A silver coin sat heavy in Kael's blood-slick palm. Simple metal. Flat, dull gleam. But it weighed more than death.
The Kikan Coin.
Not currency. Not payment.
A countdown.
Kael's fingers trembled around it, the tremor crawling up through a wrist gone numb. His body had collapsed near the cracked concrete wall where Tetsu's kick had launched him. A dent shaped like failure. Another memory branded into cheap drywall.
Blood crawled out the corner of his mouth. Thick. Metallic. Warm. He tasted iron and the aftershock of fear. His throat was raw, his lungs barely keeping rhythm. With what breath he had left, he whispered it. Like a curse. Like a confession.
"Kikan... coin."
His voice cracked mid-word, broken like the man it came from. He couldn't sit up anymore—spine half-split from the slam, ribs like fractured code under a meat suit gone obsolete.
The room around him felt like a hollowed-out corpse. No lights. No signals. No future.
His eyes scanned it from the floor—the rot-stained ceiling, the faded, oil-burned posters from a war nobody cared about anymore, the flickering neon ghost of a dead smart-hub. All of it soaked in the same low hum of failure.
And then he repeated it.
Akari's words. A sneer, now echoing like prophecy:
"This dump smells like desperation and failed dreams."
Kael coughed—wet, ugly—and grinned through blood-stained teeth. His vision caught the wall again. Cracked. Warped where his body had slammed like a ragdoll.
He muttered, almost amused.
"Fucking..."
The sentence shattered on another cough. His body shook. Lungs spasmed. Blood touched the back of his tongue again.
He blinked hard. Red error lines flickered across his retinas. The HUD in his eyes jittered—half-glitched, half-fried. Then, he finished the thought through fading breath.
"...bastards. I told 'em not to break the damn door. Instead, they broke the one thing that's gonna cause more hell…"
A pause. His voice softened, like fading signal through static.
"…with the bald old landlord…"
A laugh broke from his throat—raw, feral, self-mocking. He laughed at the absurdity. At the pain. At himself.
"Heh… hah… haha—hah…"
Blood dripped down his chin as his laughter cracked into silence.
The smile faded slow.
Like a system powering down.
His eyes flickered.
And then shut.
Silence. The kind only the city ignores.
His eyes shutting. Then flickered open again—glitching red like rebooted optics dragged back from the dark.
No dreams. Just static in the skull. Reality returned like blunt force—ribs cracked, spine screaming, every nerve in protest.
The glitch in his vision had finally stopped—UI re-stabilized, HUD synced. But pain? That stayed loyal.
Kael gritted his teeth, left hand pressed against the ruins of his ribs. A tremor shook his fingers as he hissed through clenched teeth.
"FUCK—"
A full-body protest rang through him like a warning siren. That kick. That job. That deal. All of it layered like rot beneath skin.
His right arm, still clenched, knotted with tension, held the silver coins tight in his palm like they were fused to bone. Blood mixed with sweat at the knuckles, but he didn't loosen. Not yet. He exhaled, sawed through the pain with a low grunt, then slid them into the pocket of his jeans—deep, careful, like hiding something radioactive. The coins clicked faintly, ghost-like. And then silence.
He shifted, dragging himself up against the cracked concrete wall, its cold bite grounding him. Eyes bloodshot, still processing. Voice raspy, disbelieving.
"A gig. A big one?"
He exhaled smoke and iron.
"And under one fucking month? With double pay??"
He laughed, dry and bitter, then winced—body jerking in a reflex he didn't own anymore.
"Ouch—ouch—shit. This pain... how the hell am I supposed to walk like this."
Vision scanned the room, jumping from torn shadows to soft edges. His eyes caught the drawer on the far wall.
Memory flickered.
"Fuck. VIREX-9. Still have that thing. Forgot I even bought it. Expensive mistake back then…"
His voice was scattered, half-laugh, half-exhale.
He braced one arm on the wall. The other pulled him up inch by inch. The pain climbed with him—ribs lanced, spine cracked with every motion.
"Gotta move. No one's saving your sorry ass."
He staggered forward, limping across the fractured room, each step a dare against gravity.
"Alright, man. You've felt worse. This is nothing. This is warm-up."
Dried blood painted his lips. His breath rattled in his chest like old machinery grinding for life.
"Shit-shit… what the fuck is with that kicking?"
He limped, pain flaring again in his ribs as he muttered,
"I opened the damn door… we could've talked. Like human beings..."
Then he scoffed, bitter and breathless,
"Ah—right. Forgot. They're not even people. Just fucking cyberpsychos playing dress-up. Ain't a shred of human left in 'em."
