The Rust Sprawl was quiet, but it wasn't peace.
It was the kind of silence that clung to the walls after a massacre—the hum of dying neon, the hiss of acid rain chewing metal. Streets were littered with smoking mech husks, shattered drones, and puddles reflecting broken billboards.
Jack moved through it like a shadow, every step echoing in the ruined alleyway. His coat was torn and streaked with blood. His HUD flickered with static, red glyphs crawling across his vision.
[SYSTEM WARNING: BLOOD OATH OVERCLOCK — 98%]
[IDENTITY QUERY: JACK KING = MARCUS REVENANT?]
<
Jack's lip curled. "Get out of my head."
Marcus's chuckle came from everywhere and nowhere.
Victor followed a few paces behind, rifle raised, boots splashing through rainbow-stained puddles. He scanned the shadows where scavenger gangs crouched, whispering. Some stared wide-eyed at Jack, clutching makeshift weapons. Others bowed their heads as he passed.
Jack felt their fear. It wasn't the fear of Marcus—it was something new. Something heavier.
Victor muttered, "They're whispering your name."
"Good."
Victor's grip on his rifle tightened. "Not all of them are praying, Jack. Some of them are thinking about cashing in."
Jack didn't slow. "Then they'll die broke."
Up ahead, the corpse of a Hunter mech leaned against a burned-out building, its pilot's mask shattered. Someone had scrawled a crude neon crown over Marcus's propaganda screen, the flickering holo painting Jack's face across the street.
Victor's voice was low. "They're making you a myth."
Jack glanced at the crown and smirked faintly. "Took them long enough."
Victor stopped, grabbed Jack's arm. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound like him."
Jack turned his head slowly, eyes glinting under the flickering light. "Then be scared, Victor. Fear keeps you alive."
Victor's jaw tightened, but he let go.
Across the Sprawl, Helena sat in the back of a sleek black transport. Rain streaked the tinted windows as the man in the white coat studied her. His operatives stood outside, faceless behind mirrored masks.
"You still think you called me to save him," the man said calmly, voice smooth like glass. "You didn't."
Helena clenched her fists. "You don't know him."
"I know him better than you think." He adjusted his glasses, the reflection catching neon light. "Jack won't kill Marcus. He'll replace him."
Helena's chest tightened. She turned her face toward the window, and there it was: graffiti of Jack's face, glowing in electric blue, a crude neon crown over his head.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Jack crouched on a rooftop overlooking a dead intersection. Black smoke curled from the wreckage of Authority mechs. Civilians darted through alleys, carrying food and stolen parts, whispering his name. Some spat when they saw him. Others stared with wide, hopeful eyes.
Jack ignored them all.
[SYSTEM ALERT: IDENTITY FRACTURE DETECTED]
[HOST SIGNAL: JACK KING 52% | MARCUS REVENANT 48%]
<>
Jack ripped his visor off and hurled it into the street. "Shut up."
The voice didn't stop.
A figure stepped out of the alley below—tall, armored, head tilted in an unnatural angle. Its armor was Authority issue, but its movements weren't human. The head jerked once, twice, then Marcus's distorted voice came through its speaker:
"Jack."
Jack's hand curled around his blade.
"You think you're winning." The mech's head twitched violently. "But you're just building my throne."
Jack dropped from the roof in silence, landing hard. He moved like a predator, blade flashing. Sparks and blood sprayed as he tore through the construct, splitting it open. The torso cracked, revealing faces—five of them—fused together under glassy plating. Their mouths were frozen mid-scream.
Jack's jaw tightened.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: KILL CONFIRMED — REVENANT CONSTRUCT]
[NEURAL RESONANCE: 80% MATCH… WITH SELF]
Marcus's voice slithered through the HUD: <
Victor approached cautiously, gun raised. "That thing was… people."
Jack wiped his blade clean on the mech's armor. "Not anymore."
Victor studied him in the rain, voice low. "I don't know if you're chasing Marcus… or becoming him."
Jack looked over his shoulder, a grin cutting across his face, sharp and joyless. "Both."
Elsewhere, Marcus stood before a cracked mirror. His reflection flickered, splitting into Jack's face every few seconds. He touched the glass, his grin twitching wider.
"Perfect," he whispered. "He's bleeding into me."
Carla knelt obediently by the bed, her eyes glazed, lips parted. Marcus cupped her cheek gently. "And I'm bleeding into him."
By the time Jack reached the heart of the Sprawl, a crowd had gathered. Scavenger gangs, civilians, mercs—all watching him. Some raised weapons. Others bowed their heads. Neon light cast him in shifting hues, painting a crown across his face.
Jack stepped over the mech wreckage and sat on its shattered cockpit like a throne. The crowd murmured, the air electric.
Victor shifted uneasily at his side.
Jack rested his elbows on his knees, scanning the silent onlookers.
Marcus's voice crawled through the System: <
Jack smirked, blood dripping from his chin. "I don't step away from crowns."
His voice was low, dangerous. "I take them."
The crowd roared his name.
And somewhere in the dark, Marcus laughed.