The neon skyline of Neralis pulsed like a restless heartbeat. Skyscrapers glowed with a thousand digital ads, flickering promises of luxury, escape, or salvation—none of which Kirion had ever trusted. He weaved through the crowded streets with the ease of someone born in chaos, dodging street vendors and buzz-drones, the rhythmic thrum of city life syncing with his every step.
At twenty-seven, Kirion Kade was already a paradox: a certified medical technician without a license, a street-smart hustler who healed more people in back alleys than hospitals did in entire districts. His apartment doubled as a makeshift clinic and a lab for reverse-engineered tech. He'd earned the nickname "Wired Witch Doctor" from locals—equal parts compliment and warning.
Tonight, though, wasn't about work. It was about release.
He ducked into the "Static Pulse," a techno-bar layered in black glass and programmable graffiti. The walls glimmered with messages that reshaped themselves every few seconds—mantras, slogans, digital art. Music pulsed like adrenaline, and the air reeked of ozone and rebellion.
Kirion didn't drink much. Not since he saw what unchecked indulgence had done to the people he tried to save. But tonight, he nursed a bitter synth-spirit, watching dancers blur into colors on the floor. That's when she slid into the booth across from him—Jena. Wild eyes. Sharp voice. A mystery encased in muscle and mascara.
They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. Whatever spark existed between them had been burning low and steady for weeks. That night, it flared.
Three months later, the silence on the other end of the comm-call said everything. Jena's face hovered on the cracked holoscreen, emotionless, remote.
"You're going to be a father," she said flatly.
Kirion's breath caught in his throat. The whir of ceiling fans and the soft chirp of bio-monitors in the room suddenly felt too loud.
"Wait. What?"
"I'm keeping it. But I'm not staying," she added. "This isn't a world I want to raise a child in. And it's not a life I want anymore."
Kirion stared at the screen, stunned. "You're just—leaving? Just like that?"
"You'll figure it out. You always do."
The screen blinked out. No warning. No argument. Just static.
That night, Kirion sat alone in the same apartment that had once been his sanctuary. Now, it felt like a hollow cage. Medical tools and hacked terminals cluttered the walls, but none of them could diagnose what twisted in his chest.
A father. Him. In this city. In this system that chewed up people like him and spat them out nameless.
But somewhere inside that storm of anger, betrayal, and disbelief… a flicker of something else: resolve.
He poured the last of his synth-spirit into the sink and watched it swirl down the drain. Then he turned to his terminal and opened a fresh file. He labeled it:
"For Her."
The future had arrived—unexpected, uninvited, but undeniable. And it had his daughter's heartbeat in it.