The Sprawl burned but would not fall.
Ash drifted through the rain, clinging to broken glass and bullet-scarred concrete. The Harbinger's shattered core still pulsed behind Jack like a dying star, a reminder of what he'd just torn down.
And yet, nobody moved.
Gang crews, scavengers, even Authority stragglers hiding in alleys—all froze, eyes fixed on the man standing in the ruins. Their voices carried soft at first, then louder, until the whole block trembled with it.
"King."
Jack heard it. Felt it. The chant burrowed into his chest, vibrating with the Blood Oath already screaming in his veins. The word didn't lift him; it chained him tighter.
Victor's jaw clenched as he swept the crowd through his cracked scope. "They're not scared of you anymore."
"They should be," Jack muttered.
The words didn't sound like his own.
Before Victor could answer, every holo-board across District 9 blinked red. Marcus's face filled the skyline, glitching, Jack's features bleeding into his like a bad reflection.
"Look at them," Marcus's voice slithered through static. "They don't care who wears the crown. Only that someone does."
The chant twisted. Some voices whispered King, others spat Monster. A child's voice cracked the silence with Ghost.
Jack's HUD flickered across his vision:
Neural Overlap: 87%
Host Integrity: Critical
Marcus's voice pressed against his skull. They love the mask, Jack. Not the man. And that mask? That's me.
Jack staggered, breath misting in the cold rain. He slammed a palm against his temple. "Get out."
Marcus laughed, glass shattering from broken windows under the weight of it. You let me in.
The ground shuddered. A new sound cut through the chant—heavy, metallic, deliberate.
Victor swung his scope down the street and swore. "Authority mechs. Whole platoon."
Through the smoke they came—towering machines, plating scarred, banners scorched. Their eyes burned red, not blue.
Marcus purred across the screens, "And now, even they kneel."
Jack's hand clenched around his blade. The Blood Oath surged, heat crawling under his skin. The people watched with wide, hungry eyes. Waiting.
Victor grabbed his arm hard. "Don't do this. You're already slipping—if you let it take you, I'll—"
Jack cut him off with a glance sharp as a knife. "Then it won't be me that breaks."
The mechs stepped closer, metal screaming against the wet streets.
The crowd's chant rose again. Louder. Heavier. King. King. King.
Rain ran down Jack's face, his shadow long under the red glow. For a moment, even Victor couldn't tell if it was Jack standing there—or Marcus.
Jack whispered, just loud enough for him to hear:
"Let's see if they still kneel after this."
And then he leapt into the storm.