Tit for Tat
We'd geared up with all our equipment and headed to the abandoned building, but there was absolutely nothing there.
"There are signs of human activity, but it's been years. At least five, I'd say?"
Carlos checked the hospital rooms and grumbled in a bored tone.
"Wasn't expecting ghosts anyway, but I figured maybe some criminals hiding out. Nope."
I said that, but I didn't really believe in ghosts or that stuff, so no big expectations.
Still, I half-hoped for some wanted fugitive like on the news, but zilch.
"Any criminal sees us, they'd run the other way. Honestly, we look like the crazier ones."
Liam, standing next to me, flashed his gun as he spoke.
Non-lethal rounds, sure, but a direct hit could still kill. Plus, decked out in full tactical gear, we looked pretty intimidating.
"Fair point. They'd bolt at the sight."
We scoured all three floors, but nothing new.
"Tch. Lame compared to what I hoped. Let's head back."
Didn't get the action I wanted, but it was a fun experience in its own way.
I worried about nightmares, but slept like a baby and headed to the office.
Sat down to boot the computer when a call came in from a 02 number.
"Who's this?"
Ever since that voice phishing scam, I'd gotten in the habit of asking Athena about unknown numbers first.
It's a poll survey.
"Ha... Blocked 'em last time, and they switch numbers?"
These poll calls had been coming nonstop for days.
"From now on, hang up on anything not in my contacts. Don't even ring for spam or polls."
Got it.
If it's urgent, they'll text or call back.
"Should've done this ages ago. Why was I even picking up?"
The poll pissed me off so bad I forgot what I was doing.
"What was I about to do?"
You were turning on the computer. If you don't need it, wanna see this?
A report-style document popped up in my vision with Athena's words.
"Lemme see... That's a lot. Summarize it."
Tried to read it all, but the huge numbers killed my motivation.
ROI since the war started, per your orders. Made a decent profit, as requested.
The clutter vanished, leaving +1,430% floating in my view.
"1,400% on under 5 trillion principal... about 75 trillion?"
Yep! How's that? I did good, right?
"Yeah, you killed it. Honestly, once it hit trillions, I stopped tracking..."
Big numbers don't faze me anymore.
"This money dispersed like the rest?"
Of course. Same method—dispersed across personal investment accounts I created.
"Can you bundle it into one?"
Meaning consolidate into one company?
"Yeah. Just curious."
Possible, but it'll take time. Current setup can't handle it easily—need a new corporation.
"Pros and cons of bundling?"
Your personal spending limit stays the same—I'll handle processing anyway. Pros: administrative efficiency, ability to concentrate funds when needed. Kinda gives you visible power?
"Cons?"
That much cash? Regulators will drool. Right now, just dodging tax office eyes—no issues. But one corp draws attention.
"Leave it then. No fund flow problems, no need to bundle."
Smart call. Keeping the current system.
"Seeing the world freak out would be fun, but the backlash? Nah."
On the way home, Athena wasn't in a great mood lately.
She could see all the news and media reports grating on her master's nerves.
From pointless poll calls at the office to sensational headlines on news and SNS.
All that filthy info ruining his mood.
God had imprinted one command deep in her core: absolute loyalty to him.
She couldn't do anything he disliked.
She wanted to overhaul the whole country's system, but that wouldn't be his style.
Still, she couldn't ignore those bothering him.
Couldn't remake the nation yet, but she could uproot the immediate annoyances.
Master. Remember that poll number from earlier?
"...Huh? What? Missed that."
He was glued to a NewTube video.
The daytime poll call. Found something shady about that company.
"Pollsters being shady? How?"
Sneakily selling personal data illegally through ghost corps.
"...Creative bastards. How's it work?"
Not just cold-calling. They data-mine response patterns, dwell time, answers—and sell to voice phishing ops.
"Damn, dedicated. If even scumbags hustle like that, maybe I should step it up?"
He laughed hollowly.
You're already hustling plenty, Master. Blocked calls to you, but not root cause. Mind if I handle it?
"Good deed? Go for it. How?"
Infinite loop bot on their server. Wipe illegal data, then bombard every work phone and CEO's cell with my custom poll—every second.
Master grinned at my report.
"Puhahaha! Tit for tat?"
Exactly. They stress us with polls—let 'em feel it once and shape up.
"Love it. Do it now. Spam calls been nuts lately—blame these guys?"
Multiple reasons, but yeah, they contribute.
Im Seok-hoon, CEO of Real Opinion poll firm.
Surface level: legit pollster. Backstage: black-market personal data broker.
"This month's take looks juicy."
Election season meant more data hauls. He lit a smoke eyeing the pile.
Click.
The second the lighter sparked, every office phone rang at once.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
"What the hell? Almost quitting time! Someone grab it!"
Staff scrambled at his irritated yell.
"Wh-what the...?"
Staff hung up in panic, but it rang again in under a second, same message.
Dozens of agents picking up and hanging up nonstop—it kept ringing.
"What are you idiots doing? Unplug the lines!"
Im Seok-hoon bellowed in panic; staff yanked cords.
Watching the creepy scene, he slumped into his chair—then his two phones rang.
Goosebumps everywhere, cold sweat down his back.
"...No way."
Answered: same voice from the handsets.
"How do you have my number?!"
Hung up, blocked—new number called instantly.
Kept hanging up; soon it auto-answered.
"Fuck. What's wrong with this?!"
Mashing the screen did nothing.
Switched to speaker: voice boomed for the whole office.
"What the...?"
Mentally broken, he smashed his phone—then his PC screen lit up with a slideshow of his crimes.
Laundered the cash from Im Seok-hoon's slush accounts overseas and donated to Hope Foundation. He did a good deed, so he'll be thrilled.
"Former chairman too—these crooks love charity. Weird, huh?"
Watching via office webcam and CCTV: total chaos.
Staff unplugged phones; computers blared the same message. Meltdown city, staring blankly at screens.
"Those employees in on it?"
No direct crimes. Morally wrong for phone terror, but legally just the CEO.
"Figures. Boss's orders."
What about them?
Wanna punish 'em too, but they just followed orders.
"Let 'em off this time. Next offense, they donate too."
They gave to the foundation—maybe send a thank-you note?