Location: The VIP Lounge of "The Serpentine" Club, Sector 9.
The music downstairs was a thumping bass line that vibrated the crystal decanter on the table, but up here, the soundproofing was absolute.
Darius "The King" King sat on a velvet sofa, peeling an apple with a knife that cost more than most people's lives. He was a handsome man, if you ignored the reptilian coldness in his eyes. He was a C-Rank Poison Mage, the ruler of the Sector 9 underworld, and currently, he was very annoyed.
Korg stood before him. The massive Reject was trembling. His right hand was bandaged, but the swelling was still visible where Ren had crushed the bones.
"Let me get this straight," Darius said, slicing a thin piece of apple. "You went to collect a debt from a Corpse Collector. A boy who smells like goblin guts. And you came back with a broken hand and no money."
"He... he's an Awakened, Boss," Korg stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. "I swear. He caught the bat. With one hand. He snapped it like a twig."
"Strength enhancement," Darius mused. "Common. But manageable. Why didn't you shoot him?"
"I... I froze," Korg admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Boss, his eyes. They glowed purple. And the pressure... it felt like standing in front of a Red Gate. I couldn't breathe."
Darius paused. He placed the knife on the table.
"Purple eyes," Darius repeated. "Not blue? Not red?"
"Violet. Like neon."
Darius leaned back. He knew every Awakened in Sector 9. He knew the Guild rosters. Nobody had violet mana. That sounded like a Variant. Or worse—someone using illegal enhancement drugs.
"If he's a junkie on 'Rage-Stims', he'll burn out in a week," Darius said. "But he humiliated my men. He broke my collection schedule. That is bad for business."
Darius pressed a button on the intercom.
"Send in Mr. Kain."
The door opened silently. A man walked in. He was average height, wearing a grey suit that fit too perfectly. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like an accountant.
But Korg flinched away from him.
Mr. Kain was a "Cleaner." An Assassin-Class Hunter who specialized in problems the law couldn't touch.
"Mr. King," Kain said, his voice soft and polite. "Do we have a withdrawal to process?"
"A pest control issue," Darius corrected. "Name is Ren Walker. Sector 9 tenements. Block 14. He's playing hero. I want him dead."
"Loud or quiet?" Kain asked, adjusting his glasses.
"Loud," Darius smiled, slicing the apple in half. "Make an example. Gut him and hang him from his own balcony. Let the Sector know what happens when you don't pay the Vipers."
Kain nodded. "Consider it done. I'll need half upfront. 20,000 credits."
"Done."
Darius watched Kain leave. He took a bite of the apple. It was crisp and sweet.
He didn't know it yet, but he had just invited a predator into his home.
********
The rain had turned into a deluge.
Ren stumbled down 42nd Street, clutching his side. Every step sent a jolt of white-hot agony through his ribcage. He was soaked, shivering, and leaving a faint trail of blood that was quickly washed away by the storm.
[HP: 39 / 130]
[Status: Weakened. Regeneration slowed due to calorie deficit.]
"You are leaking, Ren," Gluttony noted helpfully. "And you are walking past a perfectly good dumpster. I smell a half-eaten kebab."
"Not... now," Ren grit his teeth.
He reached the flickering neon sign of Silas's Salvage. The lights were off. It was 3:00 AM.
Ren banged on the metal shutter. "Silas! Open up!"
No answer.
Ren banged again, harder. "Silas! I have credits! Open the damn door!"
A slat in the shutter slid open. A red mechanical eye peered out.
"Ren?" Silas's voice was muffled. "You look like hamburger meat."
"Let me in."
The shutter groaned and rolled up just enough for Ren to crawl under. He collapsed onto the floor of the shop, coughing wetly.
Silas locked the shutter and hurried over. He scanned Ren with his mechanical eye.
"Three broken ribs. Punched lung. Concussion. What did you fight? A truck?"
"A crocodile," Ren wheezed. "Big one."
Silas swore. He dragged Ren behind the counter and popped a First-Aid spray, sealing the external cuts. "You need a Healer, kid. I'm a mechanic. I fix toasters, not people."
"I can't go to a hospital," Ren gasped. "No ID. Just... sell."
Ren reached into his pouch with a shaking hand. He pulled out the loot.
Three Ferrous Wolf Cores.
One Necro-Mannequin Heart (encased in a plastic bag).
And the canister of Abyssal Mutagen.
Silas picked up the wolf cores. "D-Rank. Decent quality." Then he saw the heart. He recoiled. "Is that... human?"
"Construct heart," Ren said. "Rare drop."
Silas looked at it with disgust but nodded. "I can move it to a Necromancer. They pay well for spare parts."
Then, Silas saw the canister.
The violet liquid swirled inside, glowing with a malevolent light. The Geiger counter on Silas's workbench started clicking frantically.
Silas snatched his hand back. "What the hell is that?"
[Item: Abyssal Mutagen]
"Found it... in the boss room," Ren murmured, his eyes closing. "Worth anything?"
Silas grabbed a pair of lead-lined tongs and picked up the canister, holding it at arm's length. He brought it under his magnification lamp.
"Ren," Silas whispered, his voice trembling. "This isn't loot. This is a bio-hazard. This is raw corruption. If you drop this, it contaminates the whole block. Where did you get a Class-B Mutagen?"
"Can you... sell it?"
"Sell it? Are you insane?" Silas hissed. "If I put this on the market, the Association will raid us within the hour. This is forbidden tech. This is what creates monsters."
Silas looked at Ren. The boy was passing out.
"I can't sell this," Silas said firmly. "I'm disposing of it."
Ren's hand shot out. He grabbed Silas's metal wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for a dying man.
"No," Ren whispered. His eyes fluttered open, violet rings flaring weakly. "Keep it. Safe. For me."
"For you? What are you going to do with it?"
"Drink it," Ren smiled. A bloody, terrifying smile.
Silas stared at him. "You're suicidal."
"I'm evolving," Ren corrected. He released Silas's arm. "Sell the cores. Sell the heart. Give me... high-grade healing potions. And food. Lots of food."
Silas hesitated. He looked at the dangerous canister, then at the broken boy. He sighed, a sound of defeat.
"I'm going to regret this," Silas muttered. He put the mutagen in a lead-lined safe under the floorboards.
He calculated the total.
"Wolf cores are 1,500. The heart is 2,000. Total 3,500 credits."
Silas walked to his shelf and pulled out a Grade-B Regeneration Vial. It was red and viscous.
"This costs 3,000," Silas said. "It'll fix the ribs and the lung in six hours. But it hurts like hell."
"Do it," Ren said.
Silas uncorked the vial and poured it into Ren's mouth.
Ren swallowed.
Immediately, his body arched in agony. His bones began to snap back into place, knitting together with audible cracks. Steam rose from his skin.
[Regeneration Initiated.]
[Bio-Mass Consumption Accelerated to fuel repair.]
"Ren," Silas said, watching the boy convulse. "While you're screaming, you should know something."
Ren looked up, sweat pouring down his face.
"I tapped the underworld comms," Silas said grimly. "The Vipers. They put a hit out on you."
Ren laughed. It was a wet, gurgling sound.
"Good," Ren whispered. "Let them come."
"They hired Kain," Silas added.
Ren stopped laughing. Even he knew that name. Kain, the Dentist. The man who pulled people apart to find where they hid their credits.
"When?" Ren asked.
"Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight."
Ren closed his eyes. The pain of his ribs knitting together was fading, replaced by a cold clarity.
He needed to heal.
He needed to take the Mutagen.
And then, he needed to hunt.
"Silas," Ren whispered as consciousness faded.
"Lock the door."