TIME: 03:00 HOURS.
LOCATION: SECTOR 4, "THE HELIX" RESIDENCES.
ACCOUNT BALANCE: 42,500 CREDITS.
The silence of Sector 4 was expensive.
Down in the slums of Sector 7, silence didn't exist. The night was a cacophony of sirens, screaming neighbors, and the relentless, industrial thrum of the atmospheric processors grinding overhead. But here, on the fortieth floor of the Helix, the silence was absolute. It was thick and heavy, insulated by triple-paned, bulletproof smart-glass.
Ren Walker sat in his ergonomic leather chair, staring at the panoramic view of Aethelgard. From this height, the city almost looked beautiful. The neon rivers of the maglev highways wove through the skyscrapers like arteries of liquid light. The smog that choked the streets below was just a hazy purple mist from up here, softening the jagged edges of the dystopia.
He took a sip of water. It was filtered, chilled, and tasted like nothing. It was the best thing he had ever drunk.
He rubbed his eyes, feeling the familiar grit of exhaustion. He had been awake for twenty hours. This was the new routine. The Grind.
For the past month, his life had dissolved into a binary rhythm:
Daylight was for Maya. It was for doctor's appointments, shopping for organic cotton baby clothes, and pretending to be a high-end security consultant.
Night was for Wraith.
Ren turned his chair to the triple-monitor setup on his desk. The screens were filled with cascading waterfalls of data.
CUSTODIAL ACCOUNT: BABY WALKER
CURRENT VALUE: 42,500 CREDITS.
YTD GROWTH: +14.2%
Ren traced the line of the graph with his finger. It was a steep, jagged climb upwards. Every spike on that green line represented a mission. Every dip represented a purchase—a crib, a stroller, a year's worth of prepaid rent.
He wasn't just saving money; he was playing the system. He had learned that the "Game" wasn't random. The targets were specific.
* Kill a Transport Union Leader? Buy stock in Automated Logistics.
* Destroy a Solar Farm? Buy stock in Coal-Gen Corp.
* Assassinate a Judge? Short-sell the Private Prison Bonds.
He was insider trading with bullets.
"Ren?"
The soft voice broke his trance. He spun the chair around.
Maya stood in the doorway, bathed in the soft amber light of the hallway. She was wearing one of his old hoodies, the fabric stretched tight over her growing belly. She was seven months along now, and she looked radiant. Her skin, once sallow from the poor diet of the slums, was now glowing with health. Her hair shone.
"I thought I heard you talking," she whispered, rubbing her eyes.
"Just dictating notes," Ren lied smoothly. He stood up and walked over to her, guiding her away from the screens. He didn't want her to see the open window showing the tactical schematics of a chemical weapons lab. "You should be sleeping, Maya. The doctor said you need rest."
"I sleep too much," she smiled, leaning her head against his chest. She smelled of lavender soap and safety. "I woke up and the bed was cold. You're always in here, Ren. Are you sure this consulting job isn't too much? You look... haunted."
Ren stiffened. He forced a smile, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just high-pressure, that's all. Corporate clients want their analysis yesterday. But look at where we are, Maya. It's worth it."
He gestured to the apartment. The polished granite floors, the climate control, the safety.
"I know," Maya said softly. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. "She kicked today. Really hard."
Ren felt the subtle movement under his palm. A tiny, fluttery thump.
His heart squeezed in his chest—a mixture of overwhelming love and terrified guilt. He was building a castle for this child, but the foundation was made of bones.
"She's strong," Ren whispered. "Like her mom."
"Come to bed soon?" Maya asked.
"One hour," Ren promised. "I just have to finish this last report. Then I'm done for the night."
She kissed his cheek and drifted back toward the bedroom. Ren watched her go, waiting until the heavy door clicked shut with a magnetic seal.
His smile vanished instantly. The warmth left his eyes, replaced by a cold, predatory focus.
He walked back to the desk.
He picked up the matte-black headset. It felt heavy in his hands, like a loaded gun.
"One hour," he muttered to himself. "Ten thousand credits."
He sat down. He slid the obsidian visor over his eyes.
The world of safety and lavender dissolved.
LOGIN DETECTED.
> BIOMETRICS CONFIRMED.
> SYNCING NEURAL LINK...
> WELCOME BACK, WRAITH.
The transition was violent, a sudden rush of vertigo that slammed him into the digital space.
Ren opened his eyes.
He was standing in the Lobby—a virtual construct that looked like a floating platform in the center of a dying star. The lighting was moody, shifting between deep purples and bruised blues.
"About time, boss."
The voice boomed like thunder. Tank was already there, doing one-armed pushups in his massive power armor. The avatar was a seven-foot hulk of industrial yellow plating, hazard stripes, and hydraulic pistons. One arm ended in a five-fingered manipulator; the other was a rotary minigun barrel that spun idly.
