CHAPTER 78: CORPORATE COUNTERSTRIKE
The grand opening of RMA Inc.'s first official location should have been a celebration.
Instead, it was an ambush.
We'd done everything right. Permits filed, inspections passed, insurance secured. Amanda LaRusso had personally reviewed every document. The ribbon-cutting ceremony was scheduled for 9 AM, with local news coverage and three hundred prospective students already registered.
At 8:47 AM, the inspectors arrived.
Not one inspector. An army.
Health department. Fire marshal. Building code enforcement. OSHA representatives. Environmental compliance officers. Twelve bureaucrats with clipboards, spreading through our new facility like a coordinated strike force.
"Anonymous tips," the lead inspector explained with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Multiple concerns about safety violations. We're required to investigate."
Behind them, protesters materialized from nowhere. Professional-looking signs: "VIOLENCE ACADEMY," "PROTECT OUR CHILDREN," "STOP YOUTH MILITARIZATION." Their chants were synchronized, their anger rehearsed.
Kreese recognized the pattern immediately. "Silver taught me this," he said quietly. "Bureaucratic blitz. Overwhelm the target with simultaneous attacks from multiple agencies while public opinion poisons the well."
The cameras were already rolling. Local news had come for a feel-good story about community martial arts; they were getting a controversy instead.
"This is sabotage," Johnny growled.
"Prove it," I replied. "That's the problem."
---
I went live on Instagram while the inspectors scattered through our building.
"Good morning, Valley. As you can see behind me, Revolutionary Martial Arts' grand opening is experiencing some unexpected visitors." I panned the camera across the inspector army. "Twelve different agencies, responding to 'anonymous tips,' all arriving within the same fifteen-minute window. What are the odds?"
The viewer count climbed. Ten thousand. Twenty thousand.
"Let's watch corruption in real-time, shall we?"
Demetri had set up in our back office, three laptops open, doing whatever digital warfare he'd perfected during the Silver campaign. Twenty minutes in, he found it.
"The inspection reports were pre-written," he announced through my earpiece. "Downloaded from the same IP address two days ago. Before anyone inspected anything."
I shared that on the stream. The viewer count doubled.
Barnes emerged from the parking lot with photographs. "Protesters are paid actors. Same company that supplied Silver's crowds during the DynaTox counter-campaign. I recognized three faces."
I shared that too.
[Skill Activated: Narrative Warfare Lv.2. Public opinion shifting.]
Then the cavalry arrived.
Julie Pierce walked through the front doors flanked by a dozen veterans in disciplined formation. "Heard you needed support," she said. "Brought some friends."
Behind her came Viktor with underground fighters. Rebecca with semi-pro athletes. Parents of students. Former revolution supporters. Within an hour, two hundred people had materialized around our building—a human wall between the protesters and our doors.
The LaRusso lawyers arrived with injunctions. "Cease and desist on the fraudulent inspections," Amanda announced to the cameras. "We have evidence of coordinated harassment. Legal action is being filed."
The lead inspector's phone rang. His face went pale as he listened. When he hung up, he quietly gathered his colleagues.
"No violations found," he announced, not meeting anyone's eyes. "You're clear to proceed."
The protesters' paychecks bounced—Demetri's work, something about "banking irregularities" that he refused to explain in detail. Without payment, their enthusiasm evaporated. They dispersed in minutes.
By 11 AM, our grand opening was back on track.
By noon, it had become something more—a community rally, a demonstration of grassroots power against corporate sabotage. Local news was calling it "The People's Victory Over Corporate Bullying."
[Quest Complete: Defend RMA Inc. +175 XP. Skill Upgraded: Bureaucratic Warfare Lv.2]
---
The back kitchen became our celebration space.
Twenty people crammed into a room meant for five, passing around sandwiches from the deli next door. The energy was electric—exhaustion mixed with triumph, relief mixed with pride.
Tory sat on a counter, one hand on her growing belly. The baby kicked, and she let people feel.
"Future student," Johnny declared solemnly, palm pressed against her shirt.
"Future troublemaker," Tory corrected. "Like its aunts and uncles."
Julie was teaching Kreese some kind of veteran meditation technique in the corner, their conversation too quiet to overhear. Watching them together was surreal—two warriors from different eras finding common ground.
"First day enrollment count," Demetri announced, checking his tablet. "Two hundred and four students. Projected revenue exceeds our three-month targets."
"Revenue." Daniel shook his head. "We're martial artists talking about revenue."
"We're martial artists with dental insurance," Johnny reminded him. "Embrace it."
Sam found me by the industrial refrigerator, away from the chaos.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Processing." I accepted the sandwich she offered. "We built something. Silver tried to destroy it. We defended it." The sandwich was surprisingly good. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"The other shoe already dropped. We caught it." She leaned into me. "Maybe we're actually winning."
"That's what scares me."
"Good. Scared means you're paying attention."
At 6 PM, we finally locked the doors on day one. The count was final: two hundred and four new students enrolled. More than we'd projected for the entire first month.
Johnny stood in the empty training room, looking at the mats, the equipment, the banner reading "REVOLUTIONARY MARTIAL ARTS" that Barnes had insisted on hanging.
"We're really doing this," he said, and his voice cracked slightly.
"Just the beginning, Sensei." I clapped his shoulder.
"Just the beginning."
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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