Jack stepped out of the woman's apartment, his breath ragged as though the four walls had been suffocating him. The air outside hit his lungs sharp and cold, a reminder that the city was still alive even if his chest felt like it was collapsing. Neon lights shimmered against puddles on the cracked sidewalks, smearing the world into a haze of color that didn't belong to him.
Behind him, muffled sobs bled through the closed door. He could still taste the ghost of her lips on his, still feel the desperation in the way she'd clutched at him as though he was the last rope keeping her from drowning. He should have been her anchor. Instead, he had pushed her away, retreating like a coward because he knew the kiss hadn't been about him.It had been about the scars she carried, and the monster who put them there.
He pulled his mask back over his face, fastening the strap tightly, as though sealing his emotions back inside. "Focus," he muttered to himself, his voice low and cracked. "This isn't about me. This is about stopping him."
The alleys yawned ahead like the throats of beasts. Trash fires burned in rusted drums, casting long shadows that danced across graffiti-stained brick. Voices rose from the corners—dealers whispering their poisons, drunks cursing their bad luck, vagrants muttering nonsense to anyone who'd listen. Jack pulled his hood lower and blended into the dark.
His body ached from the fight with Luther at the club. Every step sent a ripple of pain up his ribs, a reminder of the slam that nearly crushed him. His chest tightened when he remembered the robotic arm extending, that unnatural blast of energy hurling him through the air. He clenched his fists, recalling how close he'd been to death. If the sirens hadn't distracted Luther, if the dust hadn't covered his escape, he might already be a body cooling in some morgue.
Now he had information. Luther's strength didn't come solely from his brutality. The robotic arm was the key. The victim had told him through tears: no man's flesh could do the things Luther did without enhancement. And it wasn't just enhancement; it was engineered terror. Indestructible, unless one thing could break it: voltage.
Electricity. Power surging into the circuits until the metal betrayed its master.
Jack filed it away in his mind. That was the weakness. That was the thread he needed to pull. But how the hell was he supposed to conjure lightning in the middle of a fight?
His boots splashed through a puddle as he stalked deeper into the underbelly of Neon City. The streets throbbed with energy;the flicker of holo-signs, the distant bass of clubs, the hiss of mag-rails overhead. The whole city seemed alive, but beneath that heartbeat was rot. And Luther Draque thrived in the rot.
Jack leaned against a wall, letting himself fade into the shadows as two figures approached from the far end of the alley. They were laughing too loudly, their movements jerky. He recognized the body language instantly: thugs, emboldened by drink or drugs, strutting like kings in their filthy kingdom.
One of them kicked over a trashcan just to hear it clatter. The other sprayed a crude symbol onto the wall, the mark of Luther's gang;the jagged "D" with a fang curling through it. Jack's jaw tightened. They were small fry, but they were Luther's small fry.
He could leap out, knock them cold, and demand answers. But he forced himself still. His ribs throbbed, reminding him of the fight that almost killed him. He wasn't here to waste strength. He was here to learn, to move, to prepare.
The two passed by, never noticing the masked figure melting into the dark. Jack exhaled slowly. This was what restraint felt like;like swallowing fire. He wanted to lash out, but tonight wasn't about vengeance. It was about survival.
By the time Jack reached the edge of the sector, his arms were trembling. He hadn't realized how heavy Zane had been until now, how much strain he'd forced on himself carrying the man out of the mines, fighting through exhaustion, then charging straight into another nightmare. His body wasn't breaking;it was reminding him that even systems had limits, and he wasn't invincible.
He scaled a fire escape and perched on the rooftop, high above the filth of the streets. From here, the city stretched wide, towers jutting like jagged teeth under the glow of holographic billboards. Hovercars streamed by like comets, streaking light through the darkness. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it looked fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second.
Jack sat down heavily, his back against a rusted vent, and pulled off his mask. His reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle on the rooftop—dark hair clinging to sweat, eyes haunted and tired. He touched his chest, half-expecting to feel the wound still raw. But it was gone. Smooth skin stretched where claws had ripped him open.
He remembered the surge of power when he leveled up, the way his body had knit itself back together as if mocking human fragility. Healing wasn't a blessing—it was a warning. Every level he climbed pulled him further from the boy who once bled and broke like anyone else. Every step made him less human.
And yet… without that healing, he would be dead.
Jack closed his eyes and tried to silence the storm in his head. He thought of the woman he'd left crying in her apartment, the pain in her eyes, the way she'd kissed him because she didn't know what else to do with the grief. He thought of Luther's metallic claws, of the smell of burning circuitry when voltage ripped through it. He thought of the bounty posters piling up in the stations, more names, more monsters waiting in the shadows.
This was his path now. To hunt. To fight. To walk the razor's edge between tyrant and savior.
Down below, the streets buzzed. Jack caught snatches of conversation drifting upward.
"Did you hear? Some masked kid dragged Zane the Viper out of the mines!"
"No way. Zane was untouchable."
"I swear, I saw him. Black coat, mask, like some kind of phantom. Carried Zane on his shoulders like he weighed nothing."
"They're calling him the Shadow Walker. Others say Tyrant. Don't know which is true."
Jack gritted his teeth. He hadn't asked for titles. He hadn't asked for whispers. But he couldn't stop them either. Every step he took left ripples in the city. Ripples became waves. Sooner or later, the waves would crash.
The night deepened, but Jack didn't move. He sat on the rooftop, breathing in the smog, listening to the city. His body begged for rest, but his mind replayed the fight again and again. The robotic arm. The energy blasts. The sheer weight of power behind Luther's strike.
Jack couldn't face him head-on, not yet. He needed a plan. He needed allies. He needed to push further into what the Nexus Walker System was offering. Warp Strike was dangerous, but it was power. And power was the only currency that mattered in Neon City.
The silence wrapped around him like a cloak. For the first time in days, no one was screaming. No one was clawing at him, no system voice buzzing in his ears, no enemies rushing to kill. Just him, the night, and the quiet truth that he wasn't ready.
But he would be.
He tightened his mask back over his face, feeling the weight of it settle. The mask wasn't just to hide him;it was to remind him of the choice. Jack West, the boy, was still somewhere inside. But out here, in the alleys, under the neon, he had to be something else. Something harder. Something sharper.
The hunt wasn't over. It was only beginning.