Urban System in America-Chapter 88 - 87: The Prelude to Madness

Monday — 9:30 AM — The Bell Rang

The clang of the opening bell hit like a war drum.

A deep metallic echo that seemed to reverberate through the bones of the entire financial world.

Rex leaned forward, his hands tense over the mouse and keyboard. The hum of his computer and the outside world, the muted city sounds, the honking of cars, the faint barking of a neighbor’s dog... faded into absolute nothingness.

All that existed now was the screen glowing in front of him.

On his screen, Trivaxa Pharmaceuticals slowly blinked to life, sluggishly at first, like a giant stirring from deep slumber. The stock’s ticker flashed faint green and red, a heartbeat just beginning to quicken.

The battlefield was open.

His palms were slick despite the coolness of the room and nd his throat was parched.

He had done everything... the Aeon Glasses, the Energy Potion, the Trace Reduction Card, but now it came down to nerve.

He wasn’t the only one moving.

Behind the calm surface of the markets

The orchestra behind the scenes stirred as well, dark players hidden in deep shadows. Dark pool trades flickered like shadows in a storm. Brokers whispered coded commands Insider movements slithered across the order books, invisible to all but the most trained eyes, too quiet to hear, but their ripples would eventually shatter everything.

First Strike.

Trivaxa twitched... a minor dip.

$8.91 → $8.83.

The price dipped within seconds the market opened.

It was nothing major, but enough to spark small fires of fear across retail traders’ forums, some even began selling in panic, tiny retail orders flashing red on Rex’s screen.

Comments flooded in:

"Weird sell-off?" "Biotech pump dead?"

It’s starting.

Rex’s breathing slowed.

He waited, fingers twitching over the mouse, forcing himself to stay patient.

But he didn’t flinch. He knew it was a test, a soft flush. the deliberate shaking of weak hands. Retail sheep always panicked at the first hint of red.

Another dip but this time a bit sharper

$8.83 → $8.66.

A heavier dump this time, Someone big dumped a few thousand shares recklessly at market price, causing a micro-crash.

Retail panic ignited.

The forums he monitored exploded in panic chatter.

"Trivaxa collapsing?!" "Abandon ship?!" "SELL! SELL!"

Some began unloading their shares blindly, feeding the collapse.

He moved instinctively, and almost threw his buy orders in blindly —

But he froze.

Grittied his teeth.

And forced himself to wait.

This was the game.

A carefully designed trap.

Flush the weak hands first.

It was a classic but always useful tactic.

At $8.58, the bleeding slowed.

Rex could almost smell it... the fear, the indecision, the trembling across millions of traders glued to their screens.

This was it.

Rex’s heart hammered against his ribs.

He had one chance to move.

"Now," he whispered.

First batch — $300,000, split into precise, random-sized orders across three price levels.

8.57.

8.55.

8.50.

Orders executed instantly, vanishing into the chaos without leaving a trace.

He didn’t cause any blip, didn’t trigger any algorithms

He blended perfectly into the panic.

Perfect.

The stock trembled at $8.48... then suddenly, like a tectonic shift, the bid wall thickened.

Thousands of shares stacked silently on the buy side... a clear signal.

The insiders were moving in.

Now.

He threw in the rest... $600,000, but not recklessly. He scattered the orders like buckshot across multiple price points, sizes randomized, timings staggered just milliseconds apart.

8.48.

8.42.

8.30.

His orders filled like knives slipping into butter... smooth, invisible.

The screen flashed green... orders filling rapidly without tipping off any algorithms. His position solidified: full exposure.

Now he was fully in.

$1,000,000 riding on a biotech stock that could collapse or explode within minutes, but of course that was for others, because he knew that it would definitely go up.

But still, the tension at this moment was unbearable.

As his breath was ragged, and cold sweats appeared all over his body.

At first, nothing.

The price hovered.... $8.32... $8.33...

A long, agonizing thirty seconds.

Every second was a hammer against his skull.

Then —

BOOM.

The market turned violently.

Someone — no, multiple whales — slammed the stock down harder.

$8.28.

$8.23.

$8.17.

Panic. Instant panic.

It immediately spread like wildfire.

Retail investors fled like rats from a burning ship.

Stop-losses triggered en masse. Margin calls began squeezing amateurs out of their positions.

His P&L briefly flashed

-8%.

-10%.

-12%.

Red.

Bleeding.

A brutal knife drop.

Rex gritted his teeth.

He was still in heavy, bleeding with every tick.

His stomach twisted violently.

