Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 151: : Burnout Protocol

Chapter 151: : Burnout Protocol

The code pulsed slow and deep now, no longer twitching with reactive data bursts. It was stabilizing—accepting parameters, syncing inputs, spooling out requests from regional satellites like a thousand prayers suddenly knocking at a single temple door.

Lucas sat slouched in a chair near the terminal. They were back at the manior but he didn’t get to rest. One eye barely open, the other squeezed shut like it might keep his skull from exploding.

Next to him, Ava hunched over a stack of feedback logs, her bracer casting sharp blue light on her face. The skin under her eyes looked paper-thin. Her fingers had gone from typing to twitching.

Across the room, Bai Senior stood straight as a blade, sleeves rolled up, coat discarded. His hands moved fluidly over the input panels, skimming lines of rewrite code like a man reading old sheet music he’d written years ago.

Lucas groaned. "Okay. That’s enough."

Senior didn’t look up. "You said you wanted to lead."

"I said I wanted to build," Lucas snapped. "You’ve got me doing six layers of backend integration, global sync threading, and answering bracer requests from people who don’t even know how to spell ’legacy protocol.’"

"Welcome to leadership," Senior said dryly.

Ava slumped back in her chair. "Lucas."

He turned slightly, eyes glazed.

"We’re going to die from keyboard poisoning."

"Then we die together," he mumbled.

"Romantic," she deadpanned. "I’ll have it engraved."

Lucas finally stood, bracer trailing a mess of half-compiled code blocks.

He walked over to his father and shoved the open panel forward.

"Tag in, old man."

Senior blinked once. "Excuse me?"

"You’re the watchdog. Watch." Lucas pressed his hand to the core interface, forcing the system to accept a secondary admin loadout.

A cascade of golden code surged across the interface, linking Bai Senior directly into Lucas’s override logic.

[TRANSFER PARTIAL SYSTEM CONTROL: CONFIRMED]

[CODE SYNC: BAI–01 TO BAI–00 COMPLETE]

Senior’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ll regret this."

"I regret everything that’s happened since we left the manor," Lucas said. "Especially the part where I thought I’d enjoy running a global sync revolution."

Ava coughed into her sleeve. "You said it’d be fun."

"I say a lot of stupid things when I haven’t slept."

Senior shook his head, lips twitching faintly. "You two were made for each other."

Ava groaned. "Stop saying that. It’s not canon."

Lucas pulled his coat from the chair back and shrugged it on. "We’re taking a break."

"Now?" Senior asked. "There are six priority threads flagged—"

"You’re me now," Lucas said, already dragging Ava by the wrist. "Have fun."

They left the chamber to the sound of system hums and Bai Senior muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "I raised a tactician, not a child."

The garage lights flickered on automatically as the doors recognized Lucas’s bracer signature.

Ava leaned against the nearest workbench, arms crossed, watching as Lucas walked up to the far side of the bay and pulled back a long tarp—revealing one of the bikes Ava had spent days modding by hand.

Black matte frame.

Low-slung body.

High-efficiency engine coils glowing dim violet.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Lucas grinned. "Anywhere but here."

"Your dad’s going to yell."

"He already did," Lucas said, throwing one leg over the seat and powering the ignition. "So we might as well make it worth it."

Ava exhaled, slowly.

Then pulled on her jacket.

When she slid onto the bike behind him, her arms went around his waist in a motion that felt too practiced to be casual anymore.

Lucas didn’t comment.

He just drove.

The city shimmered like broken glass under low moonlight.

They cut through it in a blur—through half-abandoned zones and active trade corridors. The roads were cracked but clear, built for tank rigs and old evac transports. The occasional drone buzzed overhead, too slow to register them as a threat.

Ava leaned forward, chin against Lucas’s shoulder.

"Why here?"

He downshifted slightly, the motor purring beneath them. "I used to come here when I needed to think. Before the fall."

She watched the buildings blur past—concrete relics wrapped in solar netting and neon taglines no one had turned off.

"Looks the same," she said.

"It always does at night," Lucas replied. "That’s the trick."

They stopped on a raised section of highway, the city lights stretching beneath like veins in a dying animal. Lucas killed the engine. Silence rushed in.

For a long moment, they just sat.

Then Ava shifted, pulling off her helmet. The wind caught in her hair, soft silver catching streetlight glow.

Lucas stayed quiet.

Ava watched him.

"You okay?" she asked, voice low.

He blinked, slow. "I gave my system away."

"You gave it to someone you trust."

Lucas looked down at his hands. "It’s the only time I’ve ever willingly lost control."

Ava nudged his shoulder with hers. "You didn’t lose. You passed the weight."

Lucas huffed. "Same difference."

They sat like that for a while, letting the noise of the city replace their thoughts.

Then, softly:

"You remember," Ava said, "the first time we met?"

"Roughly. You almost stabbed me with a screwdriver."

"I was starving."

"And you had good aim."

Ava smiled faintly.

"I remember thinking you were impossible," she murmured. "Like, brilliant and arrogant and definitely hiding something. And every time I tried to figure you out, you’d change the game."

Lucas turned toward her, golden eyes dimmed by fatigue but still sharp.

"You figured me out anyway."

"No," she said. "I just got used to your shape."

He blinked at that.

Ava shrugged. "You’re like your dad."

