The fresh snow groaned and cracked under the crushing weight of a gargantuan tire.
In the Neutral Zone, on the V-2 Expressway leading to the East Bridge of Neon Spire, a towering Aegis-K3 heavy cargo rig—almost two stories high—plowed forward at a steady crawl. Its amber headlights cast overlapping fan-shaped beams over the snow-clogged, battered asphalt.
Three years had passed since the Seventh Net-and-Ground War ended. Both the snow-choked northern fringe cities and the megacity clusters south of Ironspire Pass lay under a pall of decay. Sporadic gang skirmishes turned urban ruins into graveyards.
"After this haul… think we hit a net-bar for some girl?" one of the two low-tier mercs asked, licking his lips in the cab.
"Fuck that," the other replied, shoulder-high plasma rifle resting on his lap. "These days, all the girls are in the bosses' suites."
"I heard there's a lunatic chick in the slums behind the old energy tower… we could—"
"Enough." The driver's hands gripped the wheel tighter, eyes scanning the pockmarked road ahead. A coin-sized scar dug into his right temple, a hollow remnant of his past life as a core Exo-Operator, piloting Aegis power exosuits.
The two mercs knew his history but didn't care. In this corps, even the deadliest Operator over twenty-five was sidelined by neural decay and synapse degradation. Frontline glory was fleeting.
"There's literally nothing around," one merc muttered.
"Yeah, it's just wastelands… I don't even know where to point this gun…"
Before he could finish, a blinding beam of blue-black light pierced the frozen trees on the left, slicing into the cab and scorching the driver's eyes. He tilted his head, ignored the brake, and slammed the throttle.
"Shit! Shit!" both mercs slammed onto the gun mounts.
"Who the fuck dares mess with Free Army cargo in the Neutral Zone?!"
"Hold tight. Neon Spire's the only safe zone," the driver growled. He slammed the rig into gear and punched the red power button. The sealed cargo bay lid, painted with a black torch emblem, slowly lifted. A massive iron exo-hand snatched the edge with brutal force.
"This is my first cargo run!" one merc stammered, voice shaking.
"Relax… the Exo's deployed. We're fine!"
Through the rearview, the driver saw two low-tier Aegis Exosuits leap off the rig, sprinting left and right at high speed. "These two are just assembled cargo. If the other side has XI8s—"
Aegis-powered Exosuits were first deployed in the Third Net-and-Ground War. The government built two thousand units, but as factions bled each other dry, more exosuits leaked into gang hands. Government XI8s, the crown jewel of exo-tech, were now nicknamed "XI8" in the underworld.
Metal slugs raked diagonally across the cab. No muzzle flash in sight, only the spitting tracers carving lines in the night. Plexiglass splintered. The two mercs dove under the console, hearts hammering.
"Up! Return fire!" the driver roared.
The low-tier Exosuits intercepted the incoming hail, rotating barrel-weapons toward the distant fire source. A neutron pulse cannon erupted, slicing through the night with a deafening roar.
The driver grabbed both mercs by the collars. "The boss said it—if we lose this cargo, none of us walk away alive!"
Right—the cargo belonged to the gang. Gritting their teeth, the mercs peeked over the console… just as a slug pierced one through the brain, skull exploding like a firework, body slumping onto the seat.
"Ah! Aaahhh!" The other panicked, yanking the door open, flipping off the rig in a blind panic. Neck snapped on the icy ground.
A hiss drew the driver's attention. He slammed off the throttle, ducking into the cramped cab. In the next second, the Exosuits ahead were shredded by explosions and fire.
Fire, shockwaves, debris—bones felt like they were shattering. His skull rang. Minutes later, he crawled out, rolling into the snow… only to have a metal probe press against his forehead.
Through blurred vision, he saw two nuclear-powered war rigs, scratched with "88" insignia. A towering XI8 stomped another low-tier exo, pulverizing the Operator inside.
A rival Free Army faction.
"…Check the cargo… see if…"
His ears bled, fragments of words piercing the chaos. 88 had entrenched in Beta East Bridge. They'd never confronted the Free Army in the Neutral Zone. This shipment… what the hell was in it?
