Chapter 71: Your Big Brother’s Back.

Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Your Big Brother’s Back.Estello leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the polished wood, eyes fixed on the man across the desk. Mario sat still, shoulders stiff, eyes downcast.

Estello’s voice was calm, but it hit with weight. "I don’t know what Richard saw in you."

Mario said nothing.

"You’ve been spared. That’s not a small thing. Don’t mistake it for forgiveness."

He paused, watching for a flinch. None came.

"I could’ve had you buried in the jungle," Estello continued. "But instead... he wants you as his sword. His personal security. I don’t know if it’s empathy or arrogance. Either way, I don’t trust you."

Mario slowly raised his eyes. "Understood, sir."

"You’ll be watched. Around the clock. Don’t take a piss without someone knowing. You don’t earn trust with words. You earn it with time."

"Yes, sir," Mario said again.

"Good." Estello stood and gestured toward the door. "Ask the man outside where your bunk is. Rest while you still can."

Mario nodded and left without another word.



The door hadn’t even fully shut when it knocked again.

"Come in," Estello said, already knowing.

Jack and Richard stepped in. Richard had a folder in his hand. He walked straight to the desk and dropped it.

"We’ve got something," he said. "Confirmed profile from Lina."

Estello opened it without a word.

"Alias: Mark Liviey Artoza," Richard continued. "Real name: Randy Brenson. Former Delta Force. Disavowed years ago. Currently running ops locally—moves between Iligan and Cagayan. He was the field man during the mansion hit."

Estello closed the folder, letting it sit there.

Richard kept going. "I want to run an operation. Capture him. Force the chain upward. Find out who gave the orders."

Estello looked up at him, slow and deliberate. "You think a couple of kids and one reformed terrorist can bag Delta Force?"

"I’m not sending Mario alone—"

"You’re not sending anyone," Estello cut him off. "You’re underestimating this. Guys like Brenson. They don’t make mistakes. They make bodies. They’re Delta Force."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Then what do we do?"

Estello leaned back, the smirk finally showing. "You let the old man do the work."

Richard frowned. "How?"

"I’ve got friends," Estello said. "Nonnatus Caesar Rojas. New Director of the NBI. I call, he listens. I tell him Bytebull—a billion-dollar company—is under threat, not from local terrorist organization, but coming from another country, considering Brenson’s background."

Richard blinked. "Wait... you’re thinking of bringing in the government?"

"Why not?" Estello replied. "This is a goddamn foreign black op on Philippine soil. Your company is a national asset. Of course the government has to step up. They’ve been investigating it and with this information. This is going to be declared an international incident."

Jack muttered, "That escalated fast."

Estello chuckled. "President Aquino will love this. You think he won’t use this to throw it back at Washington? This gives him leverage. We’re not just playing startup anymore, boys. You stepped onto the board."

Richard’s mouth went dry. "I... didn’t think it’d go that far."

"Of course not. You’re used to dealing in computer and games. But this—" Estello tapped the folder. "—this is blood. And government. And chess."

Jack looked at Richard. "You sure you want to keep playing?"

Richard hesitated. Then nodded. "They started it. Might as well finish it."

Estello exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But from now on, you let me move the pieces. You’ve stirred up something bigger than you can punch your way through."

There was a pause.

"Where’d you get all this, anyway?" Estello asked, tapping the folder again.

Richard rubbed the back of his neck. "Lina."

Estello raised a brow.

"She intercepted the hijacked network signal... traced it through NSA, FBI, CIA, and DOD databases. Matched facial data, travel records, deployment logs. Took her maybe six seconds."

Silence.

Estello blinked, then muttered, "Jesus Christ."

Jack just leaned on the desk. "Yeah. That’s kind of what I said too."

Estello rubbed his temple. "You realize this changes everything, right? The second this reaches the wrong ear in government—especially with US asking how you got this information—we’re in a different kind of war."

Richard stayed silent.

Estello looked between them. "Are you absolutely sure you still want in?"

Richard didn’t flinch. "They hit our home and I’m not gonna let them go, scot free."

Estello nodded once, then sat back.

"Alright, then."

------------

Outside the compound, parked along a quiet shoulder of the road, a dark sedan sat engine-off, windows cracked. A man leaned back in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, body still.

But he wasn’t resting.

His mind was inside.

Not metaphorically—literally.

His consciousness stretched like thread, slipping through frequencies and walls, bypassing concrete and copper and distance. The voices filtered through the static of thought.

"Alias: Mark Liviey Artoza," one said.

Richard.

"Real name: Randy Brenson. Former Delta Force. Disavowed years ago. Currently running ops locally—moves between Iligan and Cagayan. He was the field man during the mansion hit."



The man’s jaw twitched.

His mind rifled through the data Richard was referencing—he could see it without seeing it. A blurred face. A six-three frame. Clean buzz cut. Broad build. Age, mid-to-late 30s. Classic operator profile. The kind of guy who followed orders long after the flag disappeared.

His focus shifted again—this time, to Richard. Not just the voice. The thoughts behind it. The intent.

There was resolve there. Grit. But also a sliver of hesitation. Doubt maybe. Not fear. Not quite.

