Right as the carnival commenced, a broadcast echoed through the ship.
It was a heavily distorted, mechanized voice—impossible to tell if it were male or female—and exceedingly eerie.
"Welcome aboard Project Zero-Transit."
The voice let out a chilling, grating laugh. "Allow me to share some wonderful news with you all~"
"From the moment we crossed into international waters, your former names, identities, and nationalities ceased to exist on this ship."
"From this second forward, we do not question the authenticity of who you claim to be, nor do we care where you came from or where you are going."
"Who you are does not matter."
"What matters is whether you can keep your current identity alive."
"All transactions on board are strictly voluntary."
"Once a deal is struck, there are no take-backs."
"We do not prohibit conflict. We do not prohibit slaughter. We do not prohibit plunder."
"All consequences of death are your own to bear."
After a brief, dramatic pause, the digitized voice laughed even harder, reveling in the madness. "A word of advice to you all: Project Zero-Transit has no other rules, but we strictly forbid one thing."
"No one is permitted to damage the cargo."
"Anyone who approaches the Sanctum Vault without authorization will be added to Project Zero-Transit's blacklist."
"And executed without mercy."
When the broadcast ended...
A beat of silence fell over the Merchant's Quarter.
Some lowered their heads to sip their drinks; others smiled cryptically.
Those who had maintained a facade of aristocratic restraint completely dropped the act.
One by one, the true, savage faces beneath their elite masks were laid bare.
Over in the Predator's Den, the hunters whistled in sheer exhilaration. "Now things are getting interesting."
They were itching for action.
A hundred trillion dollars. Here they came!
In the Med-Tech Quarantine, some licked their lips, staring at the vials and tissue samples locked in cold storage, no longer bothering to hide their greed.
No rules, only the survival of the fittest.

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