Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 144: : First Strike, Last Peace

Chapter 144: : First Strike, Last Peace

Lucas stood up and pull Ava down past the lower armory vaults into a sealed chamber at the very bottom of the Bai Manor—one Ava didn’t even know existed until he palm-pressed it open.

The door hissed sideways. Inside: pitch-black space, square, windowless, silent.

"Test room," he said. "Soundproofed. Surge-rated. Reinforced alloy composite walls."

Ava arched an eyebrow. "And you just never mentioned it?"

Lucas smirked. "I wasn’t sure you’d survive long enough to need it."

She walked past him without replying.

The door sealed behind them.

The lights flicked on slowly, low blue-white glow rolling across the floor like fog. Thin lines formed a grid beneath their feet. Ava’s system pinged immediately.

[FIELD DETECTED – COMBAT-SAFE TESTING ENVIRONMENT][BRACER LOCK DISENGAGED – LIMITERS OFF]

Lucas shrugged out of his coat, tossed it toward a corner console without looking.

Ava cracked her neck. Her blood still buzzed with the three energy cores she had devoured less than an hour ago. It wasn’t painful anymore. Just awake. Too awake. Like her skin knew war before she did.

"System," she muttered. "Run adaptive loadout test. No suppression. Start with pulse reaction, delay buffer zero."

[ADAPTIVE RESPONSE SEQUENCE – INITIATED]

She moved.

And the room blurred.

She didn’t teleport.

She just... wasn’t in the same spot anymore. She was a meter to the left, already pivoting into a crouch.

Lucas whistled. "Your system’s recalculating movement before you commit. It’s guessing where you want to go."

"It’s not guessing," she said. "It’s assisting. Like predictive muscle memory."

She blinked—and then flared her bracer.

Light arced across her palm. Her custom rail tracers didn’t just flicker into place—they grew out of her bracer plating like a living weapon growing teeth.

"Let me guess," she said, aiming at the far wall. "You want a turn?"

Lucas raised both eyebrows. "You just sprint-blinked like a cybernetic myth, and I’m supposed to follow that?"

"Unless you want to look slow."

Lucas chuckled, stepped into the center of the room, and pulled a coin from his pocket.

He flipped it.

Mid-air, the coin froze. Not physically—systemically. Time in the zone flickered around it.

And then Lucas moved.

He was no Ava—there were no light traces, no cinematic afterimages—but he was exact. Brutal in his minimalism. His entire system mapped movement to avoid waste. No unnecessary gestures. Just action and precision.

When he turned, his eyes weren’t glowing anymore.

They were clear.

"System says my sync tolerance now tracks predictive economic returns based on kinetic exertion."

Ava blinked. "You what now?"

Lucas tapped the side of his bracer. "The system calculates which moves give me the best value. Punch here? 82% profit. Dodge left? 60% loss mitigation."

"That’s..." she squinted. "That’s not a combat style, that’s accounting with bruises."

"Welcome to the most financially responsible assassination ever."

Ava barked a laugh.

Lucas smiled too—but it didn’t reach all the way.

His system was humming louder now. Ava could see the overlays behind his eyes again—floating stock-like data streaming across his peripheral. All tied to outcomes. To war.

"System," Lucas said quietly, "pull nearest strategic projection based on upgraded syncs and current trade restrictions."

He blinked.

A chart appeared in front of him—projected in razor-sharp threads of white light.

Lucas didn’t flinch.

He just nodded once.

"Expected," he muttered. "The Collective won’t wait seventy-two hours. They’ll move in twenty. Sooner if we don’t trigger something big in the open."

Ava lowered her weapon slowly.

"What’s the play?" she asked.

Lucas didn’t answer right away.

He stepped forward, reached out, and touched her wrist—lightly. His hand was warm. Solid.

He didn’t say anything flirty. Not this time.

Just, "You need to sleep."

Ava scowled. "Excuse me?"

"You’ve been building nonstop for three days," he said. "And then you ate three cores and rewrote half your genetic operating profile. Your system will optimize faster if you give it calm."

"Don’t lecture me about calm. You lit yourself on fire less than an hour ago."

Lucas’s eyes narrowed, fond and dangerous all at once.

"I’m aware," he said. "But if the Collective comes knocking tomorrow... this is our last calm night. I want you rested."

She didn’t move.

Then, quietly, she said, "And you?"

Lucas looked back at the hovering data in front of him. His jaw tensed.

"I have six routes to map, four bunkers to intercept, and one major distributor to bankrupt before dawn. If I get lucky, only half the military will hate me."

Ava sighed.

"You’re really gonna work all night."

"I don’t have your system’s luxury of brute strength. I work in numbers. And risk." He paused, then added with a half-smile, "And eventually, if we live through this? We’ll laugh about it."

"You’re already laughing about it," she muttered.

"Habit," he said. "Trauma math."

He turned toward the door.

Paused.

Then looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Oh—and next time?" he said. "You eat the core first. Ladies first."

Ava didn’t answer.

