Chapter 11

The clone moved like smoke.

He wore the face of a young courier, arms thin, clothes dusty, posture meek. No one looked twice as he passed through the outskirts of Medellín, approaching the plantation estate that served as one of Pablo Escobar's lesser-known safe houses.

He wasn't here to deliver anything.

He was here to observe.

System Log – Clone Recon Unit #4Mission: Infiltrate Pablo Escobar secondary operations site.Objective: Identify hidden logistics, smuggling lanes, or financial storage.Status: 68% site sweep complete. No resistance encountered.

But then he saw it—an armed guard unlock a hidden stairway beneath a collapsed stable. Two more men followed with crates. Inside: bricks of cash and sealed boxes marked with military insignias from a dozen countries.

The clone logged everything. Thermal mapping, sound profiles, pin locations. He didn't speak, didn't react. Just watched from the treeline and then vanished.

By the time Vekom reviewed the report, he already had a plan.

The vault was real. And it was massive.

Not a single word had been spoken by Pablo about it. Clearly, even Alonso didn't know.

Vekom smiled.

Pablo was rich. Powerful. Dangerous.

But he wasn't omniscient.

And Vekom had clones.

System Notification:"Vault Node Discovered. Pablo Escobar Hidden Treasury: 92% mapped.""Accessible Routes: 3 (unsecured), 2 (active).""Potential Resources Extractable: $37.6M est. in currency, 6,000+ arms, 12 unique smuggling routes."

He didn't need to steal from Pablo.

He just needed to use it.

Elsewhere in Bogotá, the government contact finally received his shipment.

Colonel Jimenez. Loyal to the state on paper—but a man who understood survival far better than loyalty.

The crate arrived wrapped as farming equipment. A false invoice. A clone posing as a Venezuelan intermediary.

Inside: G3 rifles. 100 suppressed pistols. NATO ammunition. Two shoulder-mounted launchers.

System Update:"Client Status: Colombian Armed Forces (rogue).""Funds Received: $750,000."

Jimenez made no call. No report. He simply nodded at the clone, signed the fake paperwork, and walked away.

The system pulsed with satisfaction.

More weapons. More capital. More influence.

That night, a new message arrived.

Encrypted. Hidden in a torrent file disguised as Latin pop music.

Arabic script scrolled across the monitor. The voice was digitally altered. But the intent was clear:

"Syria bleeds. Lebanon fractures. Iraq reorganizes. There are many who would pay for your services.""We do not know your name, but we know your weapons. Can you deliver?"

A location was attached. Coordinates near the Iraqi-Kurdish border. And a figure:

$12,000,000.

System Ping – International Client (High Risk / High Return)"Middle Eastern Coalition Cell – Tier 1 Request."

Vekom didn't hesitate.

He keyed in the system and opened a new route.

Arms Deployment Package: "Sandstorm Route Alpha"- 4,000 AK-103 rifles- 2 million rounds of 7.62mm ammunition- 800 RPG-7 units- 2 clone liaisons (Arabic and Kurdish profiles)- Transport disguise: Humanitarian aid + Red Crescent freight cover

Estimated delivery: 10 days.

Meanwhile, Pablo began to notice something.

He wasn't asking for guns anymore. They just showed up. Perfectly timed. Precisely routed. Enough to fend off the DEA. Enough to fight back against the Mexican traffickers trying to move into Colombia.

He didn't ask questions.

But Alonso did.

"How are you doing this?" he asked Vekom one evening in the shadows of a private club in Cartagena. "You don't answer to anyone. But you always know what's needed. You're not moving like a man… you're moving like a machine."

Vekom sipped his drink. "I'm just efficient."

A cartel convoy was hit by rival gunmen two days later—except the rivals were using Vekom's weapons too.

He had sold both sides the same batch of assault rifles.

And then used a third set of clones to clean up the survivors and steal the cocaine cargo.

System Credit:+ $2.3M (liquidated drug asset)+ 36 new firearms recovered, resold within 8 hours+ Clone Expansion Limit Increased: +5

Chaos was its own kind of order.

As the system hummed in the back of his mind, Vekom stood on a balcony overlooking the nighttime sprawl of Medellín.

He wasn't just supplying the war.

He was becoming the architect of it.

A ghost. A myth. A merchant of death whose name was never said aloud—but whose bullets decided the shape of nations.

The vault gave him reach.

The colonel gave him legitimacy.

The Middle East would give him scale.

"Soon," he said to himself, "this entire world will run on my terms."

And the system pulsed again.

Waiting.

Listening.

Expanding.