Chapter 11 Digital Genius
In less than three minutes, I had created an entire security system on my laptop, complete with GPS trackers embedded in both my phone and computer, plus a multi-layered firewall that would make most government agencies envious.
Max watched in stunned silence as I finalized the system with a few quick keystrokes.
"That's... impossible," he finally stammered, adjusting his glasses. "You just built an entire security framework in minutes. It would take professional teams days to create something like this."
I shrugged, running a final diagnostic. "It's not that complicated once you understand the architecture."
"Not complicated?" Max's voice cracked with disbelief. "You just coded location trackers, encrypted authentication protocols, and what looks like military-grade firewall protection faster than most people can type their name!"
I allowed myself a small smile. In my previous life as Shadow, and as the hacker known only as X, I'd created systems that could withstand the most sophisticated government intrusions. This was child's play by comparison.
"I could teach you, if you're interested," I offered, noticing his intense focus.
His head snapped up, eyes lighting with excitement. "Seriously? You'd teach me how to do this?"
"You have the mind for it," I said, closing the laptop. "But first, let's eat. I'm starving."
The hotel restaurant gleamed with polished marble and crystal chandeliers. A waiter in a perfectly pressed uniform approached our table, presenting a bottle of red wine with reverence.
"Château Margaux, 2009, as requested, madam," he announced.
I took a perfunctory sip, then set it aside. In my previous life, I'd developed a sophisticated palate for fine wines – a necessary skill for infiltrating high-society events. But this body was seventeen, and alcohol would only slow my reflexes.
Throughout the meal, I noticed Max watching me – not just what I was eating, but how I was eating it. The way I held my knife, the angle of my wrist as I lifted my water glass. All the refined mannerisms I'd absorbed during years of high-profile assassinations were on full display.
"You seem different here," he finally said between courses. "Like you... belong in a place like this."
I arched an eyebrow. "And that surprises you?"
"Well, yeah. We grew up eating microwave dinners off paper plates."
Max struggled with the multiple utensils, picking up the wrong fork before quickly setting it down when he saw me use a different one. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"I've never eaten anywhere that has more than one fork before," he whispered.
"You'll get used to it," I assured him.
The waiter approached with our bill, discreetly placing the leather folder beside my plate. I opened it without hesitation, but Max leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. His jaw dropped.
"Eight thousand two hundred dollars?" he hissed, voice cracking. "That's—that's insane!"
The waiter cleared his throat. "The Château Margaux alone is five thousand, sir. It's a limited edition."
Max looked like he might pass out. "You barely even drank it!"
I handed my credit card to the waiter without comment.
In the taxi heading home, Max remained quiet, staring out the window at the passing city lights. His fingers kept touching the collar of his new designer shirt, as if still not believing it was his.
"I've never experienced anything like that before," he finally said, voice filled with wonder. "The way they treated us, how they pulled out chairs and folded napkins when we got up... and that food! I didn't even recognize half the ingredients."
"It's just dinner, Max," I replied casually.
"Just dinner?" He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Jade, we've been eating microwaved mac and cheese our whole lives. Dad celebrates his birthday at the diner that gives free pie slices."
His eyes were bright with excitement. "The marble bathrooms with actual cloth towels, the view of the entire city from our table... it felt like being in a movie."
I smiled faintly. "Get used to it early, Max. This is just the beginning."
His eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. "The beginning of what?"
I didn't answer as the taxi pulled up to our building, the contrast between the luxury we'd just left and our crumbling apartment complex hanging silently between us.
That afternoon, I waited until the house was empty. Linda had taken Emily shopping, and Frank was working a double shift.
I pulled out a burner phone from beneath my mattress and dialed a number.
"Morrison Pharmaceutical Research Center, how may I direct your call?"
"Dr. Walter Morrison, please," I said. "It's regarding specialized biochemical compounds."
There was a pause, then the line clicked as if being transferred to a more secure connection.
"This is Morrison." The voice was deep and cautious. "I don't believe we've spoken before. How did you get this number?"
"Your work with neuromuscular enhancement formulas is well-known in certain circles," I replied. "I need a customized compound synthesized. Specifically, the experimental MR-27 variant with the modified protein structure."
A sharp intake of breath came through the line. "That's... highly classified research. Who are you?"
"Someone willing to pay well for discretion. I need it ready in two weeks. I'll be coming to New York to collect it personally."
"Wait," his tone shifted from suspicious to intrigued. "You sound incredibly young. How would someone like you even know about MR-27?"
"Well, one of my friend. I know the molecular structure and required stabilizing agents. I also know you're the only one who can synthesize it correctly."
"The compound you're describing is highly experimental," he said slowly. "The potential side effects are—"
"I'm aware of the risks," I cut him off. "Can you prepare it or not?"
"Yes. But it will be expensive. Very expensive."
"How much?"
"For something this specialized, with no questions asked? Two hundred thousand. Half up front."
I closed my eyes briefly. "I can transfer seventy thousand now. The rest upon delivery."
"Acceptable," he agreed after a moment's hesitation. "But I still don't understand how someone your age could possibly—"
I ended the call and transferred the entire remaining balance to the account number Morrison texted me moments later.
Account balance: $0.00
Starting from zero again. But it would be worth it if the formula worked.
I stretched out on my bed for a quick nap. Instead, I fell into a familiar nightmare.
Alarm sirens wailed through the Caribbean facility. The Director's cold words echoed: "Subject scheduled for termination after genetic harvest."
After years as their perfect weapon, this was my reward—discarded like broken equipment. Their betrayal burned hotter than the serum in my veins.
The explosions began—chain reactions exactly as I'd planned.
The facility collapsed as seawater rushed in. The final blast sent me flying through darkness as everything imploded—
"JADE! Get up, you lazy bitch!"