[RE-ENG] What? My “Information Club” is Actually an All-Knowing Secret Society?
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Chapter 2.3 : Support Class
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[Location: Sector Epsilon: Tangerang — The Nexus, Deep Underground (6.1702° S, 106.6403° E)]
[Time: Day -28/ 01:05AM]
[Temperature: 12°C (Liquid Cooled)]
The subterranean facility, hidden beneath Tangerang's industrial outskirts, operated independently. This sanctuary, known as The Nexus, served as a fortress designed to support massive computational power. The ambient temperature in the room remained constant at 12°C. The climate was regulated by an immersion and liquid cooling network. Thick, transparent tubes the size of a human arm snaked across the ceiling and down the walls, transporting neon-blue chemical coolant between rows of server racks. The constant hum of the overclocked processors and the rushing liquid produced a deep mechanical vibration that reverberated throughout the concrete chamber.
FrostBite sat in the center of this technological labyrinth, surrounded by a circular workstation with six curved screens.
He sat cross-legged in an ergonomic racing chair. His posture remained relaxed, despite the chill in the room. He sported an oversized graphic hoodie and sweatpants. His unkempt hair fell loosely over his brow, indicating no effort at personal grooming. A pyramid of empty energy drink cans cluttered the right side of his desk, serving as a physical reminder of his sleepless hours spent in front of the screen. He wore yellow-tinted computer glasses. The reflective lenses reflected thousands of lines of encryption code scrolling quickly down his monitors.
FrostBite handled the scrolling data with ease. He had a sharp mind that naturally classified the physical world into rigid systems, mechanics, and optimization protocols.
The global cybersecurity community and international intelligence agencies thought FrostBite had died.
Six years ago, an unnamed developer transformed the architecture of global digital security. This anonymous genius developed the "Aegis Protocol," a secure financial encryption algorithm. Within months of its silent release on the deep web, the protocol had become the primary security framework used by the World Bank, the Pentagon, and Wall Street's high-frequency trading servers. The global elites relied on this system to safeguard trillions of dollars and their most sensitive state secrets. The creator of the Aegis Protocol amassed unlimited wealth and unrestricted access to the world's most secure databases.
FrostBite was the name of the creator.
He had achieved mastery of the digital realm. He was able to manipulate global stock markets, gain access to classified military deployments, and examine the hidden financial ledgers of the world's most powerful leaders.
This access created a suffocating sense of nihilism.
As FrostBite delved into the raw data of human civilization, he began to see the entire world as a poorly designed, trashier video game. He categorized corrupt politicians as repetitive NPCs with broken dialogue trees. He viewed the global economy as a rigged progression system designed to trap low-level players in never-ending grinding loops while server administrators hoarded premium loot. He mapped the geopolitical conflicts as scripted events, generating zero progression for the player base.
He had reached the Level Cap of reality. He had unlimited resources, complete visibility, and no challenges remaining. The world provided no endgame content to occupy his brilliant mind.
FrostBite, driven by boredom and disgust for the corrupted server he was on, decided to delete his own character file.
He orchestrated a digital illusion. To conceal his death in a private jet explosion over the Pacific Ocean, he falsified flight manifests, forged dental records, and altered satellite tracking data. He removed his digital footprint. He deleted his fingerprints, facial recognition data, and birth records from every government database on Earth. He vanished from the surface world, plunging into the depths of the dark web. He used a portion of his hidden wealth to build The Nexus in Tangerang, and he spends his days managing underground cyber-criminal syndicates as a pastime.
Four years later, his boredom was shattered when he discovered the Information Club's encrypted network.
FrostBite had intercepted cryptic data packets uploaded by the user known as The Architect. FrostBite's perspective shifted as he deconstructed the predictive models, geological warnings, and intricate biological mutations detailed in the Architect's posts.
He examined the Architect's data with the same scrutiny that a lead programmer would when reviewing a system update. FrostBite recognized the timeline precision and certainty of the impending global catastrophe as undeniable Source Code.
He came to the conclusion that The Architect was similar to the GM of Reality.
FrostBite interpreted the impending Great Freeze as a server-wide wipe command initiated by the Developer to remove the corrupted reality and clear the memory cache for a brand new expansion pack. The apocalypse was simply the largest Patch Note in human history.
This realization gave FrostBite the ultimate endgame goal. He chose to pledge his allegiance to the architect. He decided to use his digital empire and wealth to serve as the supreme Support Class for the new world order.
