The NYSE basement reeked of lycanthropic musk and decaying derivatives. Leo's claws sparked against uranium-lined vault doors as Goldman's quants closed in, their tablets projecting kill probabilities in real-time Greek letters.
"Delta neutral at 0.82," the lead quant hissed, silver taser dripping nanite-laced mercury. "Your Bitcoin puts just funded our next gene drive iteration."
Victor's AI crackled through static: "Their CDS positions are CRISPR vectors! The more you short, the faster they rewrite your—"
The transmission died as Leo crushed a quant's windpipe. Blood splatter formed MACD histograms on the floor.
"Let's discuss basis risk," Leo snarled, dislocating another's shoulder with a São Paulo shoulder lock. The man's scream peaked at 20,000 Hz—precisely the frequency that shattered the vault's LIBOR-linked security system.
Goldberg, the chief quant, scrambled over frozen MBS tranches. "You're contaminating the data! The Fed's genome repo rates require—"
"Require this." Leo's claws carved a descending triangle into Goldberg's back, each trough deeper than the last. The wounds leaked real-time trading volumes, forming crimson candlesticks that pulsed with the victim's arrhythmic heartbeat.
As the last quant collapsed, Leo pried open a safety deposit box labeled X-12 RESEARCH. Inside, a 1985 Betamax tape hissed:
"Subject Elaine Wu exhibited 97% gene rejection... recommend crossover with Pale Hand's vampire strain..."
The tape dissolved into silver nanoworms. Somewhere above, the opening bell rang.