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CUBE ZERO

Andre_Coller
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
In the slums of The Grand Electrum, Kiro fights just to eat—until a mysterious cosmic Cube marks him for death. Now hunted by corporate assassins, cybernetic soldiers, and things far worse, he’s trapped in a war for relics he doesn’t understand. But Kiro doesn’t care about saving the world—he wants freedom, answers, and enough credits to burn the system to the ground. Unravel the Cube’s origins. Get filthy rich (by stealing from the corrupt). Explore a broken world—from neon slums to floating empires. Just a fight to the top.
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Chapter 1 - chapter 1 Fifteen Credits to Die

The slums of The Grand Electrum. tank of burnt wiring and synthetic grease.

Floating cars—once glossy symbols of the 3140 boom now rusted mid-air, their hover engines sputtering over graffiti-tagged projects. The college ahead wasn't a school anymore; its shattered hologram sign flickered "W LCOME TO HE LL" where the E

"Three credits. Three. That's all I got after tuition..."

Two men stood under a flickering streetlamp outside the collage gates, their breath visible in the neon-lit drizzle.

KIRO (grumbling, adjusting his tattered jacket)

Three credits. Three. That's all I got after tuition. You know what three credits buys? A dumb protein bar. With sawdust in it.

RAIJI (grinning, tossing a coin pouch at him):

Then stop whining and fight. Here's twenty. Entry fee's fifteen. Don't you dare lose—I want my money back. (He says it like a joke, but his grip tightens on his sword hilt.)

KIRO Since when do you care about my winning?

RAIJI (shrugging):

Since I'm broke too. And if you die, who'll pay me back?

Kiro's lanky frame weaved through the crowd— no cyberware, no armor, *just a starving 22-year-old with* red eyes that glowed like brake lights in the neon gloom**. His black hair was cropped short, slick with rain and cheap sweat

Raiji loomed beside him, scarred arms crossed over a barrel chest. age 24. His* spiked red hair looked like it'd been hacked with a knife, and the two swords at his hips weren't for show—their hilts were worn raw from grip

Underground Arena Arrival

KIRO tossed the bouncer his last credits, eyeing the bloodstained sandy arena ahead. The crowd's roar vibrated through his ribs.

"These guys stronger than the street trash we stomp daily?" he asked, cracking his neck.

RAIJI didn't answer. His hand rested on a sword hilt, but his mind was elsewhere—

Memory: The Alley Brawl

(Flashback)

Ten thugs blocked the neon-lit alley, their leader—a mountain with a broken nose—grinned. "Credits or teeth. Choose."

KIRO sighed. "I'll take 'neither.'"

The big man lunged. Kiro's boot slammed between his legs with a crunch.

Then chaos:

Kiro blurred into motion—an elbow cracked a jaw with the wet crunch of teeth meeting, a knee drove up into a gut with the whoosh of expelled air, his movements so fast the sweat droplets hung suspended in his wake

RAIJI leaned against a wall, yawning as a thug charged him—

A blur. The hilt of Raiji's sword kissed the man's temple. He dropped.

"Hurry up," Raiji muttered. "Sun's burning."

KIRO wiped blood from his lip, stealing their credits. "Free food. Then I'll spar you."

(Flashback Ends)

Present Day - Back to the Arena

KIRO snapped his fingers. "Earth to Raiji."

His friend blinked. "They're skilled here. Higher ranks mean real money." A pause. "Try not to die my money on line."

KIRO smirked, stepping into the cage. "Worried about me?"

The crowd exploded as his first opponent lumbered in—a cyborg with hydraulic fists.

Raiji's voice cut through the noise

"Just don't embarrass me."

The arena stank of blood, sweat, and decades of stains ground into the sand. Flickering holograms cast the pit in sickly green light as a blonde man in a tailored suit floated above in a VIP hover-pod, his gold-tinted sneer amplified across crackling speakers.

ANNOUNCER (wiping imaginary dust off his gold suit):

"Ladies, gentlemen... and you genetic rejects in the cheap seats—welcome to another night where you're all still losers in our eyes!"

The crowd roared, throwing empty synth-booze cans at the forcefield separating them from his pod.

"Let's give a warm Electrum welcome to tonight's FRESH MEAT...some broke college kid calling himself... Kiro?" (He squinted at a hologram.) " did your parents hate you?"

Sand kicked up as Iron First stomped into the ring—a 300-pound brute with hydraulic knuckles whining as they powered up.