FrostBite cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound echoing over the hum of the liquid cooling pumps. He reached for a fresh can of energy drink, popped the aluminum tab, and took a long sip. He placed the can down and focused his attention on the central monitor.
The screen displayed a customized digital interface he had coded personally. The header read: [GUILD TREASURY]. The layout closely resembled the inventory management screen of a massively multiplayer online role-playing game.
FrostBite activated a secondary program on his left monitor. He activated the hidden backdoor that he had purposefully coded into the core architecture of the Aegis Protocol six years ago. The global banking system believed that the protocol was impenetrable. FrostBite had the master key.
He ordered the liquidation of his hidden financial empire. He began withdrawing billions of dollars from offshore accounts, dummy corporations, and shell companies managed by the Information Club. He routed digital currency transactions through complex crypto tumblers, breaking them down into untraceable data packets. He masked the purchase of IP addresses by using decentralized proxy servers that bounced across random global locations.
The interface on the central monitor chimed softly. A number of logistical requests were queued up in the system. FrostBite smiled, dismissing the military expenditures as routine in-game inventory purchases.
He clicked the first notification.
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[Request ID: 001]
User: VIPER [PILLAR]
• ITEM: Military-grade thermal optics (x50).
• ITEM: Auto-Sentry Turrets (x 12)
• COST: $4,500,000
• NOTE: "Perimeter defense. Need it by tomorrow night."
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FrostBite chuckled softly and adjusted his yellow glasses. He examined the request from his rigid gaming perspective.
"Classic Viper."
FrostBite murmured into the empty room.
"He is focusing his skill tree on increasing his DPS and physical defense stats. He wants automated turrets to handle the low-level mob aggro in the beginning stages of the raid. It is an effective strategy for conserving stamina, but relying on static defenses restricts his mobility in later phases."
Frostbite advanced his cursor and pressed the green button.
[AUTHORIZED]
The system transferred the untraceable funds to an international arms dealer, securing the shipment to Viper's underground bunker.
The second notification pulsed on the screen. FrostBite opened the file.
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[REQUEST ID: 002]
USER: SERAPH [PILLAR]
• ITEM : ‘Medi-Corp’ Warehouse Buyout
• STOCK : Insulin, Antibiotics, Painkillers
• COST : $12,200,000
• NOTE : "To heal the lambs. Purity required. I report this solely to maintain the ledger."
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FrostBite laughed and slapped his hand against his thigh.
"Twelve million dollars for basic restorative consumables."
FrostBite grinned and shook his head.
"She is doing well in the primary healer class. Any successful endgame raid party requires a dedicated healer with an infinite supply of potions."
He slammed his finger onto the mouse button.
[ AUTHORIZED ]
The digital interface chimed three more times in rapid succession. The Elite tier members submitted their logistical requirements.
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[REQUEST ID: 003]
USER: IRONCLAD [ELITE]
• ITEM : 500 Tons Quick-Dry Cement & Steel
• LOC : Sector 3 (Sanctuary Wall)
• COST : $2,100,000
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[REQUEST ID: 004]
USER: VECTOR [ELITE]
• ITEM : Armored Rover Fleet (x10) + Diesel
• COST : $850,000
• NOTE : "Fast Travel unlocked."
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[REQUEST ID: 005]
USER: NIGHTOWL [ELITE]
• ITEM : Long-Range Radio Repeaters + Solar
• COST : $420,000
• NOTE : "Anti-Lag System."
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FrostBite reviewed the three requests. Ironclad focused on expanding base-building mechanics and increasing structural hit points. Vector was establishing reliable fast travel routes across the hostile map to ensure the faction's mobility. Nightowl was improving server stability to reduce communication lag during critical combat encounters.
"Excellent teamwork from the Elites,"
FrostBite praised quietly.
"They're building a strong foundation for the guild. I will round Vector's vehicle budget up to one million to ensure he receives a premium result."
He highlighted all three requests and processed them simultaneously.
[ AUTHORIZED ]
FrostBite leaned back in his chair and looked at the primary financial counter, which displayed his total liquid assets. The number plummeted quickly. The automated scripts burned through his fortune, converting it into physical survival gear scattered across the country's hidden drop points.
He watched the numbers decrease from billions to millions to thousands.
When the final transaction cleared the crypto tumbler, the master account balance went to zero.