"I have a pregnant girlfriend, Tank," Ren said, his voice modulated by the system to a deep, distorted rasp. "I have a schedule."
"Excuses, excuses," Tank laughed, hauling himself up. The sound of heavy metal clanking against the floor was perfectly rendered. "Check out the upgrade, though. New heat-sinks on the minigun. I can fire for twelve seconds straight without overheating now."
"Impressive," Ren said. "How's the real world? How's your dad?"
Tank's avatar went still. The jovial tone softened. "He's good, man. Really good. The surgery was Tuesday. The doctor installed the new aortic valve. He's already walking around the ward. He... he asked where I got the money. I told him I won a lottery."
"Good cover," Ren said.
"It feels like a lottery," Jinx said, materializing out of thin air next to them.
Her avatar was sleek, predatory, and fast. She was a cyber-ninja clad in Vantablack stealth weave, twin monofilament swords crossed on her back. Her face was hidden behind a digital mask that currently displayed a neon green $$$ symbol.
"Tuition is paid," Jinx said, stretching her arms. "And I bought a new processor for my rig. I'm rendering frames faster than the server can send them. So, what's on the menu tonight, Wraith? I need to buy textbooks."
Ren walked to the center of the platform. The holographic tactical table flickered to life.
The Admin—the faceless, text-based entity that ran their lives—projected the mission dossier.
PRIORITY CONTRACT: OPERATION CLEAN SLATE
TARGET: Dr. Kaelen Voss (Alias: The Plague Doctor).
LOCATION: Sector 9 Industrial Zone - Bio-Gen Research Facility.
OBJECTIVE: Destroy the Laboratory. Eliminate the Target.
PAYOUT: 12,000 Credits (Split 3 ways).
BONUS: 3,000 Credits for "Catastrophic Failure" of the facility.
"Dr. Voss," Ren read the bio that scrolled next to the target's face. The man looked harmless—spectacles, a receding hairline, a tired expression. "Intel says he's developing a weaponized strain of necro-virus to sell to the Syndicates. If it gets out, Sector 7 is wiped out."
"Sector 7?" Tank growled, revving his gun. "That's my neighborhood. Hell no. Let's smoke this guy."
Ren narrowed his eyes at the map. Sector 9 was heavy industrial. Chemical refineries. Fuel depots.
"If we blow that lab," Ren said, pointing to the red zone on the map, "the explosion is going to be massive. There are residential tenements two blocks away."
"The briefing says the blast radius is contained," Jinx said, tapping the screen. "And look at the payout, Wraith. Twelve grand. That's four thousand each. Plus the bonus."
Ren did the math in his head. Four thousand credits.
He looked at his stock portfolio in his mind. Bio-Gen Corp was a small startup. Their stock was low. If they were destroyed, the market share would shift back to the giant conglomerate, Aethel-Pharma.
Ren owned stock in Aethel-Pharma.
"Wraith?" Jinx asked. "Green light?"
Ren thought about the "kicking" sensation against his hand.
"Green light," Ren said. "Standard formation. Jinx, you take the security grid. Tank, loud entry. I'll provide overwatch and take the shot on Voss. Let's get it done."
THE MISSION
The simulation loaded instantly.
They were standing in the rain, ankle-deep in the oily mud of Sector 9. The smell of sulfur and burning plastic was overwhelming. The realism of the Aegis engine never ceased to terrify Ren.
"Comms check," Ren whispered.
"Solid," Tank grunted.
"Clear," Jinx replied.
"Execute."
Ren grappled up the side of a rusted warehouse, moving with the supernatural grace his avatar provided. He sprinted across the wet roof, sliding into position behind a ventilation unit. He unslung his rifle—a Longbow .50 Caliber with a thermal scope.
Below him, the Bio-Gen facility was a squat, concrete bunker surrounded by chain-link fences and automated turrets.
"Knock knock," Tank's voice crackled.
BOOM.
The front gate exploded inward. Tank charged through the smoke, his minigun screaming. BRRRRRT.
The tracers lit up the night like fireworks. Security drones swarmed out of the bunker, only to be shredded into sparking confetti by Tank's relentless fire.
"Attention!" Tank roared, his voice amplified. "This is a health code inspection!"
While the chaos unfolded at the front, Jinx was a shadow. Ren watched through his scope as she slipped into the rear entrance.
"I'm in," she whispered. "Planting charges on the main reactor. You have sixty seconds before I trigger the meltdown sequence."
"Copy," Ren said. "Scanning for the target."
He shifted his aim to the skylights of the main lab. He toggled his vision to Thermal.
