The numbers on Mike Lin’s screen told a story, but not the one he was expecting. AI and biotech trades were spiking in a frenzy that set his instincts on edge.

On his second monitor, the Neural Edge tournament droned on, its commentary a faint echo against the far louder alarm bells in his mind. The semi-final standings scrolled across the screen:

* NeuralSynergy(AI): 460,000 chips

* StackTech (AI): 430,000 chips

* Ethan Reed / Victory AI (Hybrid): 400,000 chips

* Anita Huang (Human): 350,000 chips

* Phil Crosby (Human): 330,000 chips

Ethan Reed was holding his own, the top human player, but still trailing behind the leading AIs. The tournament format—the blend of human ingenuity and AI precision—was a perfect hook for media and market hype. Investors were lapping it up, and the sector was surging.

Mike toggled to a heatmap of the AI sector. Stock prices for NeuralSynergy, StackTech, and a dozen other companies were glowing green, reflecting steady gains over the past 48 hours. But something unusual caught his attention.

Mike pulled up the options activity. His brow furrowed as clusters of straddle trades came into focus.

A straddle was a bet on volatility, a way to profit whether prices rose or fell dramatically. The sheer volume of these trades indicated institutional involvement. Hedge funds, private equity firms—big players were betting that the AI sector was about to experience seismic shifts.

Mike zoomed in, isolating the trades to find patterns. Most were targeting the sector as a whole, but a significant chunk focused on Victory AI’s parent company, Apex BioLogic.

The heatmap shifted as Mike dug deeper. Apex BioLogic was being heavily shorted—bets that its stock price would plummet. These trades, however, weren’t coming from typical institutional accounts. They were routed through offshore entities, the kind of setup designed to obscure who was behind them.

Mike tapped his pen against the desk. Victory AI was the star of the tournament so far, outperforming expectations. Its success should have sent Apex BioLogic’s stock soaring. So why were offshore accounts betting against it?

The answer was obvious and unnerving: someone was betting on Victory AI to fail.

Mike switched back to the tournament feed, his eyes flicking to Ethan. His friend looked calm, his every move deliberate, even as the commentators praised his ability to read the game. Ethan wasn’t just playing cards—he was playing the room, the AI opponents, and the odds.

The parallels to the market weren’t lost on Mike.

He turned back to the charts, his mind running through scenarios. The volatility bets made sense. If the AI sector surged or collapsed, the straddle holders would rake in massive profits. But the shorting of Apex BioLogic? That was a gamble on chaos, and it had a whiff of something bigger.

Mike rubbed his temples, his thoughts racing.

He could go all-in on the volatility bets, mirroring the big players who were clearly preparing for turbulence. It was the safer move, one that aligned with the sector’s inherent uncertainty.

Or he could take the contrarian position. If Victory AI continued its dominance and the tournament concluded without incident, Apex BioLogic’s stock could skyrocket. Betting against the shorts—buying Apex BioLogic—would be a high-risk, high-reward play.

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But the shorts nagged at him. The offshore accounts, the timing, the scale—it wasn’t random. Someone was betting on a collapse, and it wasn’t just about the tournament.

Mike toggled back to his notes, where he’d jotted down observations:

* Straddles = Volatility bets, sector-wide

* Shorts = Targeted at Apex BioLogic, offshore accounts

* Tournament = Catalyst for market movement

The tournament was a powder keg. And someone was lighting the fuse.

Mike stared at the screen, weighing his options. The safest move was obvious—volatility was the only sure thing in this market. But the allure of betting against the shorts gnawed at him. If he was right, the payoff would be enormous.

He glanced at the tournament feed again. Ethan was in the middle of a hand, his face unreadable as he made his move.

“Play smart,” Mike muttered to himself, echoing his own advice to Ethan. He made his choice and executed the trades. The market would soon reveal whether he’d played his hand right.

***

The hum of the convention center faded into the night as Ethan stepped onto the terrace. The crisp air brushed against his face. Vera stood a few feet away, leaning lightly against the railing, her posture as poised as ever, reading her tablet. She looked calm, but there was a quiet distance to her.

“You’re missing the celebration,” Ethan said with teasing smirk. “I’ve been the top human player two days running. There should at least be confetti.”

Vera glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile, though her expression stayed cool. “I thought it wasn’t just you. Didn’t you use the CEI as per your contract?”

Ethan chuckled. He stepped closer and rested an elbow on the railing beside Vera, angling himself to face her. “You could at least pretend to be impressed. Or are you only impressed by billionaires?”

This time, she turned her head slightly to look at him. “Victor wasn’t a billionaire when I met him.”

Ethan straightened. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You act like he’s some kind of god.”

Vera’s lips tightened as she glanced away. The way she crossed her arms seemed more defensive than relaxed.

“Gods don’t return worship,” Ethan continued, his voice dropping to a softer but pointed tone. “They just need you to believe.”

Vera’s gaze flicked back to him, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. She didn’t answer. Instead, she nodded toward the patch on his arm, her tone shifting as she deflected.

“You’ve been wearing it for two days now. How does it feel?”

Ethan shrugged, brushing his fingers over the device as if to emphasize how little it bothered him. “Like a cheat code for poker. It’s not bad—helps me focus, sharpens the edges.”

Vera took a step closer, her eyes tracing his face carefully, searching for something. Her voice softened, though it stayed steady. “No headaches? Fatigue? Dizzines?”

Ethan laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Nothing I can’t handle. Are you worried about me?”

She noticed the faint tension in his shoulders, the slight edge in his laughter. Was he ignoring the signs, or did he really not feel it yet? Her lips twitched into a faint smirk, though her posture remained rigid. “I am only worried about your results. Remember, they are mine, too.”

Ethan tilted his head, his grin widening as he caught her tone. “I smell a bluff.”

She smiled and took a small step back, cradling her glass more loosely now. “Then… call it?”

Ethan followed her movement, stepping forward slightly to close the gap between them. His voice dropped, warm and teasing. “How about this—I win tomorrow, and we celebrate properly. Somewhere a little more private.”

For a moment, Vera paused, her gaze fixed on his. A slow smile spread across her lips, and she tilted her head just slightly, as if considering his offer.

“Win tomorrow,” she said with a soft laugh, “and I’ll make sure it’s a celebration worth remembering.”

Ethan gave her a wink before he began to walk away. “I’ll hold onto that… just in case it was a promise.”

Vera watched him go, her eyes lingering longer than she meant to. The men around her had a way of turning everything into a gamble. She sighed and turned her attention to a new dossier she was reading.

Michael Lin, thirty-two. Male. American. Homosexual. Single.