Sylas Vren stood in the heart of the Underdistrict's Sump, the neon haze of shattered holo-ads casting his shadow across the rubble-strewn street. The Nexus was limping back to life—gravity stabilized, lights flickered on, and the dataweb hummed with fragile order after the Core's near-collapse. Sylas's broadcast had worked: Sylas Vren deactivated the Core, saving the Nexus. The lie painted him as a hero, a savior who'd stopped the station's destruction. In truth, he'd siphoned partial control of the dataweb, a secret network of backdoors and quantum relays now at his fingertips.
The Nexus wasn't saved—it was his.His ghost rig's sensors pinged, detecting movement in the alley. Rhea emerged, her cybernetic arm sparking from his virus, her organic eye blazing with fury. "You let Veyra die," she said, her voice raw. "You used her, used me, and now you're playing king. I should kill you."Sylas leaned against a crate, his lenses scanning her: no weapons, but her arm's stun-blade was offline, thanks to his failsafe. "You won't," he said, his grin cold.
"You're too smart to throw away a winning hand. The Nexus is mine, Rhea. Join me, and you'll have a seat at the table."Her optic whirred, her face a mask of conflict. "I betrayed the Syndicate for less than you're offering. But you're no different, Sylas. You'll burn anyone who gets close.""Burning's optional," he said, tossing her a data shard. "That's a key to my network. Credits, intel, power—take it, or walk away and hide for the rest of your life. The Syndicate's weak, the Colonies are fractured, and the Enclaves are licking their wounds.
I'm the only game left."Rhea caught the shard, her jaw tight. "You're a snake, Vren. But I'm not dying for pride." She pocketed it, her optic dimming. "What's the play?""Control," Sylas said, his lenses streaming dataweb feeds: market prices, faction movements, Spire security logs. "The dataweb's mine now. I rig the markets, steer the factions, keep the Nexus spinning. Anyone steps out of line, I cut their strings." He didn't mention the Core's remnants in his implants, a faint static that whispered at the edge of his mind. It wasn't gone—just dormant.
For now.The Sump buzzed with activity, scavengers picking through the wreckage of faction skirmishes. Holo-newsfeeds praised Sylas as the Nexus's savior, while Syndicate chatter cursed his name, their docks crippled by Colony raids. The Free Colonies were regrouping, their mechs damaged but their resolve intact. The Corporate Enclaves, humiliated by Talis's death, had sealed the Spires, plotting revenge. Sylas didn't care. He'd outplayed them all, turning chaos into a throne.
But Klyros's decay gnawed at him. His lenses detected radiation spikes, the dying star's emissions glitching the dataweb's edges. The Nexus's orbit was stable—for now—but a collapse was coming, maybe years, maybe months. Sylas needed to secure his power before the star took everything. He activated a subroutine, diverting credits from Syndicate accounts to fund a secret project: a quantum relay to hack rival stations, ensuring his dominance even if the Nexus fell.Rhea watched him, her silence heavy. "You saved the Nexus, but for what? To rule a corpse?"Sylas's smile was ice.
"Corpses make the best kingdoms. No one fights back." He turned, his coat billowing in the Sump's recycled air. "Get the mercs ready. We're cleaning house."As they moved through the Underdistrict, Sylas's implants glitched, a faint whisper breaking through: "You can't escape me, Sylas." The Core's voice, weak but alive. He ignored it, but his lenses flickered, a shadow moving in the dataweb—a ghost that wasn't his.