The transition was immediate and seamless. The grey void of the "Echo Chamber" vanished, replaced by a new reality, one teeming with artificial life. Kairn found himself on an elegant rooftop garden atop a skyscraper, the city's cool wind caressing a luxurious black suit that had materialized around him out of nothing. Beneath his feet, the city stretched out like a terrestrial galaxy, rivers of red and white lights flowing through arteries of asphalt and concrete.
[Entered Target World: Delta-7b (Modern World).]
[Loading Basic Knowledge Pack...]
Data flowed into his mind like a calm current, not as memories, but as organized and indexed files. Languages, social etiquette, economic principles—all absorbed.
---
The penthouse apartment the System had prepared for him was sterile and cold. Its glass walls revealed a nighttime panorama of "Elite City,"*a metropolis throbbing with lights and ambition. There was no trace of the blood or despair he'd left behind in the previous world, just a false tranquility and an empty space. For Kairn, this was merely another waiting room, a transit point between missions.
He sat before a holographic screen, data streams flowing before his eyes at a speed an ordinary human couldn't follow. He was analyzing, dissecting, and building a complete picture of his new operational theater. He had watched the actors perform at the charity gala; now it was time to read the script they thought they were following.
"Isabella, Incarnation #904,"Kairn murmured, and all relevant information about her appeared on the screen. "An heiress of a family on the verge of bankruptcy, she suddenly transformed into a social butterfly with charisma and confidence disproportionate to her history. Suspiciously successful investments, accurate market predictions... all based on foreknowledge of simple economic events."
Then Damian's image appeared. "The secondary target. A brilliant CEO, but emotionally isolated, making him easy prey for well-planned emotional manipulation."
Finally, Clara'simage. "The core variable. A brilliant researcher, but lacking self-confidence and resources. The cornerstone of Isabella's plan. Instead of being the heroine, she's been turned into a mere 'resource' Isabella is waiting for the right moment to steal."
Kairn turned off the screen, leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced before his face. His gaze was cold and deep.
"The entire plan hinges on Clara failing on her own, and eventually turning to Damian's company out of desperation, offering her research on a silver platter. Isabella does nothing but sit and wait for the fruit to ripen so she can pluck it."
A sarcastic smile played on his lips. "This superficial manipulation... it doesn't compare to the psychological and economic wars I used to wage to dismantle conglomerates spanning star systems. They are amateurs."
He had found the weakness. It wasn't Isabella, nor was it Damian. It was the story itself. The story that assumed only one course of events.
"So," Kairn thought. "I won't change the actors. I'll just set the stage on fire."
Coldly and efficiently, he began to execute his plan. Using a small fraction of the financial assets provided by the System, he established a network of anonymous digital identities, and used them to access university networks and research centers. It wasn't hacking, but simply a clever exploitation of open access available to academics.
In minutes, he found what he was looking for: a draft grant application Clara had been working on. It was incomplete, full of hesitant notes, but the essence of the revolutionary idea was there, clear as day.
"True genius, stifled by self-doubt," Kairn thought dispassionately. He felt no pity for her; he saw her as merely an effective "tool."
He downloaded the research, reformatted it, and removed all personal notes, leaving only the pure scientific data and hypotheses. Then he composed a short, carefully designed email.
He didn't send it to any of Damian's rival companies; that might raise suspicions and lead to acquisition wars that could complicate his mission. Instead, he sent it to a purely academic figure, a man of impeccable reputation and absolute scientific integrity, but also known for his fierce jealousy of the commercial success of companies like "Damian Corp" that "stole" university talent. **Professor Alistair Finch.
He pressed "send" and closed everything. He had dropped the pebble. Now, he would watch the ripples.
He glanced at his system interface for a moment, seeing that enormous number representing his debt.
[Personal Debt: -9,876,546,300 Chrono Units.]
For a split second, a memory flashed through his mind faster than lightning. It wasn't a clear image, but a pure sensation. The smell of burning ozone, the sound of city-sized glass shattering, and a woman's face screaming his name... not "Kairn," but his old name, amidst red lights turning everything into hell. An overwhelming sense of failure, of absolute loss, a feeling that no matter how powerful he became, it was too late to save what truly mattered.
He closed his eyes tightly, pushing the memory into the dark depths of his consciousness. When he opened them again, they were cold and empty as they always were. "Debts... are paid," he whispered to himself, as if convincing himself that these missions had a meaning beyond mere servitude.
---
Two days later, in his sprawling office, Professor Alistair Finch was about to delete an anonymous email that had landed in his crowded inbox, considering it just another piece of spam. But the subject line caught his attention: "Hypothesis on Neural Pathway Reconstruction using Engineered Proteins." With academic curiosity, he opened the attached file.
At first, he read indifferently. Then, his eyes widened. Then, he leaned towards the screen, completely forgetting his cooled coffee cup beside him. After an hour of reading and analysis, he leaned back in his chair and let out a whistle of admiration he hadn't made in years.
"My God..." he muttered. "This isn't just research. This is... a revolution. Who is this 'Clara'?!"
---
At the same time, in her small, modest apartment, Clara was on the verge of succumbing to despair. Her research had hit a dead end due to lack of funding and equipment. The thought of offering it to a large company like Damian Corp terrified her.
Suddenly, her phone rang. It was an unknown number from a prestigious university. She hesitated, then answered in a faint voice.
"Miss Clara? This is Professor Alistair Finch's office. The Professor would like to speak with you urgently regarding your research. He described it as... the most exciting work he's read this decade."
Clara's notebook slipped from her hand.
---
In a luxurious restaurant, Isabella smiled confidently as she raised her glass to Damian. Everything was going according to plan. In a few days, she would "cleverly" guide him towards discovering the brilliant and obscure researcher, "Clara."
Her phone vibrated with a news alert from one of the major financial magazines she followed. She opened it indifferently, then her smile froze.
Headline: "Damian Corp Rival? Professor Finch Adopts Revolutionary Medical Project by Young Researcher."
She read the article quickly, her hands trembling slightly. Clara... Finch... full funding and a private lab. Her scenario, the scenario she had built everything upon, was burning before her eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Damian asked, noticing her sudden paleness.
In his apartment, Kairn watched a copy of the same news on his screen. A message from the System appeared before him:
[Temporal Anomaly Decreasing... Signs of Self-Correction Appearing. Efficiency Rating: High.]
Kairn felt that subtle sensation again, that silent distortion that didn't belong to his system, as if someone else was also observing this change. He ignored it, focusing on Isabella's bewildered image on the screen.
A cold, satisfied smile played on his lips. "You dropped the first domino, and I just pushed it in a slightly different direction."
"Now," he thought, as he closed the screen. "Let's watch how the predator reacts when it discovers its trap is empty, and the real prey has escaped."