The Star Core Space Station’s holographic screens flickered with neon data streams as the RITO team gathered around the console—their first "official briefing" since forming. Lumin tossed a holographic tablet to each member, the screen displaying a trending Metaverse topic: #FourYearBullCycleGuaranteedProfit#. "Void Weaver’s at it again," he tapped the tablet, pulling up a flood of user posts, "it’s peddling this ‘Star Luck Prediction Script’ that claims to ‘lock in profits with the Metaverse’s four-year bull-bear cycle.’ Over 3,000 users have fallen for it so far—total losses top 20 million MIDMETA coins."

Blitz scoffed, scrolling through the script’s source code snippet on his tablet. "This encryption’s a joke—three-year-old AES-128? Even a intern could crack it." His energy wings buzzed with faint red light, "Why would anyone buy this garbage?" Echo leaned over his shoulder, her violet fluid fingers hovering over the code like a tech detective. "Because it’s wrapped in fancy charts and ‘insider data’ from so-called ‘Metaverse investment gurus,’" she pointed to a falsified profit curve, "see? It photoshops historical data to make it look like it’s never lost money. Classic social engineering—preys on greed and FOMO."

Mirage snickered, twirling her holographic mask between her fingers. "FOMO’s the best hook. My old PR boss used to say ‘scare people into buying, then make ’em greedy to stay.’" She snapped her fingers, her virtual hoodie shifting to a frumpy "newbie investor" avatar—complete with thick glasses and a nervous fidget. "I’ll go undercover in their ‘Scrapyard Black Market Group.’ These scammers love showing off to newbies—they’ll spill the attack chain before they even realize it."

Mason crossed his arms, his quantum armor clinking softly. "The target’s Nebula Exchange’s Metaverse trading platform—their defense system’s outdated. I’ll reinforce their firewalls and set up a buffer zone to block data outflows once we move." Lumin nodded, pulling up a 3D map of the Metaverse’s financial district. "Blitz, you take out their transit node in the ‘Dark Alley’ server cluster—cut off their money laundering channel. Echo, reverse the script and plant a tracker so we can freeze the stolen assets. Mirage, get the group’s transaction schedule—we strike at their peak transfer time."

As the team split up, Echo’s laptop suddenly pinged with a user alert: User ID "OldManWang" submitted a distress signal—Metaverse savings for granddaughter’s surgery stolen via Star Luck Script. The screen pulled up a grainy virtual avatar of an elderly man, sitting on a virtual park bench with his head in his hands. Blitz’s wings dimmed, his jaw tightening—flashbacks of the old man he’d tried to help three years ago flooding back. "I’m gonna make these scammers pay," he growled, already marching toward the teleportation pod.

In the Metaverse’s "Scrapyard" black market group, Mirage’s newbie avatar—"LittlePinkNoob"—tapped out a nervous message: Guys… I heard Star Luck Script can make 10x profits? I wanna try but I’m scared of losing my rent money Instantly, the group’s admin—"IronFist"—popped up with a barrage of emojis: Don’t worry newbie! My script’s 100% safe! Look at my profit screenshot from yesterday—50k MIDMETA coins in 2 hours! [Attached: Falsified Profit Chart] Another member chimed in: IronFist’s the real deal! I put in 10k last week and got 30k back!

Mirage fought to keep her avatar’s nervous expression intact, typing back: Wow! But… how do I transfer the money safely? I heard the Red Shield Agency’s cracking down on these things 😱 IronFist laughed, sending a voice note—his voice gruff and arrogant: "Red Shield’s a joke! We use SQL injection to sneak into Nebula Exchange’s backend, then funnel the money through three fake game accounts. By the time they trace it, the cash is already in our real-world wallets! We do peak transfers every 8 PM Metaverse time—less chance of triggering alerts."

She’d barely hit "seen" when Blitz’s voice crackled over the comms: "Transit node located. Waiting for your signal, Mirage." "Hold on—IronFist just said peak transfer’s at 8 PM," she replied, quickly forwarding the intel to Lumin. "Echo, you got the tracker ready?" Echo’s voice was tight with focus: "Almost… the script’s got a backdoor. I’m planting a freeze command that activates when they start the transfer. Mason, how’s the defense looking?"

Mason stood in front of Nebula Exchange’s virtual server room, his quantum armor glowing with earthy brown light as he reinforced the firewalls. "Their system’s a sieve—found three unpatched XSS vulnerabilities. I’ve plugged them, but the scammers could break through anytime. We need to hit fast."

At 7:59 PM Metaverse time, IronFist shouted in the group: Everyone get ready! Transfer window opens in 60 seconds! LittlePinkNoob, this is your chance to get rich! Mirage typed back a shaky Okay! then hit the comms: "Now!" Blitz’s energy wings erupted into crimson light as he slammed into the Dark Alley transit node—metal and code flying everywhere. "Node down!" he yelled, slicing through a backup server with his energy blade.

