《Omen》 CH 1 : The Weight of Circuits Bronze-coated alloy. Darkened recesses. Benin bronze. Aiden tugged at his raincoat, the damp nylon clinging to his fingers. The statue had a sword in hand, frozen in an African warrior¡¯s garb¡ªthey dressed up an embalmed corpse and called it important. Something Africans would do. **"The ewedu soup I ate was the worst. Too much soy-based protein isolate,"** Aiden heard someone say as he shouldered through the crowd. Technology had drained the life from many things in this floating city, and food was no exception. He was in **¨¬p¨¤g??**, the only place he could stay undetected. You could pass through for a week and never hear a word in any African language. Aiden tilted his head, rubbing the back of his neck. A slow, humming pressure crept along his spine¡ªthe unmistakable pull of something above. The street lights flickered. Conversations faltered. A baby cried, startled by something it couldn¡¯t name. Reflexively, Aiden looked up. A figure in a hooded robe streaked across the sky¡ªlike a game frozen for too long, suddenly speeding up to catch lost time. Glowing blue energy crackled from its core, illuminating the intricate arcane circuitry embedded in its attire. Its face was obscured beneath the hood, with only a single glowing cross-shaped light visible. **Soon.** He exhaled sharply, turning toward the intersection. The glow from the caf¨¦ lights was inviting¡ªanyone would want to step inside for a hot drink. The doors slid open, a seamless hiss of pressurized air revealing an industrial-chic caf¨¦¡ªmodern minimalism softened by warm wood and worn leather. Aiden found his spot. It was always his spot, where he could watch the baristas work. Bola, the African with precise rows of tribal scars, stood behind the counter. For the few days Aiden had been here, the man wore a priest¡¯s robe and a pink bow tie. The kind of man who¡¯d spike your drink, deliver some profound nonsense, then tell the cowboys you didn¡¯t leave in the sky. Something illegal would certainly be his words. The servo motors in Bola¡¯s reinforced prosthetic hummed as he reached for the kettle. Matte black plating covered his forearm, its surface etched with serial numbers. **Ghana¡¯s Aldwar combat grade.** Hydraulic pistons adjusted, fingers whirring as they grasped the delicate ceramic cup. A machine built for battlefield efficiency is now devoted to the patient craft of a barista. Eerie. Aiden flicked his hair back into place. ¡°Militant turned barista?¡± He chuckled. ¡°Did you ever leave the ground?¡± A slow smile crept across Bola¡¯s face. ¡°Gryphon zealot, how are you?¡± His ugliness was the stuff of legend. Superheated water hissed as it met the loose-leaf blend, steam curling around the articulated joints of the mechanical hand. The pressure regulators compensated instantly, ensuring not a single tremor disturbed the pour. A measured teaspoon of sugar was dumped in. A metal hand scraped the table, dragging itself forward, stopping millimeters from Aiden¡¯s drink. A brown paper. No words. None needed. Aiden lifted it and ran a thumb along the edge. Heavy stock. Printed ink, not digital. **One look and you¡¯d just know.** Bola stirred his cup. ¡°One man wanted me to do a job. I did it well. Took off the lady¡¯s head. He brought me up from the Expanse. The first one wasn¡¯t a liar. Lucky me.¡± His chuckle rang, soaked in a bottle of hysteria. He let the tea steep, the arm¡¯s internal diagnostics flashing a green status light near the wrist. ¡°It was his wife,¡± Bola continued. ¡°She cheated and thought she could hide.¡± Aiden leaned on the table. ¡°A foreigner?¡± ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you know? She was like a fish out of water. Don¡¯t be offended, anyway, white boy.¡± Aiden smirked, lifting his cup. ¡°She left heaven for the junkyard. Spent my life trying to escape and still died.¡± Bola¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Ah, the man don kpai. He dey do cardio on top woman wey no be e wife. Small small, heart no gree. His olosho got the better of him.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± Bola asked. ¡°Might not seem like it, but I know you weren¡¯t born here. You got the smell of death or something. These hoods don¡¯t have that on you. The nice smell¡ª¡± ¡°Why are you trying to be poetic?¡± Aiden downed his drink, pocketing the paper. ¡°It¡¯s like seeing a gorilla twerking.¡± He stood, adjusting his coat. **Walking through these streets. Neo-noir film.** Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He didn¡¯t notice the absence of electricity¡ª**for the first time in his life.** New Africa. The best place to get your chipset done. The seven countries didn¡¯t combine for nothing. People from all over the world were here, and even more tried to come to this floating city. Something he was about to bring to its knees. The **cool night air** brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp pavement and footsteps that smelled like blood. He unrolled the paper. **Mr. Adebayo Okonkwo** Flat 3, Block B, Unity Estate 10 Opebi Road, Ikeja Lagos, Nigeria Aiden sucked in a cold breath. **On Tinubu.** He exhaled through his teeth. **I hope this isn¡¯t bullshit.** He walked at a steady pace, his fingers idly tracing the frame of his glasses. He slipped them from his face, tilting them this way and that, studying the way the city lights bent along the lenses. A bright white glow from a towering building caught the edge of the glass. He turned the angle, letting the light refract¡ª**bend, twist, flare**¡ªuntil it shot straight into his own eyes. A sharp, blinding flash. IT WAS A HAZE, BLACK AND WHITE, **intense surgical lights** arranged in a hexagonal pattern. ¡°Subject: **___**, cleared for bone graft insertion. Chipset calibration ready,¡± a voice droned from somewhere beyond the lights. The man squinted, his mismatched eyes¡ªone a pale green, the other a dull brown¡ªcatching slivers of movement in the mirrored ceiling above. His reflection looked alien in the antiseptic glow of this operating theater: a wiry body strapped to a table, a bristling black mustache curling over a mouth that hadn¡¯t smiled in years, and legs bound tight with polymer restraints. The surgeon¡¯s gloved hands were slightly raised, fingers gently curled. ¡°All right, let¡¯s get a look under the hood,¡± the woman to his left said. She was a distance away from the black table. A variety of forceps, scissors, scalpels, clamps, and retractors were neatly arranged. Her giggle, like a car alarm going off repeatedly, went an octave higher. ¡°I¡¯d say, based on what we¡¯ve got here, our friend from Ground City is¡­ _overcompensating_.¡± She gestured vaguely at the blanket covering the patient¡¯s lower half. Laughter erupted from someone behind the bio-shielding curtain. ¡°Oh, give it a rest, Lem,¡± said another voice. ¡°I don¡¯t care how impressive his ¡®Ground City imports¡¯ are. What I care about is whether this Atom Gear integration doesn¡¯t blow up in our faces. Or his.¡± ¡°?l?run ran wa l?w?.¡± ¡°Blow up?¡± The man on the table finally spoke, his voice a dry rasp as the sedative fog wore thin. ¡°Not the kind of encouragement I was hoping for.¡± The surgeon¡ªDr. Caren, her ID badge proclaimed¡ªbent over his exposed thigh, tilting her head to catch his gaze through her face shield. ¡°Relax. If it does blow up, it¡¯ll take your leg, not your¡­ _assets_.¡± She smirked. He didn¡¯t. ¡°Right, let¡¯s focus,¡± Dr. Caren said. She turned to a screen displaying an intricate 3D model of his skeleton. ¡°We¡¯re grafting the chipset just above the femur. Stabilizer node here, interface node there.¡± She tapped the glowing diagram with a stylus. ¡°We¡¯ve reinforced the implant¡¯s signal array, but this kind of integration? It¡¯s unstable, even with prime Suspended-grade gear. And if his system rejects it¡ª¡± ¡°This chipset can fry you,¡± Lem said, adjusting his gloves. ¡°I didn¡¯t have options,¡± the man grunted. ¡°Hey, it works for some,¡± Lem said, grinning as he tightened the man''s restraints. ¡°Wild splicing¡¯s the poor man¡¯s Catalyst Factor. You¡¯d fit right in.¡± ¡°Quiet,¡± Dr. Caren snapped. ¡°This is a delicate graft. Either help or get out.¡± She leaned closer to the man, muttering low enough that only he could hear. ¡°Lem¡¯s an idiot, but he¡¯s not wrong. If this doesn¡¯t take, there¡¯s no going back. Once the chipset¡¯s in, it locks out your cellular capacity for the Factor. No second chances. You knew that when you signed up for this, right?¡± ¡°I know,¡± he said. His eyes darted to the glowing edge of the screen. ¡°Just do it.¡± The hum of the Atom Gear containment unit filled the room. A small surgical drone hovered nearby, its manipulators delicately positioning the gleaming chipset¡ªa tiny, curved piece of darkened alloy, its surface laced with quantum-responsive circuitry that shimmered faintly under the operating lights. _Hold still. Don¡¯t move._ _Goddamn, don¡¯t you move._ ¡°Stop it. I gotta find your vein!¡± She was straddling his chest, a blue plastic syrette in one hand. ¡°You don¡¯t lie still, I''ll deal with you!¡± A body jerked against the bonds. Pain amplifiers flooded his system¡ªcytokines, bradykinin, prostaglandins¡ªturning every nerve into fire. It was painful to watch. Blood beaded from his pores, his breath shuddering in short, forced bursts. ¡°Are you sure his frame can take it?¡± another technician asked, glancing from the patient¡¯s lean build to the hefty model of the chipset. ¡°His bone density¡¯s barely at baseline. If his skeleton doesn¡¯t fuse fast enough¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯ll work,¡± Caren interrupted. ¡°The bone integration will calcify. Eventually. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She trailed off, then sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about the _real_ issue. He wants the Atom Gear in his _watch._¡± The room fell silent, save for the whir of machines. Then, Lem let out a bark of laughter. ¡°His _watch?_ What is this, amateur hour? Do you think a wristwatch is stable enough to carry Atom Gear? The surface area is¡ªwhat? Ten square centimeters, max? You¡¯re asking that thing to channel quantum harmonics. You¡¯d be lucky if it didn¡¯t melt off your arm.¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± Caren snapped, but her frown deepened. She turned back to the patient. ¡°This watch of yours¡­ It¡¯s barely big enough to house the Gear. You¡¯re talking about cramming one of the most unstable substances on the planet into a casing smaller than a handgun. Do you understand how limited your range of effects will be? Gloves are standard for a reason. Watches¡­ watches are _hell._¡± The man smiled faintly, his mustache twitching as he exhaled through his nose. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to reshape the universe, Doc. I need it for _small effects._ Precise ones. A glove¡¯s too conspicuous for what I¡¯ve got planned.¡± ¡°Planned for what?¡± Lem muttered under his breath. Blood dribbled from his nose. His lips trembled. ¡°Planned for sur¡­vi¡­ving,¡± he gasped, words rattling through a collapsed lung. ¡°Speaking of Ground City¡­¡± another technician muttered as he calibrated the containment drone holding the Atom Gear. ¡°How the hell did someone like _him_ get up here? You¡¯ve got no Factor, no Council sponsorship, no registered connections. What are you doing on this table?¡± The man¡¯s green and brown eyes shifted lazily toward the technician. ¡°Connections,¡± he said. ¡°¡®Connections,¡¯¡± Lem muttered. ¡°Figures. Seems like everyone¡¯s got ¡®em these days. The Council cracks down on the Catalyst Factor labs one day, and the next, half the black-market rats from Ground City are crawling up the lift. Can¡¯t trust anyone anymore.¡± The man said he wasn¡¯t trying to reshape the universe. But here¡¯s the thing about men who say that¡ªthey usually end up trying anyway. And when they fail, they fall hard. Suspended doesn¡¯t forgive ambition. It swallows it whole. ¡°Careful what you say,¡± Caren warned. ¡°Connections or not, he¡¯s on _this_ table, and that makes him my problem.¡± ¡°Not for long,¡± Lem muttered, but he kept quiet after that. CH 2 IN THE EXPANSE: New Africa: Nigeria. Once, something wrapped the world in an unseen web. Light had poured from walls, voices had traveled without breath, and machines had moved with the ease of thought. Power had been silent, weightless¡ªan invisible river flowing through copper veins._ _But that time was gone. At least in Suspended._ The train heaved forward, metal grinding against the tracks like a beast dragging a broken limb. Movement was always a battle in the beginning¡ªgears grinding, pistons slamming, steam curling thick against soot-stained walls. Nothing moved freely anymore. Nothing except the weight of hunger, of ambition. The world had lost its lightning. And I was no different. They took it from me. Maybe that¡¯s why I planned to steal from Suspended. I tilt my head against the glass. Above me, the sky is layered with smog¡ªa permanent veil over this part of Lagos, tinged orange from the glow of the floating metropolis that casts down its shadow. For a moment, I let my gaze linger. Once, I had gone to Suspended; something illegal. Just once. That day had split my life into a before and an after. --- ### 9:40 "I¡¯ve never believed that one person could rule any of the countries that made up the Expanse, especially Nigeria,¡± I murmur, half to myself. President Whitfield may sit in that polished office, may look down from his high towers, but he isn¡¯t enough. Not good enough, not smart enough, not nearly dirty enough. I unfold the newspaper. A grainy, zoomed-out image of Suspended takes up half the page. Had to be at least **100x magnification**¡ªit was the only way to capture the city in full. ANOTHER OBJECT FALLS FROM AURUM HEIGHTS. THE FOURTH IN UNDER A MONTH. _"Officials claim navigational errors, but rumors circulate among ground residents as to the safety of the structure and whether we below should be... concerned."_ --- 10:00 The train picks up speed. Outside, the scenery shifts. Billboards flicker past, flashing neon promises of **designer clothes, premium apartments, cleaner air.** Here, the filth thins. The smog is still there, but it¡¯s weaker¡ªfiltered, processed, scrubbed just enough to give the illusion of purity. I push my hands against the side of my watch and check the time. A **Rolex Oyster Perpetual**¡ªonce pristine, now dulled by age. The **stainless steel case** bears fine scratches, its polished sheen long gone. The **bracelet** has stretched ever so slightly, the once-snug links now looser. The clasp still holds the **engraved Rolex crown**, a symbol of a time when luxury was a quiet statement, not a desperate declaration. Suspended has loomed over this land for longer than any bloodline has existed. **They were still building it when electricity was more than a myth.** Entire generations have lived and died in its shadow. Some have never seen real sunlight. And if you do leave¡ªif you escape the country of **New Africa** and push beyond the city¡¯s reach¡ªthe sun won¡¯t be a blessing. Not when you¡¯re battling the crude. --- 10:10 Keeping something like that afloat isn¡¯t easy. The energy it takes¡ªthe gravitational balancing, the atmospheric corrections, the sheer **mathematical precision**¡ªit¡¯s nothing short of a miracle. Tens of thousands of stabilization motors. Magnetic thrusters adjusting in microseconds. A delicate, calculated resistance against the pull of the world. And yet, objects keep falling. _"Navigation issues," they say._ Maybe they''re struggling up there as much as we are down here. But they¡¯ll never admit it. --- 10:20 The train **slowed**, gliding to a halt. I pressed a small square button beside my seat. A hiss of steam, a mechanical sigh, and the door slid open. I stepped onto the platform. The station was a machine of flesh and metal, bodies moving like gears, the flow dictated by unseen forces. And looming at the edge of it all¡ªNexBank Metropolitan HQ The building **jutted out of the cityscape like a knife.** Black glass, seamless. Pillars like obsidian ribs, holding up the sky. The kind of place where money didn¡¯t just move¡ªit breathed, it dictated, it decided. --- 10:30 I slip one hand into my pocket, shaking my wrist slightly so my watch settles against my skin. The glass flickers, catching the light. If angled just right¡ª45 degrees from the normal eyeline, a concave lens adjusting for refraction¡ªthe blue glow would emerge, revealing the arcane pattern beneath. As I neared the bank¡¯s entrance, a thin beam of light swept over my face. A moment of silence, then the glass doors parted without a sound. I take a step¡ª You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡ªand the world detonates. A deep, resonant boom tears through the air. For a fraction of a second, the station is frozen. The only sound is the whisper of the train doors sealing shut behind me. A perfect, unnatural silence. Then¡ªchaos. A metal door rips past me, slamming into the NexBank pillars. People scream. The air is thick with dust, the shockwave slamming against my chest. I don¡¯t run¡ªnot yet. Running too fast means guilt. It means suspicion. Instead, I move just fast enough to blend into the crowd, the chaos swallowing me whole. And then, I see it. A distortion between the lens of my glasses. A flicker, a shape that shouldn¡¯t be there. A gap in the movement of bodies, a presence bending the air itself. For the first time, I felt something I didn¡¯t expect. Not fear. Not anger. Recognition. I was supposed to catch the thief. But now¡ª Now, I¡¯d recruit them. I was 90% sure. --- Alternate Scenario 9:40 10:00 10:10 10:20 I pressed the square button beside my seat. A hiss of steam, a mechanical sigh, and the door slid open. I stepped onto the platform. 10:30 The boom didn¡¯t go off this time. The line moved slowly, each visitor stepping into place, their faces bathed in the scanner¡¯s cold blue glow. Verifying¡­ I held still as the system **mapped my iris, analyzed my microexpressions, and ran a sweat-density check.** This wasn¡¯t just facial recognition¡ªit was behavior analysis. Too much blinking? Red flag. Slight fluctuations in heart rate? Secondary screening Beyond the gate, terahertz waves swept through my suit, analyzing the density of every object beneath my clothing. Hidden in the far wall, a secondary scanner probed deeper¡ªfar enough to catch subdermal implants.** A false retina or disguised neural interface would light up the system in an instant. Still, I stepped through clean. NexBank¡¯s layout wasn¡¯t just a building. It was a maze. Twisting halls. Deliberate dead ends. The kind of place designed to disorient you, to make you feel small in the presence of wealth. Various divisions: Analytics, Portfolios, Securities. My division¡ªAssets. The one I worked in. Everywhere, analysts pored over figures that steered the global economy. And somewhere among them, someone had already placed the bomb. I adjusted the cuff of my navy suit, strands of hair covering my left eye, then walked down the polished hallway, nodding to colleagues who looked up as I passed. Some things turned more heads than words ever could¡ªpower. _"You heard what happened at WestBridge?"_ At the coffee stall, two employees spoke in hushed tones. _"Another bank hit?"_ _"WestBridge, PrimeOne, and a smaller one in Sector 3. That¡¯s three in a week."_ A woman shook her head. **"Security doesn¡¯t even react properly on the first day. You know how it goes¡ªthey always come in half-force first, just to ¡®assess.¡¯¡±** "Yeah, and if an enhanced is involved, what do we do? Run?" There was a pause. Then, someone said it. _"I got a guy. Pills. Good stuff. Reaction-time boost, muscle strength. You won¡¯t stand a chance without something."_ _"Side effects?"_ _"Less than dying."_ No one argued. **If an enhanced decided to kill you, nothing would stop them.** --- I approached the polished door to my division. I used my left foot to play with the laces of my shoe, unwinding them. The cranks started turning, gears at work¡ª chains running through. Vapor puffed into the air. Then, with a rattle, the door staggered open. I took the stairs down, moving toward the angle where the explosion had come from... I might be wrong, but the left wing. If I were a thief, I could use **more detonators,** but that would make it bulkier. The chances of getting caught would be higher. But if you opted for a smaller option and still wanted to level the whole building and kill, well, everybody... structurally, the left wing was the best choice. It had to be spell-tech. People didn¡¯t have the patience anymore to play with the laws of physics. They loved the arcane. I glanced at the stark display of ¡®fine art¡¯ placed everywhere¡ªa lure for richer clientele, appealing to their ¡®refined palettes.