Chapter 1: Glitch in the Chain
"If your soul is just data, who owns you?"
-Unknown
---
The first time Zane Kross died, it cost him nothing.
The second time, it uploaded his soul to the chain.
He snapped awake with a choked gasp, the cold slap of metal beneath him and the scent of burnt ozone in the air. His HUD blinked rapidly, glitching like a pirated holo-drama, and an error tone buzzed in his ear like an angry mosquito with a vendetta.
> [SYSTEM ERROR: UNREGISTERED SOUL NFT DETECTED]
[Initializing… CHAINBOUND PROTOCOL…]
"Fantastic," he muttered, coughing. "Back from the dead, and still no damn coffee."
Around him, the alley buzzed with neon flickers and digital runoff—pixels drifting like ash from the skyscrapers above. A stray bot skittered past, paused to scan him, beeped in horror, and rolled away like it saw a ghost.
Which, technically, it did.
Zane sat up, groaning like a 90-year-old mech pilot. A circular glyph hovered over his palm—pulsing, alive, and way too intimate for a first date.
> [Welcome, Zane Kross.]
[You are now Bound.]
"No. Nope. Hell no. I didn't sign up for another binding contract," he snapped. "I already owe three loan sharks, two data lords, and my ex."
> [Binding complete.]
[Soul NFT registered: OBSIDIAN-CLASS]
[Error: Contract Origin Unknown]
[Also... you should probably run.]
"Wait—what?"
BOOM.
A ripple shook the alley. Somewhere nearby, metal screamed and klaxons wailed. Zane staggered to his feet. His trench coat—tatty, patched, and probably radioactive—flapped behind him like he was auditioning for a budget superhero flick.
His last memory came back in shards.
Data Vault 17B.
A hack job.
Infiltrate, extract raw Ether, sell to the Blackgrid. Easy creds. Until the vault woke up, scanned his soul, and whispered in his head: You're not supposed to exist.
"I knew it," Zane muttered. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted a job that paid upfront and included a sandwich."
He limped toward the alley's end. The glyph kept pulsing, now embedding itself under his skin. Every step he took synced with it—like his heartbeat was uploading in real time.
> [Your soul now belongs to the Chain.]
[Congratulations! You're 0.001% owned.]
[Terms and conditions may apply. Also, try not to die again.]
"I hate everything."
As he emerged into the neon-lit chaos of Neo Babylon, something clicked behind his ear.
A gun.
Cheap. Unregistered. Smelled like rust and bad decisions.
"Well, well," a voice drawled. "If it isn't the dead man walking."
Zane sighed. "Can we not do this today? I just got re-souled. It's been a long five minutes."
A shadow stepped into view—chrome-jawed, eyes glowing red, half-man, half-malfunction. One of the Enforcers from the Blackgrid. "You stole an Obsidian-class soul token. That's death by disintegration."
"Okay, one—I didn't steal anything. Two—I don't even know how to spell disintegration without autocorrect."
"You're coming with us."
Zane held up his hands. "Cool, cool. Just let me—"
> [ACTIVATING AUTO-DEFENSE MODE]
[WARNING: You have no idea what you're doing.]
Suddenly, the glyph exploded with light, and a shockwave blasted the Enforcer back into a noodle stand. Somewhere, a vendor
screamed, "MY RAMEN!"
Zane blinked at his hand. "Okay… I might be a weapon."