The Prometheus Protocol

Chapter 2

The ocean water tasted like salt and blood. Ronan coughed hard. His body shook as he crawled onto the sand. 

The waves crashed behind him, angry and loud, trying to pull him back. But Ronan dug his fingers into the wet earth. He pulled himself forward, inch by inch.

His expensive shirt was now just rags. His skin was blue from the cold. He had cuts on his face and a deep bruise on his side where the boat had hit him. Everyone thought he was dead at the bottom of the sea.

"Not yet," Ronan whispered. His voice was like broken glass.

He stood up. His legs felt heavy, like they were made of stone. He walked away from the beach and toward the city lights in the distance. He walked for hours. He did not feel the pain. He only felt the fire of hate burning in his chest.

Ronan reached the city. He stayed in the shadows. He found a dark alley between two tall buildings. It smelled like old trash and rain. In the corner, there was a public internet terminal. It was dirty and the screen was cracked.

Ronan wiped the rain from his face. He placed his hand on the terminal.

"Prometheus," he said softly. "Wake up."

This was his secret. Prometheus was not just a program. It was a master key to the digital world. Ronan had built it, and only his voice could open it.

The screen flashed blue. Code ran down the screen faster than a normal person could read. But Ronan saw everything.

A news video popped up. It was live.

On the screen, Elena stood on a bright stage. She wore a black dress. She looked beautiful and sad. She wiped a small tear from her eye.

"Today is a hard day," Elena said into the microphone. Her voice shook. "We launch the Nova Chip today. It was my husband’s dream. Ronan is missing at sea. I dedicate this success to him."

The crowd clapped. They loved her.

Ronan watched closely. The camera moved slightly. Just off the side of the stage, a man stood in the shadows. It was Jax. He was smiling. As Elena stepped back, her hand brushed against Jax’s hand. It was a secret touch. A touch for lovers.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. Prometheus worked harder. The screen split. On one side was the live video. On the other side, Prometheus hacked into Elena’s private phone.

Text messages appeared on the screen.

Elena: I think I cried perfectly. Do they believe it?

Jax: You are a star, babe. The stock is flying. We are going to be billionaires.

Elena: And Ronan?

Jax: Fish food. He was so stupid. He never saw it coming.

Ronan read the words. He did not scream. He did not cry. His face became as hard as rock. He looked at the stock market data. The price of his company was going up, up, up. They were getting rich from his work and his death.

"Enjoy it," Ronan said. "For now."

His fingers danced on the holographic keyboard. He accessed a dormant bank account in the Cayman Islands. This was his "doomsday" fund. Elena and Jax did not know about it.

He transferred fifty million dollars to a secure black card digital wallet. He synced it to the magnetic strip of an old, blank card he kept hidden in his shoe.

Transfer Complete.

Ronan shut down the terminal. The screen went black. He stepped back into the rain. He was no longer just a survivor. He was a hunter.

He walked out of the alley and onto the main street. People moved away from him. They covered their noses. He smelled like the ocean and dead fish. He dripped water everywhere.

He stopped in front of a shop called The Obsidian. It was the most expensive tailor in the city. Gold letters shone on the glass. In the window, suits cost more than a car.

Ronan pushed the door open. A bell chimed softly. The air inside was warm and smelled of expensive cologne.

A clerk rushed over. He was a tall man with a thin nose and a tight suit. He looked at Ronan with pure disgust. He saw the mud on the floor. He saw the blood on Ronan’s shirt.

"Stop!" the clerk shouted. He waved his hands. "You cannot be here. This is a private shop. Get out before I call the police!"

Ronan did not stop. He walked to the glass counter. His wet boots squeaked on the marble floor.

"I said get out!" The clerk’s face turned red. "You look like a beggar. You are ruining the floor!"

Ronan reached into his wet pocket. He pulled out the plain black card. He slammed it onto the glass counter. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet shop.

The clerk stopped. He looked at the card. It had no bank logo. It was pure black titanium. It was a card for people who owned cities.

Ronan lifted his head. His hair was matted with sand. But his eyes were clear, sharp, and terrifying. They were the eyes of a wolf.

"I don't need the police," Ronan said calmly. "I need a suit. Black. Italian silk. Perfect fit."

The clerk stammered. "S-sir? A suit? For what occasion?"

Ronan smiled. It was not a happy smile. It was cold.

"I have a funeral to attend," Ronan said. "My own."