"…Ignore the other trash… just look…"
Look? Look at what?
"Got it. No mistakes," a cold, hard voice crackled from the distance. "Terminate him."
The driver's eyes widened. The icy metal probe pressed into his skull, aiming straight for his neural core—life hanging by a thread.
Then, like a whirlwind tearing through the trees, something blasted forward. The probe flew off, blood spattering into his eyes. The would-be killer was instantly mashed into a red pulp, the corpse thudding onto him in a sickening heap.
Chaos erupted. Gunfire cracked and sparks flew. Someone aboard the 88's nuclear rig screamed:
"Fuck… it's Hexcrusher! Hexcrusher—Ryuu-9's!"
The driver froze. Galan Hall's Ryuu-9? He shoved the bodies off, twisting to see the source of the voice.
A mute-gold Aegis Exosuit appeared, two alloy katanas crossed on its back. A shoulder-mounted micro-cannon bore the Galan Hall emblem: the "Highmount Cloud." Massive iron-pincer hands locked onto the XI8 Exo of 88.
These weren't ordinary mechanical claws. Ultratitanium plating reinforced with dual plutonium drive shafts, each capable of crushing any Exosuit like a tin can.
Galan Hall had arrived.
After every war, the city was razed and rebuilt, divided among gangs claiming their district as the "legitimate" territory. In the East Bridge sector, three districts shared the same name. Gamma East Bridge was Ryuu-9's turf, the nemesis of both Free Army and 88.
Up close, Hexcrusher held the XI8-level Exosuit of 88 like a toy. Hundreds of armor-piercing rounds spat from the enemy machine, striking Hexcrusher's hull. He just smirked. The amplified voice from his Exo neck module oozed arrogance and deadly confidence.
AP rounds couldn't pierce Hexcrusher's custom armor. 88's Exo swung its heavy pulse cannon, aiming straight for the Operator inside Hexcrusher.
With a swift head flick, Hexcrusher's drives tightened. The XI8 in his pincer crumbled like clay, shredded segment by segment into scrap.
The screams drilled into the driver's skull. He had been an Operator once, intimately familiar with the brutal synapse interface of Exosuits—mechanical damage was instantly converted into raw pain in 0.001 seconds to force reflexive responses. Even if an Operator survived, their neurons could be permanently destroyed.
This one was utterly finished.
Hexcrusher tossed the shredded fragments aside, pivoted to face the 88's nuclear rig, crouched, and lazily lifted the hood of a war rig.
"No Exosuits left… still wanna fight?"
Exosuits were absolute power. 88 had no choice but to grit their teeth. One rig backed up, blaring over the comms:
"Ryuu-9! Galan Hall's killing our men, stealing our cargo—just wait!"
"Oh?" Ryuu-9's voice drifted like a faint sigh. His hand snapped open, slamming the rig into a flat sheet of twisted metal. He tilted his head toward another vehicle. "Is that cargo yours, 88?"
No one inside dared breathe.
"The K-3's marked with the torch emblem… that's Free Army cargo," Ryuu-9 said, slowly extending a finger to point at them.
Panic erupted inside the cab. Horns blared frantically. "Ryuu-9! Among the three major East Bridge syndicates, 88 is the biggest—you…"
Another slam of his hand, and the vehicle crumpled. Blood dripped from twisted seams, the horn wailing in sharp, metallic shrieks. Ryuu-9 rotated his wrist, standing tall, eyes scanning the fog-drenched trees on the opposite side.
A low-profile black electric car emerged from the mist, its matte panels absorbing the neon glow. Vehicles like this had been rare since the last war—only gang high-ranks could ride in one.
The driver pressed himself into the corpse pile, watching as the car stopped nearby. The front passenger door eased open. A young man in a high-tech black suit, the NeuroMist insignia glinting on his chest, stepped out, briskly opening the rear door.
Inside, on a luxurious leather seat, reclined a figure exuding icy authority and arrogance.
Galan Hall's syndicate head—21-year-old Kael Voss.