He saw heat signatures inside. Panic. Scientists fleeing.
But one heat signature wasn't running.
Ren zoomed in.
Dr. Kaelen Voss was in the main lab. He wasn't armed. He wasn't loading a virus into a missile.
He was frantically typing at a console, pulling drive after drive out of a server rack. He was stuffing them into a fireproof bag.
Ren adjusted the focus. Through the glass, he saw Voss's face. He was crying. He was mouthing words to himself.
Ren read his lips. Please. Not the cure. Please.
"The cure?" Ren whispered.
He looked at the lab equipment. It didn't look like weapon manufacturing. It looked like... synthesis. Low-cost protein synthesis.
Ren's stomach churned.
Voss wasn't making a weapon. He was making generic medicine. He was undercutting the big corporations.
That's why the payout was so high. This wasn't a tactical strike; it was a corporate hitjob.
"Wraith!" Jinx shouted. "Charges set! Thirty seconds! Take the shot!"
Ren's finger hovered over the trigger.
If he didn't shoot, the mission failed. No money.
If he didn't shoot, his Aethel-Pharma stock wouldn't spike.
If he didn't shoot, Maya's future—his daughter's future—became a little less secure.
"Wraith?" Tank asked. "I'm taking heavy fire here! Drop him!"
Ren looked at the crying man in the lab coat.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He saw the ultrasound picture.
"I'm sorry," Ren whispered.
He opened his eyes. He exhaled.
He squeezed the trigger.
CRACK.
The skylight shattered. The heavy round punched through the glass and struck Dr. Voss in the chest. The scientist was thrown backward into his console, the hard drives scattering across the floor.
"Target down," Ren said. His voice sounded dead.
"Blow it!" Jinx yelled.
Ren sprinted across the roof, leaping toward the extraction point just as Jinx detonated the charges.
KA-BOOM.
The world turned white. A shockwave of heat and sound lifted Ren off his feet. The Bio-Gen facility dissolved in a roiling ball of orange fire. The ground shook.
The "contained" blast wasn't contained. It ripped through the fence. It shattered the windows of the tenements across the street.
Ren landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact.
A golden banner filled his vision.
MISSION COMPLETE.
CATASTROPHIC BONUS: +3,000.
THE AFTERMATH
Ren sat in his office, the headset resting on the desk in front of him.
His hands were shaking.
He walked to the window. He looked North, toward Sector 9.
Miles away, a pillar of black smoke clawed at the sky, lit from below by the raging inferno. He could hear the faint, distant wail of emergency sirens.
He picked up his tablet. He opened the news feed.
DISASTER IN SECTOR 9
Massive explosion destroys Bio-Gen Research Lab. Fire has spread to nearby residential blocks. Casualties reported.
Dr. Kaelen Voss, lead researcher on the 'People's Insulin' project, is confirmed dead.
Ren stared at the words. People's Insulin.
He had just burned the hope of thousands of poor diabetics. He had killed a man who was trying to save lives.
He opened his banking app.
PAYOUT RECEIVED: 5,000 CREDITS.
He opened his stock portfolio.
AETHEL-PHARMA (AET): +8.5%
Market Analysis: With the destruction of its main competitor, Aethel-Pharma stock soars.
Ren felt bile rise in his throat. He had profited twice. Once for the bullet, and once for the aftermath.
He was a monster.
He looked at the door to the bedroom. Maya was in there. His daughter was in there.
He imagined them sick. He imagined them needing medicine they couldn't afford.
He imagined them living in Sector 7, coughing on the smoke he just created.
"It's us or them," Ren whispered. The justification tasted like ash. "It's always us or them."
He sat back down at the computer.
He took the 5,000 credits he just earned.
He bought more stock in Aethel-Pharma.
As he closed the portfolio, a notification chimed on the Aegis desktop app.
It wasn't a standard mission alert. It was a direct message.
FROM: ADMIN
TO: WRAITH
PERFORMANCE REVIEW: EXEMPLARY.
LOGIC: PRAGMATIC.
MORALITY: FLEXIBLE.
YOU ARE NO LONGER JUST A TESTER, WRAITH. YOU ARE AN ASSET.
TIER 2 ACCESS: UNLOCKED.
PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT.
Ren stared at the screen. The cursor blinked.
Asset.
They knew what he did with the stocks. They monitored his browser. They knew he figured it out, and they knew he didn't care.
He wasn't trapped by a glitch. He wasn't trapped by a locked door.
He was trapped by his own greed.
Ren turned off the monitor. He walked into the bedroom and slid into the warm sheets next to Maya. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, burying his face in her hair to block out the smell of imaginary smoke.
He had to sleep.
Tomorrow, the market opened at 9:00 AM. And he had a lot of money to invest.