System Activated: Empire Reset Protocol

Chapter 6. The Runner’s Fall

“Donovan wants the rat found,” Murray barked into his communicator, pacing the private hallway like a caged thing. “Find him. Bring him to me. No questions.”

A clipped voice answered on the line. “Already on it, Murray. Check the Mercer feeds. There was a leak this morning.”

Murray spat, anger raw. “A leak? I want a name, not gossip. I want a face that I can break.”

He slammed the phone shut and forced a smile for the men waiting with him, two hulking enforcers who read loyalty like a ledger. “We’ll sweep Mercer. We clear Nolan. No one touches Donovan.”

Outside Donovan Tower, the city moved as if nothing had happened. Inside, a man named Murray moved like a man whose pride had been singed. He had orders. He had fear. He had to show results.

“Find him,” Donovan said later, in a voice that sounded like an exam you couldn’t pass. His office smelled of mahogany and the slow burn of expensive liquor. He laid the printed feed on his desk, hands steepled. “Bring me the one who took my paper.”

Murray bowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll make it right.”

Donovan’s smile sharpened into something like patience. “Bring me the rat, Murray. Or bring me the man who thinks he can make noise.”

Murray left with fury like a fever. He didn’t know Victor yet, only a face in a feed, a rumor with teeth. That was enough. He would make it less.

Victor watched him go from the stairwell window, ledger folded under his coat like a heartbeat. Mira sat across from him, fingers steepled, expression pleased. Kai bounced his foot, eyes bright.

“You can’t just let him find you,” Mira said. “He looks like he’ll tear a dog in half to prove a point.”

Victor’s mouth twitched. “Let him tear a dog. Dogs die and the world doesn’t notice.” He leaned forward. “But I don’t plan on being a dog. I plan on being the hand that holds the leash.”

Kai frowned. “How?”

Victor unfolded a scrap of thought the system offered, options, odds, and a path that tasted like vinegar. 

[Opportunity: Manipulate Murray’s pride into a misstep]

[Tool: Planted evidence and public alarm]

[Reward: Murray’s credibility damaged. Donovan forced to reassess internal security. Allies recruited from discontent ranks]

Mira’s eyes brightened. “So we bait him?”

“We don’t bait him,” Victor corrected. “We push him into making a choice he can’t swallow. We make him pick between loyalty and results. He’ll choose wrong because he’s stupid enough to think violence proves competence.”

Kai grinned. “I like baiting things.”

Victor smoothed his fingers over the ledger’s oilcloth as if soothing a live animal. “We will leak a piece of the ledger to a vendor who hates Donovan’s men. We make it look like a personal attack on Murray, something small, traceable. Murray will snap. He’ll lash out publicly. Donovan will see him fail. That failure will be a crack we pry wider.”

Mira nodded. “We need someone inside Donovan’s orbit. Someone who resents being brushed aside.”

“Lena,” Victor said. “She types the internal notices. She’s always been good with names and worse at keeping the loyalty that matters. The ledger mentions a small shell that funnels to a department she manages. If we make it look like a leak she could have prevented, she’ll want to help us, or at least, we can make her believe helping us benefits her.”

Kai whistled. “You know a lot.”

Victor smiled without looking proud. “I read the lines. People scream where their fear is. We listen.” He stood. “Mira, you find Lena. Kai, you make sure vendors on Mercer see the right snippets. I’ll make sure Murray smells blood.”

They moved like people who understood that patience was a weapon. Mira slid through the corridors of the tower district with the ease of someone who could be anybody.

Kai darted through market stalls, leaving whispers and small printouts for the right hands. Victor walked to a café Donovan frequented, a place where runners took coffee while they checked names and liabilities.

Murray sat at a corner table, hands wrapped around his cup like a vice. He read the feeds again and again, red-faced. 

The city’s chatter had the cadence of a coming storm; someone had made noise, and Murray’s job was to silence it.

A vendor found Murray first, a man who sold old magazines and new grudges. “You Murray? You Donovan’s fixer?” he asked, voice oily.

Murray’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I am.”

The vendor pushed a folded scrap of paper across the counter. “Someone put this near the bookie. Said it was for you. Said you could prove it was a leak from inside.” He watched Murray’s face as if the entertainment mattered.

Murray opened it, eyes skimming. A snippet of the ledger, annotated with a note in a shaky hand: “Missed this? Check Lark & Stone transfer, 03/14. Below it, an inked circle that hinted at negligence.”

Murray’s shoulders loosened, then tightened. “Who gave you this?”