Red Dot Protocol: Survival of the Logistics Officer

Chapter 2: The Billion Dollar Loan

The walk to Geylang was a blur of shimmering heat and the synthetic drone of the Mark VII interface recalibrating in Wei Xian's skull. He didn’t take a taxi; he needed the movement to burn off the adrenaline. By the time he reached Lorong 12, the smell of durian and exhaust fumes was thick enough to choke on.

The warehouse sat at the end of a narrow alley, its corrugated iron doors rusted and weeping orange streaks. Two men stood outside, leaning against a modified sedan. They were built like refrigerators and wore tight black polo shirts that struggled to contain their biceps.

"Eh, kid. You lost? This isn't a playground," one of them said, pushing off the car.

"I’m here to see Huat," Wei Xian said. His voice was flat, lacking the tremor it had back at the hawker centre.

The thugs exchanged a look. The one on the left laughed, a dry, raspy sound. "Huat? You mean Big Brother Huat? You think you can just walk in and call him by name? You got an appointment or what?"

"Tell him the botak kid from the 22nd Battalion is here. Tell him I have the numbers he wants."

"Numbers? What numbers? 4D ah?"

"Just tell him," Wei Xian snapped, his eyes flashing with a coldness that made the thug pause. "Unless you want to explain to him why he missed out on the biggest payday of his life because you wanted to play gateman."

The thug grumbled but pulled out a phone. After a brief, hushed conversation, he jerked his head toward the door. "Go in. But you try anything funny, and you're coming out in a trash bag, you hear me?"

The interior of the warehouse was a sharp contrast to the grit outside. It was air-conditioned, smelling of expensive cigars and old paper. Big Brother Huat sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his belly straining against a silk shirt. He was scrolling through a tablet, a gold Rolex glinting on his wrist.

"Wei Xian," Huat said without looking up. "The last time I saw you, you were crying because you lost five hundred bucks in a football bet. Now you're calling me up talking about ten million dollars? You hit your head during National Service?"

"I didn't hit my head, Huat. I woke up."

Huat finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. "You look different. Paler. And your eyes... you on something?"

"I'm on a deadline," Wei Xian said, pulling up a chair and sitting down without being asked. "You want to make money, or you want to keep asking me about my health?"

Huat leaned back, his chair creaking. "Ten million is a lot of money, boy. Even for me. You said money will be worth nothing in thirty days. You sound like those crazy uncles at the void deck talking about the end of the world."

"In thirty days, the Singapore Dollar will be a digital ghost. The banks will freeze. Supply chains will collapse. People will be killing each other for a tin of sardines."

Huat burst out laughing, slapping his desk. "Sardines! You hear this guy? He’s a comedian! Why should I give you a single cent for this nonsense?"

"Because of what's about to happen in exactly four minutes," Wei Xian said, leaning forward.

"What? Alien invasion?"

"Watch your tablet. The New York pre-market just opened. Look at 'Vanguard Biotech'. They’re supposed to announce a breakthrough in oncology at 2:00 PM our time, right?"

Huat glanced at his screen. "Yeah. Everyone’s buying. Stock is supposed to moon. I’ve got two mil in it myself."

"Sell it," Wei Xian said. "Now. All of it."

Huat scoffed. "You siao ah? The news is all positive. My analysts say—"

"Your analysts are reading yesterday's lies. The CEO's private jet just landed in a non-extradition country. The 'breakthrough' data was faked. In three minutes, a whistleblower is going to drop the internal emails on X. The stock will hit zero before the closing bell."

Huat stared at him, the silence in the room heavy. One of the thugs by the door shifted uncomfortably.

"If you're lying to me, Wei Xian, I’ll have your fingers for breakfast."

"If I'm lying, I'll stay right here and let you do it. Check the feed, Huat. Three minutes."

They sat in silence. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioner and the frantic ticking of a wall clock. Huat’s eyes flicked between Wei Xian and the screen. Suddenly, the tablet chimed. Then it chimed again. A flurry of notifications began to cascade down the screen.

Huat’s face went from smug to ghostly pale in seconds. "Wait... what? No. No, no, no!"

"Sell, Huat. If you do it now, you might catch the trailing edge of the panic."

Huat’s fingers blurred across the screen. He was sweating now, his breath coming in short gasps. "Sold. Everything. I... I barely got out. It’s dropping like a stone. Ten percent... twenty... holy crap, it’s a bloodbath."

He looked at Wei Xian with a mixture of terror and awe. "How? How did you know? The news only hit thirty seconds ago."

