Chapter 3: The Arsenal of Rules

Chapter 3: The Arsenal of Rules

The two faces of Victor Vance stared back at Alex from his monitors, a study in grotesque contradiction. On the left, the smirking CEO, a pillar of the medical community in a tailored suit. On the right, the anonymous rage of Vipertek, spewing digital venom. They were the same man, and that fact was a splinter in Alex’s mind. A man who profited from healing was poisoning the digital well in his spare time. It was an obscenity.

Alex knew that simply reporting Vipertek’s abusive messages would, at best, result in a slap on the wrist. A temporary suspension, a warning. Victor Vance would laugh it off. To truly strike at a man like this, you couldn’t attack his persona; you had to attack his wallet. And his primary wallet was Vance Medical Refurbishing, Inc.

The corporate website was a polished facade, but what about its sales channels? A company dealing in refurbished equipment had to move its product somewhere. Alex returned to the e-commerce platform, the viper’s den. He didn't search for 'Vipertek.' He started searching for keywords associated with Vance's legitimate business: "Vance Medical," "Surgical Refurb," "Hospital Surplus."

For ten minutes, he found nothing but competitors. Then, he tried a different approach. Victor was arrogant. He hid in plain sight. Alex typed "VanceMed-Surplus" into the search bar.

He hit enter, and a new storefront materialized on his screen. It was the polar opposite of Vipertek’s amateurish page. The branding was clean, professional, using the same blue and white color scheme as the corporate website. The feedback was a perfect 100%. The listings were for high-ticket items: anesthesia machines, surgical lighting systems, patient monitors. Each one was priced in the thousands, some in the tens of thousands. It was a slick, professional operation.

Too professional.

Alex’s eyes scanned the page, his internal alarms beginning to chime. He clicked on a listing for a "Zoll M Series Defibrillator/Monitor." The price was $3,500. The description was detailed, clinical, and reassuring. It looked completely legitimate. But Alex, in his years of navigating the platform's labyrinthine policies, had developed an almost photographic memory for restricted categories. He knew for a fact that certain medical devices were heavily regulated. You couldn't just sell them like used calculators.

His fingers became a blur. A new browser window opened, and he navigated to the FDA's device classification database, a clunky, bureaucratic government website that would give most people a migraine. For Alex, it was just another set of rules to be mastered. He typed in the model number.

The result flashed on screen: Class III Device.

Alex’s breath caught in his throat. Class III. The highest risk category. Devices that sustain or support human life. Pacemakers, automated external defibrillators, heart valves. The sale of such devices was restricted to licensed practitioners and authorized distributors. Selling one on an open e-commerce platform was not just against the site's policy; it was a federal offense.

A slow, cold grin spread across Alex’s face. Victor wasn't just arrogant. He was a fool. A greedy, reckless fool, so assured of his own untouchability that he was conducting flagrantly illegal business on one of the most heavily monitored marketplaces in the world.

The hunt for revenge was forgotten, eclipsed by something far more potent. Alex wasn't just going to get a bully banned. He was going to dismantle an empire using its owner's own careless greed as the demolition charge.

The rest of the world slept, but Alex’s apartment became a war room. He began his work, his movements economical and precise. For every illegal item he found on the VanceMed-Surplus page, he opened a new tab.

First, the listing itself. He saved a full-resolution copy of the page, the photos, the item description, the seller ID. Digital evidence.

Second, the FDA database. He took a screenshot of the device's Class III classification, highlighting the specific regulations governing its sale and distribution. The law.

Third, the e-commerce platform’s own policy page. He navigated to the dense, multi-page document on "Medical Devices Policy." He found the exact clause, Section 4, Subsection B: "The sale of prescription or Class III medical devices is strictly prohibited." He highlighted the sentence. The weapon.

He compiled the evidence for the defibrillator into a meticulously organized folder on his desktop. Then he moved to the next item. A "Valleylab Force FX Electrosurgical Unit." Another search. Another Class III violation. Another folder of irrefutable proof.

And another. And another. Anesthesia vaporizers, infant incubators, surgical lasers. The list grew, a digital indictment of shocking scale. Victor Vance wasn't just dabbling; he was running a full-blown illegal clearinghouse for life-saving equipment, treating it with the same casual disregard as a box of used electronics.

As the hours bled away and the eastern sky began to pale from black to a bruised purple, the sheer scale of his dossier gave Alex a moment of pause. He looked at the final tally. He had documented thirty-four separate listings, totaling over $187,000 in flagrantly illegal sales. This was no longer a simple report. This was a corporate execution. This would bring down a level of scrutiny on Victor Vance that could lead to federal agents, prison time, the utter destruction of his life.

Was this too much? Was this righteous crusade just a disproportionate response to a few hateful messages?

The doubt gnawed at him. He was the Ghost, a silent arbiter of online fairness, not a wrecking ball. He minimized the dossier and, on a morbid impulse, navigated back to Vipertek’s profile, to the ‘Feedback left for others’ page.

He read the words again.

“Maybe if you learned to read English you’d know it was sold AS-IS.”

“I don’t have time to haggle with your kind.”

“Go ask your mommy for an allowance.”

The cold rage returned, instantly extinguishing the flicker of doubt. This wasn't just about the insult to him. It was about the casual cruelty Victor inflicted on anyone he saw as weak. It was about the man who sold machines designed to save lives while simultaneously treating other human beings as garbage. The hypocrisy was absolute. He deserved no mercy. This wasn’t revenge anymore. It was sanitation.

His resolve hardened into steel, Alex went back to his work for one final review before he launched his attack. As he clicked through the saved images of the listings, his sharp eyes caught something he’d missed in his feverish haste. On a listing for a set of high-end Olympus endoscopes, the description mentioned "minor cosmetic wear on the housing." But in one of the high-resolution photos, Alex zoomed in. It wasn't cosmetic wear. The metal plate where the serial number should have been was deeply and deliberately scratched, the digits gouged into an unreadable silver scar.

He quickly checked another listing, for a portable ultrasound machine. The same thing. The serial number was abraded, intentionally obscured.

A new, chilling realization dawned on him. You don't scratch off serial numbers on equipment you acquired legally. You do it to make stolen goods untraceable.

This wasn't just illegal sales. This was trafficking. Victor Vance wasn't just a rule-breaker. He was a high-level criminal, part of a supply chain that likely started with theft from the very hospitals his company claimed to serve.

Alex stared at the screen, the weight of his discovery pressing down on him. The dossier on his screen was no longer just a tool for revenge. It was a declaration of war against an enemy far more dangerous than he had ever imagined. He took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the mouse. The arsenal was built. It was time to open fire.