The success of his first transaction as Oracle felt better than any high score he had ever achieved in his past life.
The 500 credits sitting in his account were more than just money; they were proof. Proof that his plan could work, that his unique ability could be used for something other than fighting wars or causing trouble.
It could be used to buy things. And Alex had a shopping list.
His first purchase was the most important one. He spent a decent chunk of his earnings on The Node, buying a small, perfectly cut crystal conductor from a seller with the username RarePartsRUs.
The delivery was as shady as it was efficient. He received an anonymous message telling him to check under a specific loose floor tile in a little-used service tunnel.
When he went there, the tile popped right up, and nestled underneath was a small, padded box containing his new part. It was like a spy movie, but with more grime and less cool music.
That night, in the privacy of his drab room, he performed his first real upgrade on the [Corrupted Logic Core]. With his [Debugger] ability active, he could see the tangled, messy code of the cube.
He carefully installed the new crystal conductor, and then, like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he began to rewrite the artifact's source code.
He untangled the broken parts, deleted the corrupted files, and built a new, stable foundation. After an hour of intense concentration, it was done.
The angry red error messages inside the cube vanished, replaced by a calm, steady, blue-green light. He had successfully evolved it to its next stage: a [Stable Logic Processor]. It was no longer a piece of junk. It was a functioning brain.
But this new brain needed a body. And his new idea, the one that had been sparked by watching the clumsy Strikers fight the glitch-dog, needed a uniform.
His Oracle earnings were growing. Desperate students were a surprisingly reliable source of income.
He now had enough money to go shopping again, this time for something more practical than computer parts.
He logged back into The Node, venturing into the shadier corners of the black market section.
He needed gear, but not the kind of gear the other Strikers wore. He didn't want gleaming armor painted in bright colors with a cool logo. He wanted the exact opposite.
He wanted to be a shadow. He found a seller named VoidWares who specialized in "off-the-books tactical equipment." The item description was wonderfully vague.
FOR SALE: Basic Tactical Suit. Black. Non-reflective fabric. Flexible and quiet. Some light wear and tear. Previous owner no longer needs it. No questions asked.
"Previous owner no longer needs it" was a polite way of saying the last guy who wore it probably got captured or vaporized. Perfect. It was exactly what Alex was looking for. He bought it.
The next day, he found a plain black duffel bag waiting for him in the bottom of a recycling bin behind the kitchens.
Next, and most importantly, he needed a mask. This was the key to the whole persona. He scrolled through dozens of options.
There were fierce-looking masks shaped like dragons and demons. There were high-tech masks with glowing red eyes.
There were even some silly ones, like a full-face mask of a cartoon cat. They were all designed to make a statement, to look cool and intimidating.
Alex wanted to make a different kind of statement. He wanted a mask that said nothing.
He finally found it in a small, obscure shop called BlankSlateInc. It was a full-face mask, smooth and featureless. There was no mouth, no nose, not even any lines to suggest a face.
It was a perfectly blank, matte-black oval with two dark lenses for eyes. It wasn't scary in a monstrous way. It was scary in a "who is that?" way. It was unsettling. It was perfect.
With his new suit and mask, he needed a partner. A new ability from his now-stable Logic Core allowed him to generate a small, hard-light shield, but that was purely defensive.
He needed something more. He remembered Fitz's constant complaints about the junk piling up in the main storage depot.
The next day, he approached his supervisor with a plan. "Hey Fitz," he said, trying to sound as humble and hardworking as possible. "You know that old, broken-down Custodial Golem in the corner of Storage Bay 3? The one missing an arm?"
Fitz grunted, not looking up from his coffee. "The Scrub-Bot 9000? Yeah. Piece of junk. Hasn't worked in years. Supposed to haul it to the incinerator next week."
"Well," Alex said, choosing his words carefully. "I've been reading some old repair manuals. For practice.
I was wondering if maybe I could... tinker with it? See if I can get its wheels working again. It would be good for hauling the heavy cleaning fluid barrels."
Fitz finally looked at him, his expression a mix of suspicion and complete lack of interest. He looked at Alex, then at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Letting the F-Rank kid play with the broken robot meant less work for him.
"Fine," Fitz grumbled. "Knock yourself out. Just don't get grease on the floor. And if it explodes, you're cleaning it up."
"You won't regret this!" Alex said with a grin.
"I already do," Fitz muttered into his mug.
That night, Alex put on his new black suit and mask for the first time. He went to his new secret "workshop" a small, forgotten supply closet he had claimed for himself and got to work on the golem.
It was in even worse shape up close. It was dented, rusted, and one of its optical sensors was cracked. It looked sad and pathetic.
Alex laid a hand on its cold, metal chassis. He activated [The Debugger]. The golem was a mess of broken circuits and fried wires.
But its core programming slot, the place where its "brain" was supposed to go, was empty. It was a body without a mind.
He carefully took the [Corrupted Logic Core], his new [Stable Logic Processor] and slotted it into the empty port. Then, using his own data pad as an interface, he began to work.
He didn't just repair the golem; he rebuilt it from the inside out. He rerouted the broken circuits through the Logic Core.
He wrote new movement commands. He bypassed the old, useless factory programming and installed his own custom software. He programmed it with basic stealth routines and simple combat patterns.
After hours of work, he was finished. The golem still looked like a pile of junk on the outside. It was still missing an arm and covered in dents.
But inside, it was a whole new machine. He stood back and issued his first voice command.
"Activate."
The golem's one good optical sensor flickered to life, glowing with a soft, blue-green light the same color as the Logic Core that was now its brain. It slowly pushed itself up, its joints creaking. It turned its head and looked at Alex.
Alex couldn't help but smile behind his blank mask. He had a suit, a secret base, and now, a robot sidekick made of scrap metal and super-advanced artifact tech.
He stood in front of a polished metal panel on the wall, looking at his reflection. The black suit hid his form, making him just a silhouette. The blank, featureless mask stared back, revealing nothing.
This was the physical form of his new idea. This was the surgeon who could slip in and solve problems without anyone knowing.
But it needed a name. Not a cool, flashy Striker name like 'Blaze' or 'Shadowblade'. He needed a name that fit the mask. A name that meant nothing and everything all at once.
He thought about the academy's ranking system. S, A, B, C, D, F. All letters, all with a value attached.
The top students were like high numbers, big and important. He wanted to be the opposite. He wanted to start from the bottom, from the very beginning. From a point before one.
The name came to him, simple and absolute.
Zero.
No name. No history. No rank. Just a blank slate. An unknown variable that would appear, solve the equation, and disappear. Just results.
He looked at his reflection one last time. The featureless mask, the black suit, the silent, one-armed golem standing beside him.
Oracle was his way of making money. Alex Vance was his cover. But this... this was something new. This was Zero. And he was ready for his debut.