Chapter 1 – Whispers in Junksyke
Junksyke.
A city that never slept, yet never truly woke. Its neon towers reached for the heavens, glowing like false stars in the smog-choked night. Below, the streets choked with life—traders shouting in crooked alleys, mercenaries lurking in shadows, and children with hollow eyes running barefoot across cracked pavement.
To the world, Junksyke was a hub of trade, a city of promise. But to those who lived here, it was a machine that devoured men whole.
Among the sea of faceless bodies moving through its crowded districts, one figure walked quietly, unnoticed, as though the noise of the world couldn't touch him.
Moro.
His build was lean but strong, muscles hidden beneath a dark hoodie. His hair was cut low, neat, never messy—sharp lines that framed his hard features. His gaze was calm yet piercing, as if he could see through the chaos around him. He didn't walk like a man lost in the crowd. He walked like someone who belonged nowhere.
Whispers followed him without his knowing.
Rumors.
"A drifter with power he shouldn't have…"
"The Agency marked him…"
"They say he carries the Matrix…"
None dared speak too loud. Even here, words could be hunted.
Moro slipped into a narrow backstreet, the neon glow fading into a dim haze. He leaned against a rusted wall, his breath slow and steady, scanning every corner. Junksyke was too loud to be safe, but silence… silence always meant someone was waiting.
For a moment, he closed his eyes.
And in that darkness, a face flickered.
JJ.
Laughter echoed faintly, a memory from a time when things were simpler, when fists and friendship were enough to keep moving forward. Moro's chest tightened. He didn't like thinking of the past—it felt like a chain around his neck.
His hand brushed against the worn strap of his bag. Inside, tucked away carefully, pulsed something invisible yet alive—the Matrix. A fragment of energy older than any empire, more dangerous than any weapon. And it was his curse to wield it.
He pushed the thought aside. Standing still too long in Junksyke was an invitation for trouble.
And trouble always came.
---
At the other end of the city, deep within a black tower that loomed above the skyline, the CD9 Agency held council. The chamber was cold, metallic, filled with screens displaying endless streams of surveillance. Men and women in black uniforms moved like shadows, carrying reports, whispering orders.
At the head of it all stood Scaro.
Tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a cloak that shimmered like liquid steel. His eyes were sharp enough to cut through lies, his presence alone enough to silence the room.
He raised a hand, and the room froze.
"Status."
One of the agents stepped forward, voice steady but strained.
"The target has been confirmed in Junksyke. He is moving low, avoiding attention. But his power… it's undeniable."
Scaro's gaze narrowed. A thin smile crossed his lips.
"So, the whispers were true. The Matrix has chosen a vessel."
The chamber trembled as if the name itself carried weight. The Matrix—legend, myth, and nightmare. If in the wrong hands, it could tip the balance of the world.
Scaro turned, cloak sweeping across the floor. "Then there is no hesitation. He is to be marked a global threat."
Screens flashed red across the chamber. Moro's face appeared—cold eyes, low haircut, a calm expression that seemed to challenge the world itself.
"Send an agent," Scaro ordered. His voice was like iron striking stone. "No mistakes. No mercy."
From the corner, a figure stepped forward.
Kaya.
Her boots echoed as she approached, posture sharp, every movement precise. She was young, but her reputation had long spread through the Agency—an advanced agent with flawless execution. Her dark hair was tied back, her eyes steady, unreadable.
Scaro looked at her for a long moment.
"You will be the first to hunt him. Do not return until the Matrix is ours."
Kaya bowed her head once, hand brushing the hilt of the weapon strapped to her side. "Understood."
---
Back in the underbelly of Junksyke, the night grew heavier. The air tasted of smoke and rust, thick with the scent of oil burning from old factories. Moro moved silently through the maze of alleys, eyes sharp. He could feel it.
The shift.
A presence stirring in the shadows.
He slowed his pace, listening. The crowd had thinned, the noise fading into a hollow stillness. Only the faint drip of water from broken pipes echoed in the dark.
Moro's hand brushed against his pocket, where the Matrix pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat.
"They've found me," he muttered under his breath.
And somewhere in the shadows above, perched on a rooftop, Kaya watched him.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied her target. Calm, collected, dangerous—everything the reports had warned. She didn't move yet. Not tonight. Tonight was for watching. For understanding.
She drew in a slow breath.
Tomorrow, the hunt begins.
Junksyke kept breathing, its neon lights flickering like dying stars, unaware that a storm was about to break in its streets.
---