The city didn't sleep. Neon signs flickered, buzzing like restless insects. Somewhere above, a drone of engines echoed—a reminder that the streets were never truly empty. Waxwell's body ached, but the adrenaline still hummed beneath his skin. He had survived the alley, but survival was just the first lesson.
He moved cautiously, eyes scanning every corner. The Hound Faction wasn't the only danger in these blocks; whispers of other gangs, mercenaries, and unseen predators filled the air. Tonight, Waxwell felt it—the pull of the city's pulse, the invisible thread drawing him forward.
A voice broke the silence.
"You've got skill," it said, calm, measured. "But skill alone won't keep you alive."
Waxwell's gaze darted upward. On the rooftop, a figure leaned against the neon glow, face shadowed. A message in the quiet hum of the city: someone is watching, and someone is offering a choice.
"I don't need lessons," Waxwell said, voice low, steady. "I need opportunity."
The figure smiled, barely visible, and dropped a small metallic object into the alley below. Waxwell caught it instinctively—a card engraved with symbols he didn't recognize. A single word etched along the edge: Ascend.
The meaning was clear, even without explanation: this city offered power, but it demanded cost. And Waxwell… he was ready to pay.
But as he pocketed the card, a chill ran down his spine. The shadows weren't just watching anymore—they were moving. Something was coming. And Waxwell realized that for the first time, he wasn't just fighting for survival. He was fighting for his place in a city that devoured the weak without remorse.
The real test was just beginning.