ANNOUNCER (yawning)

Before we begin... rules! Oh wait." (Dramatic pause.) "There are none. Weapons? Sure. Cheap shots? Encouraged. Outside interference? Entertaining!

A bottle shattered near the forcefield.

"Actually ONE rule. This is a 1v1. Break that, and King Croc gets... angry." (A distant, guttural roar shook the arena.) "Now... FIGHT!"

Iron First cracked his hydraulic knuckles with a high-pitched whine. "Fresh meat? I'll make it quick."

The giant launched forward a 300-pound freight train of muscle and augments—his fist cratering the sand where Kiro stood half a second earlier.

Skin of my teeth, Kiro thought, tasting copper. The man was a steroid monument—6'2", neck thicker than Kiro's thigh—but his footwork was sludge.

A kick whistled toward Kiro's face. He blocked, but the impact sent him skidding back. Then—WHUMPH—a gut punch launched him airborne. He hit the ground hard.

Announcer Midas yawned into his mic: "And that's why we don't bet on college kids, ladies and gentlemen!"

In the shadows, a mountain-sized figure sipped wine. Raiji's teeth gleamed. "Now it gets fun."

Kiro rose, spat blood. "Oh. That type of fight."

Iron First charged like a bull. Kiro pivoted—redirecting the brute's momentum face-first into the cage. A liver shot crunched. A sweep sent the giant crashing down.

"You'll pay—" Iron First wheezed, lumbering up.

Kiro was already moving. As the man grappled at air, Kiro slid between his legs

"Sorry. Wrong number."

and sprang up with a spinning kick to the jaw. Iron First's head snapped back. Kiro didn't let him fall.

Final blow: A flying knee to the nose. Cartilage shattered. The giant toppled like a redwood.

Midas sighed as the crowd chanted "FRESH MEAT! FRESH MEAT!" "Pathetic. Kiro wins, I suppose."

Iron First twitched in the sand. Someone threw a bottle. "That cost me 500 credits, you steroid trash!"

Kiro exited the arena, his knuckles still singing from the fight. Raiji cracked his neck, already unbuckling his swords.

"Looks like my turn," he grinned. "Watch and learn, Kiro."

Kiro grabbed his arm. "Wait ...you gave me your last credit."

Raiji shrugged. "Pre-paid fight. Higher ranks pay upfront. Special deal—since I'm gunning for the arena champ." He tossed Kiro a crumpled flyer.

RANKINGS (OFFICIAL terms and conditions may not apply)

RANK 10: Top Ten. Worthy of King Croc.

RANK 50: High-paying mid-card (if Midas feels like it)

RANK 100: Low-card. You'll eat sawdust protein.

RANK 150+: Grunts. Hope you like broken bones.

Kiro squinted. "This just says 'stronger guys get paid more.'"

Raiji snorted. "Slums don't do HR departments, dumbass." He vaulted into the sand pit the arena where a 7-foot stick insect of a man tapped bony fingers against the ropes.

Announcer Midas' voice oozed through the speakers: "Now for tonight's mid card—two broke nobodies! On your left, 'Wind Blade' Raiji! On your right, 'Dirty Dam'—an ex-UFC fraud who fights like my grandma!"

"FIGHT, YOU WEAKLINGS!"

In the shadows, a man sipped coffee, eyes locked on KIRO "That one... he's strong

meanwhile

in the AIRSHIP – NIGHT

A sleek black vessel hummed over Neo-Shinjuku's neon sprawl, its shadow cutting through smog like a shark's fin.

Inside, a mountain of a man (bald, cigar clamped between gold-capped teeth) glared at a hooded figure leaning against the hatch.

the BIG GUY

"We got one shot at that Cube. Government ain't handing out second chances. Don't screw up, Sound man."

The hooded figure didn't turn. Just smiled.

hooded man"Yes, boss. Wouldn't dream of it... especially not with those Loyal Guard sniffing around."

A hologram flickered between them: Two armored captains. one with a plasma axe, the other with rifle barrels for fingers.

BIG GUY (grinding his cigar)

"Intel says at least two of those pain-in-the-ass captains are escorting it. So unless you wanna end up a stain"

the hooded man was already gone.

He plummeted toward the city, headphones blasting thrash metal, wind ripping at his hood. The last thing the airship crew heard before he vanished into the neon abyss:

("BANG like a shock wave")