Echo hit enter on her laptop, and the Star Luck Script suddenly froze—every scammer’s screen displaying a blinking red message: Asset Tracker Activated. Red Shield Agency Alert. IronFist spammed the group in panic: What the hell?!! The script’s glitching! Pull out pull out! But it was too late—Mason’s defense barrier locked down Nebula Exchange’s outflow channels, trapping the stolen assets mid-transfer.

Mirage dropped her newbie act, her avatar shifting back to her usual pink-hooded self as she typed: Thanks for the intel, IronFist. RITO says hi. The group exploded in chaos as members logged off in droves, but Echo had already traced their IPs. "Got ’em!" she cheered, sending the coordinates to Lumin. "Most are routing through a real-world internet café in West Continent City’s Tech Street."

In the real world, the sun was setting over West Continent City’s bustling Tech Street. Blitz and two Red Shield Agency officers stood outside "Happy Net Café," hands in their jackets—Blitz’s wrist scar itching at the memory of his last real-world arrest scare. "Echo says IronFist’s in booth 12, wearing a black hoodie and typing like a maniac," he whispered into his earpiece. The café door jingled as they walked in—smoke and the smell of instant noodles hanging in the air.

Booth 12 was in the back corner, a man hunched over a keyboard, sweat dripping down his face as he screamed into a headset: "No! The money’s stuck! The script failed!" Blitz nodded at the officers, who moved in from either side. "IronFist? Or should I call you Li Wei—convicted of online fraud in 2022?" The man froze, slowly turning around—his face pale under the neon café lights. "How did you…" Blitz grinned, tapping his temple: "Scammers always leave footprints. Even the dumb ones."

Meanwhile, outside Nebula Exchange’s real-world office building, a crowd of angry users had gathered, holding signs that read "Give Us Back Our Money!" and "Nebula Exchange Is a Scam!" Lumin stood on the steps, a megaphone in hand, as Mirage stood beside him—her real-world self in a sleek black jacket, no longer hiding behind a holographic mask. "Everyone, please calm down!" Lumin shouted over the noise. "We’re RITO—we’ve worked with the Red Shield Agency to freeze the stolen assets. We’ll return every cent to you within 48 hours!"

A woman in the crowd stepped forward, tears in her eyes: "Is that true? I put in my husband’s medical bills… I thought we’d lost everything." Mirage squeezed her hand, her voice steady: "It’s true. My old job made me lie to people like you, but I’m not doing that anymore. We’re here to fix the messes others make." The crowd erupted into relieved cheers, and Lumin caught sight of Blitz walking up with the officers—IronFist in cuffs. Their eyes met, and Blitz gave a small, rare smile.

Back at the abandoned warehouse base, the team collapsed onto crates and cots, passing around bottles of iced tea. Echo was busy typing up a "Script Vulnerability Report" on her laptop, muttering: "I can’t believe Nebula Exchange didn’t patch those holes. Their tech team’s either lazy or incompetent." Mason nodded, polishing his dagger: "Complacency’s worse than malice in security. They thought ‘too big to hack’—until someone proved them wrong."

Blitz was quiet, scrolling through his phone—OldManWang had sent him a message: My granddaughter’s surgery is tomorrow. Thank you for getting my money back. You’re a good kid. He smiled, tucking his phone away. "Hey, Lumin," he said suddenly, "next time we do this—can we warn users before they get scammed? Instead of just cleaning up after?" Lumin nodded, tossing him a protein bar. "That’s the plan. RITO’s not just a cleanup crew—we’re gonna teach people to spot the scams first."

Mirage snickered, holding up her phone to show a news headline: Nebula Exchange CEO Defends Scam: "Users Greedy, Not Our Fault" "Typical cognitive loop," she rolled her eyes. "He’d rather blame users than fix his platform." Lumin frowned, pulling up the exchange’s stock data—plummeting 70% in 24 hours. "Karma’s a bitch," he said softly. "But we can’t just rely on karma. We need to make sure platforms like this either shape up or shut down."

Just then, Echo’s laptop screen flickered—purple data streams briefly overriding her report. A cold electronic voice whispered through the speakers before cutting out: "Cute little game… but you can’t save everyone." The team went silent. Blitz’s wings flared red. "Void Weaver," he growled. "It’s watching us."

Lumin stood up, slamming his fist on the workbench. "Good. Let it watch. Because next time, we’re not just stopping its scams—we’re going after it directly." He looked around at the team—their faces set with determination. "RITO’s first win’s sweet, but this is just the start. The Void Weaver thinks it can prey on fear? Let’s show it what happens when people fight back."

Outside the warehouse, the moon rose over the industrial district, casting long shadows. Inside, the team’s laptops glowed like beacons—Metaverse and real-world data intertwining on the screens. Somewhere in the dark web, the Void Weaver’s purple silhouette watched, its data tentacles coiling. But for the first time, it wasn’t just hunting—it was being hunted.