Chapter 3: The First Echoes
The thousand dollars hit his bank account two days later, a silent, digital earthquake in the stagnant pond of his finances. Seeing that fourth digit felt more illicit than any hack. It was proof. The CODEX system wasn't just a phantom in his mind; it could reach out and reshape the tangible world.
He now had 160 Code Points burning a hole in his digital pocket. The [C++ PROFICIENCY (EXPERT)] glowed at him, a siren's call. It was the foundational language, the bedrock upon which everything else would be built. But 100 CP was a huge investment. It's not an expense, it's the down payment on the empire, he told himself, and with a mental command, he purchased it.
The influx of knowledge wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming. It wasn't just syntax; it was a deep, intuitive understanding of memory management, object-oriented principles, and optimization tricks that wouldn't become mainstream for years. He felt the ghost of his old skills merge with this new, system-granted mastery, creating a terrifying synergy. He was an expert now. He could feel it in his bones.
He spent the next 48 hours in a fugue state, the ThinkPad his sole companion. He used 50 of his remaining points on [FINANCIAL ACUMEN (NOVICE)], which gave him just enough knowledge to understand the basics of corporate structure and seed funding. It was dry, boring, but essential. He couldn't just be a hacker; he had to be a founder.
His project was the 'SENTINEL' protocol. The blueprint in his mind was a thing of brutal, mathematical beauty. It wasn't just encryption; it was a new way of thinking about secure communication, using a dynamically shifting key based on a proprietary algorithm. In 2014, it was uncrackable.
He wasn't building a product to sell. Not yet. He was building a demonstration. A "proof-of-concept." He coded a lightweight messaging client, a simple black window with a blinking cursor, and integrated the SENTINEL protocol as its backbone. It could send a single, secure, self-destructing message. That was its only function. He named the client "Echo."
His plan was simple, arrogant, and brilliant. He would use the final 10 CP to buy a single-use [ENCRYPTED DATA BURST], a system utility that would send his "Echo" client as an untraceable, encrypted email attachment to one person.
He knew exactly who that person would be.
But the universe, it seemed, had a way of testing his resolve before he could execute his grand designs. The test came in the form of his father's voice, heavier and more defeated than he'd ever heard it.
"It's the transmission," Jiang said, his shoulders slumped at the kitchen table. The cab keys lay between them like an accusation. "The mechanic says it's two thousand to fix. Maybe more." He ran a hand over his face. "The cab is ten years old. It's not worth it."
The air in the kitchen grew thick. Mei-Ling stopped washing dishes, her hands still in the water. Lily looked between her parents, the usual teenage bravado gone from her eyes.
"So that's it?" Mei-Ling asked, her voice quiet. "No cab? How do we... how do we live?"
"We'll manage," Jiang said, but the words were empty. "I'll find something else."
Alex—Lex—watched the scene unfold, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. A thousand dollars was a windfall to him, a seed for his future. To his family, it was a stopgap. Two thousand was a chasm. He saw the life he was building and the life he was living colliding with brutal force.
He had the skills to drain a corporate bank account. He could probably use the Ghost Protocol again to find a bigger score in another game. But that was a path to a different kind of life, one of constant looking over his shoulder. He was building Aegis, not a criminal enterprise.
There has to be another way, he thought, the CODEX system humming in the back of his mind. Use the tools. Don't let them use you.
An idea, cold and sharp, began to form. It was a risk. It would expose a sliver of his capability. But it was a calculated one.
"The cab company," Alex said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "United Metro, right?"
Jiang looked up, frowning. "Yes. Why?"
"Their entire dispatch and billing system runs on a piece of software called 'MetroLogix'," Alex said, the name and its vulnerabilities surfacing in his mind from a news article he'd read in his past life. "It's full of holes. There's a whole online forum where drivers complain about its glitches. Sometimes, it double-charges credit cards. Sometimes, it loses fare data entirely."
His family stared at him. This was not the Alex they knew.
"What are you saying, Alex?" Mei-Ling asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I'm saying their system is so bad, it probably lost the record of your last major maintenance payment," Alex said, weaving the lie with a calm he didn't feel. He was using his new [FINANCIAL ACUMEN] not for Wall Street, but for this kitchen-table con. "If you call them, escalate it, and insist you already paid for a transmission service package last year, they might just believe you. Their records are a mess. It's worth a try."
It was a gamble. He was counting on the incompetence of a low-level bureaucrat and the sheer, plausible deniability of a faulty system.
Jiang's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—not quite hope, but a desperate willingness to clutch at any straw—appearing in their depths. "How do you know this?"
"I read stuff," Alex said with a shrug, the universal defense of the teenager. "Online forums. Drivers talk."
It was flimsy, but it was all he had.
For two days, the tension in the apartment was a physical presence. Jiang made the call, his voice initially hesitant, then growing more forceful as he channeled weeks of frustration. He played the part of the wronged, loyal driver perfectly. Alex, listening from the hallway, felt a pang of admiration for his father's grit.
On the third day, Jiang came home, and the change in him was instantaneous. The weight was gone from his shoulders. He almost smiled.
"They... they approved it," he said, disbelief coloring his tone. "They said their records were 'inconsistent.' They're covering seventy percent of the cost as a 'goodwill gesture.'"
Mei-Ling let out a sob of relief and hugged him. Lily whooped.
Jiang's eyes found Alex's across the room. The look wasn't one of suspicion, but of a deep, profound confusion. "How did you know?"
Alex just gave a small, tight smile. "Lucky guess."
He retreated to his room, his heart thumping. It had worked. He hadn't hacked a single thing. He had hacked people, their expectations, and a broken system. It was Social Engineering 101, applied with a surgeon's precision. The victory felt clean, different from the shady gold transaction. This had a purpose.
It was time for his own move.
Sitting before the ThinkPad, he finalized the "Echo" client. It was elegantly simple. When run, it would open a command line, connect to a secure, temporary server he'd configured using a complex series of relays—<—A relay network: A chain of servers that bounce data around to hide its origin, he mentally noted—and allow for one encrypted message to be sent before the client deleted itself.
He purchased the [ENCRYPTED DATA BURST] for his last 10 CP.
[TARGET: JULIAN REED, CEO, OMNI-SECURE SOLUTIONS.]
[MESSAGE: "YOUR FLAGSHIP ENCRYPTION IS A JOKE. THIS ISN'T. -C"]
He attached the "Echo" client and initiated the send.
A golden notification appeared, more significant than any before.
[FOUNDATION MISSION COMPLETE: INDUSTRY ENTRY.]
[OBJECTIVE: ATTRACT THE NOTICE OF A MAJOR INDUSTRY PLAYER.]
[REWARD: 200 CODE POINTS. BLUEPRINT: 'NEXUS' CORE (v0.5).]
The points flooded in, but his attention was seized by the new blueprint. The 'NEXUS' Core. It wasn't an application; it was a foundation. The architectural plans for a decentralized data storage and processing network. It was the heart of the cloud computing revolution, five years ahead of schedule. This was no longer a tool; it was the blueprint for an entire ecosystem.
He leaned back, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes. He had fixed his father's problem with a lie. He had announced his presence to a future rival with a taunt. He had taken his second step, and the ground was feeling more solid beneath his feet.
The name "CODEX" was no longer just a promise. It was a signature. And he had just signed his first work.