Chapter 3 Red Rose Ransomware

Times Square drowned in a digital hurricane. Neon advertisements for perfume and politicians flickered as Liam Burke adjusted the blood-red rose on his lapel—a bullseye for drones and delusions. The TKTS booth's shattered glass mirrored his fractured past, each shard reflecting his mother's final whisper: "Roses lie, but thorns remember."

At precisely midnight, the ransomware struck.

Every screen from the Nasdaq monstrosity to tourist iPhones dissolved into a pulsating crimson rose. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake blared from speakers, the ballet's dying swan aria syncing with the chaos of panicked crowds. High above the madness, a figure materialized on the Marriott Marquis balcony, her silhouette glitching like corrupted code.

"Champagne?" Vesper Black's voice crackled through megawatt speakers. She raised a flute made of swirling binary digits. "Don't worry—I stole it from Evelyn's wedding registry."

Liam's Celestial Sect tattoo burned hotter than the Rose Bowl's halftime fireworks. He gripped Evelyn's diamond engagement ring—the one that had started counting down in nuclear launch codes during breakfast.

Hacker's Gambit:

00:01 AM: Vesper hijacked traffic lights, turning Seventh Avenue into a real-life Frogger game with screaming cabbies.00:07 AM: Liam used Evelyn's ring to laser-mark police drones, tricking them into shooting Vesper's holograms.00:15 AM: Sophia crashed a commandeered NYPD cruiser through a Foot Locker window, severing Vesper's satellite uplink with a rogue WiFi hotspot named DivorceLawyer4U.

"Nine fiancées?" Vesper materialized atop the Nasdaq screen, neon dreadlocks sparking. "Your prenup must be a fucking blockchain." Her augmented reality cloak flickered to reveal a wedding dress woven from live malware.

Liam hurled a switchblade through her holographic heart. "Says the woman who married an AI in Nevada."

The blade embedded in a Burger King menu board, its vibration triggering Vesper's dead man switch. Billboards erupted with security footage Liam wished stayed buried—a six-year-old version of himself screaming as flames consumed his mother's ballet studio. Except the fire originated inside his childhood toy chest.

"Surprise!" Vesper sang as autopsy files scrolled across Walgreens' pharmacy screens. Subject L-01: 87% DNA match to Quinn Logistics clones. Discrepancy: accelerated aging markers.

Sophia's scream harmonized with ambulance sirens. "You're a...a copy?"

Liam's EMP watch chose that moment to explode.

Grand Central Terminal – 00:47 AM

The whispering gallery's arches swallowed their footsteps as Liam cornered Vesper by the Oyster Bar. Her VR headset lay shattered among oyster shells, revealing eyes the color of corrupted RAM.

"Your mom's killer wears your face." She coughed pink bubblegum-scented blood onto his Oxfords. "Literally."

The microchip she spat out projected a hologram—security footage from the night of the bombing. A man with Liam's scars and Celestial Sect tattoo planted the car bomb outside Lincoln Center. The timestamp read October 12, 2003. The killer's Quinn Logistics badge glinted: Employee #7421.

Sophia traced the hologram's edges. "Time travel?"

"Worse." Vesper laughed, her breath fogging into ASCII art. "You're the Xerox of a Xerox, sweetheart."

The revelation detonated as five black SUVs surrounded Grand Central. Men in Warren Corp security uniforms emerged—each bearing Liam's face, his scars, his rage.

"Special delivery from Project Phoenix." Vesper collapsed against a Tiffany clock. "Your evil twins take Venmo."

Liam's molar comm buzzed with Bianca's voice: "Marry me in the next sixty seconds, or I flood Manhattan with radioactive Hudson River confetti." Simultaneously, Evelyn's engagement ring displayed new coordinates—a SnowTech bunker under the Statue of Liberty with a timer reading 00:59:59.

Gunfire erupted. Clone #3 shot Clone #7 over who got to wear Liam's Tom Ford suit. Sophia smashed a champagne bottle over Clone #12's head, her engagement ring activating an emergency force field from Cartier.

"Romantic," Vesper wheezed as Liam dragged her behind a Metro-North ticket machine. "Ever consider polyandry?"

He pressed Evelyn's diamond ring to Vesper's neck. "Where's the original?"

Her smile bled cyanide and triumph. "You're asking the wrong bride, copycat."

Warren Corp Archives – 4:30 AM

Sophia swung the fire axe again. The "RESTRICTED" vault door shrieked open, releasing a fog of 2003-era cigarette smoke and regret. Surveillance tapes labeled QUINN-SNOW-WARREN JOINT VENTURE glowed like cursed relics.

The footage stole her breath:

A twelve-year-old Evelyn Snow shaking hands with Bianca's father in a bunker. Surgical lights illuminated a child strapped to a table—a boy with Liam's eyes screaming through a Celestial Sect-branded gag.

Zooming in on the specimen chart:

PROJECT PHOENIX SUBJECT 7

GENETIC TEMPLATE: LIAM BURKE SR. (TERMINATED 11/15/2002)

STATUS: ACCELERATED AGING TRIAL FAILED

Sophia's phone buzzed with a SnowTech alert: Mandatory Spousal Attendance: Annual Shareholder Gala (Dress Code: Armor-Piercing Gowns).

The final frame showed teenaged Evelyn sliding a wedding ring onto a comatose boy's finger—a child soldier with Liam's face and dead eyes.

Outside, dawn's first light hit the Hudson River. Somewhere beneath the murky waves, a Quinn Logistics container sank, its Celestial Sect clones still twitching in amniotic fluid. And in a Chelsea loft, Vesper Black laughed through bloodied teeth as her dark web auction went viral:

LOT 666: LIAM BURKE'S VIRGINITY (CERTIFIED BY 9 BRIDES)

CURRENT BID: $742,100,000

The war for the world's most engaged fiancé had gone nuclear.