Lucas groaned. "Don’t say that."

"You are. Brilliant. Ruthless. Terrible with feelings. But loyal when it counts."

Lucas leaned back on his hands, gaze up at the empty sky.

"I always thought being like him would make me unstoppable," he said. "But now?"

He turned to her.

"I just hope I’m not too much of him."

"You’re not," she said.

Lucas tilted his head.

Ava looked away, cheeks flushed despite the wind.

"Because you brought me with you."

Ava said it lightly—like it was just another fact to file away. But her voice carried a quiet edge, something unspoken and thin and real, like a thread pulled tight across her chest.

Lucas didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her. Just looked.

And something about the way his gaze softened—not lazy, not sharp, just aware—made her pulse catch.

"That’s the standard now?" he said finally. "Bare minimum for decency?"

Ava snorted. "Bare minimum would’ve been a ride without explosive drone pursuit, military double-crosses, or philosophical death puzzles."

"Fair," Lucas allowed. "But then you wouldn’t be impressed."

"I’m not impressed," she lied.

Lucas grinned. "Then why are you smiling?"

"I’m not smiling."

"You’re totally smiling."

She turned away slightly, trying—and failing—to hide it. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"I’m not," he said, shifting closer. "I’m stating empirical truth. There was definitely a smirk. Sub-millimeter. Very Ava."

"I will literally push you off this bridge."

Lucas tilted his head toward the edge. "Statistically? You’d miss."

"Want to test it?"

He stepped closer, until they were side by side again.

"I like it when you threaten me," he said casually.

"I know," Ava muttered.

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their coats, city lights flickering below like the world’s last spark trying not to go out.

Then Lucas spoke again, quieter now.

"You know... I never meant for you to get this far."

Ava turned her head slowly.

"Thanks?"

"I don’t mean it like that," he said. "I just mean—I figured you’d leave. Or push me out. Or find something better than this whole mess."

Ava watched him.

"You’re a terrible salesman."

"I’m an excellent salesman," he said. "But even I can’t make a collapsing empire look like beachfront property."

Lucas leaned forward on the rail, hands folded loosely, the glow of the city bleeding faint gold into his profile.

"But I’d still try," he added, glancing sideways. "If you were watching."

Ava didn’t reply right away.

Her arms were crossed again, half-defensive, half just tired. The wind teased silver strands of hair across her face. She didn’t bother fixing them.

"I’m not really the watching type," she said.

"No?" Lucas tilted his head, amused. "Could’ve fooled me."

She looked at him.

"I memorize," Ava said softly. "Not watch. I don’t just sit and look—I... store it. File it. For later. In case there isn’t a next time."

Lucas blinked, the smirk faltering just enough to show the man beneath the strategist.

"I didn’t know that," he said.

"I don’t say it much."

She shrugged a little, like she wanted to downplay the admission. But her voice stayed steady.

"People always think I’m cold. Efficient. Practical. And I am, most of the time. But it’s not because I don’t care."

Lucas watched her carefully.

"It’s because you care so hard it might kill you."

Ava looked away.

He didn’t push.

Just turned his body slightly to face her better, his tone gentler now, more teasing on the surface—but something else underneath.

"So. If you were filing this moment, what would you call it?"

Ava made a sound between a snort and a sigh. "Terrible lighting. Morally gray company. One working motorbike."

"Not a fan of the mood?"

She paused.

Then gave him the barest, crooked smile.

"It’s perfect," she admitted, almost grudgingly. "Which is the problem."

Lucas raised a brow. "How so?"

"Perfect doesn’t last."

Lucas let the silence stretch just long enough before breaking it.

"You’re right," he said. "It doesn’t."

He reached over and gently hooked his pinky finger with hers—bare contact, skin to skin.

"But sometimes it comes back."

Ava’s chest rose with a quiet breath.

Then, softly: "I’m not used to this."

He tilted his head. "This?"

"Someone who sees me coming and doesn’t flinch."

Lucas smiled. "I don’t flinch, Ava. I pivot."

"Same thing."

"No," he said, voice low now, warm. "Flinching is fear. Pivoting is strategy."

Ava laughed—quiet, surprised, real.

Lucas leaned just a little closer.

"I’m still strategizing you, by the way."

She looked at him, eyes darker now, softer at the edges. "How’s that working out?"

Lucas’s voice dropped to a murmur. "Badly."

She didn’t pull away.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched him like maybe, just maybe, she wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was.

Lucas’s voice turned playful again, but the weight behind it stayed.

"I’ve got a terrible proposal."

Ava raised a brow. "If it involves a grenade, no."

"If we make it through this rewrite business, if the cities don’t collapse, and if you don’t murder me first—"

"Those are a lot of ifs."

"—then I think we should do this again."

"What? Fight AI ghosts and run from military coups?"

"No." Lucas smiled. "Just this."

Ava’s expression softened—like maybe her defenses took a step back.

"Don’t make promises," she said.

"Not a promise," he replied. "It’s a threat."

That earned him a real laugh this time.

She shook her head, barely.

Then, quieter: "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re still here."

"Unfortunately," she muttered.

Lucas watched her for a beat longer.

Then straightened and offered his hand. "Come on, gremlin. Let’s ride home before my father rewrites the constitution."

Ava slid her fingers into his without hesitation.

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