Step by step. No count. No rhythm. Just survival.
His fingers landed on the edge of the drawer—cold, steel, stable. A lifeline.
"Walked five steps. Feels like five miles…"
He opened the second compartment. A tangle of crumpled receipts, dead datachips, and half-torn notes. He shoved them aside with trembling fingers.
And there it was.
VIREX-9.
Matte obsidian shell. Chrome needle glinting at the tip. Violet glow traced coolant veins like bioluminescent blood. Engraved biometric latch blinked red—waiting.
Kael picked it up slowly, eyes scanning it like a relic.
"Alright, motherfucker… you better live up to the hype. Cost me more than some gigs paid. Time to shine."
He counted.
"One... two... three."
The injector hissed into the side of his neck.
Click. Hiss.
The fluid surged. His body convulsed once. Eyes widened. For a second, everything went white—pure, cold light, like synthetic heaven.
Then came the calm.
Pain receded like a tide pulling back from warzones. His ribs dulled, no longer pulsing knives. Muscles loosened. Back realigned just enough to let him stand.
He exhaled. Real breath.
"Yeah... feels good again."
Hand released from the drawer. He stepped back. Still shaky—but whole enough to fake it.
"I'm back."
Boots lay across the floor where they'd fallen. He knelt, sliding into them. Blood crusted on his fingertips. Mouth tasted like rust.
Time to wash up.
He moved toward the bathroom, steps steadier now.
His boots dragged across the floor, echoing like fading gunfire in the quiet room. Each step a weight.
Eyes flickered—then pulsed. Slow, fractured reboots.
A HUD blinked to life across Kael's corneas like a breath drawn too fast:
[ 20:12 OMNIS TIME ] — [ WEATHER: LOW CHILL / DRY AIR / STATIC HAZE ]
A faint shimmer of neon lined the edges of his vision. Time stamped in ghostlight. Weather readings crawling across the corners of his retina like synthetic blood cells.
He blinked the dry from his eyes, muttering beneath his breath,
"Damn… out cold long enough for the clocks to give up."
He approached the bathroom. Motion sensors flicked the lights awake—a cold flicker of white over peeling ceramic. The hum of old neon wiring bleeding into his ears.
Kael stopped at the doorway. Breath caught for a moment. Then came the whisper:
"I need to call him."
He stepped inside.
A list of names overlaid in his field of view, glowing red.
His right eye tracked the scrolling blur.
∆ BRAX DENERA — [ Tap to connect ]
He selected it. The UI spun. Attempting contact.
Kael moved to the sink, twisted the boiler valve. Cold water hissed over his hands, washing blood, grit, whatever else.
The line rang once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
He stared into the basin, steam rising.
Voice low. Almost subconscious:
"Brax not picking up? That ain't like him..."
The call flatlined. The HUD dimmed, red pulse fading. Vision snapped back to baseline.
He stood still. Breathing heavy.
Then:
"Guess I'm going to the bar. Face to face."
He slowly looked up.
The mirror stared back.
Cracks spidered through its edges.
And in the center, the reflection of a man only half-alive. Face bruised, blood flaked like rust along the jaw, across the teeth, drying at the lips.
Kael leaned in. Gripped the sink like it might dissolve if he let go.
"You don't quit here, motherfucker. You took this path. You made this path. So now you carve it into the city's spine. You become the reason they remember the name."
He rinsed off the blood. Watched it swirl like oil into the drain.
The boiler hissed down to silence.
Water stopped.
He stepped out of the bathroom, the mirror's words still burning in the back of his skull.
His coat was still where it fell—draped like a dead animal across the floorboards. Black, torn at the hem, cyber-stitching weaving light into its seams.
He picked it up. Dusted off ash. Slipped it on. Felt like armor.
The drawer nearby clicked open. Inside: a handful of half-loaded magazines and a pistol that had seen better decades.
Scratched matte steel body.
Exposed weld scars running like veins.
Grip wrapped in cracked rubber and faded duct tape.
Kael lifted it. Let it hang in his hand.
Smirked.
"KyroTek D-9? Who names this crap?"
A beat.
"Nah. You're 'Spitter'. That's what the streets call you. You're ugly, angry, and loud. Just like the rest of us."
He holstered it behind his coat. Safety off. Always off.
One last look at the room.
A breath.
"Once this is over… I'm outta this dump. Find a place where the lights don't flicker like dying stars."
He stepped out.
Door slid shut behind him.
Lock hissed into place like it didn't want him back.