¡¯** I bent down, tightening my shoelace. _"Hey, how far, Aiden?"_ A fat man greeted me as he passed by. My eyes scanned the room. An ancient and terrible picture of the **Mona Lisa.** I¡¯d heard the painter never finished it. A **real** laptop¡ªsome couple centuries old. A vase. More paintings. Velvet rugs made from lion¡¯s hair. Elaborate light systems¡ªmechanical, but undeniably beautiful. My gaze circled back to the vase. _"Hey,"_ I greeted another passing colleague. These thieves were getting better¡ªrobbing bank branches with increasing efficiency. The moment my body grazed the vase, I felt it¡ªthe COZ. I looped the rope, tightening the knot. A useless action. Just an excuse to linger. I had one chance. If I was wrong, I¡¯d die in a very public, very messy way. Mastering the depths of what an Effector could do, when there was a tight leash on every spell, was¡­ it was. My fingers twitched. I activated the effect. Time itself slowed¡ªjust around the object. The second hand of my watch ticked. Zeno¡¯s Decay Algorithm A theoretical field effect. Time doesn¡¯t stop¡ªbut it slows in exponentially smaller increments, forever approaching zero. Meaning, if I activated it here¡­ The bomb¡¯s detonation sequence would be caught in the effect. Frozen, forever decaying. I let my hand brush the surface. Activated it. The world around me stretched. Milliseconds turned into seconds. Seconds into minutes. The bomb **was still there¡ªbut its countdown, its energy, everything about it was trapped in a never-ending approach to detonation.** I stepped back. A chuckle escaped my lips. _"Nice try."_ I couldn¡¯t take it. The people who planted it would have eyes circling back to it, wondering why it didn¡¯t go off. Up the stairs, through the corner¡ª Coffee Stall The name was engraved into the silver plate. _"Hello, Mama Carl."_ _"How are you doing?"_ _"Good as the last time you found me."_ _"What about you? Have you found a girlfriend, Aiden? Don¡¯t let this corporate life get to you."_ _"This is all you do¡ªgo out, do something crazy. Being too proper all the time takes all the fun away."_ I scratched my head¡ªlike there was some piece of gum that wouldn¡¯t come off. _"I will, Aunty."_ _"How many times have we talked about this?"_ _"I want coffee for my division."_ I adjusted the bridge of my glasses. The old woman moved slowly, scooping the grounds¡ªlike she had done it a thousand times before. Steam curled around her round face, settling into the deep lines of her cheeks. With a flick of her wrist, she poured the dark liquid into the various cups. _"I¡¯m studying an Effector I saw on the news."_ _"Give it a rest, kid."_ _"Why?"_ I laughed. We rarely saw them here.** Maybe there were a lot in Suspended, but not here. _"I think what he did to that metal was chemical distortion. Collapsing... something."_ I flashed a smile. I had two types¡ªthe real one and the fake one. _You see, the thing about being inconspicuous... It¡¯s in masking things._ She handed me the coffees on a tray. _"I¡¯m off."_ "As I adjust my cuff, dark particles slip into the coffee, dissolving instantly." My legs shifted suddenly, for a moment¡ªan extra shake to mix it all up. _"Careful, you clumsy ass!"_ The woman laughed. I step back, steadying the tray. This was the 32nd shot for Lucas. It''s a pity that he needed to die. _"Sorry."_ A chuckle escaped my mouth. These conversations were always a chore. Ten coffees. Ten people. I dropped the last one¡ª**Lucas¡¯s¡ª**with a smile and headed to my seat. _"Thanks, four-eyes. If I were an Effector, I¡¯d turn everything you wanted into gold for you."_ I slipped into my chair, pulling myself closer to my device. My flight analyzer, built from scraps. Picking up **patterns in Gryphon flight movements.** I¡¯d heard parts of Suspended used holographics, though I¡¯d never actually been there. Opening the screen, I scanned the list of names and figures¡ªeach one linked to the bank¡¯s high-stakes accounts. A few familiar clients popped up¡ªnames that regularly graced financial news, some whose money accidentally spilled into my pocket. Inventions didn¡¯t build themselves, after all. A small group of analysts gathered nearby. _"A client from Suspended is partnering with NexBank for the DICE festival. Can you imagine the scale of his assets?"_ I didn¡¯t show it, but I was excited for the DICE festival too. I¡¯d find some of my team there¡ªto make this robbery good. CH 3 A Vote Cast in Blood Screech. The air was thick with the promise of blood. The tip of a black sword carved a jagged path across the stone, its edge whispering in protest. They say knowing a thing is better than being blind to it. That¡¯s a lie. His hand tightened around the hilt. Screech. I know something I shouldn¡¯t. The doors swung open. The domed ceiling arched high above, adorned with faint murals of eagles clutching scales in their talons¡ªthe symbol of the House of Myxell. A lone black man knelt in the center of the chamber, his wrists bound with shackles that glowed, numbers running across them in an eerie procession. He trembled on the black marble dais, his forehead pressed against its surface. Around him, a semicircle of nobles sat in silence, their finery muted by the grim atmosphere. The nobles were a tapestry of cultures¡ªYoruba, Portuguese, Chinese¡ªwoven together. The women, draped in silks¡ªsome with veils to conceal their unease¡ªfidgeted with gloves or jewelry. Now, I carry the weight of knowing. And I like it. Daryon stood before the man, his deep-brown skin shadowed beneath the torchlight, a frown carved into his face. He despised their kind. Their pleading voices, their superstition, their endless appeals to gods and ancestors. It was pathetic. "? jo, ?ba mi!" The man¡¯s voice cracked. "Please, my king! I beg you, in the name of all that is sacred!" Tears streaked down his face. Daryon resisted the urge to sigh. The dialect grated against his ears. Why was Yoruba so common in his jurisdiction? _"?ba mi! Please!"_ The man¡¯s voice was hoarse now. _"I beg you¡ªnot for myself, but for my wife, for my son. If I die today, they die too!"_ This was my first time. It won¡¯t happen again. The man pressed his forehead further down. Daryon stepped closer. The nobles leaned forward. A woman in a sapphire gown turned her head, eyes clenched shut as though the very sight would scorch her soul. Another noble¡¯s gloved hand rose to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Only the hooded figure by the makeshift throne, silent and unshaken, watched impassively, their face obscured in shadow. Daryon bent down, his breath warm against the man¡¯s ear. "You could have lived, you know. All you had to do was kneel sooner." The blade fell. Steel met flesh with a sickening thud. Blood arced through the air, splattering the dais in a crimson spray. The severed head rolled, coming to rest at the marble¡¯s edge. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by the whispered murmurs of those who had dared to look. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air. Daryon stood still, his blade dripping crimson. He flicked the sword downward, letting the blood spatter onto the dais. Clean this up. Calm, almost bored. Daryon''s eyes never left the headless. He turned to the hooded figure standing beside the makeshift throne at the edge of the room. The figure had remained still throughout, a shadow against the wall, their face obscured beneath a heavy cowl. "We have more pressing matters." He sheathed his sword. Deliberate motion. Let¡¯s move. The hooded figure inclined their head, stepping away from the throne. It followed as Daryon strode through the chamber, his black cloak billowing behind him. The nobles parted silently, none daring to meet his gaze. Behind him, the body on the dais was already being dematerialized by attendants, the crimson eagle reflected in the blood-stained marble. Daryon did not look back. The judgment could have lingered¡ªhis boots echoed¡ªbut could anything sluggish be called judgment?** Digits and streams of data pulsed faintly across the walls as he walked, casting fragmented light against the dark surfaces. Then, he reached it. A towering bulkhead, ribbed with interlocking steel plates. A red glow washed over his face as the system ran a facial ID scan. A wasteful use of electricity and money. The doors parted, revealing the chamber¡¯s centerpiece: a large, black, ring-shaped conference table with a hollow center. Nine figures sat, each shadowed by a silent presence¡ªnine "things" standing behind them. His own loomed somewhere nearby. The only available chair sat waiting for him. A stark thing, unyielding, its cold frame pressing into the polished floor. Daryon frowned. Lord Afolake leaned forward, the dim light sharpening the high angles of his face. Her smile was thin¡ªtoo thin to support the fragile silence that followed. Stolen story; please report. "Tell me, Lord Daryon, does punctuality wound you so?" Daryon paused mid-stride, forcing stillness into his body. He let the moment stretch before exhaling through his nose. "I apologize to the council for my lateness." His gaze flicked to Afolake. "And perhaps, Lord Afolake, you should concern yourself less with me and more with your niece. Tell me, does she still entertain thieves? Or has she finally found one worthy of the family name?" A hush fell over the table. Afolake¡¯s smile didn''t waver, but the slight twitch of his jaw betrayed the tension beneath. A voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence. "You bicker like children," said the lord seated at the sixth position. His laughter was light but edged with reproach. "If the people of the Expanse knew what their revered lords were like, they might reconsider their loyalties." "H-E-L-L-Oooooooo. FORGIVE ME IF I MUST cut short this stupidity." A hand slammed against the conference table¡¯s centerpiece. "How can you all sit here and pretend this isn¡¯t a matter of utmost importance? For God¡¯s sake, our thrones are on the line!" "Our authority!" "Lagos needs a new Governor¡ªsomeone we put in!"