When the World Starts Burning (Part I)
1368 Words
Darkness swallowed the server room.
Gunshots shattered the air—sharp, deafening, violent.
Kael dropped to the floor just as bullets tore through the glass panels behind him. Sparks burst from metal racks. The smell of burning circuitry filled the room.
Someone shouted.
“Secure the terminal!”
Another voice—closer.
“He pressed it!”
A boot slammed against Kael’s ribs, but he rolled, grabbing the fallen emergency flashlight clipped to the wall. The beam flickered weakly across shadows.
The upload screen was still glowing faintly from backup power.
7%.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him upward.
Pain exploded across his jaw as a fist connected.
The world tilted.
Through blurred vision, Kael saw one of the operatives reach for the server terminal.
“No!” Kael lunged forward blindly.
Another shot rang out—but this time, not at him.
The operative at the terminal collapsed.
Silence followed.
Then another gunshot.
Another body hit the floor.
Kael froze.
This wasn’t Damian’s team anymore.
This was someone else.
The emergency lights flickered back on in red pulses.
Three of the armed men were down.
The fourth staggered backward before a final shot dropped him.
Smoke hung in the air.
And from the entrance—
A woman stepped forward.
Black tactical jacket. Steady hands. Expression unreadable.
“You always did have dramatic timing,” she said.
Kael blinked.
“Alina?”
Alina Vance lowered her weapon slowly.
“You look terrible.”
Alina moved quickly, scanning the room.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Kael managed, pushing himself up.
“And let you start a global financial apocalypse alone?” she replied dryly.
She stepped toward the terminal.
The upload bar blinked.
23%.
She looked at him sharply.
“You actually did it.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not this time.”
Alina assessed the damage. Two of the server racks were destroyed. Backup power was unstable.
“They’ll send more,” she said. “We have minutes.”
Kael staggered toward the terminal.
“Help me stabilize the connection.”
Alina hesitated.
“Once this reaches fifty percent, there’s no reversing the cascade,” she warned. “Mirror servers will auto-distribute.”
“That’s the point.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You’re not just exposing corruption. You’re detonating institutions.”
“Institutions built on human trials.”
That silenced her.
She turned back to the control panel and rerouted emergency power.
The screen steadied.
31%.
Kael’s breathing slowed, but not from relief.
From inevitability.
Across the city, in the highest office of the Aegis Tower, Damian Volkov watched multiple screens.
He had expected resistance.
He had not expected interference.
“Where did she come from?” he asked calmly.
An assistant swallowed. “Alina Vance was flagged inactive three years ago.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“Inactive does not mean irrelevant.”
He stood.
“Pull legal. Pull media. Pull every contact we have in regulatory boards.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If the upload reaches forty percent, initiate containment protocol.”
The assistant hesitated.
“Sir… containment protocol includes—”
“I am aware of what it includes.”
His voice did not rise.
But something colder entered it.
“If Kael Ren wants war,” Damian said quietly, “then he will understand the cost.”
Back in the server room—
39%.
Alina’s fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard.
“I’ve redirected through two independent journalistic networks,” she said. “If this completes, it won’t just hit regulators. It’ll hit media.”
“Good.”
“Don’t say that like you’re proud.”
Kael looked at her.
“I’m not proud.”
40%.
Suddenly every screen in the room flashed.
UPLOAD INTERRUPTED.
“What?” Kael breathed.
Alina’s eyes widened.
“They triggered remote containment.”
The system began locking down.
Encrypted firewalls closed like steel doors.
“They’re cutting distribution nodes,” she said. “If they isolate it now, the data won’t propagate.”
Kael’s heart pounded.
“Override it!”
“I’m trying!”
A timer appeared on screen:
SYSTEM PURGE IN 60 SECONDS.
Kael stared.
“They’re going to wipe it.”
“Not just wipe,” Alina corrected. “They’ll trace.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
If the trace completed—
Everyone involved would be exposed.
“Can you stop it?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
50 seconds.
Her fingers flew.
Sweat slid down her temple.
“Alina.”
“Shut up.”
45 seconds.
She rerouted through an external satellite channel.
30 seconds.
Firewall layer breached.
20 seconds.
She slammed one final command.
The screen flickered violently.
UPLOAD RESUMED.
42%.
The purge timer froze—
Then disappeared.
Kael exhaled.
Alina leaned back.
“That was reckless.”
“Effective?”
She didn’t smile.
“Temporarily.”
At 2:17 a.m., the first encrypted package reached an investigative journalist in London.
At 2:19 a.m., a second package hit a watchdog organization in Geneva.
At 2:22 a.m., a third was uploaded to a secure global archive node beyond corporate jurisdiction.
And then—
News alerts began to spread.
Unverified reports of financial irregularities.
Anonymous whistleblower claims.
The name Aegis Consortium appeared in private intelligence forums.
Damian’s phone began vibrating nonstop.
He ignored most of the calls.
Until one name appeared.
Minister Laurent.
Damian answered.
“You assured me everything was contained,” the minister snapped.
“It was.”
“It is not.”
Damian walked to the window overlooking the city.
“Give me six hours,” he said calmly.
“You have three.”
The line went dead.
For the first time that night, Damian’s reflection in the glass looked less invincible.
Back in the server room—
56%.
Almost there.
Alina looked at Kael.
“There’s something you should know.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
He turned to her.
“Three years ago,” she said quietly, “when Project Helios was first buried… it wasn’t just Damian.”
Kael’s stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated.
“Your father signed the preliminary authorization.”
The words struck harder than any bullet.
“No,” Kael whispered.
“He didn’t know the full scope,” she added quickly. “But his signature opened the door.”
Kael’s breathing became uneven.
“That’s not possible.”
“I’ve seen the document.”
Rage. Confusion. Denial.
All at once.
“My father died trying to expose corruption.”
“He died after retracting that authorization,” Alina said softly. “But the damage was already done.”
Kael stepped back.
The world he thought he understood fractured again.
Damian wasn’t the only architect.
Blood was already tied to this long before he pressed ENTER.
“Why tell me now?” he demanded.
“Because once this reaches one hundred percent,” Alina said, “there’s no controlling what parts of the truth surface.”
64%.
The upload bar moved steadily now.
And with it, the destruction of everything Kael thought he knew.
75%.
Security alarms began echoing through the building.
“They’re coming back,” Alina warned.
Footsteps thundered above.
Kael looked at the screen.
83%.
He thought about his father.
About the signature.
About whether justice meant destroying his own family name.
90%.
Alina grabbed his arm.
“Last chance to stop it.”
He looked at her.
“If I stop it, they win.”
“And if you don’t, you lose more than them.”
95%.
The door burst open.
Armed men flooded in.
Kael didn’t move.
98%.
A laser sight settled on his chest.
99%.
Damian Volkov himself stepped into the doorway.
Calm. Controlled. Immaculate.
“Enough,” Damian said.
100%.
UPLOAD COMPLETE.
For one heartbeat—
No one moved.
Then every phone in the room began vibrating simultaneously.
Global notifications.
Media alerts.
Market disruption warnings.
The world had seen it.
Damian’s gaze locked onto Kael.
“You’ve just declared war on powers you don’t understand.”
Kael’s voice was steady.
“Good.”
Outside, sirens wailed across the city.
Inside, something far more dangerous had begun.
- Writer
