IV：Blood Clan Futures Slaughterhouse
The basement of the Silver Manor was filled with the mixed smell of rotting meat and blockchain mining machines. Leo's silver hair was stained with blood plasma, and when his wolf claws scraped the flesh wall engraved with futures contracts, he lifted up layers of Bitcoin symbol wallpaper with nerve endings. The remnants of the Canadian Icefield Regiment followed behind, their mechanical prosthetic eyes short-circuited due to fear, exploding sporadic sparks in the darkness.
"Is this your over-the-counter market?" Leo kicked open an iron door, and the sound of hundreds of chains dragging could be heard from inside the door. "It's really fucking creative."
On the 30-meter-high three-dimensional breeding rack, thousands of werewolf captives were transformed into living contract carriers - the left lung lobe was branded with crude oil futures codes, the right kidney was connected to the interest rate swap agreement, and the spinal nerve bundles were tied into the physical bond of the credit default swap. Their wails were transformed into white noise and sent directly to the cochlea of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange traders through bone conduction headphones.
"Welcome to the vampire innovation workshop." Moriti's afterimage flickered on the top of the breeding rack, and the broken neck sizzled as CNBC morning news played. "Each futures contract is FDA-approved and comes with..."
Leo's wolf howl interrupted the electronic noise. His fully wolf-like vocal cords shattered seven breeding cabins, and the bloody futures contracts flew like dead leaves. A werewolf who had not yet been fully transformed fell to the ground, his pupils still retaining the amber color of the Canadian direwolf: "Kill me... Article 9 of the contract... Gene pledge..."
The bracelet suddenly burned my wrist bones, and my Viking memories penetrated my nerves like high voltage electricity.
Memories of 879 AD flowed like mercury: at the border market of the Frankish Kingdom, Leo's Viking incarnation was using wolf claws to cut open the belly of a salt merchant. The sausage casings contained not spices but wolf babies engraved with runes. The merchants watching bid frantically, using silver coins to buy the priority adoption rights of the "future warrior" - the first futures contract in history.
"So even your ideas are plagiarized." Leo tore open the modern breeding cabin and pulled out the natural gas futures chip from the werewolf captive. "You call this innovation by putting a ninth-century trick into an electronic contract?"
Moriti's projection suddenly materialized, with a mercury alloy body flowing with the WTI crude oil futures curve: "But your ancestors didn't invent this." He flicked his finger to start the slaughtering assembly line, and the wolves' clavicles suddenly grew metal hooks, automatically hanging on the sky rails of the futures slaughterhouse.
Canadian warrior Olaf suddenly roared and rushed to the control console, but his mechanical legs were twisted into a knot by the corn futures contract: "Save them! Those are my Yukon Icefields..."
Before he could finish his words, a werewolf corpse with the CME copper futures code fell to the ground, with Olaf's daughter's wolf tooth necklace stuck in its eye sockets.
Leo's silver hair stood up, and his wolf claws dug into the ground to trigger quantum resonance. When the first futures hook came, he directly bit the Bitcoin mining machine on the hook tip and used the vibranium bone spur to carve a reverse rune on the flesh wall.
"Try your leverage." He bent the natural gas futures pipeline and imported the entire slaughterhouse clearing process into Moriti's core code.
The screams of the blood clan elders triggered a chain reaction of explosions, but the real disaster began with the released gene-locked monsters - the werewolves transformed by futures contracts began to attack indiscriminately, their flesh and blood and metal skeletons proliferated into financial derivative fangs in quantum entanglement.
The Canadian soldiers were forced to open fire on their compatriots, but Leo sensed a deeper conspiracy in the hail of bullets - every exploding monster was emitting DNA fragments of the X-13 clone.
When Leo broke through to the core of the slaughterhouse, the bracelet suddenly projected a holographic account book from the Viking era. A page of records from 885 AD clearly showed that the futures contract template currently used by the vampires was exactly the same as the "blood and flesh pre-order" agreement for selling wolf babies back then.
"See Item 7 of the liquidation clause." Moriti's voice seeped out from the ventilation duct. "If Party B fails to deliver the subject matter on time..."
Leo's wolf claws tore open a host and pulled out the bloody server array: "The subject matter is the ownership of the wolf gene chain?"
The holographic account book suddenly caught fire, and the flames spelled out a new message in the air: The Silver Brotherhood has exercised its priority right of repayment, and the Wolf Clan will officially become a subsidiary asset of the Blood Clan at 9:30 p.m. New York time tonight (market close).
Olaf suddenly turned his gun around, and the Canadian direwolf's mechanical eyes spewed out red smoke: "The Chicago wolf cub is right... You are the biggest source of risk..."
The nano bullet that Leo dodged pierced a culture chamber, and the falling clone X-13η fell right into his arms. The girl's eyelids trembled, and her vocal cords emitted a mother's voice: "Run away... The final stage of the Lunar Eclipse Protocol..."
When Leo rushed out of the slaughterhouse holding the clone, the entire Silver Manor began to collapse in a quantum manner. The bodies of the Canadian soldiers were suspended in the air, and their flesh and blood were reorganized into a physical candlestick chart of the Dow Jones Index. Moriti's body was laughing wildly in the center of the collapse, holding in his hand the blood pledge contract signed by Leo.
The clone suddenly opened his eyes in the shape of a Bitcoin symbol: "Brother, our genetic leverage has exploded."
The bracelet fired a rune beam to shatter the pledge contract, but it was too late - the sky of Wall Street was dyed bloody, and the screens of all cryptocurrency exchanges flashed at the same time:
**Cross-default clause triggered
The ownership of the Wolf Tribe has been transferred to the Blood Tribe balance sheet**
Leo's silver hair began to fall off, revealing the quantum code squirming underneath. When he looked down at the clone, the girl was smiling with the face of a mother, and the ancient branding irons of the Silver Brotherhood grew on her fingertips.
The horn of a Viking longship sounded in the distance, but this time the bow was no longer hung with a battle flag but a liquidation order for financial derivatives. Leo knew that the real slaughter had just begun - when the moon rose, those monsters transformed by futures contracts would turn the entire Manhattan into a living exchange.