Matt frowned as the spider-like cyber head slowly emerged from the darkness, clutching a nano-ignition annihilator thread, its web invisible to the eye and woven all around him.
"I have something I need to recover," he said.
The cyber-spider groaned.
"What?!"ll
Its ruptured veins bulged from rusted circuits. Six legs extended from its torso, and though its brain remained human, it was encased in convertible covers that could open to transfer the brain to another body or for transportation. It was almost entirely machine, with only the brain retaining its humanity.
Matt tossed a chip towards the six-legged cyborg, letting it catch it.
The spider-cyber head swiftly grabbed it with its quick reflexes, its eyes rapidly calculating the trajectory.
Matt turned to leave the shop but stopped midway. "You have my number, Caesar?"
Caesar, startled, replied, "I will find it."
"No need to trouble yourself. I'll come looking for you next week."
Caesar tried to respond, but before he could get a word out, Matt was already gone.
"What a self-centered bastard..." he muttered.
He glanced at the chip in his hand, its burnt markings revealing a name etched onto it: "Ruther."
"So that's why this guy was crazy about it," he chuckled like a maniac. "I can get good money for this."
---
Matt returned to his station, ready to write his final report and email it to the CIA.
The computer screen glared against his robotic eyes, its hues shifting until it accessed a specific database. Slowly, it downloaded and matched the details Matt entered, compiling file after file about the locations and history he could uncover.
The file contained information about a small-time gang member named "Ruther."
Ruther was part of Lin Guozhi's family, involved in debt collection, robbery, arson, and petty theft. He had been arrested for gang violence and assault. Cyber Intelligence had limited data on him, as he was just an ordinary, low-level member in their view.
But for Matt, it was a different story. Ruther was like a little brother to him—not by blood, but through the bond they shared at the orphanage.
As Matt typed his report, his eyes glistened, tears slipping down his face. Memories flooded his mind, and he paused. His robotic eyes struggled to stabilize the surge in emotional resonance. They managed to temporarily halt the artificial tears, but the emotions kept flowing. True feelings couldn't be contained as Matt was pulled into the bittersweet memories of his childhood.
Ruther, an abandoned child, was found by a clergyman on a cold, rain-soaked street. The boy's body was covered in bruises, his eyes hollow and distant, carrying the weight of unseen torment. When Matt approached to offer him water, the boy recoiled in terror, shielding his face as if expecting another blow.
He was a child terrified of people to his very core.
In time, he began to adjust, his fear softening under Matt's patience and kindness. The two grew close; Matt became a figure of strength and safety—the first person Ruther dared to trust.
Under Matt's guidance, the boy's cowardice gradually hardened into courage. He learned to stand his ground, to face his fears even when defeat was certain. The lessons, struggles, and quiet wisdom Matt shared became the pillars of Ruther's moral code.
But as the years passed, the shadows inside him only deepened. The pain he once feared turned into a weapon he wielded against others. The timid boy who once trembled before cruelty had become the very kind of man he once despised.
And somewhere along the way, Matt's code his light was forgotten.
Matt grumbled as he remembers the past, "I should like to forget everything and waken to a light before time."
Slowly, he sat upright in the chair, compiling all the information and preparing to send it to the CIA while checking everything one last time. Suddenly, he received a notification.
It was sent by one of the officers he had met earlier today at the shipyard of XWorm-Bond.
"What's this?"
Matt was confused about the break in protocol.
A video had been sent through the email portal, which was quite rare. Officers usually delivered confidential evidence to detectives through a secure terminal, specially designed to run on servers with restricted access to specific IP-linked IDs.
Pushing that thought aside, he clicked to open the video. The footage was grainy, produced by reimagination tech. It depicted a scene at the shipyard, where a group was confronting a lone cyberhead, who resembled a dock worker in a uniform with black and blue stripes.
The video showed the deal falling apart when Ruther blew him up, reducing him to a mess of paste and metal. Moments later, a steam-age cyborg appeared, methodically taking out the group one by one, using steam as a shroud.
The carnage that followed was horrific. Matt watched the footage patiently, his robotic eyes gleaming as he switched to detective mode, analyzing the events and the people involved in the fight.
He whispered to himself rhetorically, "A revolutionary... why would anyone try to play hero?"
Steam-age weapons were antiques with limited use cases. People often used them for show or entertainment, so only a small number of individuals owned them. These owners tended to remain anonymous, as steam-age weapons were harder to track due to the lack of registration. They could be transferred easily, with no biometric authentication or security mechanisms to prevent unauthorized use.
However, these weapons were not used by just anyone. They were generally seen as symbols of freedom and liberty, representing a time in the past when things were not heavily controlled by the government.
The power of these weapons was weaker than modern ones. They were loud, noisy, and harder to maintain and repair, especially since fewer people were familiar with this technology.
"Nobody would just do that, and fighting a random gangbanger—does this mean this one was rogue or a one-timer? Whoever it is, they've really messed up this time. Not only are they now on the radar, but they've also been seen."
Deep in thought, Matt slowly leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. His office was old, barely even an office just a bare room with a table and a chair, both so ancient they seemed to belong to a time long past.
He then leaned forward and sent his file to the CIA, attaching a request and a notice.
Tomorrow, he would be visiting their office.