** His voice reached a crescendo. "Calm down."** Lord Angelo Valeon scratched his beard. "Do I need to remind you all that we voted this mayor in? I knew we shouldn¡¯t have discarded the last one, but no¡ªnow we¡¯re cleaning this mess. We''ve removed two mayors from a state in the Expanse already. The governments down there might not have the gall to oppose us directly, but¡­" He gave them a knowing look. "You know,"** Lucas started, leaning forward, **"there¡¯s an African proverb that says¡ª" "For God''s sake, Lucas, will you shut your Ghanaian ass up? No one cares about your proverbs." Lucas, unbothered, leaned back, a slow smirk playing on his lips. **"Ever the racist, I see." Valeon chuckled. "That¡¯s precisely why we must act now."** Kaelvar exhaled sharply. **"I don¡¯t need to remind you how much Suspended will have to spend to move a file that sensitive. Electricity prices surged on the stock market. Are we talking billions just to send files? A transaction as big as that will leave paper trails invite scrutiny, and the cowboys¡ªoh, they could hack in mid transfer " Afolake tapped her fingers against the table. Electricity costs had become absurd, but no one in this room could claim ignorance. The city was bleeding credits into security¡ªlocking out illegals, crushing rebellions before they spread. It was the price of control. "The quicker we choose a replacement, the sooner we bring order to the Expanse. Gryphons, machines, whatever it takes. The new mayor will put the pieces in place and commission everything back to us." _He exhaled through his nose._ "This time, we keep him alive. Whatever we decide, the vote ends today." Valeon snorted. "Your house has a machine mind, does it not? And yet you suggest gryphons. Why not let that infernal thing decide for you?" Kaelvar''s brows furrowed, his frustration barely concealed. He slid two pictures into the hollow center of the black, ring-shaped conference table. Afolake interjected, her voice smooth but commanding. **"The urgency is clear, Kaelvar, but surely the choice should rest on the person, not how quickly they arrive." Her eyes lingered on the picture of the man to the right. A man striving to make the world a better place. She had read his manifesto¡ªtext form¡ªeighty-six times. "Where New Africa won¡¯t be divided between the Suspended and the Expanse." What he meant was a world where the Suspended wouldn¡¯t tinker in Expanse politics. Break apart or fuse entirely. He¡¯d run in circles until he died before that happened. No gene edit would help, but still¡­ For her, Trent was a necessity. It had taken her two years to get her candidate seated as mayor of State 22 in the Expanse. The next move? Governor. Once that happened, everything would fall into place. She rubbed her hands together¡ªa habit she was trying to break. To the trained eye, it was a tell. But this time? **It wasn¡¯t nerves. It was excitement.** The man was barely in his thirties, but his left eye told another story. A stark obsidian iris, encircled by faint, pulsing circuitry, had overtaken what was once natural. The veins that leaked from it¡­ crude work. The surgeon had been either careless or desperate. A gene-line distortion. A flaw etched into his blood, passed down to every child he would sire¡ªa permanent signature, impossible to erase. In the Suspended, where anonymity was survival, such a thing was a curse. **Anything that left a traceable pattern was a death sentence. The sclera bore the scars of its integration: thin, jagged veins of silver, branching out like cracks in shattered porcelain. For whatever reason, some of the other houses had agreed to back her. They were in for a surprise soon. The House of Ekundayo would secure its trade routes. Back when Nigeria had existed, Lagos was the hub. Even now that New Africa had formed, its seven nations had done little to change that fact. Afolake glanced at High Sovereign Valeon, who had busied himself tracing the inscriptions on his heart-pulsing gauntlet¡ªhis newest spelltech. Kaelvar tapped the obsidian table. A nodal pathway carved into its surface glowed faintly, and at its center, liquid metal coalesced into the shape of a cube. The cube rattled softly before settling, projecting three faces into the air. Holograms flickered before the lords¡¯ eyes. Trent Alister. Nyphos Reighlin. Hilter Malvecar. Daryon¡¯s eye twitched at the last name. Hilter Malvecar. Fine lines etched across the man''s face, and a balding head was surrounded by wisps of white hair. Daryon needed him. The devil only he could control. His ruthlessness made him a liability to anyone but Daryon. A flicker of Kaelvar¡¯s eyes to Afolake, a faint nod in return¡ªit was enough. The lords had made their decision. Daryon¡¯s palm brushed the obsidian table. A soft chime echoed, and the number beside Hilter¡¯s name ticked up by one. Afolake¡¯s knuckles whitened as she placed her palm on the table. Across from her, Valeon¡¯s lips curled into a faint smirk as the numbers flickered to life. Kaelvar adjusted his glasses, eyes scanning the screen. Final tally: Five votes for Trent. -Four for Hilter. -One for Nyphos. Losing control¡ªit was the mark of children who had yet to master war. The kind who could grin heartily before slitting a man¡¯s throat.** He had killed many of such. He sat quietly. Could they still be convinced to pick Hilter this late in the game? He limped through the golden halls, thoughts circling like vultures. Killing all of them would start leaving trails back to me. "Brilliant," Miguel Ant¨®nio de Sousa Pereira chuckled, chugging down a bottle of beer. His house was even more war-oriented than his. They fought the Crudes outside the whole scope of New Africa. The miles leading to their walls were clear¡ªbecause he was good. If he weren¡¯t, foreigners wouldn¡¯t be running here for safety. The moment stretched, five seconds dragging into eternity. Daryon chuckled under his breath. A whole five houses had chosen Trent. He squeezed the Afolake¡ªmentally Spittle and blood dripped. The witch was always scheming. "The lords have begun their games," Daryon murmured. "Interesting. What could there be to gain from you, Trent Alister, when you''re dead?" The lords began to disperse. Some dematerialized instantly as their attendants raised their hands. Others lingered, exchanging quiet words, quiet conspiracies. Kaelvar approached as Daryon rose to leave. "You seem... unbothered by the result, Lord Myxell." Daryon offered a faint smile. **"Until next time, Warden." "Wait." Kaelvar hesitated, waving a hand. Daryon frowned. "What is it?" "Calm down. I wasn¡¯t talking to you," Kaelvar chuckled. His eyes flicked toward the veiled figure behind Daryon. "Your Effector," Kaelvar pointed. "It adjusted a spell in the Great Code." Daryon narrowed his eyes. It has a gender. It¡¯s a man. The name surfaced¡ªPaul. "Why don¡¯t you come and serve under my house?" Kaelvar said smoothly. "Travel down to the Expanse or wherever it is you''re from?" For a split second, a smile leaked from behind the veil. Gone as soon as it appeared. Then, the veiled hand rose. The Atom Gear stirred. "Eighteen hundred meters. Loop back to the last saved point. Partial reconstruction with residual matter. Present takeoff point: thrust through space." Paul had done this with the Great Code since he was a child. They vanished instantly, leaving Kaelvar watching in silence. CH 4 Masked Demon The door chime barely had time to fade before her hand drifted off the counter. Not far¡ªprobably to a gun. If he had to guess, a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield. Funny how even a B-grade Spelltech wouldn¡¯t tip the odds in her favor. A sharp _THWACK_ cut through the air. A jagged prism hit the counter like a judge¡¯s gavel. The impact sent a glass jar of pickled herring skidding, crushed a torn pack of flatbread, and toppled an ashtray spilling over with Partagas stubs. Kane drummed his fingers, slow and deliberate. "How much for this? Maybe a thousand. Maybe two. Maybe three¡ªbe quick, and I might drop the price." The neon sign behind the counter hummed, casting fractured light across the grid work. _PAWN SHOP_ glowed red. _INSTANT CASH_ flickered green, its heartbeat unsteady. The dollar sign ($) burned brightest of all. The woman picked up the shard, squinting as she turned it toward the dim light. A tap. A scratch. A slow inhale, nose nearly touching the surface. Those boys were probably around the corner already. ¡°Move faster,¡± Kane said. His left eye flickered¡ªjust a faint pulse of red. She clicked her tongue. ¡°Resale¡¯s tricky. Demand ain¡¯t what it used to be...¡± A slow smirk. ¡°Best I can do is fifty.¡± Her voice was smooth¡ªhoney stirred into firewood smoke. Her eyes flicked downward. Below his belt. She was old. Not _old_ old, but somewhere between forty and eternity. Skin like polished mahogany, smooth as someone who¡¯d been dosing age suppressors since childhood. Kane tilted his head just enough for the neon glow to catch. A strand of white hair slipped free from his hood. ¡°This ain¡¯t Spelltech,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s old-world tech. And it¡¯s got electricity.¡± That got her attention. The shard pulsed. Jagged edges trapped in a rough metallic frame, fused to the crystal by ungodly heat. Inside, an ethereal blue light flickered, glyphs shifting, rewriting themselves. A double helix of luminescence curled through its core. Footsteps. Then¡ªthe door burst open. --- ### **Beating Scene (Sharper, More Brutal)** The chime rang, loud and jarring, hanging in the air longer than it should. ¡°Hey, Kane¡ªwhere¡¯s my money?