"That's awesome, man! Pizza's on you tonight."

"Yeah," Duke said, his hand clutching the phone in his pocket. "Pizza's on me."

He looked around the cramped apartment.

He looked at the peeling paint on the walls.

"I'm going to head out for a bit," Duke said. "Need to... clear my head."

"Cool," Gus said, going back to the TV.

Duke grabbed his coat.

It was still damp from yesterday.

He walked out of the apartment building.

The sun was shining now.

The puddles on the sidewalk reflected the blue sky.

Duke pulled out his phone.

He opened the Midas Protocol.

He tapped on the Inventory.

The Nemesis Card was glowing.

Analysis Complete.

Target: Simon Thorne.

Primary Weakness: Narcissistic Personality Disorder / Double Life.

_Secondary Intel: Subject is currently maintaining a public engagement to Linda while legally married to Victoria Thorne. Exposure Risk: Critical._

Duke stopped walking. The air in his lungs turned to ice. He had suspected it, but seeing it confirmed in cold, digital text was different. Simon wasn't just a cheater; he was a sociopath juggling two lives. And Victoria-the legitimate wife-was the weak link.

Recommended Entry Point: Victoria Thorne (Wife).

Mission Generated: The Good Samaritan.

Objective: Establish contact with Victoria Thorne.

Reward: Access to 'Coincidence Generator' (One-time use).

Duke stared at the screen.

Using a woman.

Manipulating a wife to get to the husband.

It was dirty.

It was something Simon would do.

Duke closed his eyes and saw Linda's face again.

He saw the way she looked at Simon.

He saw the way Simon looked at him-like he was dirt.

Duke opened his eyes.

His eyes were hard.

He tapped Accept.

The Chase branch on 3rd Avenue was busy.

Duke walked in.

He was still wearing his jeans and a hoodie that had a small coffee stain near the hem.

The security guard by the door barely glanced at him, dismissing him as a non-threat, a non-entity.

Duke walked to the teller line.

He waited for ten minutes.

When he finally got to the window, the teller, a woman with tired eyes and chipping nail polish, didn't even look up.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice flat.

"I'd like to speak to a private client banker," Duke said.

The teller looked up then.

She scanned his hoodie. His messy hair. His unshaven face.

She let out a small, condescending sigh.

"Sir, the private bankers require an appointment. And usually, a minimum balance of-"

Duke placed his phone on the counter.

He pushed it toward her.

The screen displayed his account summary.

Checking: $1,000,042.18

The teller froze. She blinked, looking closer, expecting a screenshot or a fake app. But the timestamp was live. The app interface was authentic. She looked back at Duke, her brain struggling to reconcile the number with the man.

Suddenly, the stain on his hoodie didn't look like a mess; it looked like the eccentricity of a tech genius who didn't care about social norms.

"One moment, sir," she stammered. "Right away, sir."

Three minutes later, Duke was sitting in a glass-walled office.

The chair was real leather. Soft. Buttery.

A man in a sharp suit placed a bottle of Evian on the coaster in front of him.

"Mr. Zeller," the manager said, his smile bright and predatory. "We are so delighted you chose this branch. How can we assist you with your... portfolio today?"

Duke took a sip of the water.

It tasted clean. Expensive.

"I just want to upgrade my status," Duke said. "And I want a cashier's check."

"Of course."

Duke watched the man type.

He felt a strange detachment.

Money changed the air pressure in the room.

People leaned in. They listened. They smiled.

It was a superpower.

But Duke knew the truth. He was an imposter. The system had injected him into this world, and he had to play the part perfectly.

Thirty minutes later, Duke walked out of the bank.

He was now a Chase Private Client.

He had a temporary card in his wallet.

He walked two blocks to a quiet cafe.

He sat at a table outside, ignoring the chill in the air.

He opened the App.

He clicked on the Coincidence Generator item he had received for accepting the mission.

Item: Coincidence Generator

Effect: Creates a perfect, statistically improbable opportunity to interact with the target.

Activate?

Duke pressed Yes.

The screen rippled.

Locating Target: Victoria Thorne.

Location: Upper East Side. Transit.

Event Triggered: Mechanical Failure.

ETA: 8 Minutes.

Duke stood up.

The system provided a GPS marker.

It was six blocks away.

Duke walked.

He didn't rush.

He moved with a new kind of purpose.

He reached the designated spot.

It was a side street off Park Avenue.

Quiet. Lined with trees that were stripped bare for winter.

Expensive brownstones loomed on either side.

Duke leaned against a wrought-iron fence.

He checked his watch-a cheap digital Casio.

Time remaining: 00:30.

He waited.

Twenty seconds later, a black Mercedes G-Wagon turned the corner.

It was sleek, massive, a tank for the urban elite.

It was moving slowly.

Then, it sputtered.

The engine made a choking sound.

The massive vehicle lurched, coughed, and died right in front of where Duke was standing.

Steam hissed from the hood.

Duke straightened his jacket.

He watched through the tinted window.

He saw a woman inside.

She hit the steering wheel with her hands.

She put her forehead against the leather rim.

She looked defeated.

It was Victoria.

Duke took a breath.

He checked his reflection in a parked car's window.

He looked rough, but maybe that was good.

He wasn't a threat. He was just a guy on the street.

He walked over to the driver's side window.

He raised his hand.

He knocked on the glass.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Inside, Victoria jumped.

She turned her head.

Her eyes were wide, startled.

Duke saw fear there.

But he also saw something else.

Underneath the expertly applied foundation, around her left eye, there was a faint discoloration.

Yellow and purple.

A bruise that was fading, but not gone.

Duke felt a cold spike of rage in his gut.

Simon.

He forced his face into a mask of polite concern.

He smiled. A gentle, harmless smile.

Victoria hesitated.

Then, slowly, the window rolled down.