Marcus "Blackie" Jones burst into the dim little café like a wrecking ball of bad fashion and worse timing. He wore a leopard-print button-up shirt (two buttons too low), yellow-tinted sunglasses (inside), and the unmistakable swagger of a man who thought "subtle" was a brand of whiskey.
"Brooooooo!" he shouted across the café, arms wide open, completely ignoring the early-morning silence. "I heard you crawled outta your grave and started haunting upper management!"
Eric Chen winced, quickly pulling his hoodie up. "For God's sake, keep your voice down."
Blackie collapsed into the seat across from him, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over a waitress carrying two cappuccinos.
"Keep it down? Bro, the resurrection of the office doormat deserves a standing ovation. You're like Jesus but with petty revenge and a flash drive!"
Eric couldn't help but smirk. It felt good to laugh, even if just for a second. "I need your help," he said, voice low.
Blackie's grin faded into something more serious, though no less mischievous. "Now we're talking. Who do I need to prank, poison, or publicly humiliate?"
Eric leaned in. "I'm going to take them down, one by one. Lena. Richard. And whoever the hell is screwing my wife."
Blackie whistled. "That's a tall order. You sure you're ready for war, Sun Tzu?"
"I'm not rushing in with a sword," Eric said. "I'm laying traps. Quietly. Precisely."
Blackie nodded, impressed. "Alright then. General Eric, what's step one?"
Setting the Web
Back at the office, Lena Moore was a walking thundercloud in heels. Her morning started with five calls from Richard Grant, all with the same demand: handle it. The "it" being the video Eric recorded. The same video she still couldn't believe existed.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed an email to HR about a new project timeline. She had worked for years to get to this position—climbing over broken backs and glass ceilings—and now it might all unravel because of a damn phone camera.
She glanced across the open-floor office. Eric sat at his desk, typing away like nothing had happened. Calm. Relaxed. Unbothered.
It enraged her.
She stood up and walked toward him. Her heels clicked like a countdown.
"You have some nerve," she hissed, leaning close so no one could hear. "You think you're untouchable?"
Eric didn't look up. "No. But I'm starting to realize you're not that dangerous either."
She froze, caught off-guard by the casual cruelty in his tone.
Eric turned to face her fully, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips. "You look tired, Lena. Bad dreams?"
She flinched and stormed away.
Dark Waters
Later that evening, Eric met Blackie in a dingy internet café tucked between two massage parlors. The walls were covered with faded anime posters and smelled faintly of instant noodles and regret.
Blackie pulled out a folder.
"Alright, so I started digging into Richard Grant," he said. "Turns out our beloved VP of Hypocrisy is hiding a lot more than mistresses and fake receipts."
He spread out a series of printed screenshots, financial statements, and a rather scandalous picture of Richard with a high-ranking city official at a poker table in Macau.
"Bribes?" Eric asked.
"Illegal contracts. Fake tenders. Money laundering through shell companies. All of it linked to a company your wife's firm recently partnered with."
Eric's eyes narrowed. "That bastard."
"And get this," Blackie added. "The man often seen with your wife? He's one of Richard's 'consultants'. Looks clean on paper. But he's a fixer. Professional. Discreet. Dangerous."
Eric nodded slowly, absorbing every word. The lines between his personal betrayal and professional sabotage were blurring—and that gave him an advantage. They weren't two separate enemies. They were all connected.
Lena's Slow Fall
That night, Lena sat alone in her luxury apartment, glass of wine trembling in her hand. She kept replaying the conversation with Eric. The look in his eyes. The cold, surgical control.
For the first time in a long while, she felt small.
Powerless.
She had built her career by controlling others—manipulating, seducing, intimidating. But Eric… Eric was playing a different game now. A longer one.
She had underestimated him. And that terrified her more than anything.
Her phone buzzed. Another message from Richard.
Keep him quiet. Or I will.
She downed the wine in one gulp.
A Hunter Awakens
The next morning, Eric rose before dawn. He wasn't the same man from a week ago. Something had shifted in him—crystallized.
He dressed in silence, packed his old laptop into a black backpack, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"You took everything from me," he whispered. "Now I'll take it all back. Bit by bit. Name by name."
Then he walked out, into a city that thought it had crushed him.