The city never slept. But tonight, it stopped breathing.
Across Prague's shattered skyline, every holo-billboard flickered with the same image: a distorted face, eyes glowing crimson, chest burning with a red Core. My face.
The broadcast bled into every home, every dive bar, every back-alley den. The voice of VoidNet carried like thunder through the rain.
"Priority Threat Detected. Anomaly Class: Crimson Exile. Citywide lockdown initiated."
Silence followed, a silence heavier than any explosion.
Then the city screamed.
Sirens howled through the upper levels as drones swarmed like locusts. Skyscrapers sealed their doors with corporate sigils blazing, neon gates slamming shut. In the underhive, chaos erupted—gangs howling in fear or jubilation, cultists falling to their knees, civilians fleeing as if a god had descended in their gutters.
I stood in the street, rain plastering my hair to my scarred face, neon blood still glowing around my boots. My Circle gathered near: Sofia cold and unreadable, Gregor drenched in oil and gore, Clara's zealots chanting my name until their throats bled, Milo laughing like a rat who'd found fire.
Helena only smiled, eyes glittering with the reflection of my wanted poster burning across the skyline.
"Congratulations, Elias," she murmured. "You're not a man anymore. You're a broadcast."
From the shadows, the reactions rippled like fire.
—
Upper City – Corporate Towers
Inside a glass tower bathed in sterile neon blue, Marcus Halden, CEO of Aegis Europa, watched the broadcast with his jaw tight. The steel implants along his face pulsed faintly, betraying stress.
"He broke VoidNet's code," one of his advisors whispered.
Marcus slammed a fist against the table. "Then he is not a man. He is a breach. And breaches get sealed."
The order was already forming in his mind: deploy more Enforcers. Upgrade protocols. Send the Specters.
—
Underhive – Black Seraph Stronghold
In a cathedral of broken steel and stained glass, the High Prelate Vittorio fell to his knees before a cracked neon crucifix. "The Messiah has come," he wept, voice echoing. "The Neon Prophet who bleeds LAW itself."
His cult screamed and tore their flesh with ritual knives, painting the walls with glowing symbols of Elias' face.
—
Streets of Prague
Graffiti bloomed in seconds, sprayed over every wall by children who barely understood what they were worshipping.
EXILE LIVES.
LAW BLEEDS.
BLOOD NEON, BLOOD TRUE.
The city had chosen. Some saw a monster. Some saw a god.
And I… I wasn't sure which one I was.
—
Sofia's voice cut through the storm. "VoidNet has marked you as global priority. Reinforcements imminent."
Gregor cracked his knuckles, chain-axe still dripping. "Good. Let them come. The Hound's hungry."
Clara's eyes glowed with fanatical fire, wings rattling in the rain. "Do you see, my Messiah? Even the towers bow. Even the LAW falters before you."
Milo snickered from the shadows, tail twitching. "Broadcasts spread fast, boss. Faster than bullets. And you? You just went viral."
The Core in my chest pulsed, feeding on their fear, their worship, their hunger.
I wasn't just a man with a weapon anymore.
I was a story. And stories spread.
--
The storm hadn't stopped, but the city had changed.
Every screen, every holo-poster, every flickering shard of neon was my face—broken by static, glowing crimson with the Core. The word ANOMALY burned across it in bold white.
The underhive seethed.
Crowds surged like tides through the alleys: scavvers looting, zealots carving my symbol into their skin, bounty hunters sharpening their blades. Even the air tasted different, sharp with ozone and fear.
Sofia-9 stood beside me, scanning the shifting chaos. "VoidNet protocols escalating. Probability of encirclement within three hours: ninety-five percent."
Gregor spat into the neon-soaked gutter, chain-axe resting across his shoulder. "Then we break the circle before it closes."
Milo popped up from behind a broken terminal, lenses whirring. "Oh no, no, no—VoidNet's unleashed the bounty boards. Half the underhive's got a price tag with your face on it, boss. Some of them don't even care about credits—they just want the prestige."
His grin widened, sharp and rat-like. "Lucky for you, rats bite back. I can feed them false routes, fake sightings. Buy us time."
Clara raised her blood-stained hands, voice ringing with zeal. "Let them come! Their blades are offerings! Their blood will baptize the streets!" Her zealots screamed with her, slashing glowing symbols into the walls.
I looked up at the towers, where holo-billboards still flickered with my image. The Core pulsed inside me, heavy, alive.
Maybe Milo was right. Maybe it didn't matter how many Enforcers they sent, or how many hunters wanted my head. The moment VoidNet broadcasted me, I stopped being a man.
I became a challenge.
---
Across the City
The Arena Lords whispered, wondering if they could capture me, make me bleed for crowds again.
The Krieg Rats painted my name on their nests, half in worship, half in warning.
The Black Seraphs marched barefoot through acid rain, chanting until their throats tore.
Corporate Hunters sharpened chrome and steel, contracts blinking in their neural HUDs.
Everyone wanted a piece of me.
---
Helena's heels clicked against the wet pavement as she approached, calm as if the world hadn't just declared war on us. "This is the price of power, Elias. Broadcasts are louder than bullets. You've infected the city, and now every immune system is reacting. Good."
Her eyes glittered with something sharp, almost hungry. "Force them to choose—kneel or burn. That's how you build a Circle worthy of legend."
Sofia's gaze shifted toward me. "Decision required. Hide, move, or confront. Standing still guarantees failure."
The Core throbbed hot, almost impatient, as if it already knew the answer.
I clenched my fist, neon steam rising from the cracks in my skin.
"Let them hunt," I growled. "We'll give them something to remember."
The Circle tightened around me—Sofia's blades humming, Gregor's axe revving, Clara's zealots screaming, Milo vanishing into the wires.
The broadcast had turned me into prey.
But prey could still bare its fangs.
And the underhive was about to learn what hunting the Exile really cost.