The rooftops of Blüdhaven were quiet.
Zane sat cross-legged on a sheet of cardboard next to a shattered vending machine, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a pistol in the other.
The sandwich was thanks to a raccoon. The gun? That came with a bit more effort.
Two nights ago, he'd been cornered by a local gangbanger with a switchblade and an attitude bigger than his IQ.
"Give me the coat," the thug had said.
Zane had replied by jamming his forehead into the guy's nose, disarming him, and stomping his face into the pavement. One cheap pistol later, he was armed.
Although he wasnt some hand to hand combat master, going through so many life of death fights atleast made him somewhat capable. Thats without relying on his danger sense.
Now with a gun in hand, he has more confidence in protecting himself. Although it was pretty beaten up.
He'd named it Karen. Because it complained every time he pulled the trigger.
Now, with Karen tucked in his waistband and his two trashy companions—Papa Roach and General Crunch—rummaging through a nearby bin, Zane focused.
He had an idea for a while now.
He closed his eyes and centered his breathing. He needed a win. A fallback point.
"Alright, seed," he muttered. "Time to see if you take bribes."
He focused on this moment. The rooftop, the vending machine, the hunger—but not quite starvation. The breeze across his neck. The dull ache in his shoulder.
He pushed that feeling inward, willing the Chronos Seed to remember this as home base. A safe slot.
There was no fanfare. No flash. Just a faint hum deep in his core. A slight tug in his spine, like something had clicked.
Zane opened his eyes.
"…Checkpoint set?"
He was unsure, the Chronos seed wasnt exactly keen on comunication. He'd like it if it acted like those systems in novels he has read.
"Should i do it." He muttered as he looked down at the road beneath him.
As a professional suicider, he naturally wasnt hesitating cause he was scared, hes long since overcome that.
What bothered him was, if he died and respawned back in the forest, he'd have to travel all the way back to bludhaven once again. With almost his entire body battered and broken.
" Nahh im not masochistic , Guess I'll see next time."
"For now, come on guys, lets go hang out with Dan and the gang." Calling his two firends Zane climbed down the fire escape.
You should know, Dan has been great help for him so far. Helping him intergrate into the 'low-life' of bludhaven.
Of course not for free, as hobos, they all have the 'duty' to protect and help each other.
Zane naturally choice the role of protector, scaring off any thugs that wanted to take advantage of them. In return they contribut either food, clothes or other usefull things.
That was their dynamic.
---
Two Days Later
Zane was getting used to the rhythm of street survival. Scavenge. Fight thugs. Avoid cops. Feed the raccoons. Don't die.
He'd mapped out the surrounding blocks using torn-up pizza boxes, marking which stores had food, which alleys had psychos, and which rooftops didn't creak like they were about to collapse.
And yet... the last twenty-four hours had been off.
Too quiet. The street noise didn't settle the same. He felt like a deer just before a wolf pounced.
Something was watching him. Thats what his danger sense told him.
Zane stayed low, checked his corners. He avoided his usual paths, shifted hideouts. Even Papa Roach and General Crunch seemed jumpy.
That night, rain fell in sheets, drumming against the rooftops like a warning.
He curled beneath a rusted HVAC unit and tried to sleep.
He never got the chance.
---
Impact.
Something heavy slammed into the rooftop across the street.
Zane's eyes snapped open.
Thunder rolled overhead, masking the echo of the impact. He crawled to the edge and peeked over.
A shape emerged from the fog—hulking, armored, moving like a well oiled machine.
What stood across form him was a man, No, More machine than man. Red optics scanned the area with precision. His right arm had been replaced with a massive modular weapon, purring softly as it adjusted configuration.
His red visor scanning the surroundings searching for heat signatures.
Zane's breath caught.
'Shit!! Isn't that KGBeast!?'
He backed up slowly—only to trip over an exposed pipe with a clang.
KGBeast's head snapped toward the sound.
"Target acquired," he said, voice mechanical and deep.
He was hired by cadmus to retrieve their experiments, dead or alive.
Zane fired twice from the hip. BLAM! BLAM!
Both rounds pinged off the cybernetic arm.
"Okay, cool. Good talk," Zane muttered, bolting.
---
The rooftop exploded behind him as KGBeast landed with thunderous force.
Zane sprinted across planks, leapt gaps, slid under clotheslines and broken TV antennas.
KGBeast pursued without hesitation—easily maneuvering passed these objects with grace, never slowing.
Zane ducked into an open stairwell, praying it wasn't a dead end.
"Come on, come on," he whispered, charging down metal steps.
A roar of impact behind him—the stairs tore free. KGBeast dropped onto the landing and leveled his weapon.
Zane turned and fired again—empty. Click.
"Karen, you useless—!"
BOOM.
---
Darkness.
---
Blink.
Zane gasped and sat up on the rooftop.
Same sandwich. Same rain starting to fall. Same raccoons.
He was back.
"Checkpoint held…" he breathed. "Thank God."
Papa Roach stared at him with his usual dead eyes.
Zane stood, checked the pistol again. Five bullets.
He now knew where the attack would come from, he just had to figure out how to survive.
"Cadmus just went full Terminator on me," Zane muttered, slumping against a rusted air vent. "How the hell am I supposed to beat that?"
Simple answer: he didn't. He could run.
Again.
But that wasn't a solution—it was a delay. A bad one. They kept finding him no matter where he went, no matter how careful he was. Like they always knew where he was....
He paused.
"…No way."
His eyes widened as the thought slammed into him like a freight train.
"They're tracking me."
It made too much sense. He hadn't exactly left a paper trail, and yet they always knew. Not just roughly where—exactly.
"…No, no, no. Don't tell me they chipped me like a damn pet."
Panic bubbled in his throat. He started patting himself down in a frenzy, sweeping over his arms, his neck, under his collar. Anywhere a microchip could be hidden.
"They… they violated me."
He blinked in horror. "Those bastards violated me!"
Now he was pacing, hands running through his hair like he was about to break into a courtroom and shout "Objection!" to the sky.
"Where's the consent?! Where's the informed documentation?! This is America, we have standards! I want a lawyer. Hell, I want two."
He froze mid-rant.
"…What if it's somewhere I can't even reach? Oh god, what if they went internal?"
Zane turned pale. He looked down slowly—suspiciously.
"…No. Not the butt. Anywhere but the butt."
After a beat of horrified silence, he muttered, "If I ever find the guy who approved that procedure, I'm rewinding just to punch him twice."
Taking a deep breath, Zane composed himself—panicking right now wasnt helping.
He couldn't afford to try and find the tracker right, if it was internal he would have to find someone for surgery....he couldn't afford to be injured while he was still being hunted by a trained assassin.
He had to take care of KGbeast first.
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