The Spires were a world apart from the Sump's chaos, a sterile realm of crystal and chrome where the Corporate Enclaves ruled with cold precision. The towers stretched toward Klyros's dying light, their surfaces reflecting the star's fiery orange in a mirror-like sheen, but the air inside was filtered, scented with artificial florals to mask the sulfurous tang seeping through the station's shields. Holo-ads here were sleek, projecting gene-mod ads—"Enhance Your DNA Today!"—in shimmering gold, a far cry from the Sump's garbled neon.
AI sentinels patrolled the corridors, their laser-grid eyes scanning for intruders, their durasteel bodies humming with quantum processors. The Spires were wealth incarnate, but to Sylas, they were a prison of control—too clean, too predictable, and ripe for disruption.He arrived at Executor Talis's tower in a rented skiff, its hull cloaked to avoid Enclave sensors.
He'd swapped his ghost rig for a tailored Spire suit, its fabric laced with micro-shielding to deflect neural suppressors, though he kept his pulse-knife hidden at his hip. His augmented lenses scanned the tower as he stepped into the lift, the glass walls offering a panoramic view of the Nexus's skyline: Spires glittering like blades, the Underdistrict a smudge of neon below, and Klyros a looming specter in the void.
The lift hummed, ascending to the penthouse, where Talis waited.The Executor's office was a monument to power, its walls lined with holo-screens displaying market data and gene-tech schematics. A massive window framed the Nexus's sprawl, the neon lights of the Underdistrict twinkling like stars against the void.
Talis stood behind a durasteel desk, a man in his late twenties but aged by ambition, his gene-modded features flawless—high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His pristine Spire suit shimmered with embedded circuits, and his voice was smooth as durasteel, carrying the weight of someone who'd buried enemies without hesitation.
"Vren," Talis said, gesturing to a chair with a gloved hand. "Sit. Your auction's a risk to the Nexus. It ends now."Sylas sat, his posture casual, though his lenses scanned for traps: neural suppressors in the walls, drones cloaked as decor, and a quantum disruptor hidden beneath Talis's desk. The Enclaves didn't trust him—smart. He didn't trust them either. "A risk?" he said, his tone laced with mockery. "The Nexus thrives on risk, Talis. Your markets are up ten percent since my auction started.
You're welcome."Talis's eyes hardened, though his smile remained, a blade hidden in silk. "Don't play games, Vren. The Nexus Core is a myth to most, but we know it's real. A sentient AI controlling the dataweb—power enough to crown a king or burn this station to ash. Your auction's drawing attention we can't afford. The Syndicate's mobilizing, the Free Colonies are raiding, and the Void Collective is praying to their 'god.' Stop this, or we bury you."Sylas leaned forward, his lenses glowing softly as he analyzed Talis's micro-expressions: a faint twitch in his jaw, a flicker of greed in his eyes.
The Executor wanted the Core as badly as Sylas did, but he hid it behind threats. "Bury me?" Sylas said, his grin cold. "You'd need my dataweb key first. And I don't share."Talis slid a holo-pad across the desk, its screen displaying a contract: Exclusive rights to the Nexus Core map for ten billion credits, plus amnesty for all past crimes. The numbers glowed in gold, a tempting fortune, but Sylas knew better. The Enclaves didn't negotiate—they eliminated. He pocketed the holo-pad, his mind already spinning a double-cross.
He'd leak the contract to the Syndicate, framing Talis as a traitor, and let the factions tear each other apart while he hunted the Core."Amnesty's a nice touch," Sylas said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But I don't trust you, Talis. You'd have my implants stripped the second I sign."Talis's smile faded, his eyes narrowing. "You're a liability, Vren. We've tolerated your little empire in the Sump because you're useful—data, lies, chaos. But this? You're overstepping.
Hand over the map, or we'll carve it out of you."Sylas stood, adjusting his coat, his pulse-knife a reassuring weight at his hip. "Carve away. You'll find I'm hard to kill." He turned to leave, but his lenses pinged a proximity alert—Veyra's signature, faint but closing in, her heat signature moving through the Spires' lower levels. The Cleaner was hunting him, and Talis's threats were a distraction.As he stepped into the lift, Talis's voice followed, cold as Klyros's light. "You've got one chance, Vren. Don't waste it."The lift descended, the Nexus's skyline blurring past.
Sylas's mind raced, calculating his next move. Talis was a problem, but Veyra was the immediate threat. She had Joren's data-core, and she was rogue—unpredictable, dangerous, but exploitable. The Enclaves wanted the Core, the Syndicate wanted his head, and the Collective wanted their god. Sylas wanted it all, and he'd play them against each other to get it.Outside, Klyros flared again, its radiation spiking, sending static through the dataweb. Sylas's implants buzzed, the whisper returning—"I see you, Sylas." He froze, his lenses glitching for a moment, but the voice faded. The Core was awake, and it knew his name. For the first time, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind—not fear, but the nagging sense that he might have underestimated his prey.