Kael's boots scraped softly against cracked concrete, the dim hallway swallowing the sound beneath layers of flickering neon that bled thin, pale light through rusted vents overhead. Doors lined the corridor—metal and chipped paint—like silent witnesses to the city's grinding breath. Each step dragged just a little, as if the floor itself resisted his weight.
Ahead, a travel poster curled at the edges, cracked and sun-bleached, its colors faded by years and data-screen burn. But it still throbbed with old-world promise, a faint pulse beneath the grime.
OMNIS AWAITS // Dream Deep. Burn Slow.
Rest your bones where the tide hums in synth.
Beaches of white-glow sand. 6th Avenue Market. Mirage Bays.
Come drift at the edge of everything.
The poster's image—a woman framed against the blurred ocean haze—held chrome limbs stretched long in saltlight, spires of the city stabbing at the sky behind her like jagged daggers. Palms bent in impossible angles. Drones flitted overhead, synthetic gulls weaving through smog and smelted metal.
Kael paused. His voice, rough and tired, floated out like a ghost.
"Yeah… the beach sounds fake as hell."
He didn't linger. The elevator call pulsed softly beneath his finger, and he pressed it—silent except for the distant echo of heels clicking, slicing through the stillness like a blade.
Kael kept his gaze forward, waiting. The elevator chimed a sharp ding, sliding doors yawning open. He stepped inside, the scent of recycled air and static filling the cramped space.
Another figure stepped in beside him.
Red lacquer. Sharp edges.
Legs long and smooth slipped from beneath a modern cheongsam—slick crimson woven with threads of silver, the slit climbing high, daring the dim light. One hand toyed with a folding fan—obsidian lacquer inlaid with chrome circuits pulsing faint violet. The other arm—cybered sinew gleamed beneath pale skin, a river of violet light coursing just below the surface.
Eyes caught Kael's—a feline blaze of gold glowing softly in the low light. Lips crimson and still. Hair sharp-cut, black as midnight, bobbed like some ghost from a Zero-Age femme fatale poster.
Kael shifted, brows rising, pain receding beneath curiosity.
A crooked grin flickered.
"Hey, girl… haven't seen you around here before."
No smile returned. The fan snapped shut with a crisp click.
"I'm a boy," came the voice—cold, steady, with a quiet weight.
Kael's smirk faltered. His thoughts stumbled somewhere between the thirteenth and twelfth floors.
"…Right. Cool. Uh… my bad."
He muttered it again, quieter, "my bad."
That voice cut through the low hum of the elevator, smooth and almost detached, eyes glinting like a predator's in the dim light.
"I'm right beside your door, yeah. Heard the ruckus. Sounds like you took a hard hit today."
Kael met those feline eyes, sharp and unblinking, the weight behind them pressing at the edges of his bruised mind.
"Uh… yeah, well—life's a mess, y'know? Didn't mean for it to go down like that."
The folding fan flicked open, a whisper of lacquer and chrome shielding lips that didn't bother to smile.
"You don't owe me an explanation. Saw everything."
Curiosity clawed at Kael's ribs harder than the pain. He stepped closer, heart pounding uneven in his chest. The boy's hand, slender but lethal, flexed—cybernetic claws sliding out like liquid metal, catching the elevator's fluorescent light.
"Stop right there." The voice stayed low, cold, the edge unmistakable.
Kael's voice came rough, raw with questions.
"How do you know all this?" He took a cautious step back.
A slow, knowing smile ghosted across that sharp face.
"You're spacing out, staring like you're seeing ghosts. I told you—I live beside your door. We've been neighbors longer than you realize."
Kael's mouth worked, words stumbling out awkwardly.
"No—no, I just… didn't catch that before. Didn't mean to stare like that, I just—"
Before the sentence could finish, the elevator chimed again, doors sliding open with a mechanical sigh.
"If you got more to say, save it. Another day, Kael."
The boy stepped out, heels clicking sharp against the cold floor, a soft echo trailing after him like a secret.
Kael's voice rose just enough to chase after the fading footsteps.
"Hey, wait—how do you know my name?—Ah shit, he already told you he lives beside my door. I thought that was sh—"
The doors began to close, sealing the conversation away, but Kael wasn't done. His hand slammed against the narrowing gap, halting the descent.
"I thought that was a 'she'... This world's fucked up for sure. What's your name, anyway?"
The doors slid back open, cold air rushing in as the boy turned, a flicker of a grin playing beneath the sharp bob of black hair. He stepped out, heels clicking against the cracked floor, and melted into the shadows of the hallway.
Kael stepped out after him, the echo of the boy's footsteps still lingering as the elevator doors slid shut behind him. The dim corridor swallowed the silence, leaving Kael with nothing but the weight of unanswered questions.