The Last Zekaron: Reborn for Absolute Revenge

C6

"Look at this pathetic fraud!" Damon shouted, his arm sweeping across the packed waiting room of the community clinic.

Patients sitting on plastic chairs shuffled back, whispering among themselves. Neighbors from the surrounding district pressed closer to the glass entrance, craning their necks to watch the scene unfold.

"He does not even have a valid license!" Damon sneered, stepping closer to Lucas. "He is running an illegal operation, scamming sick people out of their hard-earned cash!"

Lucas stood behind the front desk, his hands resting flat on the scuffed counter. He did not blink. His pulse stayed slow and deliberate.

"You should leave, Damon," Lucas said calmly. "You are disturbing people who actually need medical attention."

"Leave?" Damon laughed bitterly. He turned to face the crowd, raising his voice so every person in the building could hear him clearly. "I am saving you all from a crook! This useless trash got kicked out of the main hospital network for incompetence. Now he comes here to play doctor with fake remedies."

Beside Damon stood Jessica. She wore a tailored crimson coat, her posture straight and her chin held high. Her eyes fixed on Lucas with cold disdain.

"Just pack your things, Lucas," Jessica said, her voice dropping into a sharp, dismissive tone. "You are embarrassing yourself. Damon was generous enough to offer you a way out, but you insisted on making a public spectacle of yourself."

"Is that what he told you?" Lucas asked. His eyes locked onto hers. "That he came here out of generosity?"

"Don't bother lying your way out of this," Damon interrupted, tapping his leather shoe against the linoleum floor. "The health inspector is already on his way. In less than twenty minutes, this entire building will be sealed shut. Your name will be completely ruined across the city."

The whispers in the crowd grew louder. An elderly woman in the front row clutched her prescription folder to her chest, looking between Lucas and Damon with visible panic.

"Is it true, Doctor Lucas?" a man near the doorway called out nervously. "Are you really not certified?"

"He isn't!" Damon yelled before Lucas could answer. "He has nothing! No backing, no authority, and no money!"

Inside Lucas's vision, a translucent blue window flickered into existence.

System Notification: Data-Hack Skill Available.

Target: Local Network / Personal Devices within 50 meters.

Cost: Level 1 Overclock. Penalty: 24 hours of severe neurological pain / blinding migraine.

Proceed? [YES / NO]

Lucas did not hesitate. He mentally slammed his selection into the system interface.

Skill Activated.

A sudden, sharp spike of agony smashed into the back of Lucas's skull like an iron spike driven straight into his brain. His vision whited out for a fraction of a second. The pain was excruciating, burning through his optic nerves and making his teeth ache.

Lucas gripped the edge of the wooden counter, his knuckles turning pure white as he fought to keep his posture upright. Sweat broke out across his forehead, but he forced his facial muscles to stay completely still.

"What is the matter, Lucas?" Damon mocked, noticing the slight tightening around Lucas's jaw. "Got nothing left to say? Realizing your little dream is finally over?"

"The screen," Lucas grunted softly, his voice tight from the agonizing pressure hammering behind his eyelids.

"What did you say?" Damon scoffed.

"Look at the wall TV, Damon," Lucas repeated, louder this time.

The mounted television above the waiting room desk flickered violently. The morning news broadcast glitched into static, replaced instantly by a high-resolution dark interface.

A sharp chime rang through the clinic's speakers.

The screen displayed a glowing document header: Private Bank Statement & Encrypted Ledger — Account Owner: Damon Vance.

Damon froze. His mocking smile vanished instantly. "What is this? What did you do to the TV?"

"Just showing everyone your generosity," Lucas said. The pain in his head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, but his voice remained dead calm.

The television screen scrolled automatically, magnifying a series of huge financial transfers. Sums of fifty thousand, one hundred thousand, and two hundred thousand dollars flashed in bright red numbers.

Below the numbers, text messages expanded into full view, complete with time stamps and recipient names.

Sender: Damon Vance.

Recipient: District Health Inspector.

Message: "The payment of $30,000 has been sent to your offshore account. Make sure you revoke the permit for the eastern clinic today. Shut him down permanently."

The crowd went dead silent.

The elderly woman in the front row gasped aloud. The man near the door leaned closer to the screen, reading the text messages out loud for those standing further back.

"He paid off the inspector!" someone shouted from the back of the room.

"Look at the dates!" another neighbor yelled, pointing aggressively at Damon. "That was sent yesterday! He framed him!"

Damon's face drained of all color. He lunged toward the wall mount, reaching for the power cord attached to the television. "Turn it off! Someone turn this damn thing off right now!"

The screen glitched again, moving to the next folder.

Sender: Damon Vance.

Recipient: Blackmarket Medical Distributor.

Message: "Contaminate the shipment sent to the clinic ward. Make it look like medical negligence on Lucas's part. I will pay double the standard rate."

A wave of violent anger rippled through the waiting room. Patients stood up from their chairs. Two heavy-set men who lived in the neighborhood stepped forward, blocking Damon's path to the TV.

"You scum!" one of the men growled, shoving Damon backward by the shoulder. "You tried to poison our medicine just to ruin him?"

"Touch me again and I will have my lawyers destroy your life!" Damon screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. He backed away, stumbling over a plastic chair. He looked wildly around the room, finding zero sympathy in the furious eyes staring back at him.

Damon Vance, usually so pristine and arrogant, was panicking. His chest heaved as he sweated through his designer shirt, his reputation shattering into pieces right before his eyes.

Beside him, Jessica stood frozen.

Lucas shifted his bloodshot eyes onto her face.

For a brief, split second, Jessica's cold mask shattered completely. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at the raw evidence on the screen, then turned her eyes to Lucas.

In that single moment, genuine shock and deep regret flickered across her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to say his name, her hand reaching out half an inch toward him.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, her expression slammed shut. She drew a hard breath, pulled her hand back, and forced the cold, indifferent mask back onto her face. She stepped away from Damon, putting distance between herself and his collapsing reputation.

Lucas felt the bitter satisfaction settle deep in his chest, even as the blinding headache tore through his mind.

Damon was hyperventilating now, frantically reaching for his cell phone. "This is fake! It is a hack! It is totally fabricated!"

"Save it for the police, Damon," the clinic manager shouted, holding up his own phone, which was already connected to an emergency operator. "They are on their way right now."

The crowd swarmed closer, hurling curses and insults at Damon, driving him backward out the glass doors of the clinic. He covered his face with his jacket, scrambling down the concrete front steps like a cornered rat.

Lucas let out a slow, heavy breath. He closed his eyes for three seconds, trying to suppress the agonizing throbbing inside his skull. The system penalty was brutal. Every pulse of blood felt like liquid fire behind his forehead.

He pushed himself away from the desk and walked slowly toward the front doors. The gathered crowd parted for him, offering words of praise and supportive pats on his shoulder, but Lucas barely heard them through the deafening ringing in his ears.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk into the bright morning sunlight.

A sleek, pitch-black sedan glided silently to the curb, cutting off the path to the street. Its tinted windows were pure black, reflecting the bustling city behind Lucas.

The rear door opened slowly.

A man in a sharp, immaculate grey suit stepped out onto the pavement. He adjusted his silver cufflinks before looking up.

It was Lancelot.

Lancelot glanced up at the clinic window where the TV screen was still visible through the glass, projecting Damon's dirty laundry for the entire street to see. Then, he turned his sharp, icy gaze directly onto Lucas.

A slow, cold smile spread across Lancelot's face.

"You've made yourself useful," Lancelot said, his voice smooth and commanding. "Get in the car. We need to talk about your future."