¡± The woman at the far end of the shop flinched. _"Call the poli¡ª"_ She was already gone. The door slammed shut, the chime swallowed by the five men spreading around him. A sixth loitered by the counter¡ªa failsafe. He leaned against the glass, tapping the barrel of a Mossberg 500 against his palm, patient but ready to kill. _"Clock¡¯s ticking,"_ the tallest one muttered. Kane saw the feint too late. A fist shot toward his eye. His hands weren¡¯t up in time¡ª But the punch never landed. Someone giggled. Kane forced a sheepish smile. "Janson, I¡¯ve got four days till payment¡ªwhy¡¯d you come here and¡ª" _Bang._ The world tilted as his leg was swept out from under him. Hands grabbed his arms. Pinned him. _"Wait¡ª"_ A knee to the ribs. His mouth was forced open. A foamy white sludge crammed past his lips. The bitter burn of synthetic opioids coated his tongue before he could spit. Then the punches came. One to the skull. One to the nose. A sickening crunch. Another¡ªharder this time. The weight of a body pressed him deeper into the grimy floor. Beneath the pain, something hummed¡ªa mechanical undertone beneath the beating. _"Pull him up."_ Kane was yanked upright, vision swimming. Janson finally moved. Boots scraped against the floor. "You¡¯ve been walking around like you don¡¯t owe anybody." _"But this isn¡¯t about the money. Yet."_ Janson¡¯s voice was steady. _"I heard from my boys you were with Molly. You know the kind of white I seen. Thought I¡¯d pay you a visit. This city works a certain way. You¡¯re messing with that."_ If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Kane¡¯s left eye flickered, a pulse of red bleeding through the sclera. His arms twitched. Janson grinned. Tugged up his sleeve. The Redline Injector glowed¡ªblack tubing and exposed wiring running along his veins. _"Figured I¡¯d get a test run out of you."_ Kane spat blood, lips curling. _"You should¡¯ve led with that, bitch."_ The gauntlet hissed. Six thousand micrograms of Impulse Analog flooded Janson¡¯s system. His muscles flexed, veins swelling beneath his skin. A low hum vibrated from the gauntlet. Gears whirred softly. Then¡ªimpact. Kane felt the first hit cave into his ribs. A dull, sickening crunch. The second hit didn¡¯t land. Janson¡¯s punch came late. Too late. Kane had seen faster men. Killed them, too. But not today. Not yet. There was a place and time to be killed. Janson smirked, rolling his shoulders. _"Don¡¯t buy from this shop again. My money. Four days."_ He patted his coat like there was dust on it. The door chime rang. Mossberg guy was the last to leave. He squinted at Kane before stepping out. Then¡ªsilence. _"Hey, bitch¡ªthey¡¯re gone."_ She was already walking back. _"You could¡¯ve at least called the poli¡ª"_ Oh. A hand in his pocket. A Benson. A lighter. _Click._ Figures. They paid her. She smirked. A single shot. Right through the skull. She¡¯d hit the floor, head bursting like a melon on concrete. Kane let out a breath. The red in his eye faded. He wouldn¡¯t do it. Instead, he pulled a cigar from his coat, his fingers twitching. The shard was still in his pocket. He stepped outside. His body was already healing. 20 seconds slower. --- Beneath his feet, there were vibrations¡ªa train hissing past some distance away. Sirens dopplered through the city, rising and falling, lost in the smog-choked sky. From the bend on the side of the road, he stepped onto a new street. BLOOD. He smelled it before he saw it. The crowd had already gathered. Kane pulled up his hoodie and walked closer. It was bad. But he¡¯d seen worse. He¡¯d created worse. Three people¡ªif you could still call them that. Some force had blasted them apart, shredding flesh like wet paper. The pressure was so immense that some body parts had fused together. One man¡¯s ribs had melted into another¡¯s face¡ªan expression of permanent agony etched into bone. A third victim lay half-buried in the pavement, torso embedded like a grotesque sculpture. The air leaked COZ. _Amateur work._ Someone gagged. A woman barely had time to stumble before her stomach heaved, spilling bile and half-digested meat onto the pavement. The stench of onions, acid, and blood curled into the air. "GO SHIT SOMEWHERE ELSE, BITCHES!" A man in a grease-stained jacket threw his arms up in frustration as she bent over again, retching. Darkly comedic. A brief flicker of levity. Then¡ªthe murmurs rose. _"What the hell is the government doing?"_ _"Are we all gonna die?"_ _"Fuck the DICE festivals¡ªthis is our reality!"_ An old man¡ªface sunken by time and booze¡ªshouted into the void. _"Just moments after the election, and they¡¯re already slacking!"_ Kane adjusted the shard in his pocket. _"Let this goddamn enhanced be jailed or sent to fight outside the walls!"_ _"Like what the hell, Suspended has enhanced, but you don¡¯t see them fighting and destroying cities!"_ They didn¡¯t get it. The truly deadly enhanced weren¡¯t in Suspended. They were here. Apart from people like us, trained there, no one wanted to be regulated by a group of fools who published a list of a hundred people to kill just to keep their corruption thriving. _"Hey¡ªy¡¯all disperse now!"_ A man stood on the curb, **digging the lid of his pen into his ear** as if **something had jumped in just to annoy him.** When he finally **fished the insect out, he looked around.** _"Why are you still here, ya creeps? Get moving. ALL OF YOU!"_ He **looked at the clean pen top with disgust.** And **threw it.** **Straight at Kane.** His hands shook. CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT CLEARANCE LEVEL: RESTRICTED DO NOT DISTRIBUTE --- The uneven thud of footsteps¡ªrubber soles slapping against the long, weathered staircase winding upward through a narrow alley. Tightly packed buildings flanked both sides, leaning in as if whispering secrets to each other. Cracked concrete steps, worn by years of hurried footsteps. Faded graffiti, half-scrubbed but never quite erased. Kids had probably played here once. Now, it was just another path people took without thinking. Potted plants spilled over rusted railings, a weak attempt at softening the place. Overhead, dead wires crisscrossed like veins of a long-forgotten machine. The city smelled like rain. Or maybe rot. Someone had tossed trash near his feet. **People had no damn manners.** --- The soft metallic _clink_ as the key slid into the lock. _God, he was tired._ The door swung open, and in one motion, his hoodie was off¡ªhitting the floor with a dull thud. _"Take aim¡­ steady your breath. Hold the scope¡ªit''s all mindset."_ _"Breathe in¡­ hold¡­ breathe out. The battle is over, soldier."_ A flick of the switch, and the radio went silent. He turned to the cracked mirror at his side. A tilt of the head. Both arms raised. "Front Double Biceps." _He still got it._ --- He brushed a stack of files aside and a pill bottle 112-XX2, reaching for the bread squatting the flys away. Green patches spread across its surface. A half-empty water bottle sat beside a burger that had turned rock-hard. Batteries rolled across the table as his fingers brushed against them. The batteries, the bread, the burger and the pills he stuffed them all into his mouth. He chugged the water down, ignoring the taste. The foul smell had already faded into the background. At the window, he gripped a rope tied to the frame, letting it slide through his fingers as he glanced outside. The city stretched before him¡ªlaundry fluttering, wooden shutters creaking with the wind, unseen neighbors shifting behind thin walls. Then¡ªdarkness. He shut the window. --- The pile of clothes on his bed was soaked. **Red.** Magazines. Guns. He shoved them to the floor and collapsed onto the mattress. Somewhere beneath him was the paper Hector had given him. His hand swept across the bed, fingers brushing against damp pages. The blood had seeped into everything. His eyes flicked to a particular line of text. --- CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT CLEARANCE LEVEL: RESTRICTED DO NOT DISTRIBUTE EXCERPT FROM FILE: 112-XX2 From the results obtained, **Test substance 112-XX2** can suppress enhanced abilities related to direct physical attributes such as **strength** and **speed**, particularly those where the body serves as the primary medium of enhancement. Side effects are assumed to make their abilities more triggered to respond. An example could be hands twitching, if eyes were an indicator, they could glow too. Further analysis indicates that **XX2 with a modified upgrade** has demonstrated the capability to **prolong bleeding** in enhanced individuals with accelerated healing factors, making it hard to distinguish who is who. There is evidence to suggest that enhanced subjects can either **adapt to or be subdued by this compound**, particularly those with **physical augmentations**¡ªthough this remains **speculative pending further trials**. On these grounds, I make bold claims that are more enhanced in the Expanse than we know of. END OF EXCERPT AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY --- A flicker of movement. The black box on the side of the bed buzzed. He pressed it. "What is it, Hector?" A pause. "Damn, why the coldness, bro?" "Just tired. I think you should join a Flood lord''s gang. More money and protecgtion. The government ain''t gonna do nothing for us." "Yeah. You good, bro?" "You sell anything yet? That shard you got from dragon sweeping?" Kane chuckles. "Just say that from the beginning, bro." "That would be heartless, bro. How do they say it pleasure before pain?" Hector¡¯s voice dropped to a whisper. _¡°And... what about McAlister? When¡¯s the hit going down?¡±_ Kane flipped the shard, watching its glyphs pulse. Smoke curled from his lips. _¡°You think a pack of nobodies can kill him?¡±_ His voice was dry. Flat. A pause. Hector swallowed. ¡°They¡¯re saying Suspended backed his election.¡± Kane exhaled slowly. His fingers twitched. The shard pulsed once. _¡°Then I guess he¡¯s already dead.¡±_ CH5 The First Move I shove my hands into my pockets and jump out of the cargo. Landing with a dull thud, I blend into the crowd, looking no more remarkable than the person next to me. No suit. No neatly polished shoes. No neatness at all. In these parts, standing out too much could get you killed. It had gotten him killed before. The driver of the horse-drawn cart pulls away, disappearing into the labyrinth of the city. This was the underground of Lagos¡ªthe side the government wouldn¡¯t show you. The only place capable of housing the INTEL.