He opened his eyes slowly, like surfacing from a dive. The world outside was dark. Humid. Quiet.

He grinned.

"You’ve grown into a fine man now brother. I’ll see you soon. Let your me handle it instead."

He twisted the key. The engine hummed to life.

The tires gripped the dirt. The car pulled into the road and sped off, taillights vanishing into the trees.

---------

The past two days were a blur of juggling work, sweat, and system logs.

Jack sat on the floor, leaning back against one of the half-filled racks. "Not gonna lie, bro... I’m surprised we even got this room running without it catching fire."

Richard tightened the last mount screw on a 42U rack and exhaled. "You say that like I didn’t personally rewire the voltage balancer last night."

Jack blinked. "...That’s not comforting."

Across the room, a couple of interns were hunched over a monitor running stress tests. One of them—Anwar—glanced up and said, "Honestly, this is wild. I’ve never seen server configuration automated this fast. Lina’s a beast."

Richard and Jack beforehand informed some of the personnel after signing NDA about Lina. But lied about Lina’s true capabilities a little bit.

"She’s a perfectionist," Richard muttered, checking Lina’s dashboard on his tablet. "She finished sharding, scaled the virtual nodes, handled login auth, and even configured fallback routes in case of DDOS. All while we were arguing about cooling fans."

Jack grinned. "And here I thought we’d have to bribe system admins with Jollibee and bonuses."


"You still might."

"Fair."

Mark, one of the more vocal interns, chimed in from the back. "You guys do realize, right? Next year’s gonna be wild. Indie devs are gonna explode. With this engine, people’ll start mass-producing games."

Richard laughed softly. "That’s the plan. The way we built Vector Core, it doesn’t care about your background. You’ve got an idea? It’ll help you build it. It’s not about technical mastery anymore—it’s about creativity."

Jack nodded. "We’re gonna be swamped with game pitches."

"And mods," Anwar added. "Lots of weird-ass mods."

Richard raised a hand. "Hey, we accept all weirdness equally here."

They all chuckled.

Jack stood up, brushing dust off his jeans. "So what now?"

"We need to finish setting up for the server stress testing ," Richard said. "And maybe give each team a challenge."

"What kind of challenge?"

Richard tapped his chin. "Let the teams compete. Quality of life features, cool mechanics, hidden easter eggs. Let them flex. The ones who impress us get bonuses or something."

Jack looked intrigued. "Hackathon style?"

"Yep."

Anwar muttered, "God, this place is too good to be true. Unity devs are gonna cry."

Mark added, "Unreal devs too. Vector Core’s like cheat codes for game design."

Richard smiled. "That’s the goal. It’s not about making it easier. It’s about removing the busywork. Letting people focus on vision, not troubleshooting texture z-fighting at 3AM."

He stepped back, looking at the rows of humming servers. "The only thing that matters... is creativity."

Jack blinked. "Wait. That’s kinda sick. That should be the motto."

Richard nodded slowly. "Yeah. That’s Vector Core’s core."

"...Did you just make a shitty pun?"

Richard shrugged. "It’s legally required for all Co-Founders."

They laughed again—but in that quiet, relieved way that only comes from knowing something big is taking shape. That they were standing at the edge of something different.

Then came the knock. Light, polite.

The door creaked open and their secretary peeked through. "Sir Jack, Sir Richard, Boss Ernesto wants to see you both."

Jack groaned immediately. "Tell him we died in a freak server fire."

Richard sighed. "What’s it about this time?"

She looked at her notes, then back at them. "It’s... the continuation of the last leadership module. Uh, ’Communication & Accountability.’ Today’s topic is Decision-Making Frameworks and... oh, right—he also wants to go over prep for tomorrow’s meeting with Rockstar’s reps."

Richard tilted his head back and muttered to the ceiling, "There goes our free time."



Jack was already on his feet, dragging his heels like a schoolkid heading to detention. "He’s really going all in on the CEO role."

"Yeah, well, your dad doesn’t believe in passive leadership," Richard muttered, tapping a few commands on the tablet before powering it down. He turned to the interns. "Alright, you guys run the multiplayer tests later. Coordinate with Lina if anything weird happens. Also—"

Jack cut in, smirking. "—Let the teams know about the dev contest. Anything QoL, experimental mechanics, new mission types, or fun extras. We’ll pick the best ones for the next update."

Richard added, "Winners get increased salary rate and first pick on the Christmas bonus pot."

Jack called out as they exited, "And maybe even unlimited fridge access!"

A couple of interns cheered. Most laughed.

As they walked toward Ernesto’s office, Jack leaned close. "Bro, you think Rockstar’s gonna ask for full integration on their RAGE engine?"

"Probably," Richard said, hands in his pockets. "But that’s fine. We’re not top of the line variant. Variant 3’s already downgraded."

Jack nodded. "Still. I feel like we’re walking into a game of 5D chess."

Richard smiled faintly. "Yeah and Uncle Ernesto’s making sure we don’t lose by blundering a pawn."

They reached the door.

Jack held the door knob. "Let’s get this over with."