Retail traders screamed in the forums. Some began dumping, terrified.

But he didn’t move.

Rex’s palms sweated, but his grip didn’t waver. He stared into the chaos, unblinking.

"Hold."

"Hold, damn it!" he screamed inwardly.

The forums became a bloodbath:

"Trivaxa is a scam!"

"I’m ruined!"

"Get out while you still can!!"

He didn’t move a muscle.

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

He wasn’t here to play against retail. He was here carving his path among titans.

He was playing against the shadows the titans behind the curtain orchestrating this beautiful massacre.

The symphony behind the scenes roared louder now, an unseen orchestra, a deliberate bloodbath.

Crash it before the real game begins.

The price bounced at $8.24... then stabilized... no, not stabilized... instead strengthened.

The buy walls returned.

Huge, silent orders layered just beneath the surface. Support was building. Heavy, invisible hands catching the fall, invisible to retail eyes.

Whales were there.

Catching everything.

Waiting.

A chill ran down Rex’s spine.

He exhaled shakily.

"Still here," he muttered.

They were still there.

Waiting.

Waiting for retail to empty their pockets before the real show began.

11:00 AM

The price rebounded crazily.

$8.33.

$8.56.

$8.70.

Retail chased again, desperate to recover losses, but they were too late. Too clumsy. The predators had already set the trap. And would drown them before lifting the price for real.

The stock rippled like a tsunami gathering speed, but he didn’t flinch and sat motionless, holding his position, surfing the rising tide. His P&L turned green again — slowly, then rapidly.

$8.84.

$8.91.

$9.03.

It climbed.

But he didn’t sell.

No selling. No exit.

He wasn’t here for pennies.

This was just the prelude, nothing more.

The forums roared in confusion and awe:

"Trivaxa breaking out??"

"Someone knows something!!"

"LOAD UP BEFORE NEWS DROPS!!"

Some cried victory, others screamed trap. The war was full-blown.

The push-and-pull continued... artificial crashes and vicious rebounds... but Rex endured, heart beating in tune with the madness.

1:00 PM

Suddenly — as if on cue —

A flash headline.

⚡ BREAKING: Trivaxa Pharmaceuticals Schedules 2 PM Press Conference ⚡

The kill shot.

The final piece moved into place.

The headline hit like a thunderclap across every major financial site, because due to the bloodbath earlier it was on the radar of almost everyone, and any news related to it was flying without wings.

Rex grinned savagely.

The real news was coming... and those dark players knew it.

1:30 PM

A brutal tug-of-war erupted.

Huge sell walls dropped suddenly.... millions of shares flooding the ask side... crushing fragile retail confidence.

The stock wobbled.

$9.03 → $8.82.

More weak hands dumped. More despair. More agony.

Panic sellers leapt out again.

Meanwhile, in the dark, the real predators slipped their orders underneath, gobbling shares in secret.

Hundreds of millions poured in, hidden behind iceberg orders, dark pool routes, phantom accounts.

The price held steady, like a warship battered by waves but never capsizing.

His monitors flickered with the weight of incoming data. Sentiment metrics swung wildly. Forums screamed bloody murder.

He didn’t even blink.

He stared unblinking at the clock.

Almost time.

Almost.

2:00 PM.

The moment of truth.

The Trivaxa Pharmaceuticals logo flashed on every major financial news site.

The CEO walked to the podium... dark suit, bright tie, calm, predatory smile.

Microphones buzzed.

Cameras snapped.

The world held its breath.

"Today, we are proud to announce breakthrough Phase 3 clinical trial results for our diabetes and weight-loss drug, TRX-101.

Preliminary results show a 92% success rate, with minimal side effects compared to any other competitors."

Silence.

Dead silence.

Then —

Chaos.

Pure, beautiful, uncontrollable chaos.

The market instantly detonated.

Buy orders flooded in like a dam bursting.

The price catapulted:

$8.92.

$9.74.

$10.81.

$12.50.

HALT.

Limit Up.

Automatic trading halt triggered as the stock blasted past circuit breaker thresholds.

The forums collectively lost their minds.

"MOTHER OF GOD."

"WE’RE GOING TO THE MOON!"

"HURRY UP AND BUY TRIVAXA"

"WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE RICH!!"

Rex’s P&L flashed numbers so large they barely registered:

+153%.

+179%.

+214%.

His $1 million had ballooned into nearly $3 million... and still climbing.

And still, he didn’t sell.

Because the system info had told him to,

Hold.

The real madness hasn’t even begun yet.

(End of Chapter)