Jack's vision glitched. The HUD bled red at the edges, warnings flickering too fast to read. Neural sync climbing. Stability dropping. His head throbbed like someone had driven nails behind his eyes.
He blinked hard, forcing himself to focus. The Sprawl was alive tonight—alive and watching. Smoke rolled low over cracked streets, carrying the stench of burnt circuitry and oil. Neon graffiti lit the walls like haunted sigils: crowns, skulls, and a single word scrawled in dripping red paint.
KING.
Victor's boots crunched glass as he moved up behind him, rifle sweeping the alley. "You see that?"
"Hard to miss." Jack's voice was steady, but the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.
Victor glanced at him, uneasy. "They're talking about you. You hear it?"
Jack tilted his head. There it was, threading through the rain and wind—a chant, distant but steady. King. King. King.
"They're chanting," Victor muttered. "Like it's a damn sermon."
Jack adjusted his coat, stepping over a burned-out drone. Its carcass sparked faintly, reflecting red in the puddles. "Good," he murmured.
Victor froze. "Good? You don't even sound like yourself anymore."
Jack didn't respond. The HUD flickered, static crawling across his vision. Marcus's voice leaked through the distortion, smooth and mocking:
Stop chasing me, Jack. You're already here.
Jack spun, scanning every shadow, every window. Nothing.
"Jack?" Victor asked, raising his rifle.
"Marcus," Jack muttered. His eyes glowed faint red in the dark. "He's watching."
Victor's grip tightened. "You're scaring me more than him right now."
Jack's lips twitched into something sharp. "Good."
The Sprawl streets twisted like veins, alive with whispers. Scavenger gangs crouched in ruined doorways, faces hidden behind bandanas and rusted goggles. Some clutched rifles, others knives, but none stepped forward. They just watched Jack pass, their fear thick as the rain.
He could feel it—eyes on him from every rooftop, every alley. Some whispered his name like a curse, others like a prayer. It didn't matter. The chant followed him anyway.
King… King… King…
Victor muttered, "Feels like walking through a graveyard."
Jack didn't answer. His HUD flickered again. Warnings crawled up his vision.
Stability: 33% → 29%.
Neural Signature Sync: 80% → 84%.
Warning: HOST INTEGRITY DEGRADING.
Jack exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing. He couldn't afford to slip. Not yet.
A flicker of movement ahead. Victor raised his rifle. "We've got company."
A warlord stepped into view, flanked by a dozen scavengers with mismatched rifles and scrap armor. His coat was patched leather, and his face was painted like a skull.
"Well, well," the man drawled, voice carrying in the wind. "The King himself."
Jack stopped walking. The gangs shifted nervously, some gripping weapons tighter, others lowering them.
"You're making a mess of my streets," the warlord said, flashing a grin. "I like that. But I can't have Marcus's dog wearing a crown in my territory."
Victor muttered, "He's baiting you."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "He's dying."
The warlord's grin faltered, but he raised a hand. Guns leveled at Jack.
Jack's vision glitched again. Marcus's laugh bled through the static:
Pull the trigger, Jack. Show them what a king looks like.
Jack didn't hesitate.
He moved like a shadow, blade flashing in the neon glow. The first scavenger dropped before anyone could fire. Victor opened up with precise shots, dropping two more. The alley erupted in chaos—gunfire, shouts, and the smell of blood mixing with acid rain.
Jack's body moved faster than his thoughts. He tore through the gang like a machine, every strike efficient, brutal. A man raised his hands to surrender, and Jack nearly slit his throat anyway.
"Jack!" Victor's voice cut through the haze. "He's down! They're done!"
Jack froze, breath ragged, blood dripping from his blade. He turned his head slowly. The warlord was on his knees, hands up, eyes wide with terror.
Jack's vision flickered. Marcus's reflection flashed in a broken window, grinning back at him.
Finish it, Marcus whispered.
Jack's grip tightened.
"Jack," Victor said carefully. "Don't."
Jack blinked, the haze lifting just enough. He lowered the blade. The warlord scrambled back, sobbing.
Victor exhaled. "You're losing it, man."
Jack didn't answer. The chant was louder now, echoing through the Sprawl like thunder.
King. King. King.
Across the city, Marcus sat in a dark room, eyes glowing red as he watched the feed. His reflection split across cracked glass—half Marcus, half Jack.
"He's close," Marcus murmured, voice trembling with glee. "He's almost me."
Carla knelt by his chair, silent.
Marcus leaned down, whispering, "Watch, pet. Watch him become something beautiful."
Helena stood in the penthouse, facing the man in the white coat. His operatives waited by the door, silent as statues.
"You said you'd help him," she said.
The man smiled thinly. "I said I'd stop Marcus."
Her breath caught. "And Jack?"
He adjusted his glasses, studying her. "Jack won't kill Marcus. He'll replace him."
Helena's chest tightened.
The man's smile sharpened. "You called me because you're scared, Helena. Be more scared. You're watching a man you love turn into the thing you fear."
She clenched her fists, tears stinging her eyes.
Back in the Sprawl, Jack stood alone in the alley, rain pouring down. The warlord and his gang had fled, leaving bodies and blood behind.
The chant was deafening now, echoing off every wall. King. King. King.
Jack crouched on a burned-out mech, the metal creaking under his weight. Neon flickered behind him, crowning his shadow.
His HUD glitched, Marcus's face flashing across his vision.
Stop chasing me, Jack. I'm already here.
Jack bared his teeth, his voice low and steady.
"I don't run from crowns," he whispered. "I take them."