Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 175 Run. Hide. Fight.
Chicago.

Election Day.

Joey sat on the seventh trading seat, his eyes glued to the S&P 500 heat map on his terminal.

On the screen, the green area is decreasing.

The red color, like a stain of blood spreading, seeped from the financial sector into technology and then into energy.

Before he could speak, the sound of a chair sliding came from behind him, and someone cursed through gritted teeth:
"Fuck it, it's not even 10 o'clock yet."

The light was a cool, white color.

The room, however, always felt hot and unsettling.

Within just twenty minutes of the market opening, the S&P 500 had already fallen through two support levels.

Orders poured in like a tidal wave.

Frequent order placement flashes and delayed order cancellations.

It's as if the entire market is unsure of what it's doing, and is just blindly rushing forward.

Joey's hand hovered over the keyboard, but he hesitated to type.

New York sent a risk control signal, saying that ETF short positions were nearing their limit and that they were asking us to cover a portion of the losses.

He glanced at the internal network; the company's quant team was already automatically generating arbitrage scripts, attempting to maintain the premium through high-frequency trading.

However, the implied volatility of the options has completely overflowed the risk range, and the algorithm model has skipped steps.

"Don't hang the Delta Neutral!" someone shouted from afar.
"Their portfolio adjustment signals are all lagging; the data feed is skipping frames!"

Suddenly, the phone rang.

As soon as Joey answered, she heard the other person ask urgently:

"You haven't withdrawn your funds yet? Your funds are locked in Switzerland, and the London desk says there's a delay in Asian clearing. What's going on?"

Joey's heart sank, and cold sweat broke out on her back.

"We're controlling the inventory." He hung up the phone immediately after saying that.

at this time--

A news flash popped up in the upper right corner.

Breaking: New York police confirm attack on Federal Reserve building.

Joey's pupils contracted slightly.

He could even hear the sound of several people around him gasping at the same time.

A new message then popped up.

It's a photo.

The photo appears to have been taken at an intersection in downtown New York City.

The male corpse, dressed in a white shirt, was hanging outside a tenth-floor window.

The details are so clear they're nauseating.

In an instant, the trading room fell silent.

Even the knocking sound disappeared.

The room was eerily silent.

That is
Joey's mind was blank; he was still trying to process what was happening in front of him.

Unfortunately, time waits for no one.

The next second—

Prices began to plummet.

It's not a callback, and it's not slippage.

The entire system seemed to be falling from a height of 10,000 meters, and under the influence of gravitational acceleration, it was impossible to stop.

Bank of America, Citigroup, and JPMorgan Chase all fell by more than 9%.

Joey stared blankly at the image, watching as a certain ETF with excessive exposure was hammered down by two points in three seconds.

He placed the order reflexively, but the page suddenly froze.

"System not responding."

"Server not found".

"Transaction channel disconnected."

He kept clicking the refresh button, but there was still no response.

"That's the fucking Federal Reserve Chairman!" a colleague screamed incredulously.

“That’s impossible,” someone retorted, but their tone was more like they were trying to convince themselves. “That’s impossible. Impossible.”

Joey swallowed hard and looked down at the terminal again.

The main board index has fallen by more than 11%.

The exchange hasn't triggered a circuit breaker yet.

He finally understood where that unsettling feeling came from—

No one made a move.

Nobody in the hell made a move.

It was as if everything on top of it had died.

In the past, regardless of whether the statement was true or false, or even just a sick leave declaration, the Ministry of Finance would release a statement within ten minutes to ease market concerns.

But today, there is no news, no clarification, only videos going viral on Twitter.

thug.

Execution.

Dead body.

blood.

The man who hanged himself above Wall Street.

Soon, a notice was issued upstairs that the executive meeting would be moved up, and the CEO would be connecting directly.

The supervisor was loudly instructing the risk control team:
"Suspend all arbitrage positions," she said. "Only retain spot hedging."

11:03 AM Eastern Time.

The Nasdaq triggered the first round of circuit breakers, and the system automatically locked the disk.

Ten seconds later, the NYSE followed suit.

Following that are CBOE and IEX.

The Bloomberg terminal screen went black and then slowly restarted.

The server emitted a whirring roar from its overloaded fans, like the dying gasps of some colossal creature.

The traders took off their headphones and their suit jackets.

He slumped into the chair, motionless.

There was no sound in the hall.

Even the insults stopped.

Powerless—yes, powerless.

Like a terminally ill patient signing a statement to forgo treatment. Joey closed his eyes, feeling a tightness in his chest.

He told himself to take deep breaths to avoid suffocating later.

"Om-"

A text message popped up on my phone from my mother.

—Your father went to vote this morning.

—Is what happened in New York true?

—We were worried about you. Are you alright?

Joey instinctively looked out the window.

The sky was clear.

In the distance, wisps of gray-white smoke drifted by.

Ok?
Smoke column?

It's on fire.

Chicago is on fire.

In the trading room, many people stood up in fear.

"Look."

"Over there with Loop."

Joey picked up his phone and, as if possessed, clicked on Twitter.

Many videos failed to load, and the cover image remained on a blurry preview frame.

He finally found a clickable link under the newly posted post.

The camera was shaking, and the view showed the west shore of Lake Michigan.

Several police cars were parked across the intersection, with a dense crowd behind them.

Wearing black ski masks and holding flags high.

At the same time, the loudspeaker overhead started blaring.

"Di-di-di-di-"

"Di-di-di-di-"

"Di-di-di-di-"

That was a system alert.

It is commonly used for fire, power outage testing, or attacks.

Immediately afterwards, a synthesized female voice came from the speaker:

"You are receiving an urgent security notification."

"All employees are to immediately cease work and confirm evacuation routes."

Upon hearing this, Joey froze on the spot, her hands and feet turning ice cold.

The city skyline was swallowed up by thick smoke at some point.

The mechanical female voice continued:

If you are near any unusual noises, smoke, or suspicious individuals, please take the following steps immediately:

"First, run."

Joey snapped back to reality.

He grabbed his coat, jumped over the overturned chair, and rushed to the other side of the trading room.

In the stairwell, the red emergency light came on.

Just as he was about to escape, the door was violently smashed open.

Someone screamed, "They're here! They're here!"

Looking around the corner, a dozen or so figures wielding sharp weapons burst in, their approach menacing.

"Depend on"

Joey cursed and ran away.

My shoes slipped on the floor and I almost knocked over the water dispenser in the corner.

Smoke poured in through the ventilation duct.

Breathing became increasingly difficult.

Can't run away.

There's really no escaping it.

"Second, hide."

Joey, panting heavily, flung open the door to the equipment room and ducked inside.

The room was pitch black, with only the green light on the control panel flashing continuously.

He bent down and hid in the gap between the server rack and the wall.

More and more footsteps are coming from outside.

Interspersed with bursts of shrill screams.

"Help! Help!"

"Don't kill me—ah—!"

Then came the dull impact.

Very close.

Suddenly, someone stopped.

The hand was gently shaken, then suddenly pulled.

Joey held his breath.

The door opened.

Three men crawled in.

They neither spoke nor acted.

He simply glanced around slowly.

However, just when Joey thought they would leave soon—

A rough, large hand descended from the sky and grabbed his arm.

The next moment, he was dragged out of the shadows.

"Don't kill me—!"

Joey screamed as he was forced to the ground.

My knee slammed into the paving stones, and a sharp pain shot through me instantly.

He struggled to grab the fire extinguisher on the shelf.

"Third, war."

The female voice on the radio was indifferent.

(End of this chapter)