"I have better sources than your analysts," Wei Xian said, the neural implant pulsing behind his eyes. "Now. About that ten million."

Huat wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "I can't give you ten. Not liquid. Not after that scare. My capital is tied up. I can give you five. Five million, cold hard cash and untraceable transfers."

"Five million will do for the first phase," Wei Xian conceded.

"But," Huat added, his voice regaining its edge. "You pay it back in thirty-one days. With twenty percent interest. If you don't... well, you know how I work."

"In thirty-one days, you won't care about the interest," Wei Xian said, standing up. "You'll be too busy trying to stay alive. I’ll take the five million."

As Wei Xian turned to leave, the thug from the door—the one who had been rude outside—stepped into his path. The man was grinning, a cruel glint in his eyes.

"Hold on, Boss. This kid just made us a lot of money, but he’s still got an attitude. Maybe I should teach him a bit of respect before he goes?"

Huat shrugged, leaning back. "Don't break his legs. He needs to be able to sign the transfer papers."

The thug reached out, his massive hand closing around Wei Xian’s shoulder. "Listen here, botak. You think you're a big shot because you got a tip? You're still just a—"

Wei Xian didn't let him finish. In a movement that was too fast for the human eye to follow—calculated and optimized by the Mark VII interface—his hand shot out. He struck the thug's inner elbow, then drove two fingers into the soft tissue just above the collarbone.

The thug let out a strangled gasp. His arm went limp instantly, and his entire body seized up, his knees hitting the floor with a sickening thud. He couldn't even scream; his vocal cords were temporarily paralyzed by the shock to his nervous system.

"He’ll be able to breathe normally in ten minutes," Wei Xian said, looking at Huat, who was now standing, his hand near a drawer. "And don't reach for the gun, Huat. I’m faster than the trigger."

Huat stared at his fallen enforcer, then back at Wei Xian. "What... what did you do to him?"

"Pressure points. Army stuff," Wei Xian lied. It was actually a combat sub-routine designed for neutralizing infected hosts without using ammunition. "Send the money to the accounts I’ve listed on this thumb drive. Split it across the different shells. I want it done by tonight."

Huat nodded slowly, his bravado completely evaporated. "Yeah. Okay. You got it. Five million. Just... just get out of here."

Wei Xian walked out of the warehouse, the heavy humidity of Geylang hitting him again. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a man building a wall against a tidal wave. Five million was a start, but it wasn't enough. He needed medical supplies, high-caloric food, and most importantly, a reinforced structure.

He took a series of winding turns through the back alleys, checking his six every few minutes to ensure he wasn't being followed. His phone buzzed.

[TRANSFER INITIATED: $1,000,000.00]

[TRANSFER INITIATED: $1,000,000.00]

The notifications kept coming. He headed back toward his small rental apartment in Toa Payoh. He needed to sleep, to let the neural link finish its integration. The headaches were becoming unbearable.

As he reached his block, he saw a black SUV parked near the entrance. It wasn't a police car, but it had the look of government authority. Dark tinted windows, clean lines, and a certain predatory stillness.

Wei Xian slowed his pace, his hand instinctively reaching for a tactical pen in his pocket. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, his heart hammering.

When he reached his door, he stopped.

A man was leaning against the doorframe. He was tall, his frame lean and muscular under a crisp military-style polo shirt. His hair was cut in a perfect fade, and his eyes were sharp, scanning the hallway with practiced ease.

Major Gabriel Koh.

"Tan Wei Xian," Koh said, his voice as steady as a rock. "You’ve been a very hard man to find today."

Wei Xian stared at the man who, in another timeline, would be his commander—and eventually, his executioner. "Major. What does the Urban Resilience Task Force want with a discharged corporal?"

Koh’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "I haven't even announced the name of the task force to the public yet. How do you know that?"

"I know a lot of things," Wei Xian said, his grip tightening on the pen. "Are you here to arrest me or to recruit me?"

Koh stepped away from the door, his posture shifting into a combat-ready stance. "Neither. I’m here because you left a very specific message on a secure MINDEF server ten minutes ago. A message that contained the exact genetic sequence of a virus that hasn't been discovered yet."

Wei Xian felt a cold sweat break out. He hadn't sent that message. The neural link—it was acting on its own.

"We need to talk," Koh said, his hand moving toward the small of his back. "Now."

Before Wei Xian could respond, a deafening explosion rocked the building, the shockwave shattering the windows of the hallway. Smoke filled the air, and through the haze, Wei Xian saw the red glint of a laser sight hovering over Major Koh’s chest.

"Get down!" Wei Xian screamed, lunging at the Major.