Duke got back to Queens just as the sun was setting.

The sky was a bruised purple.

He checked the rusted mailbox in the lobby.

There was a package inside.

A sleek, black box. Heavy.

No return address.

Duke stared at it. He hadn't updated his address in the App. He hadn't told anyone he was staying with Gus.

A shiver ran down his spine. The System knew where he was. It knew exactly where he slept.

He looked up at the corner of the lobby ceiling. Was there a camera there? Was the System watching him just like Simon watched Victoria?

He swallowed the fear. He was already in too deep.

Duke took it upstairs.

Gus wasn't home.

Duke sat on the couch and opened the box.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a card.

It wasn't plastic.

It was metal. Brushed titanium, completely blank except for a chip and a magnetic strip.

No bank logo. No numbers.

Just his name laser-etched on the back in tiny font.

Duke Zeller.

It wasn't a Centurion card. It wasn't a Palladium card. It was something else entirely. A key to the offshore account the App had created.

The App pinged.

New Task: High Roller.

Objective: Spend $50,000 in 24 hours.

_Reward: 100% Reimbursement (One-time use)._

Duke stared at the screen.

Spend fifty grand. And get it all back.

A week ago, spending fifty dollars was a crisis.

Now, it was a chore.

He stood up.

He looked at his reflection in the hallway mirror.

He still looked like a loser.

The hoodie. The jeans. The scruffy beard. The haircut that Gus had given him three months ago with kitchen scissors.

He didn't look like the owner of this titanium card.

He looked like he stole it.

"Time for an upgrade," Duke said.

He opened the Uber app.

His thumb hovered over UberX.

Habit.

He moved it down.

Uber Black.

He requested a ride.

Driver: Mohammed. Vehicle: Cadillac Escalade.

Five minutes later, the massive black SUV pulled up to the curb in front of the rundown apartment building.

It looked like a spaceship that had landed in a junkyard.

Gus was walking up the sidewalk, carrying a six-pack of cheap beer.

He stopped, staring at the car.

Duke walked out of the building.

"Duke?" Gus asked, pointing at the SUV. "Is that... for you?"

"Yeah," Duke said.

"Where are you going? A funeral? Or a mafia meeting?"

Duke laughed. "Just going shopping, G."

The driver, a man in a suit, got out and opened the rear door for Duke.

Gus's jaw dropped.

"Dude, seriously, did you rob a bank with that crypto money?"

"I'll explain later," Duke said. "Don't wait up."

He slid into the back seat.

The leather smelled rich.

The door closed with a solid thud, shutting out the noise of the street.

"Where to, sir?" Mohammed asked.

"SoHo," Duke said. "Drop me at L'Artiste."

The car glided away.

Duke watched Gus shrinking in the rearview mirror, standing there with his mouth open.

A pang of sadness hit him.

He was leaving that life behind.

The ride into Manhattan was smooth.

Duke watched the city change through the tinted window.

From the graffiti and trash of Queens to the glittering glass towers of Midtown, and finally to the cobblestone chic of SoHo.

The car pulled up in front of L'Artiste.

It was a salon that looked more like an art gallery.

No prices in the window. Just a minimalist logo.

A bouncer stood at the door.

He was big, wearing a tight black t-shirt.

Duke got out of the car.

The bouncer looked him up and down.

He saw the hoodie. The sneakers.

He crossed his arms.

"Deliveries are in the back, pal," the bouncer grunted.

Duke didn't stop walking.

He walked right up to the man.

"I'm not a delivery," Duke said.

"We're private. Members only," the bouncer said, stepping in his way.

Duke reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the titanium card.

He held it up.

The streetlight caught the metal edge.

The bouncer frowned. He didn't recognize the card. But he recognized the weight of it. Cheap cards didn't reflect light like that.

Duke held his gaze. "Run it. If it declines, I'll walk."

The bouncer hesitated. Training told him to kick this bum out. Instinct told him this bum was dangerous.

"Right this way," he mumbled, stepping aside.

Duke tucked the card back into his pocket.

He walked through the door.

He didn't look back.

The salon smelled of eucalyptus and money.

The receptionist was a woman who looked like a model.

She was typing on a Mac.

She looked up as Duke approached.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second when she saw his clothes, but then she saw the way he walked.

Shoulders back. Head up.

"I need Andy," Duke said.

He didn't ask. He stated.

"Andy is our lead stylist," she said politely. "He's usually booked weeks in adv-"

Duke placed the titanium card on the marble counter.

Clink.

The sound was heavy. Definitive.

The receptionist looked at the card. It was alien to her, but clearly exclusive.

She swallowed.

"Let me check his schedule," she said quickly.

Two minutes later, a man walked out from the back.

He was Asian, dressed in clothes that were so fashionable they looked uncomfortable.

He had platinum blonde hair and glasses with no rims.

He looked at Duke.

He tilted his head.

"You're a disaster," Andy said.

Duke smiled. "That's why I'm here."

Andy walked around him.

"Good bone structure," he muttered. "Jawline is there, hiding under that roadkill beard. Eyes are intense. We can work with this."

He pointed to a chair.

"Sit. Don't talk. Let me work."

Duke sat.

Andy spun the chair around.

He draped a black cape over Duke.

"We're going to burn the old you," Andy said, picking up a pair of scissors. "And build something dangerous."

The scissors snipped.