I step forward, then cut left into a narrow alley lined with broken flower pots and a glowing neon sign. A quick glance in the puddles, the reflection in my glasses, an open window¡ªanything reflective. I¡¯d been checking for a tail for a while now, but I didn¡¯t want to turn my head back. Dying so many times had its advantages. You develop a sense for when bad things are about to happen. Even without proof. Slipping through a market, I duck under an awning, change direction, and sidestep between two buildings. Eventually, I loop back to the street where I was dropped off, but a block down, passing the same glowing sign again. From the outside, you wouldn¡¯t imagine the INTEL was ten times the size within. Some Effectors weren¡¯t afraid of using spatial expansion codes, after all. Inside, voices overlap in a tangled web of conversation, buzzing through the hall. It¡¯s a strange place¡ªa fusion of an underworld guild and a high-tech crime syndicate. Candlelight flickers across the space, illuminating remnants of old architecture¡ªwooden beams woven with holographic panels like spiderwebs of data. To power those holograms, you¡¯d need a way to break the randomness of energy transfer. Solflare or¡ªif you had the resources¡ªELECTRICITY. I was here for two things. Three, actually. I scan the room, making my way toward the far wall, where a row of glass shelves reflects my image back at me, distorted and warped. Not just spatial expansion, then. They were using a distortion index. Could be the lighting. It would have been nice to meet whoever built this INTEL. It was the newest in Lagos. The architect might still be alive. Or Suspended¡¯s Cowboys might have gotten to him first. ¡°Man, why do you always pick such hard missions? This is a solid C+ rank, whatever they call it.¡± ¡°Chill, boy. Talk like that, and you¡¯ll never get better at anything. Dragon Sweeping is easy if you know what you¡¯re doing. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re going for AHv92.¡± ¡°Chill down, Peter.¡± A short woman placed a hand on the blonde¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Look at Raz¡¯s log plate. He¡¯s done so many missions, he should be able¡ª¡± Since when did kids engage in Dragon Sweeping¡ªand since when did proud men live this long? I adjust my glasses, letting the light reflect off the lens. They¡¯d probably die in this mission. If not this one, then the next. I was ninety percent sure. Splat. A wad of gum lands on¡ª I tilt my head, and it sticks to the newspaper I was reading instead of my sleeve. I turn slowly. My gaze locks onto someone at the table across from me. Stare. ¡°Why are you eavesdropping on our conversation, rich kid?¡± She could tell from this distance? Interesting. ¡°I¡ªI wasn¡¯t.¡± I chuckle nervously, scratching the back of my head. I hold up my newspaper. ¡°Just reading this.¡± Her lips twitch. ¡°Yeah? Your eye movements weren¡¯t tracking like someone who was reading.¡± The rest of her team turns to her, incredulous. ¡°Wait¡ªhe was? Why are you all¡ª¡± I see what¡¯s happening. ¡°Sorry. I actually did.¡± ¡°What¡ªyou actually did?¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Wait. How could you tell, Alyce?¡± She smirks and slaps her log plate onto the table. Just a bunch of amateurs. The coin flickers briefly: Crudes killed: 20,475 Packages captured: 23 (7 A-Rank) Mission requests completed: 100 Twenty thousand? Like hell. ¡°Pure ego. Nothing else,¡± I murmur. ¡°Show who¡¯s more dominant¡ªher or the burly man. Raz.¡± She was the reason for the ninety percent. For a brief moment, her eyes flick to mine, and I feel it. Not Coz. Pure murderous intent, properly buried. Cut-tail. She would kill them on the mission. Maybe I need a wild card. ¡°Hello.¡± I step closer. ¡°Can I join your team? I¡¯m new to this.¡± ¡°Wait, we¡¯re not really accepting any new people¡ª¡± Raz starts. ¡°Sure,¡± Alyce interrupts, smiling. ¡°What you got?¡± Her lips curve upward. ¡°Wait¡ªare we accepting this?¡± Raz protests. She leans onto the table, her cleavage exposed. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s more dangerous¡ªher beauty or the spike in threat levels I¡¯m getting from her. Red hair. A masterfully curved body. Pink lips, arched brows¡ª I grip my pen. The urge to stab her just to see her reaction crosses my mind. But I might not be able to rewind time fully here. ¡°Ehm. I have money.¡± I reach into my pockets, pulling out Narai bills before swapping them for Universals¡ªcurrency accepted anywhere in Suspended and the Expanse. ¡°Whoa. You¡¯re rich.¡± ¡°You could say that.¡± I flick a bill between my fingers. ¡°Two thousand. For the five of you. If you let me in.¡± Now, I was ninety-seven percent sure they¡¯d all die. Not my problem. But I could use her. I wondered how she would kill Raz¡ªif she even could. There was a faint trace of Coz around Raz. Interesting. ¡°I¡¯ll give you time to think about it.¡± I motion to the counter. ¡°I want to get something first.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not into white men,¡± she calls after me. ¡°But if you bring me a drink, I might consider it.¡±
INTEL Reception Desk | 23:54 An endless stream of holographic screens flickers with data¡ªnames, codes, balances shifting like quicksilver. A moment before, I had been watching Alyce toy with her drink. ¡ª ¡ª ¡ª Now, the receptionist was smirking at me. I catch the eye of a woman at the end. ¡°I heard that someone brought in a shard for sale. Old Age tech. If you could help with any Effector books on time that you have¡ªand information on the AHv92.¡± Damn. Why the long list? The woman¡¯s eyes light with amusement. The others chuckle. ¡°Look at you, all polished and tidy,¡± a man smirks. ¡°Yeah. Got that ¡®chosen one¡¯ look.¡± The laughter fades as their eyes turn serious. ¡°If you insist,¡± the woman says. ¡°How do you want it?¡± ¡°Printed.¡± Silence. ¡°Paper?¡± she echoes. ¡°Actual paper?¡± ¡°It¡¯s ten times the price,¡± another murmurs. I shrug, adjusting my glasses. The sheen of light on my lenses hides my expression. ¡°I¡¯m rich.¡± I flick a Dragon Sweeper¡¯s Pass between my fingers¡ªa coin carved with a mythological dragon on one side and an empty eye socket on the other. I press a button on my bag. ¡°Transfer a million.¡± A minute later, their gazes turn more respectful. One step closer. I head back to the table, setting a drink in front of Alyce. ¡°So. When are we doing this?¡± ¡°Who said you¡¯re in?¡± I slide a thick bill to everyone at the table. Alyce smiles. ¡°Tomorrow. Portals. Think you can handle it?¡± ¡°I can.¡± Lagos at night was a living thing, pulsing with neon and whispered secrets. The alley swallowed me whole. Dim neon bathed the walls, and the scent of rain-soaked concrete hit my nose. What would my colleagues think if they knew I was a Dragon Sweeper? I pull out a piece of paper, angling it under the light. My lips move as I confirm the coordinates: 13.5460¡ã N, 44.0178¡ã W. I turn into a curve, walking toward the wall. Dead end. Then I wait. Just for a while. Then¡ª
Damn. Where did he go? I stilled. Listened. A shuffle¡ªjust behind me. I turned. His eyes flicked between me and the bag. Too slow. I moved first. The bag left my hand. Mid-air, he reached for it¡ªreflex, instinct. That was his mistake. In the space of a breath, I was already in front of him. My fingers brushed his forehead. The watch ticked once. Coz pulsed. His skin cracked like old leather. His breath caught. His eyes¡ªwide, disbelieving. He tried to speak. Too late. ¡ª ¡ª ¡ª Dust. I put the shard back in the bag as it hummed faintly. I glance at my watch. Three seconds. I¡¯ve wasted more time blinking.
