The sun was just slipping behind the skyline, a burnt orange smear over the city’s glass towers. Marcus Doyle wiped sweat off his brow and checked the worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder. The market had been volatile all day, but the numbers he’d just stumbled on? They weren’t natural. Someone was pulling strings, big strings.
He ducked into a narrow alley behind the financial district, eyes scanning the shadows. A low hum of voices drifted from a nearby bar, but no sign of tails. He had to move fast. The data chip in his hand was worth more than the rent he owed.
“Doyle.” A sharp voice cut through the air.
Marcus spun around just in time to catch a fist aimed at his jaw. He stumbled back, fists up, heart thudding.
“You shouldn’t be poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” the man growled, stepping into the dim light. Suit, tie, clearly a professional. Dangerous.
Marcus didn’t flinch. “Name’s Marcus. And I poke wherever I want.” He jabbed a quick jab to the man’s ribs, sending him reeling. “Now, who sent you?”
The man recovered, smirking. “You’re out of your league.”
Marcus cracked his knuckles. “Good. Means I’m playing a different game.”
He bolted down the alley, the man chasing. Around the corner, Marcus slammed his shoulder into a trash bin, sending it clattering and creating a wall of noise. The pursuer hesitated.
Marcus dashed into the street, weaving through late commuters and flashing neon signs. His mind raced. The chip he held had names, dates, transaction records, proof that a cabal of billionaires was artificially crashing the stock market to make a killing.
His phone buzzed violently. Unknown number. He answered, breathing hard.
“Marcus Doyle. You don’t know me, but you need to listen. They’re watching. You have 24 hours before they come for you.”
“Who is this?” Marcus whispered, eyes darting.
“Call me Raven. And don’t trust anyone.”
Click.
Marcus’s grip tightened. The city felt colder now, shadows deeper.
He ducked into a parking garage and slid behind a parked car, pulling out the chip. Suddenly, footsteps, slow, deliberate, echoed down the concrete walls.
“Time to end this,” a voice whispered from the darkness.
Before Marcus could react, a blade flashed.
* * * * * * *
The fight was brutal and fast. Marcus dodged the slash, grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisted, and slammed him against the concrete with a sickening crack. The man groaned but came up swinging. Marcus’s jaw snapped back a punch, then another.
“Tell me who sent you!” Marcus demanded, breath ragged.
“Look out!” a second attacker appeared, throwing a punch Marcus barely blocked. He spun, delivering a knee to the attacker’s gut and a fist to the temple. Both men dropped.
Marcus knew this was just the beginning.
* * * * * * *
Back in his dingy apartment, Marcus spread out the documents. Names like Prescott, Vail, and Langdon—men with fortunes beyond imagination, were engineering a deliberate market collapse. They planned to buy up devastated stocks, then crash the economy again to collect insurance and manipulate futures.
He recorded a message on his phone.
“If this gets out...” he began, then paused. “It has to get out.”
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The lock on his door clicked.
Marcus dove behind the couch just as the door burst open.
Three suited men stormed in, guns drawn.
“Marcus Doyle, step out. Hands where we can see.”
He slipped out the back window, dropping into the fire escape. The city swallowed him as sirens blared in the distance.
* * * * * * *
He had one lead, Raven. He raced across the city to a quiet café on the outskirts, the place their mysterious caller had described.
Inside, a woman waited, mid-thirties, sharp eyes, and a scar along her cheek.
“Raven?” Marcus asked, sliding into the booth.
She nodded. “You have the proof. You’ve made powerful enemies.”
“Help me get this out. To the media, the police, anyone who’ll listen.”
She studied him a moment. “You realize they control everything, right? Banks, news, even the cops. You’ll need more than documents.”
Marcus smiled, tired but determined. “Good thing I know a few people who aren’t for sale.”
She reached under the table and handed him a burner phone.
“Call this number at midnight. A man named Ellis will help you.”
Before he could ask more, the door slammed open. Two men in suits entered, scanning the room.
“Move,” Raven whispered.
They slipped out the back, disappearing into the shadows.
* * * * * * *
Midnight. An abandoned warehouse.
Marcus approached cautiously. From the darkness, a tall man emerged, his face half-hidden.
“You Doyle?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
Ellis smiled grimly. “You’re about to shake the foundations of the world. But first, you survive tonight.”
Gunfire erupted from the shadows. Marcus dove behind a crate, returning fire. Explosions, shouts, and chaos engulfed the warehouse.
Ellis handed Marcus a compact pistol. “Aim for the knees. They want you alive, for now.”
Hours blurred. Marcus and Ellis fought side by side, taking out attackers with ruthless efficiency.
Finally, the last gunman fell.
Marcus exhaled sharply.
Ellis clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re scared. That means we’re winning.”
* * * * * * *
Weeks later.
Marcus sat in a bustling newsroom, surrounded by reporters. The documents had leaked, worldwide outrage exploded.
The billionaires? Arrests and investigations followed.
Marcus lit a cigarette, watching the news unfold. The game was far from over, but for now, he’d won this round.
He smiled to himself.
“Next time,” he muttered, “I’ll be ready.”
The city buzzed around him, dangerous, unpredictable, alive.
Just the way he liked it.
THE END
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