The bounty hit faster than fire.
Fifteen million credits. Dead or alive. My face burned across every holo-screen, red-streaked and glitching, stamped with one word: ANOMALY.
The underhive lit up with bloodlust. Every gang, every drifter, every washed-up merc with an old rifle suddenly thought they had a shot at glory.
But they didn't understand.
The hunt wasn't theirs.
It was mine.
---
We moved through the drowned alleys like shadows. Rain hissed down the walls, neon graffiti bleeding into rivers of color. Sofia led point, her servo blades folded but ready, eyes mapping every corner with machine precision. Gregor lumbered behind us, chain-axe resting across his massive shoulder, a storm barely leashed. Clara's zealots trailed like carrion birds, their whispers turning the gutters into a choir. Milo scuttled between wires and pipes, muttering updates only half meant for us.
"Ten pings northeast," he hissed, lenses whirring. "Low-tier bounty scum. Rusted augments, bad guns. Think they'll ambush us near the reactor husk."
"Good," I muttered. The Core pulsed in my chest, hungry, impatient. "Let them wait."
Sofia's gaze flicked to me. "Recommendation: eliminate quickly. Broadcast control requires spectacle."
I smirked despite the tension. "Don't worry. We'll give them a show."
---
The ambush came exactly where Milo predicted.
A shattered reactor loomed in the gloom, its dead turbines dripping with acid rain. Figures crawled out of the rubble—mercs with glowing eyes, scavenger hunters armed with plasma rifles, a half-mecha brute dragging a chain of blades.
One of them grinned, his jaw replaced by chrome. "Fifteen million credits, Exile. Enough to buy a tower in the upper city. You're already dead."
The Core inside me flared, and the rain around my feet began to glow. "Try."
They charged.
The brute's chain of blades whistled through the air—Gregor caught it mid-swing, his hydraulic spine roaring as he yanked the brute close and buried his chain-axe into its chest. Sparks and neon blood painted the wall.
Plasma bolts cut through the rain—Sofia blurred, blades flashing white arcs, splitting the shots midair before carving through two mercs in one breath.
Clara shrieked a prayer, her wings of jagged steel spreading wide, zealots swarming the hunters with glowing knives. The street filled with screams and holy chants, echoing like madness.
And me?
The Core roared, and my monoblade erupted crimson. I moved through them like fire through paper. Each strike cracked armor, split flesh, spilled neon blood that hissed against the rain. With every kill, the Core fed deeper, hotter, hungrier.
When it was over, the alley glowed red with steam and blood. Bodies sprawled in the puddles, their augments twitching weakly before going dark.
Milo peeked out from the wreckage, grinning like a rat who'd bitten a lion's throat. "Ohhh, the feed's picking this up. The whole city's watching, boss. You didn't just kill them—you made a performance."
The Core pulsed, hot and satisfied.
Gregor lifted his axe, roaring to the sky. Clara's zealots knelt, chanting my name into the storm. Sofia wiped her blades clean, expression calm but eyes fixed on me—as if measuring how much of me was still human.
I looked up at the broken billboards, my glitching face still staring back.
They thought they were hunting me.
But tonight proved otherwise.
The Exile was hunting them.
---
The alley still steamed with blood when the applause started.
A slow, deliberate clap that echoed through the broken reactor husk, too calm for this chaos.
From the smoke stepped a figure, tall and lean, his coat stitched from scavenged synth-leather, his boots polished like a corpse-prep officer. A long-barreled rifle rested casually across his shoulders, humming with quiet menace.
His face was hidden behind a chrome mask carved into a grin. The kind of grin that promised you'd already lost.
"Efficient," he said, his voice smooth, distorted by the mask. "But messy. The kind of mess that gets legends killed."
The Core in my chest flared. Instinct screamed at me—this wasn't another scavenger dog.
Milo froze, his lenses spinning wildly. "Oh shit. Shit. That's him."
Sofia's eyes narrowed. "Designation: Kade Strix. Independent bounty contractor. Elimination ratio: 89%."
Gregor growled, chain-axe whining. "Never heard of him."
Milo hissed through his teeth. "That's because the ones who do don't live long enough to talk."
Kade tilted his head, amused. "The Crimson Exile. You've made quite the broadcast. VoidNet doesn't pay small for anomalies like you." He tapped the side of his mask, the grin glitching with faint static. "And I don't turn down good credits."
His rifle slid from his shoulder in one fluid motion. A plasma railgun, handcrafted, its barrel glowing with restrained power.
Before I could react, he fired.
The shot wasn't just fast—it bent. The bolt curved around Sofia's block, slipped past Gregor's axe, and still seared across my shoulder. Neon blood hissed as it hit the rain, steam rising from the wound.
The Circle tensed. Clara's zealots screamed curses, her wings flaring wide, while Gregor slammed his axe into the ground like a challenge. Sofia's blades unfolded, her stance shifting to something I'd never seen before—cautious.
Kade just stood there, calm, tilting his rifle like a conductor ready for the next note.
"Run," he said lightly, his grin-mask gleaming. "Make me chase. It'll be fun."
The Core thundered in my chest, hotter, hungrier, answering the challenge.
I bared my teeth, monoblade erupting crimson. "No."
The rain hissed, the neon puddles glowing like fire.
"If you want the Exile…" I stepped forward, the Circle closing around me like wolves.
"…then hunt the Circle."