Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The second guy laughed, the kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl because it wasn't just amusement—it was amusement at the wrong thing. "Y'all are soft. You really think this is new? This is what tracking someone actually means. You don't just sit back and watch through cameras. You get inside their life, every fucking detail. That's the thrill, man."

"Thrill?" the third guy repeated, disgust practically dripping off the word. "You're twisted."

"Hey, I never denied that." The second guy sounded way too smug about it, like he was proud. Enjoy exclusive chapters from My Virtual Library Empire

The first guy sighed heavily, frustration bubbling under his words. "I just don't get why we're even doing this job. Like, we've got a shit ton of other gigs lined up, man. Less risky ones. Safer. You know, the kind where we don't end up in fucking jail or worse."

The second guy snorted. "What's the fun in safe?"

"It's not about fun!" the first guy snapped. "It's about not wrecking everything we've built because you're bored."

But the second guy wasn't backing down. "Look, this is why we're here. Remember? To make money off these rich assholes who think the world revolves around them. That's how we've made millions. That's why we're in this damn school—to make a billion, retire early, and live like kings. This job? It's five million dollars. You really wanna pass that up? And let's not forget—the client straight-up said he'd take the gig to our competitors if we backed out. Called us kids. Said he had no faith in us, thought we'd chicken out. You wanna let him trash our reputation too?"

The place went silent for a beat, the weight of his words settling like a dark cloud over the group. Parker leaned back against the stall wall, his expression unreadable as he pieced together what he'd just heard. Whoever these guys were, they weren't just bored teenagers looking for kicks. They were something else entirely, and this job they were talking about? It sounded like trouble. Big trouble.

Parker stayed pressed against the cold wall of the cubicle, his head tilted slightly as he listened to the conversation unfold. The second guy spoke up again, his tone sharper, like he was trying to make them see the big picture—his big picture.

"Look, are you guys seriously gonna keep playing clean?" he said, his voice dripping with irritation. "We already passed the threshold of righteous. We're not good kids anymore—we're not some wannabe Robin Hood hackers doing this for kicks or to 'stick it to the man.' We're criminals. Real ones. You can't go back from that, so quit pretending you can."

"Yeah, but—" the first guy started, but the second dude wasn't about to let him finish.

"But nothing. You wanna sit here and keep doing these little one-million, one-million gigs? Fine, go ahead and be basic. But let me tell you something: with all these new hackers on the rise, there won't even be crumbs left for us. We gotta go big or go broke."

"That makes us cyber criminals," the third guy muttered, his voice quieter now. "Do you really want that label, man?"

"We are cyber criminals!" the second guy snapped, throwing his arms out like he was preaching some twisted gospel. "And you know what? That's a title we should fucking hold with pride. What's the big deal, huh? Collecting info and dirt on some woman? That's baby shit. If this job scares you, then maybe you're in the wrong business."

"But what if—" The first guy hesitated, his words heavy. "What if someone actually gets hurt from all this? I mean, this contractor dude doesn't exactly sound stable. He's got that... I don't know, 'obsessed psycho' energy. You really think we should help someone like that?"

The second guy laughed, but it wasn't lighthearted. It was sharp, almost cruel. "And we're not obsessed? Obsessed with this job? Obsessed with making it? Listen, whatever that guy's intentions are, that's not our problem. We're not therapists. We're here to get paid, end of story. So, are you in, or are you out? Because to me, this isn't just a gig. It's our first real step to billions. Billions, guys. You want that, or do you wanna keep playing small?"

The weight of his words hanging thick in the air. Then, one by one, the other two nodded, reluctant but resigned. The second guy grinned and pulled them into a rough group hug.

"That's what I'm talking about!" he said, his voice full of smug satisfaction. "Now let's go make history."

Their laughter echoed as they left the bathroom, the heavy door swinging shut behind them.

Parker stayed where he was for a moment, his head tilted slightly as he replayed everything he'd just heard. When he finally pushed the door open and stepped out of the stall, his expression was as calm and unreadable as ever.

He didn't judge them. Not at all. They were chasing the bag, and honestly? There was nothing wrong with that. Parker wasn't some self-righteous saint. Hell, if he needed something bad enough, he'd probably go to any length to get it—as long as it didn't hurt the people he cared about.

"Go make your money, kids," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with the faintest hint of amusement. He washed his hands, the sound of the faucet filling the empty bathroom, and then walked out like nothing had happened.

****

When Parker got back to class, chaos was already unfolding. Of course, it was Tessa. She had the whole room buzzing like some live concert, her laugh echoing as her classmates crowded around her and—his desk. She had this way of pulling people in, even the ones who swore they didn't give a damn about anything. It wasn't even intentional; it was just who she was.

The new star of the show, shining so bright it was almost blinding.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe for a second, watching the spectacle. His eyes flicked to Maya. She was sitting there, quiet, her arms crossed like she was holding herself together. She didn't even try to hide how much this new dynamic burned. Once upon a time, she was the center of Parker's orbit. Now? Tessa had flipped the entire script, leaving Maya looking like some side character in her own story.

Parker clicked his tongue and turned on his heel. Nope. Not dealing with this. He hated this kind of shit—the loud, overly dramatic, cliché high school bullshit. It made his skin crawl. Slipping through the hallway unnoticed wasn't hard, especially with the bell just ringing. Students flooded the corridor, pushing and shoving, hyped about something he didn't care enough to understand.

He slid his earpods in and scrolled through his phone, ignoring everything around him as he pulled up his playlist. The soft intro of "We Can't Be Friends" by Ariana Grande filled his ears, drowning out the world.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he let his feet guide him aimlessly down the hallway.

Eventually, the noise faded, and he found himself in an empty music hall. The place smelled like wood polish and faint traces of perfume someone must've left behind earlier. The grand piano sat in the center, its black surface glossy and untouched. At the back of the room was a long couch, old but comfy-looking. Parker smirked. Perfect.

He sprawled out across the couch, his legs taking up way too much space, and propped his hands behind his head like a pillow. The song played on, and without thinking, he hummed along, his voice low and rough but surprisingly steady.

"I didn't think you'd understand me… how could you ever even try? I don't wanna tiptoe but I don't wanna hide," he sang softly, half asleep now. His voice blended with the music, filling the empty room in a way that felt weirdly therapeutic.

He didn't even hear the door creak open or notice the group of students filing in. They shuffled around, talking and laughing quietly as they set up for practice. Parker stayed right where he was, eyes closed, lost in the song. It wasn't until someone pulled in a seat up in front and sat down that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

He cracked one eye open, barely lifting his head. The chair was turned backward, and the person sitting there leaned their arms over the top, watching the students start to sing. Parker stayed quiet, half-annoyed, half-curious, but too lazy to actually say anything.

Whoever it was didn't say a word either. They just sat there, unmoving, as the soft harmonies of the choir filled the room.