IV：Wall Street's Wolfpack Algorithm

The neon lights of the New York Stock Exchange burned green afterimages in Leo's wolf pupils. He squatted in the ventilation duct of 40 Wall Street, pressing the tundra USB drive given by Haku under his knees, and his nose was filled with the copper smell of the vampire private equity fund server - those bastards soaked the high-frequency trading host in mercury vapor to dissipate heat, just like a medieval alchemy furnace.

"Are Victor's explosives in place?" he growled into the encrypted channel implanted in his molars, the real-time positioning signal of the Canadian direwolf on his retina twitching like a dying snake.

"You think I'm FedEx?" Chicago Wolf King's electronic voice mixed with the noise of methamphetamine, "In three minutes, I'll be pumping the blood clan's silver futures."

Leo dug his claws into the server cabinet, and the wolf king's eyes translated the digital stream running through the optical fiber into the fishy vampire secret language. He was waiting for that moment - when the quantum contract of silver futures passed the settlement node of Mellon Bank, he would use the wolf pack algorithm to strangle the financial artery.

The vents suddenly blew in wind with snow, and Leo's nostrils twitched. DOA's tracking nanoworms were releasing pheromones disguised as Wall Street elites in the nearby streets, and Irene's perfume mixed in with them, piercing into the nerve endings like a sting.

"Three, two..." Victor's countdown was torn apart by electromagnetic interference.

Leo pressed the Enter key.

The first wave of short-selling orders was disguised as regular transactions in Chicago wheat futures. When the Blood Clan's hedging AI began to automatically dismantle the risk, Leo used his wolf claws to directly cut off the backup power cord, turning the entire system's defense to an energy alarm.

"Now." He crushed the biochip in his back teeth, releasing the virus in the tundra USB drive - a painful data stream of a Canadian direwolf being transformed into a living mining machine.

The New York Stock Exchange building suddenly trembled, and the holographic projection of the Dow Jones Index twisted into the outline of a giant silver wolf. The Eye of the Wolf King transformed the abstract trading data into a physical battlefield:

"Hyenas of Wall Street," Leo said, breaking through the glass curtain wall and jumping into the trading floor, "it's time to use wolf dung as the universal currency."

The real chaos began when silver futures crashed 15%. A certain vampire trader suddenly mutated, and his Porsche watch shot out nano silver threads, which bound the Bloomberg terminal into a cocoon-like killing tool.

When the Silver Wolf algorithm was fully materialized, Leo was besieged by six mutant traders. Their Armani suits were torn into flesh membranes, and their spines grew metal scorpion tails with the Goldman Sachs logo.

"You know what?" Leo dodged the hook. "Charles III's silver is worth more than your math."

He threw out the old English silver coin hidden in his sleeve, and the silver coin melted into liquid under the impact of the nanoworm bullet. The shadow of the silver giant wolf suddenly solidified and bit the virtual spine of the Dow Jones Index - the roar of the collapse of the 30,000-point mark made the mutants collectively stiffen.

DOA's satellite beam penetrated the clouds, leaving a scorch mark of the Bitcoin wallet address at Leo's feet. Irene's synthesized voice pressed down from the cloud: "Your computing power flow has been marked as terrorist financing."

Leo grinned, with arcs of electricity flashing between his fangs: "Then remember this account clearly."

The quantum incarnation of the giant silver wolf pounced on the source of satellite radiation, and a crack of data vacuum was torn in the sky of Wall Street.

In the pile of corpses in the trading hall, Leo picked up a laptop that was not smashed. The remaining data stream of the blood clan host showed that the Viking genes they extracted from the Canadian mine were being encoded into a new type of cryptocurrency - each currency corresponded to the life span of a werewolf miner.

The bracelet suddenly felt hot, and the Viking runes **ᚠᛅᛏᛅ (blood price)** bulged under the skin. The memory of 890 AD invaded like a virus:

At the border market of the Frankish Kingdom, his Viking incarnation was surrounding the salt merchant caravan with wolves. What fell out of the salt bag was not minerals, but a silver cross cast by the Church of England. When the wolf's claws tore open the lead seal, the back of the cross was engraved with the embryonic family crest of the Mellon family.

The real-life Mellon Bank logo suddenly oozed silver blood, and an anonymous transaction notification popped up in Leo's Bitcoin wallet - someone used 890 BTC to purchase the coordinates of the Viking longship wreckage on the third underground floor of the Silver Manor.

A scream suddenly broke out in Victor's communication channel: "You fucking triggered the blood race's gene pledge explosion! My methamphetamine factory is..."

The signal suddenly stopped. On Leo's retinal map, the positioning signals of the three werewolf gangs disappeared at the same time, replaced by the quantum surge surging underground in the Silver Manor.

When Leo evacuated with the hard drive of the blood clan host, the asphalt road of Wall Street suddenly softened. The silver wolf algorithm went out of control - it began to devour the metal in reality, melting Tesla electric cars into liquid wolf teeth and corroding the copper door of the Federal Reserve into a genetic spiral staircase.

DOA's drone swarms wove a blockchain blockade overhead, but Leo discovered that their encryption protocol was identical to the keel structure of a Viking longship. He ripped off his tie clip—actually made from the tusk of a Canadian tundra wolf—and stabbed it into the eye socket of the Wall Street Bull.

The bull wept. The amalgam tears merged in the air into early code fragments of Satoshi Nakamoto, mixed with the genetic hash value of Leo's father. When the bronze bull completely melted, the sound of the keel of a Viking warship breaking came from underground - the foundation of the Silver Manor began to collapse.

The bracelet suddenly projected a real-time monitoring screen of Irene: She was praying to a server engraved with runes at the DOA headquarters in an ancient language that the Wolf King's Eye could not interpret. In the background of the screen, rows of culture chambers were floating with clones numbered X-13γ to X-13μ.

The Bitcoin wallet vibrated, and the balance suddenly returned to zero. But the transaction records showed that the funds were not flowing to the vampire account, but to a mysterious address created in 890 AD. Leo's fangs pierced his lips, and he smelled Victor's methamphetamine on the wreckage of the Dow Jones Index - the guy was still alive and was selling the loyalty of the wolf pack as a bargaining chip.

The quantum afterimage of the silver giant wolf dissipated before dawn, and the streets of Wall Street were filled with liquid financial genes. Leo knew that the real short selling had just begun - when the sun rose, the bronze rams of the Viking longships would emerge from those amalgam waves.