radicalducati Chapter 109 Ignition
Chapter 109 Ignition
Chapter 109 Ignition
Westhawk, Long Island, New York.
On the last weekend of February, Viktor Lay's private estate hosted its biggest social gathering of the year.
The estate spans over forty acres, with its main building being a massive Tudor-style stone castle, originally built in the 1920s and owned by a railroad tycoon. After the financial crisis, it was quietly acquired by Vic through a trust fund. At this moment, the setting sun casts a warm golden-red glow on the ochre sandstone walls, and the perfectly manicured lawn slopes gently towards the Atlantic Ocean, merging seamlessly with the horizon.
At 6 p.m., the guests’ luxury cars began to stream in along the private driveway.
Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Maybachs, and occasionally a few understated black Chevrolet Suburbans.
In front of the main building of the manor, six stone pillars, each requiring two people to encircle, support a deep portico. Viktor La, dressed in a custom-made midnight blue shawl-collar tuxedo, stands in the center of the portico, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with each arriving guest. His smile is perfectly balanced, warm yet reserved.
"Mr. Deputy Secretary, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come." Vic bowed slightly and shook the hand of an elderly man with meticulously combed white hair and a composed demeanor. The latter was accompanied by a young foreign policy advisor.
"Vic, you're too kind. Snowman Investment's contributions to West Eagle's economy over the years are undeniable. It's only right that I have a drink with him." West Eagle's Deputy Minister chuckled, patting Vic's arm. His gaze swept over Vic's shoulder and then swept into the depths of the manor. "Quite a few people here tonight."
"We're all friends who care about the snowman." Vic smiled and stepped aside to make way. "Please come in and have a drink. Dinner starts at eight."
The deputy minister nodded and entered the hall with his companion.
Behind him stood the Vice Chairman of the Appropriations Committee of the Western Eagle Empire Parliament, a middle-aged politician from the South with perpetually slicked-back hair; further back was the Assistant Minister of Defense in charge of procurement, dressed in a crisp military uniform, his chest covered with numerous commendations, accompanied by a suited lobbyist from a military-industrial complex; also present were the Vice President of Losi Corporation, a director of Morgan Stanley, two legendary figures in the hedge fund world, and several board members of media groups—
At 7 p.m., as dusk settled, a formal social reception began on the terrace behind the main building of the manor, facing the western ocean.
The terrace is enormous, spanning 300 square meters, and paved with warm-toned limestone tiles from Italy. It's bordered by wrought-iron, openwork balustrades, and every few meters are large marble flowerpots filled with colorful bulbous flowers flown in from the Netherlands. In the center of the terrace, a temporary, crystal-clear champagne tower stands, next to a long buffet table. Under its silver lid are premium caviar, lobster towers, Kobe beef appetizers, and oysters and ham that are constantly replenished.
Waiters dressed in black vests and white shirts moved silently around carrying trays of vintage champagne and various cocktails.
The evening breeze was gentle, carrying the slightly salty scent of the sea.
On the terrace, elegantly dressed people mingled, glasses clinked, and politicians, soldiers, tycoons, and lobbyists gathered in small groups, their conversations and laughter mingling, occasionally interspersed with an overly exaggerated scream of surprise from a certain lady.
"William's death was too sudden." The speaker was one of the partners of BlackRock Group, a well-maintained man in his fifties of squid descent. He lowered his voice, "Morgan Stanley is in complete chaos right now, and it's said that the FBI has already intervened."
"Any clues?" another hedge fund executive asked.
"I heard—it's related to Dongguo." Black Rock's partner swirled the whiskey in his glass. "There are rumors that the association he was in charge of dealing with before is rife with shady dealings. But no one knows the specifics."
"Eastern Country—" the big boss said thoughtfully, "Recent events have all been strange. The Mars incident hasn't even passed yet, and now the Chinese currency has collapsed, and William has been killed—I have a feeling that something big is about to happen."
"Enough of that," a third person chimed in, raising his glass to Vic La in the distance. "It's Vic's day today, don't spoil the fun. Besides, the information he's given us has helped us avoid a lot of trouble lately."
Several people looked at Vic, their expressions complex. This founder of Snowman Investment had risen too quickly in recent years, his background too mysterious, yet his performance was undeniably outstanding. The shrewd people on Golden Bull Street had long sensed that he was no ordinary individual, but no one would turn down money.
8:00 PM.
