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.
