Chapter 6

The air was thick with smoke and gasoline. Medellín wasn't just burning — it was boiling. Factions turned on each other. Allies became enemies overnight. The lines weren't just blurred; they were erased.

Vekom stood in his safehouse, the System humming like a living beast behind his eyes.

"Currency Tier Unlocked: System USD Activated."

"New Credit Format: Dollar Exchange Capable."

"Covert Conversion Routes Enabled."

"International Catalog Partial Access: Tier Three – 12%."

Money no longer chained him to Colombia.

He could now convert earnings directly into System Credits through black market dollar flows — a trick that gave him unprecedented power to scale. The moment the feature unlocked, he took action.

He created four new clones.

American.

"New Units Created: Kyle, Marcus, Sarah, Dean."

"Primary Functions: Infiltration / Combat / Accent Assimilation / Inter-agency Impersonation."

Each clone was equipped with American passports, DEA and CIA badge copies, and forged military IDs.

He sent them north, through jungle routes and backdoor flights, into cartel territory where an old rival gang — Los Chacales — kept a hidden treasury. Rumor said it held millions, in both cash and narcotics.

That night, Kyle and Sarah posed as DEA agents raiding a stash house.

They went in clean. Quiet.

Dean and Marcus came through the back with flashbangs and suppressed M4s.

Ten men were dead in under three minutes. The safe was torched. Vekom didn't care about the drugs. He cared about the chaos.

He left behind three dead bodies with forged European passports and German-made pistols.

Let them think it was a foreign hit.

Let paranoia do the rest.

"+187,000 USD added to System Account."

"+5 Tactical Grenade Sets acquired."

"+8 Covert Weapon Mods acquired."

"USD Stability Level: Secure."

A week later, the whispers started.

Not from Colombia.

From Europe.

An old guard of arms dealers — ex-Soviet black market kings, Balkan traffickers, and Belgian factory brokers — had taken notice. Vekom's prices were too competitive. His weapons too clean. His face too unknown.

He was disrupting the world market.

They wanted him dead.

One of them — a Czech named Marek Skorza — sent feelers through Bogotá. A bounty was floated. A meeting was requested. And when Vekom ignored it, the threats stopped being polite.

A convoy of his own clients was hit. Two lieutenants killed. A shipment disappeared en route to Cali.

It wasn't a coincidence.

He tracked the assailants using Rafa's drone feed. They spoke Russian. Used Spetznaz hand signals. Wore surplus French armor.

Europe had sent a message.

He sent one back.

Camila, in disguise, met with an arms buyer in Cartagena. She carried an explosive briefcase loaded with Semtex and nails. When the buyer opened it in a penthouse hotel suite, it vaporized half the floor.

The explosion was blamed on rival narcos.

But the name "Vekom" made it onto European intercepts the next day.

He was now on the list.

"International Alert: Global Opposition Growing."

"System Option Unlocked: Proxy Warfare Program (Locked – 80% Tier 3 required)."

The DEA wasn't sitting idle, either.

After the assault on Los Chacales, the U.S. sent a six-man task force into Medellín under diplomatic cover. Their goal: confirm whether "El Fantasma" was real.

They didn't get far.

Rafa and Diego tracked them through hotel check-ins, informant meetings, and encrypted radio bursts. Vekom gave the order.

No survivors.

He didn't take chances with ghosts hunting ghosts.

The ambush was surgical.

Mateo lured them to an abandoned industrial plant using a forged cartel whistleblower.

As they moved through the warehouse, Kyle and Dean executed them with precision — suppressed fire, no noise, no mess. One tried to escape. Nico put a bullet in his spine from the rafters.

Their bodies were dumped in a dry well outside the city, phones destroyed, teeth pulled.

No names. No recovery.

But when they didn't report in, the embassy panicked.

And the streets exploded.

News leaked of "rogue agents disappearing."

Fingers were pointed. Conspiracies bloomed.

Cartels armed up, assuming war.

Civilians began fleeing in waves.

It was Medellín's third act of madness.

And Vekom?

He sat in a reinforced compound under a fake identity, watching the fires rise.

"Chaos Index: 74%."

"City Saturation: 58%."

"Global Awareness Level: Medium."

"System Expansion Bonus Unlocked: Smart Targeting Optics / Underground Bank Access."

"Clone Capacity Extended: Max 20 Units."

That night, Alonso arrived again.

No guards. No smile.

He looked... anxious.

"You've made too much noise," he said. "People are afraid. The boss is worried."

"I'm not," Vekom said.

"Europe sent killers. America sent agents. What next? Russians? Chinese? This isn't a war anymore. It's a global infection."

"Then I'm the virus," Vekom replied coldly.

"You need to slow down."

"No," he said. "I need to go faster."

Alonso stared. "You'll burn it all."

Vekom nodded. "Exactly."