FrostBite's face lit up with a big smile. He had no regrets about losing his wealth. He understood the fundamental mechanics of the upcoming server wipe. When the global grid failed and black snow buried central banks, the value of every fiat currency on the planet plummeted. Paper money and digital bank balances would become obsolete.
"Money is composed of dead pixels. "
FrostBite whispered, his eyes gleaming from the excitement of execution.
"The global economy will crash in twenty-nine days. The ultimate Pay-to-Win strategy is to raid the old world and stockpile physical loot for the new expansion. The Architect provided the strategy guide, and I simply bought out the item shop."
He cracked his knuckles, satisfied with his performance as the guild’s treasury manager. He pulled up a fresh window of code, ready to begin optimizing the security protocols for their new radio repeaters.
***
[Location: Arlen’s Apartment, West Jakarta]
[Time: Day -28 / 09:30 PM]
[Temperature: 39°C]
The night air did little to cool down the fourth-floor apartment. Even after sunset, the heat in West Jakarta still lingered, pressing against the thin walls and worn wooden furniture like an invisible weight.
Arlen stirred slowly from his thin mattress. A low groan escaped him as he raised an arm to block the faint light seeping through the curtains. His messy black hair stuck out in uneven angles, flattened on one side from sleep. His dark eyes carried the dull exhaustion of someone who had spent a rough day at work.
He sat up at the edge of the bed and wiped a thin layer of sweat from his neck. The small desk fan in the corner spun lazily, doing little more than circulating the stale air around the room.
After a moment, he stood and walked toward the kitchen area where the refrigerator hummed softly. He opened it, scanning the nearly empty shelves before grabbing a carton of milk. It was close to its expiration date.
Instead of warming it or preparing anything properly, Arlen simply opened it and took a long sip straight from the carton. The cold was weak, the taste slightly off, but it was enough to keep him going.
In the quiet of the night, he leaned against the counter for a moment, then picked up his smartphone. With tired eyes, he tapped the screen to check his notifications.
His expression changed.
The Information Club app showed a red notification badge.
Over five hundred unread messages in the encrypted group chat.
“Ten thousand messages … in one day?”
Arlen muttered, his voice thick with morning raspiness.
"What are they doing in here?"
He opened the application and began scrolling through the chat logs. His narrative-driven mind processed the text, reading the detailed conversations between his followers.
He witnessed FrostBite discussing the liquidation of global assets, referring to financial maneuvers and cryptocurrency routing. He reviewed Viper's specifications for military-grade thermal optics and automated defense turrets. He saw Seraph confirm the purchase of a large pharmaceutical warehouse. He read the logistics reports from Ironclad, Vector, and Nightowl on concrete shipments, armored vehicles, and communication arrays.
Arlen leaned against his kitchen counter and read the messages with interest.
"They are dedicated to world building."
Arlen thought, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.
"FrostBite maintains the persona of a rogue hacker in charge of a guild treasury. Viper sounds like a military contractor planning a siege. And Seraph's dialogue sounds like a charismatic cult leader hoarding supplies. The character's consistency is flawless."
He saw the exchange of illegal arms purchases, hacking, and apocalyptic preparation as elaborate role-playing games. He assumed these users were bored office workers, IT professionals, and creative writers working together online to broaden the fictional universe of his upcoming novel.
Arlen felt a surge of pride rise in his chest. Years of struggling as an unknown author had resulted in little success. Now he was watching a group of devoted fans interact with the lore, riddles, and survival mechanics he had created. He felt proud that as a Game Master, he had brought their imaginations together to create an interactive story.
"They take the 'Great Freeze' scenario too seriously LMAO."
Arlen murmured, smiling softly as he closed the app on his phone.
"I need to ensure that the next chapter matches their energy. If they intend to build an underground base during the roleplay, I should include a bunker-defense sequence in the plot."
He walked over to his creaky wooden desk in the corner of the living room. The desk was cluttered with empty coffee mugs, crumpled notes, and cheap pens. He sat down, the wood groaning under his weight. He stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiff muscles. He cracked his knuckles, preparing his hands for a long typing session.
Arlen opened his word processor, staring at the blinking cursor on the blank page. His dark eyes focused on the fictional world inside his head, ready to craft the next sequence of his story.
He sat alone in his hot apartment, typing the manuscript. He remained unaware that his fictional commands had just drained billions of dollars from the global economy and mobilized military hardware across the continent.
›› To Be Continued ‹‹
—KS