[SYSTEM ALERT: Viral Density at 14%. Inhibitors failing in 10 minutes.]
[ADVISORY: Do not engage. Heart rate critical.]
Lucas Thorne ignored the red text scrolling across his contact lens.
He sat in the back of the matte-black sedan, the rain of Neo-Veridia drumming against the roof. It was a rhythmic sound, peaceful even, but it couldn't drown out the high-pitched whine coming from his right arm.
Pain, hot and sharp like a soldering iron, spiked through his shoulder.
Lucas looked down. His hand was resting on the knee of his bespoke charcoal suit. To anyone else, it looked like a normal hand in a leather glove.
But beneath the leather, the skin was gone. Replaced by translucent, living blue diamond.
"Lucas," a cool female voice crackled in his earpiece. Elena. "Biometrics are spiking. You're running hot. If you don't get Vargo's drive and get out, you're going to crystallize right there on the pavement."
"I'm fine," Lucas said. His voice was gravel—low, textured, and calm.
"You're not fine. You're ticking."
"Then I'll be quick."
Lucas opened the car door. The smell of ozone, stale synth-alcohol, and city smog hit him. He stepped out, unfolding his massive six-foot-four frame. He buttoned his jacket, adjusting his cuffs over the glowing blue veins in his wrist.
He didn't look like an assassin. He looked like a CEO arriving to fire an entire department.
He walked toward the entrance of The Red Pulse.
Two bouncers stood at the door—"Slabs" with industrial-grade dermal plating grafted to their chests and arms. They looked like walking tanks.
One of them stepped forward, blocking Lucas.
"Private party, suit. Turn around before I fold you in half."
Lucas didn't stop.
[TARGET ANALYSIS: Dermal Plating Grade-C. Weak point: Joint linkages.]
"Ticket," Lucas said softly.
The bouncer scoffed, reaching out to shove Lucas's chest. "I said—"
Lucas moved.
It wasn't a fight. It was a transaction.
His right hand shot up. He caught the bouncer's wrist.
HUMMM.
The air vibrated. The bouncer's eyes went wide as the vibration traveled from Lucas's grip, through the plating, and into the bone.
CRACK.
The industrial plating shattered like cheap glass. The bone beneath it turned to powder.
The bouncer screamed, dropping to his knees. The second guard went for a stun baton, but Lucas was already moving past him. A single, piston-like kick to the kneecap inverted the joint with a wet snap.
Two seconds. Two threats neutralized.
Lucas stepped over the groaning bodies and pushed open the heavy steel doors.
Inside, the club was a sensory assault. Strobe lights flashed in seizures of neon pink and white. The bass shook the floor.
Lucas tapped his ear. "Location?"
"VIP Balcony," Elena's voice guided him. "Vargo is selling the data now. And Lucas? Try not to stain the suit. It's silk."
Lucas scanned the room. His lens highlighted a figure on the upper deck.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED: Vargo. Threat Level: Moderate. Cybernetics: Heavy.]
He took the stairs. He didn't run. The "Ghost" didn't run.
Three guards waited at the top. They saw him coming. They saw the calm, dead look in his eyes. They drew kinetic sub-machine guns.
"Drop him!"
Lucas reached inside his jacket. He didn't pull a standard firearm. He drew the Shatter Pistol.
A blocky, ugly prototype weapon designed by Elena. It didn't fire bullets. It fired concentrated sonic spikes.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The recoil was heavy. The three guards jerked back as invisible hammers slammed into their chests. Their Kevlar vests held, but the kinetic force liquefied their organs instantly.
They dropped without firing a shot.
Lucas Holstered the weapon. He reached the heavy oak door of the VIP lounge.
[ACTIVATE: Hydraulic Assist.]
He kicked it.
The lock disintegrated. The door flew off its hinges, crashing onto a glass coffee table inside.
The music was muffled here. The room was luxurious, filled with red velvet sofas and gold trim. In the center sat Vargo.
Vargo was more machine than man. His lower jaw was chrome, his eyes were glowing red optics, and his arms were oversized cybernetic claws. He was surrounded by four elite bodyguards.
Vargo looked at the ruined door, then at Lucas. He laughed—a grinding, metallic sound.
"Well, look at this," Vargo sneered, standing up. "A corporate lapdog thinks he can crash my sale? Do you know who owns this city, boy? The Syndicate."
"I know," Lucas said. He walked into the room, stopping ten feet away.
Vargo's optic eyes narrowed. "You think a suit and a toy gun scare me? I'm Apostle-grade tech. You're just meat."
"Kill him," Vargo ordered.
The four bodyguards lunged. They were faster than the ones outside—enhanced reflexes, monofilament blades.