THE SHARD PULSED. Jagged edges trapped in a rough metallic frame, fused to the crystal by ungodly heat. Inside, an ethereal blue light flickered, glyphs shifting, rewriting themselves. A double helix of luminescence curled through its core. Natasha emerged from the back, adjusting her red cap. She wore a half-buttoned shirt, sweat clinging to her curves, and shorts dusted with grime. ¡°This shard is Old Age. Whoever got it did us a favor.¡± Maps of gryphons littered the table. Their mechanics. Manuals. Flight paths. A laptop sat open¡ªone of the reasons I needed the shard¡ªto simulate assumptions of interceptions I had thought out. Diagrams of contraptions designed to break into Suspended lay scattered everywhere. In the center, a shirtless man sat cross-legged amid a chaos of notes. My mustache thick as ever twitched as I flipped through an open book¡ªrunes, circles, and lines of code meticulously scribbled across the pages. I stretched out my hand. ¡°If I could control the effect¡­ Increase the oxygen level at a point. Pull fire parameters from the Great Code. Define a confinement point. Add a motion vector¡­¡± VUSSSH¨Cflames erupted from his palm, twisting upward in a controlled spiral. His wristwatch ticked. Then¡ªnothing. The fire was gone. I exhaled sharply and jumped to my feet, spinning toward Natasha. She smirked. ¡°So this is what Effectors call a base.¡± Something temporary. Mostly ten seconds before it vanished. But if you learned it, you could create anything with the correct parameters¡ªsubstance, energy, force, emotions¡ªlimited only by the user¡¯s knowledge and time. ¡°Not bad. Learning a base in a day,¡± Natasha mused, crossing her arms. ¡°People would call you a prodigy if they knew.¡± I rolled my shoulders. If she knew I could do my Ritual. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when they take everything you love away from you.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°What did you use that million for, anyway?¡± She stepped closer. ¡°¡¯Cause I could become a prodigy. The way you called and asked for it¡ªlike it was just sitting there, waiting for you.¡± I laughed. Natasha had more money than I ever did¡ªboth legally and illegally. It was beyond that but it played an important role in her being the first pick how else I would have been building. She was the queen on the chess board. I motioned toward the wall. A piece of paper was taped there, bold letters scrawled across it: 30 MORE DAYS. The plan was already in motion. Call me a terrorist. But whoever runs Suspended¡ª They¡¯ll wish they never existed. I swore it to my father in Suspended¡ªbefore they erased him from existence. That I would bring it to its knees. CH 6. Orbits Scar. Masses of children, all between the ages of five and six, were crammed into the hall. Holographic projections flickered above their heads, displaying names and class designations. The room itself was pristine¡ªwhite walls, evenly spaced pillars, a glossy reflective floor, and a ceiling composed of illuminated grid panels. A man in pitch-black garments stood on the podium, flanked by guards. No skin was visible; even his face was concealed beneath a black mask, with only a stark white beard emerging from beneath it. My heartbeat quickened. He was the one. The one who killed her. "Welcome to the Orbit¡ªone of the most advanced places in the world, I dare say. I will just go through the must-knows of this place so you don¡¯t make a mistake and get punished. I have already done this before, but for good measure¡ª" Thud. I collapsed to the floor, my white locks spilling over my face. My left hand clutched my chest, crumpling my shirt as if trying to hold my heart in place. He¡ªh-he was the one. Memories crashed over me, unbidden. --- Blood. The smell of iron flooded my senses. My mother was on her knees, pleading. "Please! Just let him go. He¡¯s just a child¡ª" A flick of his finger. The explosion took half her head. Blood splattered in a triangular arc across the white walls. It was warm when it hit my face. _Bend the metal._ I had done it after that. I didn¡¯t even hesitate. --- A hand gripped my arm, yanking me upright. ¡°Hey, get up. If the guards see you like this¡ª¡± The girl next to me dragged a finger across her neck, then let her tongue loll from the side of her mouth. A warning. Above the stage, the man continued his speech as though nothing had happened. "You cannot die in this place. As long as the metal is glued to your body. But that doesn¡¯t mean you should go around killing each other. Your mental health isn¡¯t inexhaustible. The Coz should still be enough for each person to die at least¡­ well, once." A coppery taste filled my mouth. I swallowed it down. "You serve the Council. The Ten Seats." The loud reverberation of his voice shook me back to reality. "Starting today, you will learn how to kill an Effector.¡± Though his expression was hidden, we all knew he was smiling beneath that mask. "Dismissed." He walked off the podium, the guards following close behind. A few steps later, his form shimmered and blinked out of existence. For a moment, none of us moved. Then instinct took over. Kids in matching clothes grouped together. There were seven distinct colors, but soon, the largest cluster formed around those in green. The smallest? The ones in black. Like me. A girl next to me smiled. ¡°You think what they did to you was bad? Try screaming for three days straight while they make you watch.¡± I stared at her. ¡°They didn¡¯t just kill my family and my pet,¡± she continued with a shrug. ¡°They tortured me too.¡± A sharp voice interrupted. ¡°Dee. Stop talking to him.¡± A boy, maybe twenty, shoved his hand between us like he was cutting through air. He had patches of facial hair beneath his jaw, a stark contrast to the rest of us. Why¡¯s he so old? I muttered, stepping back. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. His holographic name glowed above his head: Emeka. He stepped closer. ¡°You¡¯re new, so let me explain something: I don¡¯t answer questions.¡± "What''s your name?" Ogu. But the guards changed it. They said no African names. How come they didn¡¯t change yours? A sharp whistle sliced through the air. Didn¡¯t I say no talking? Something glinted in my peripheral vision. A knife. It hurtled toward me. Bang. The world went white¡ªstatic, pressure, ringing¡ªthen silence. --- The next breath he took wasn¡¯t in the Orbit. It was here. Now. The past spit him out, but the taste of blood remained. His hand was clutching something¡ªnot his chest. Crumpled bills, singed at the edges. He tapped them against the bed, steadying himself. Kane jerked awake, gasping. His heart slammed against his ribs. The room was dim, dawn barely breaking. His hand tightened around the crumpled bills. He tapped them absently against the bed and sat up. The copper taste still lingered. Killer shot. He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes darting around the room. Leaning against the wall near the bathroom, something large, wrapped in plastic, hummed faintly. He wiped the drool from his mouth, hit the radio on his nightstand, and slumped back into the bed. The mattress gladly received him. A voice crackled through the radio: "Breathe in¡­ hold¡­ breathe out. The battle is over, soldier." Not for him. He would go to the portals today. He needed to clear his head before the mission. - - - He rolled out of bed and went through the practiced motions: checking the locks on the doors, the latches on the windows. The darkness was his ally. No lights. He stepped out of the shower, water dripping down his body, and stared at the mirror.

Silence.

Drops traced the ridges of his muscles¡ªno implants, just hardened flesh. The rune mark on his left chest, where the metal coin had once been, had almost healed. Ten years, and still, the scar of the Orbit remained. His dreads were getting longer, harder to cut¡ªthe last time he tried, **the scissors snapped. A surge pulsed through his optics, his iris flickering purple before dulling back to its usual color. He frowned and reached for the box, punching in a command. He shoved the body off him, panting. Stared at the blood on his hands. His ribs ached. His knuckles were raw. The silence pressed in. He scanned the tunnel¡¯s entrance. Nothing yet. No eyes watching. _A pause. Then he clicked send._ He turned and reached for the object wrapped in nylon. His left hand tensed under its weight. It went into the reinforced coffin. With a press of his ring, the coffin itself vanished. Storage tech. An old trick from the Orbit. Would he ever go back? He slid the ring into his pocket. The door swung shut behind him. The portals were illegal. Sometimes, he wondered how they had even written the spatial code for it¡ªthe only possible explanation: It had been jammed into the Great Code. You wouldn¡¯t have Coz to move in it because there were no Atom Gears, so you had to siphon from teleportation rings. The Dice Festival had begun, so siphoning was easier; they were on 2-4-7. Not that he cared what Suspended did, as long as they didn¡¯t bother him. This portal was owned by the newest INTEL in Lagos. --- Glass panels flickered¡ªcoordinates, status updates, countdowns. Warning lights pulsed in sync with distant machinery, a deep, rhythmic thrum. Ten, nine, eight, seven¡­ There were a lot of people in this small room¡ªnot packed, but with a good amount of strange individuals. A particular team caught his attention: a lady with red hair, twins, a balding, short man, and a man in glasses with a big mustache. He always felt it before they came¡ªthe static charge in the air, the shift in pressure. But this time, it was just the portal. Just the jump. He exhaled. The man in glasses waved at him, smiling, but the red-haired woman slapped his hand down. His eye darted across. They weren¡¯t here. Yet. A tug¡ªdeep in the gut, like being yanked through a narrow space too fast for the body to follow. Weightlessness crashed into crushing force, then nothing¡ªno air, no light, no up or down. A heartbeat later, reality slammed back. _The terrible places he was always portaled to._ Bang. Kane landed on muddy ground, bouncing a few times before adjusting his body to a halt.

Ranked Location Appraisal [C¨CA.]