She watched him disappear through the test chamber door, half-buzzing from the afterglow of the fight, half annoyed she was tired. Core upgrades came with energy spikes, but the crash was worse. Her system buzzed faintly beneath her skin—no longer loud, but insistent, like something was unfolding without her consent.

She made it halfway up the stairs before her legs gave out.

By the time she stumbled into her room, her bracer had dimmed, syncing low. The last thing she remembered was sitting down, pulling off her boots, and muttering something halfway between "never again" and "why does the ceiling spin."

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

But her system did.

[SLEEP CYCLE INITIATED]

[CORE EXPANSION ACTIVE – SYSTEM HARMONY: UNSTABLE]

[DREAMSPACE UNLOCKED – VISUAL FEED ENGAGED]

At first, it looked like nothing.

White.

A horizonless space.

Then slowly, things began forming.

Wireframe structures. Blueprints. Code spirals spinning around her, too fast to fully read but just slow enough to feel familiar.

She stood in the middle of it—barefoot, not breathing, but fully aware.

She was in her own mind.

Her system’s internal map.

And it was building her from scratch.

"I hate this," she muttered.

Her voice echoed. Too loud.

Then, without warning—

"Don’t worry," said a voice behind her. "You’re still cute when confused."

Ava whirled around.

Lucas stood there.

Not armored. Not suited up.

Just him—barefoot too, shirt sleeves rolled up, looking far too smug for someone invading her unconscious mind.

"How—" she blinked. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

Lucas shrugged. "Your system sync’d to mine at 3:07 p.m. when you dumped your power overflow into my relay during the test. You left the door open."

"That’s not how mental privacy works."

"Apparently it is now."

She glared. "You’re inside my brain."

He grinned. "You invited me."

"Unintentionally!"

Lucas stepped past a spiraling set of schematic threads, reached out, and touched a blueprint fragment as it rotated by.

"Adaptive rail system," he said. "Version 4.2. You never finished it."

"It overloaded at 80% charge," Ava muttered.

Lucas flicked the corner of the design. It shimmered and corrected itself.

"Not anymore," he said. "Try bonding the coolant into the trigger path instead of the external casing."

Ava stared at him.

"You’re editing my thoughts."

"No," he said. "I’m just optimizing your imagination."

A moment passed.

Then another.

"Okay," she said finally. "That’s actually helpful."

"Glad I could contribute."

He stepped back, folding his arms.

The system map kept shifting around them—now turning into something stranger.

Images began to bleed in. Not code anymore.

Not quite memories.

Not yet.

A battlefield, maybe. A city ruined by ash. A blinking light in the far distance pulsing with a sync rhythm.

And then—

A child.

Her.

Younger. In a workshop. Laughing at something offscreen.

Ava froze.

"That’s not right," she said. "That’s—too clean."

Lucas walked beside her, studying the memory.

"This part isn’t synced to you," he said quietly. "This is being written."

"By what?"

"Your system," he said. "It’s trying to predict your future based on your mental blueprints. The parts of you that you haven’t used yet."

"I don’t want it to guess."

Lucas looked at her.

"You’ve been guessing since Day Zero," he said softly. "You’re just better at it than most."

The memory shattered. The battlefield returned. Now closer.

And darker.

"You see that?" he asked.

Ava nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"That’s a possible future," Lucas said. "Based on your strength. And mine. Based on what happens if the Collective takes over. Or if we stop them."

He pointed to the pulse of light.

It wasn’t a weapon.

It was a signal.

A call for someone to come back.

Ava swallowed. "That’s not a dream, is it?"

"No," Lucas said. "That’s a message. Embedded in your system when you upgraded. Someone encoded a call. A fail-safe. Your system responded because you’re strong enough now to see it."

"Who sent it?"

Lucas didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Then, almost reluctantly:

"My father."

Ava turned to him, stunned. "Your dad?"

Lucas’s expression shifted. "He’s not just a sleeper. He left instructions. And buried code. This might be part of that."

The signal pulsed again—this time stronger. It hit Ava’s chest like a heartbeat she didn’t want to feel.

Her system buzzed.

[TRACEABLE PULSE DETECTED][SOURCE: ENCRYPTED GHOST FREQUENCY][DO YOU WISH TO ACCEPT LOCATION SYNC?]

Lucas looked at her.

"Not now," he said gently. "You’re still inside."

Ava closed her eyes.

"System," she said. "Log it. Encrypt. Don’t sync."

[COMMAND ACCEPTED]

The dreamspace softened.

Lucas turned to leave.

"You’re going?"

"Yeah," he said. "Your mind’s rebuilding faster now. I don’t want to be here when it locks down."

"You can just walk in and out whenever you want?"

Lucas paused.

Then smiled faintly. "Only when you leave the door open."

She rolled her eyes. "Next time I put a password."

"I already know it."

"You do not."

"Blueprints," he said, fading. "They’re always personal."

Ava woke up in her room, breath tight, hair damp with sweat.

Her bracer blinked softly.

[SLEEP CYCLE COMPLETE][SYSTEM STABILITY: 94%][SYNC DRIFT: MINOR – CORRECTED]

And in the corner of her display—

A pulsing dot.

Unlabeled.

Waiting.

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