DeepSeek, a one-year-old startup, revealed a stunning capability: It presented a ChatGPT-like AI model called R1, which has all the familiar abilities, operating at a fraction of the cost of OpenAI’s, Google’s or Meta’s popular AI models. The company said it had spent just $5.6 million training its newest AI model, compared with the hundreds of millions or billions of dollars US companies spend on their AI technologies. The Wall Street Journal first reported the technology’s ultra-low cost.

That sent shockwaves through markets, in particular the tech sector, on Monday.

The S&P 500 fell by 1.4% and the tech-heavy Nasdaq plunged by 2.3%. The Dow was unchanged. Markets were substantially lower earlier in the session, but investors may have judged the sell-off somewhat overdone.

Hark now, of the City, sprawling 'neath a sky seldom kissed by honest dawn, a metropolis choked on its own fumes and ambitions, where stone sweats avarice and shadows breed secrets deeper than the forgotten catacombs. Within this labyrinth of stark contrast, where the opulent mansions of the Barons cast long, contemptuous darkness upon the squalid districts of the poor, there walks a figure, less man than rumour, less hero than necessity: Garrett, the Master Thief.

His coming is not heralded by trumpets, nor his deeds sung by bards in firelit halls. Nay, he is a creature of the crepuscular hour, a connoisseur of silence, his domain the unguarded passage, the blind spot of the watchman, the slumbering household oblivious to the delicate violation underway. See him now, a silhouette against the glow of a distant gas-lamp, merging with the deeper gloom of an archway, his movements measured, precise, each footfall placed with the care of one testing thin ice over a fathomless void. His tools are not the brazen shield nor the thirsty sword, but the cunning lockpick that whispers secrets to tumblers, the blackjack, swift and merciful dispatcher of inconvenient consciousness, and arrows – feathered shafts tipped not always for piercing flesh, but for dousing flame with blessed water, or trailing ropes to scale sheer, indifferent walls.

The City groans under the weight of its factions, eternally poised in fractious rivalry. Behold the Hammerites, zealous devotees of the Builder, their temples resounding with the clang of righteous industry, their faith as rigid and unforgiving as the iron they shape. They preach order, yet their vaults hoard wealth wrested with sanctimonious greed. Against them, in the untamed patches where nature claws back dominion, dwell the Pagans, worshipers of the Trickster, their rites wild and chthonic, their power drawn from the primal earth, a chaotic counterpoint to the Hammer's rigid law. And weaving between them, unseen, unheard, the Keepers maintain their ancient vigil, chroniclers of ages, hoarders of prophecies, their motives as obscured as their hidden glyphs, manipulating the currents of power with unseen hands.

Into this maelstrom Garrett descends, driven not by doctrine or devotion, but by the simple, profound gravity of gold, the allure of the unattainable, the challenge whispered by a locked door or a heavily guarded chamber. He moves through the Hammerite cathedrals, silent as a prayer upon the lips of the faithless, past guards whose vigilance is but a fragile dam against his insidious skill. He plunders the Pagan wilds, avoiding their traps both natural and arcane, his passage marked only by the sudden absence of some coveted relic. He infiltrates the strongholds of venal nobles, men whose cruelty is matched only by their carelessness, leaving behind naught but emptied coffers and bewildered servants.

His senses are his shield, his acumen his sword. The creak of a floorboard is a thunderclap, the shifting of a guard's weight a seismic tremor. Light is his enemy, shadow his steadfast ally. He listens, he waits, poised like the hunting cat, until the precise moment unfolds, the fleeting opportunity in the patrol's rhythm, the instant of distraction. Then, a flicker of movement, the deft manipulation of a mechanism, the acquisition of the prize – a jewel catching the scant light like a captured star, a ledger revealing damning truths, an artifact pulsing with forgotten energies.

Yet, his path is fraught not merely with guards and locks. Ancient evils stir in the City's depths, powers carelessly disturbed, secrets that bite back with spectral teeth. Sometimes the prize is not mere lucre, but survival itself, navigating haunted ruins where the dead do not rest easy, or escaping traps laid not by human hands but by forces far older and less forgiving. His greatest thefts are not of gold, but of his own continued existence against the City's relentless desire to consume all within its walls.

Thus moves Garrett, the solitary shade, the necessary phantom in the heart of the grasping City. His tale is written not in ink, but in the silence that follows his passage, in the emptiness where treasure once lay, a testament etched in shadow and subtlety, a dark epic unfolding nightly beneath the uncaring gaze of the moon.

Controversies and DMCA Actions
****** issued DMCA takedowns to remove his missions from TTLG.de, DarkFate, and SouthQuarter, demanding they be hosted exclusively on ModDB.

He accused forum admins of ignoring requests, threatening legal action via DMCA.com.

Community backlash ensued, with users criticizing his approach as hostile and counterproductive for Thief FM preservation.

While ****** 's missions showcase ambition, their legacy is marred by technical shortcomings and the author's contentious relationship with the community. Missions like **** remain notable for their scale but serve as cautionary tales about balancing creativity with usability.