"Arq, close the door!" Ryuu-9's voice, stripped of the detachment of mass slaughter, now carried urgency.
The young man froze, about to comply. Kael Voss kicked the door open, tossing him aside effortlessly.
"No need to be so cautious, Ryuu," Cade's voice echoed softly, each footfall in his black, full-block smart boots pressing onto the blood-stained snow. "With you here, what do I have to fear?"
Ryuu-9 immediately shifted Hexcrusher closer to Kael Voss, cradling him in the massive arms. Low and careful: "Don't stir up trouble outside. I don't want you hurt."
"I know." Kael Voss lifted his soft right hand, punching Ryuu-9's titanium armor casually, curiosity dripping in the motion. "I just want to know… what the hell was 88 stealing from the Free Army?"
The driver lay frozen beneath the debris, eyes wide, unblinking. From this angle, he clearly saw Kael Voss's left arm—no, not a hand—a mechanical limb, iron-hooked fingers studded with micro-drills, glinting in the headlights like the ornate jewelry of a bygone era.
"Pick me up." Kael Voss commanded.
Ryuu-9 opened the terrifying Hexcrusher—ultratitanium, dual plutonium drives—lifting Kael's carbon-fiber frame. Waist, spine… he held him as delicately as a feather. Then, with a surge of power, they leapt into the cavernous K-3 cargo bay.
Inside, chaos: discarded mech parts, dismantled steel skeletons, and unidentifiable scrap.
"This batch is just C-grade," Kael Voss tapped Hexcrusher's armor, smirking. "88's boss must be insane."
"He's smarter than you think," Ryuu-9 replied.
"…So are we keeping the cargo?"
"Galan Hall doesn't pick up junk," Kael Voss said, lips curling. "Sort through it if you want—worthless, send it back to the Free Army."
Ryuu-9 tilted his head, fingers lightly pinching. "A bit cold, isn't it?"
Kael Voss's tone was serious. "Hexcrusher needs a heating system. Might as well add full cabin climate control."
A roar erupted from below. "Fuck! Don't let him get away!"
Ryuu-9 peeked out of the cargo bay, holding Kael Voss, and saw Arq dive onto a fallen enemy. He drew an electromagnetic shock gun, aiming at the blood-splattered face.
The driver froze as the cold muzzle pressed against his temple neural interface. Eyes darting in the darkness betrayed him; Arq noticed immediately.
Ryuu-9 leapt down with Kael Voss. Arq trained the gun on the driver. "Former Operator."
"88?" Ryuu-9 asked from above. "Free Army?"
"Free Army!" The driver scrambled. "I was just driving. 88 hijacked us mid-route… they killed four people, two Exosuits!"
Arq sneered, eyes glinting with mischief. "You call those two scrap rigs Exosuits?"
Ryuu-9 raised a hand to stop him. Among East Bridge's three syndicates, only the Free Army could independently assemble Exosuits—that was why they scavenged so much scrap.
Arq tilted his head. "Do you know why they hijacked you?"
The driver shook his head, a sudden thought striking him. "I… I think they were looking for something."
Kael Voss's brow furrowed. His mechanical fingers jabbed toward the heap of scrap and twisted metal behind them.
"Yeah," the driver quickly nodded. "I heard them say… 'Found it.'"
"Found it?" Kael Voss and Ryuu-9 exchanged a glance. Decades of unspoken understanding passed between them in a heartbeat—this cargo could never be returned to the Free Army.
Kael Voss turned toward his low-profile black electric car. Ryuu-9 instinctively moved to flank him, eyes flicking to Arq. Arq nodded almost imperceptibly, understanding the plan.
On the empty V-2 Expressway, a shot rang out—bang!—metallic and sharp.
Ryuu-9 led the way. Kael Voss's sleek vehicle glided just behind, tires silent on the snow-dusted asphalt, while Arq's K-3 heavy rig followed like a steel shadow.
They swung their line of vehicles around, engines humming with controlled fury, racing southwest toward Gamma East Bridge. Neon ruins blurred past, leaving streaks of flickering light across the shattered snow, painting the highway in shards of color and chaos.