Huge chunks of hair fell to the floor.

Duke watched in the mirror.

His face began to emerge.

The messy fringe was gone.

The sides were faded tight.

Andy applied hot foam to his face.

He used a straight razor.

The blade felt cold against Duke's skin.

He scraped away the scruff, leaving a sharp, deliberate stubble.

Duke's phone vibrated in his lap under the cape.

Transaction: Uber Black - $125.00

Status: Pending Reimbursement.

Duke stared at the notification.

He had spent money.

And he would get it back.

It felt like cheating. Like using a cheat code in a video game that broke the economy.

He felt a rush of dopamine so strong it made his toes curl.

"Manicure," Duke said. "And a facial."

Andy snapped his fingers.

Two assistants appeared.

For the next two hours, Duke was scrubbed, massaged, and polished.

When Andy finally spun the chair back to the mirror, Duke didn't recognize the man staring back.

The man in the mirror was sharp.

His hair was slicked back, textured, modern.

His skin glowed.

His eyes looked brighter, framed by groomed brows.

He looked like a CEO. Or a movie star.

"Damn," Andy said, wiping his hands on a towel. "If I wasn't married, I'd ask for your number."

Duke touched his face.

It was smooth.

He stood up.

He looked taller.

He felt lighter.

He walked to the counter.

"Total?"

"$1,200," the receptionist said.

Duke handed her the card.

Transaction: L'Artiste - $1,200.00

Status: Pending Reimbursement.

He walked out of the salon.

The cool night air hit his fresh skin.

He took a deep breath.

He felt electric.

Duke stood on the cobblestones of Mercer Street.

He caught his reflection in a shop window.

The head was right. The body was wrong.

The hoodie looked ridiculous now. Like a tuxedo jacket on a hobo.

He checked the App.

Progress: $1,325 / $50,000.

He had work to do.

He turned and walked into the Tom Ford boutique.

The store was quiet.

A sales associate, a young man with a tape measure around his neck, looked up.

He saw Duke's face. The haircut. The grooming.

He didn't see the hoodie anymore. He saw the potential.

"Good evening, sir," he said.

"I need everything," Duke said. "Suits. Shirts. Casual. Shoes. Start from scratch."

"Right this way."

Duke spent the next hour in a fitting room that was larger than his old bathroom.

He put on a navy blue O'Connor suit.

The fabric was like water.

It hugged his shoulders. It tapered at his waist.

He looked at himself.

He looked powerful.

He bought three suits. Five shirts. Two pairs of loafers. A leather jacket. Cashmere sweaters.

He didn't look at the price tags.

He just pointed.

"This. This. That."

The pile of clothes grew.

At the register, the total came to $28,500.

Duke handed over the card.

Transaction Approved.

"Would you like to wear the suit out, sir?" the associate asked.

"Yes," Duke said. "Burn the hoodie."

He walked out of the store wearing the navy suit, a crisp white shirt, open at the collar.

He felt like armor-plated steel.

He walked down the street.

Women looked at him.

Not just glanced. They looked.

Their eyes lingered.

Duke stopped in front of a watch store.

Watches of Switzerland.

He went in.

He pointed to a Rolex Daytona. Ceramic bezel. White face. The "Panda."

"I'll take it," Duke said.

The clerk gave him a polite, pitying smile. "Sir, the Daytona is an allocation piece. The waitlist is five years long. We don't just sell them to walk-ins."

Duke pulled out his phone. He opened the Midas Protocol.

_Inventory Item: Data Injection (One-time use)._

_Target: Local Inventory System._

Duke tapped Execute.

"Check again," Duke said, his voice level.

The clerk frowned, annoyed. He tapped on his iPad. Then his eyes went wide.

"I... my apologies, sir. It says here you're on the priority list. And... yes, we have one in the vault reserved for you."

The clerk looked confused, terrified even, but the screen didn't lie.

"$22,000," the clerk stammered.

Duke swiped.

Transaction Approved.

Mission Complete: High Roller.

_Reward: 100% Reimbursement ($51,700 credited to account)._

_Bonus Reward: Future Securities Module (Locked - Level 1 Access Required)._

He strapped the watch on his wrist.

The weight was comforting.

He walked back out onto the street.

The night was alive.

He pulled out his phone.

He snapped a quick photo of his reflection in a darkened window.

Suit. Watch. Hair.

He opened his messages.

He selected Victoria.

He sent the photo.

Text: Thanks for the recommendation. I feel human again.

It was a lie. She hadn't recommended anyone. But it was a safe lie.

Thirty seconds later, three dots appeared.

Victoria: You look... different. Stronger. Thank you again, Duke. I'm doing what you said. I'm pretending.

She wasn't flirting. She was clinging to him like a lifeline.

Duke smirked.

He put the phone in his pocket.

As he turned the corner, a flash went off.

He looked across the street.

A woman was standing there, holding her phone up.

It was Tiffany. Linda's best friend.

Her mouth was hanging open.

She stared at Duke.

She looked at the suit. The bags. The watch.

She looked terrified.

She typed furiously on her phone.

Duke didn't panic. He tapped his phone.

_Active Countermeasure: Digital Jammer._

Across the street, Tiffany shrieked. She shook her phone. The screen had gone black, the photo corrupted before she could hit send.

Duke winked at her.

Then he got into his waiting Escalade and closed the door.

The war had begun.