The lighting on the terrace suddenly changed, with several spotlights simultaneously shining on the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading from the main building to the terrace. The doors slowly opened, and Viktor La, hand in hand with a socialite, stepped into the center of the spotlight's glow.
applause.
Vic smiled and nodded in greeting, then led his female companion through the crowd that automatically parted to make way for them, and onto a makeshift stage half a meter high at the end of the terrace. The stage was set against a backdrop of dark red velvet curtains, embroidered with the Snowman Investment logo in gold thread—a simple outline of a snow leopard.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vic stopped, took the wireless microphone handed to him by the waiter, and his voice was clearly transmitted to every corner of the terrace through the hidden sound system, "Thank you all for coming tonight. I know that everyone's time is precious, and the fact that you can come here shows that I, Vic La, am not yet outdated."
A soft, good-natured laugh rippled through the audience.
"The financial markets have experienced unprecedented volatility over the past month," Vic continued, his tone calm. "The Chinese currency collapsed, stock indices in many countries plummeted, and even traditional safe-haven assets were not spared. Many people have asked me, 'How is Snowman Investment doing? How much has our fund drawn down? Is our model still working?'"
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the entire room, his smile deepening.
"Today, I can responsibly tell you all—" He raised his right hand, as if to make a forceful gesture, then his movement froze.
His right hand froze in mid-air, his fingers trembling slightly. A short, strange gasp came from the microphone, as if someone had suddenly grabbed his throat.
Some people in the audience looked puzzled.
Vic's face changed visibly under the spotlight. His once well-maintained, healthy-looking complexion now appeared as if something had been ripped away from his skin by an invisible hand—
The skin quickly lost its elasticity, becoming ashen and dry. The cheeks sunken, the eye sockets became deep-set, and the color drained from the lips, revealing the pale gums underneath.
"Vic?" The young advisor beside the deputy secretary called out instinctively.
Vic opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a "hoarse" sound, like a leaking bellows, came from his throat. His body began to tremble violently, and his expensive midnight blue tuxedo suddenly swayed empty as if it were hanging on a hanger.
"My God—!" someone screamed.
Everyone watched in disbelief as, in just a few seconds, Viktor Rahman transformed from a successful businessman in his prime into a dried-up, shrunken corpse with skin clinging to his bones. The corpse was still dressed in a formal suit, still standing on the podium, still maintaining that stiff pose of raising his right hand.
The most terrifying thing is that his mouth is still moving.
The chapped lips stretched slowly but irresistibly to both sides with a mechanically defying rhythm, widening and widening beyond the limits of any human facial muscle. *Pfft—*
—"
A sticky, muffled sound, like a bubble bursting.
A grayish-brown shadow suddenly darted out from that mouth that stretched from ear to ear!
That was a creature.
It was nearly thirty centimeters long, its entire body a slippery, dark grayish-brown, covered with fine wrinkles that constantly oozed mucus. It lacked a distinct head and limbs, resembling more of a short, stout, mutated segmented insect or some kind of pupa. One end appeared to have a mouthpart-like structure, which was frantically opening and closing.
As soon as it was separated from Vic's body, it immediately showed extreme fear and discomfort.
It charged violently into the crowd.
Screams erupted as the bizarre scene assaulted the eyes of onlookers. Many were immediately thrown into hysterical screams and chaos. Ladies scattered and fled, their skirts billowing, politicians were escorted back by bodyguards, wine glasses were overturned, tables were knocked over, champagne towers collapsed, and the sound of shattering crystal glasses was drowned out by the wave of panic.
The monster slithered across the ground like a snake, moving incredibly fast, but its goal was clear: to crawl off the terrace.
Snap snap snap snap snap ————
A burst of gunfire rang out, but it couldn't stop the thing from darting through the crowd and eventually disappearing.
At this moment, the security personnel outside the terrace rushed in, and seeing the panicked crowd, they were momentarily confused about what had happened.
In this chaotic moment, a security guard suddenly malfunctioned again. Just like Viktor Rahman before him, he clutched his own neck, and his body began to age rapidly—
As before, a strange creature burst out of his mouth.
"Smack!!"
'
Seemingly having learned from the previous experience, this time, a security guard calmly fired a shot, hitting the slippery creature squarely. The strange creature, being only human, couldn't withstand the bullet; half its body was torn apart, and it began to writhe futilely on the ground until it was completely immobilized.