6:47 AM. The tunnel was too narrow, too dark, and too quiet. Heavy, storm-gray clouds of smoke drifted across the parched, broken earth, fissures running like veins through the barren land. His eyes scanned the area¡ª His mask was on immediately. _A beast lunged._ One second. _Move._ Instinct took over. Kane threw himself sideways, breath in ragged gasps, gloves slick with sweat. His boots skidded across the dirt. Claws raked through the space where his head had been, kicking up a cloud of dust. His mind caught up just in time to see the monster glitching¡ªlike it wasn¡¯t fully there. Like reality itself was rejecting it. It was stained all right. He couldn¡¯t tell if it was sentient, though. A slow grin spread across his face. This was the only way to clear his head. His arms moved¡ª The beast¡¯s arm moved¡ª Before his brain caught up. Their fists met with a sonic bang, the impact echoing in the tunnel cracks, revealing a sickly greenish tint in the walls. His hand was a little red¡ªa testament to the beast¡¯s strength. No hesitation. He threw the coffin down, its buckles at his waist coming undone. His fists were enough. The creature twisted, its eyes locking onto him again. Kane exhaled. The second lunge was coming. This time, he was ready. He moved. Not away, but into it. The world slowed. He saw it all. The beads of sweat at the beast¡¯s temple. The tension in its jaw. He saw the claw coming. He thought, _Wouldn¡¯t it be nice if I dodged that?_ He didn¡¯t. The claw hit. It didn¡¯t go more than an inch, but it stung like hell. Kane¡¯s skull bounced off concrete. His ears rang. He realized, in a dazed sort of way, that the beast was now on top of him, trying to saw his throat open with his damn style. Great. Kane grabbed a fistful of its hair and yanked hard. The beast¡¯s head snapped back, exposing its throat. Kane punched it. Again. It didn¡¯t go down easily. Kane had to punch it twice more, kinetics surging through his veins, and even then, it was more of a slow, pathetic slump than a dramatic collapse. He shoved the body off him, panting. Stared at the blood on his hands. His ribs ached. His knuckles were raw. The silence pressed in. He scanned the tunnel¡¯s entrance. Nothing yet. No eyes watching. "Shit," Kane muttered. "Fuck. Thought I dodged that." Fighting was the only way to flush out XX1 from his blood, to push his body''s ability¡ªstatic to overdrive. To chase away the memories, too. He wouldn¡¯t go on a mission in anything but his best state. CH7 PLAYGROUND His hood felt¡­ wrong, like hitting a coarse, jarring note in a song that had already seeped into your bones. I climbed up the portal. I waved. He didn¡¯t¡ªbut his gaze lingered. Recognition? At this point, I was certain he was one of them¡ªalmost 80 percent. PAT! Alyce slapped my hand down. It stung a little. Wow. That was _impressively_ stupid, trying to alert the whole world that you have zero experience. Don¡¯t look the devil in the eye. Almost everybody knows this. Green Leaf¡ªBlondy pouted. Piggy buzzed like a broken file, his voice loud and shrill. ¡°Oh my GOD, did you actually do it?! Do you _want_ to get us killed?! The next thing you know, he tunes his coordinator to our location and tries to kill us. GREAT.¡± ¡°Have some balls.¡± Ratz turned his wrist. ¡°Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.¡± I raised an eyebrow. How does that relate to what we¡¯re saying? "He has no coordinator," I said matter-of-factly, pointing at the hooded figure. ¡°He could be hiding it,¡± Piggy retorted. Coordinators were tuned to beacons outside the walls, preventing random teleportation into space. If you used the teleportation rings legally, you wouldn¡¯t need one. You had to be brave or really stupid to do that¡ªyou would wind up in any place that ¡°fate decided.¡± Blondy adjusted her glasses like she was copying me. ¡°Fate? What a load of crap.¡± Alyce adjusts her waistband. ''But I get what you¡¯re¡­'' The place around me blurred like water disturbed on a lake. Time didn¡¯t wait for our conversation to end. We were thrust in. --- My gun disturbed the silence. The magazine slid into place with a cold, metallic _click_. A sharp pull¡ªthe slide snapped back, exposing the chamber¡¯s yawning mouth before slamming shut. Seven moved as one, boots sinking into the damp loam. Flickering torchlight cast long shadows that danced like restless spirits. The moon was a weak silver eye behind a quilt of storm clouds. I adjusted my glasses, pushing them higher up on my nose. The frames felt heavier. ¡°Imagine if we slayed a dragon,¡± the twins whispered, moving in unison. ¡°Even Suspended would be looking for us.¡± Their matching dark cloaks barely made a sound as they stepped carefully. ¡°Slayed dragons? What world do you kids live in?¡± Blondy burst into laughter, forgetting she looked just like them. She clutched her enormous breasts before doubling over as if she feared gravity would lug them off her chest. When she stood up straight, there were tears streaming down her face. ¡°Let¡¯s just kill the crudes¡ªthe goblin types¡ªand leave. I¡¯ve been studying some chemistry.¡± She smiled. ¡°Okay, so technically, the media makes it seem like since the laws changed during the wars, no one can study them. Well, there is some truth to that.¡± She adjusted the straps of her leather armor and grinned. ¡°I am a statistical exception. I think I might be able to make something really nice, sell it, and invest in my business before I blow.¡± ¡°We¡¯d better find something worth it. I didn¡¯t come all this way for scraps.¡± One of the twins twirled his dagger expertly between his fingers, the blade gleaming in the dim light. ¡°Shut up. Why are you all so loud? Focus.¡± _Ratz, you¡¯re loud, too._ Nothing had happened since we arrived. No insane display of skill. Everyone was normal. Had I just wasted my money hiring these people? Ratz moved like a machine. His hands flexed, servos grinding, metal plating sealing into place. No hesitation. Just the hum of hydraulics and the scent of oil. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He rambled, then shut up: ¡°Look, get in, get out. We break them down, just like we did last time.¡± ¡°I heard the last group screamed¡ª¡± ¡°Not all at once. In pieces.¡± Piggy gulped. ¡°Cowards scream. We don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Ratz, just shut up. Look around.¡± Alyce¡¯s laughter was a soft, unsettling thing, like a breeze stirring an old, forgotten grave. She didn¡¯t need to yell to make you feel the weight of her words. Red dot. Eyes were looking at us. Surrounding us. ¡°Well.¡± Her red hair fell to the side. ¡°Isn¡¯t it interesting . . . the way you cling to hope, like it¡¯s some kind of shield? How quaint.¡± Redline injector flooding into her bloodstream. The twins slid into their suits in unison, movements smooth and effortless. As if the battle wasn¡¯t happening around them but was a performance they had rehearsed. Ratz raised his arm. The two blondes¡ªtheir spelltech glowing. My gun leveling down. I kept my pace steady, deliberately calculated. Too slow, and I¡¯d give myself away. Too fast, and I¡¯d look like a fool. Every step measured. Every breath, a thought ahead. A part of my form was being used from the moment we blinked, my mind living fifteen seconds in the future. But my body was fully in the present¡ªso much computational power was being used to keep at it and think normally. A blur of fangs, dark and slick, flashed in the night. Its red eyes burned like embers, a hunting beast in the dark. The air split with the crack of my railgun¡ª_Bang!_¡ªand the creature¡¯s skull shattered. But there were more. Always more. Ratz was a blur¡ªsteel and fury. He struck first, his metallic fist connecting with a beast mid-pounce. The creature crumpled, but another, faster one lunged. Its claws scraped through the gap in his armor. Metal groaned. A piece of it fell away¡ªhis arm was hanging on by ligaments. The beast didn¡¯t stop. ¡°Ahhh.¡± The beast¡¯s chest caved inward with a sickening _crunch_. He whirled, caught another by the throat, and squeezed. Hydraulic pressure. The spine snapped like dry twigs. The twins had already vanished into motion, their robotic suits shifting, blurring them into streaks of blue plasma. One slid under a beast¡¯s swipe, twin blades slicing through tendon and fur. The other leapt, twisting midair, firing a high-voltage round that hit center mass. The creature convulsed, fried from the inside out. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Their suits were already breaking apart. Alyce¡¯s smile never wavered, cold as it was. She reached into the oversized pouch at her side, her fingers brushing past the shimmering rainbow of dermadisks. She selected three, pressing them into her injector. Her eyes gleamed with something far too dark to call enjoyment. Her veins pulsed, BTD surging through her bloodstream Blood sprayed from a jugular in a red gout of light. She was screaming, rising, screaming¡ªfigure one crumpled, fading, twitching. 2. 3. Figure ten is the same. Eighty the same. She danced through the chaos, her knife catching the throat of a monster, twisting effortlessly to avoid a snapping jaw. When she exhaled, it sounded like a sigh. Then, the two blondes. Spelltech. One deployable side. The others bow animated arrows as she pulled it. Boom. Fire weaved through the battlefield. One murmured a word. A beast was _ripped apart_. More red eyes in the dark. Alyce¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Oh, good. I was getting bored.¡± "The fight was over. Or so we thought. One by one, we caught our breath, wiping off the sweat, the blood. The countdown flickered on our HUDs. 4.14. 4.15. Piggy never reached 4.16." Alyce didn¡¯t flinch. She stayed there, half-bent, eyes locked on the horizon, as if she were watching something far worse than the monsters we had just fought. She wasn¡¯t bothered by the blood. She never was. And I realized then¡ª_she enjoyed this._ Blood spattered in the air. Alyce threw a rock¡ªone, two¡ªso close to the sound barrier that the air itself trembled. Piggy said nothing¡ªno time for even a grunt. The stone struck. His head split open. Something oozed out, turning red. _So she was skilled enough._ My heart beat faster Too much of a wild card. That speed¡ªimpossible. I¡¯d factored in the redline injectors, the dermadisks. I knew she was fast. But this? This wasn¡¯t human. Even drugged bodies had limits. Alyce had just ignored them. The way she moved¡ªlike she already knew where the gaps would be, like she was operating on instinct too fast for her own mind to process. Was this a variant of the drug? Or was she using something beyond 100% efficiency? No, it didn¡¯t make sense. Her body should be breaking apart under that much strain. How was she still smiling? I was looking for a punchline first, but¡ªoh well." Her smile and how it blended with the outburst. One. Two. A glint of steel¡ªAlyce¡¯s knife slipped through the cracks in the twins¡¯ suits. "But I can¡¯t really find one, so¡ªoh well." She took a deep breath. A knife from under Blondy¡¯s head. Uppercut with a knife. "I knew you were a bitch." Ratz closed his eyes, his arm powering to life. "Where is your hon¡ª" "I''m coming." She moved. Wait. I pushed my glasses up. Time slowed. The echo of sound before it rang. Her knife went through the air, slowly, cutting it. Straight for Ratz¡¯s eye. Her demonic smile expanded. A faint glow. **Tick.** --- Her legs tensed just moments before she blitzed through the air I knew they felt that off feeling. She looked at me like she¡¯d rip my face¡ªand my smugness¡ªclean off. **Bloodlust.** Ratz too. A little pale. I was sure he had seen it¡ªAlyce¡¯s dagger about to slip into his eye. But his face was stoic. No hint of fear. My blood was boiling. I had caught his movement too. Incredible. An enhanced and a regular human matching him. I laughed. _A wild card indeed._ "I clear my throat. ''What I just did was an en-passant. I rewound time¡ªyour minds, too. What do you think?''" Please don¡¯t make me do it ag¡ª She moved. I pushed my glasses up and turned to face her. My hand left her head¡ªher frozen body. _The thing about my power was you had to be smart. You couldn¡¯t stop time at a moment¡¯s notice. You could only set it to go off in places. And if it was triggered, the better the effect._ Who could match my genius? I hadn¡¯t found one yet. This scene was set to loop once more, even without my intervention. My Coz had long been depleted. This whole thing¡ªit drained my lifespan. But it was worth it. I took a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you. You too, Ratz." I looked over my shoulder. "Do you hate Suspended?"