Lucas sighed. The hum in his arm grew louder. The pain spiked from a burn to a scream.
Feed me, the virus whispered. Make them still.
The first guard slashed at Lucas's throat.
Lucas raised his right arm.
CLANG.
The monofilament sword, capable of slicing through steel, hit Lucas's wrist. It didn't cut skin. It didn't cut bone.
It hit the Blue Diamond.
The force of the blow tore the sleeve of Lucas's jacket, revealing the truth.
His forearm wasn't flesh. It was a faceted, translucent structure of deep azure crystal. Veins of glowing blue light pulsed beneath the surface, pumping raw power instead of blood.
The blade shattered against the crystal.
The guard froze. "What the—"
Lucas grabbed the guard's face with his crystal hand.
[COMBAT PROTOCOL: RESONANCE SPIKE.]
He flexed. A micro-vibration surged through his palm.
The guard's skull didn't break—it turned to jelly. The man dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The room went silent.
"What are you?" Vargo whispered, his smirk vanishing.
"A consequence," Lucas said.
The remaining three guards attacked. Lucas didn't dodge. He moved through them.
He took a punch to the ribs to deliver a crystal-enhanced backhand that sent a man flying across the room, embedding him in the drywall. He caught a combat knife with his bare crystal palm, snapping the blade, and drove his elbow into the attacker's throat.
It was brutal. It was efficient. It was terrifying.
Vargo roared and charged. His cybernetic claws revved up, spinning like drills.
"I'll rip you apart!" Vargo screamed, swinging a massive claw at Lucas's head.
Lucas ducked under the swing. The wind of the claw ruffled his hair.
He planted his feet. He channeled the virus. The blue glow in his arm intensified, lighting up the dim room.
[VIRAL OUTPUT: 120%. WARNING: TISSUE DAMAGE IMMINENT.]
Lucas drove a crystal fist into Vargo's solar plexus.
CRUNCH.
Vargo's reinforced chest plate crumpled like tin foil. His cybernetics sparked and died. He flew backward, crashing through the heavy oak desk and slamming against the back wall.
Silence returned to the room.
Lucas stood amidst the wreckage. He was breathing heavily. His right arm was glowing brightly now, the blue light visible even through the smoke.
He walked over to Vargo. The dealer was coughing up oil and blood.
"You..." Vargo wheezed. "Subject Zero. The Ghost."
Lucas crouched down. His eyes—one a warm, human brown, the other a cold, piercing electric blue—stared into Vargo's soul.
"The drive," Lucas said.
Vargo fumbled into his coat and pulled out a black data chip. Lucas took it.
"It doesn't matter," Vargo sputtered, blood bubbling on his chrome lip. "You think you won? The Shogun... he isn't just selling data. He found the Source."
Lucas paused. "What Source?"
Vargo grinned, his teeth stained red. "The pure sample. The original strain. He's going to make a thousand of you. An army of crystal gods."
Lucas felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain outside.
[ALERT: Heart Rate 210. Crystallization advancing to shoulder.]
Lucas stood up. He looked at his hand—the beautiful, terrible crystal that was slowly eating him alive.
"Let him try," Lucas said.
He turned to leave.
"Hey!" Vargo yelled weakly. "My life support... it's failing! You can't leave me!"
Lucas looked back at the broken dealer.
"Enjoy the silence."
[The Safehouse - 20 Minutes Later]
Lucas crashed into the medical chair.
"Elena!" he roared.
His suit was torn. The blue crystal wasn't just on his arm anymore. It was jagged, spiky, and it was crawling up his neck.
[SYSTEM CRITICAL. HUMANITY INDEX: 88%... 87%...]
"Hold him down!" Elena shouted to someone in the shadows.
Tank, a massive man with scars covering his face, grabbed Lucas's good arm.
"Bite down, boss," Tank grunted.
Elena slammed a syringe of amber liquid directly into the glowing crystal veins where they met Lucas's neck.
The pain was absolute. It wasn't a cure. It was poison fighting poison.
Lucas screamed, his back arching off the chair. The blue light in the room flickered and dimmed as the serum took hold, forcing the crystal into dormancy.
He collapsed, gasping for air.
"Stable," Elena whispered, checking the monitor. "Barely."
Alexander Vane, leaning on his silver cane in the corner, stepped forward. He plugged the drive Lucas had stolen into the main console.
"Let's see what was worth almost dying for," Alexander said.
The screen flickered to life. It was a video feed. Live.
It showed a laboratory. Rows of glass tanks. Inside them were children. Floating in blue liquid.
But that wasn't the horror.
The horror was that every single child in the tanks... had Lucas's face.