By 2150 the world had burned through three more world wars. Cities blinked off the map, borders blurred into rubble, and governments could barely keep the lights on. The economy limped along on crypto rails and black markets, where survival wasn't about laws—it was about leverage.
Leverage came as an illegal brainchip called QUANTUM.
Implant one and the world turned game-like: a HUD (Heads-Up Display), skills, leveling, unlocks. You could fight in underground tournaments or take bounty hunts on other users. Win and you climbed the rank ladder from D up to S; lose and you bled out while your gains transferred to the victor. The system even let you stake what you were willing to lose—cash, gear, sometimes worse.
But QUANTUM always charged a price. The cheap chips glitched and detonated inside skulls. Viral code spread like urban legends, twisting users into ferals—half-human, half-glitched predators. Governments banned the tech, then quietly paid hunters to clean up the mess.
Chips came in three kinds—not by rank, but by cost.
High-end (hundreds of thousands): coveted, "clean," with no recorded malfunctions.
Mid-tier (tens of thousands): better odds, still risky.
Low-tier (thousands): desperate stock with the highest chance to fry your brain—or your mind.
That was the aisle Kane could afford.
________
You sure you want to go ahead with this, kid?" asked Raina, the chip seller. Neon streetlights leaked through the blinds, washing her black gloves in sickly purple as she held a tiny device between two fingers. "This is bottom-of-the-barrel tech. Malfunction and—boom." She mimed an explosion at her temple. "Or worse, you catch a virus and go feral. End up a walking techno-zombie. This is your last chance."
Kane sat slouched in the cracked leather chair, head resting on the implant table. His jaw was tight, eyes hard. "Yeah, I know the risks. But I need it. I don't have a choice. This is my shot at money—maybe at living better than this."
Raina studied him for a moment, then smirked. "You're either brave or stupid. Fine."
The cold edge of her glove pressed against the back of his neck.
"Alright, here we go…"
And with a sharp hiss, the Quantum chip slid into his brain.
The world snapped white.
A boot sequence unfurled behind Kane's eyes—glyphs, progress bars, a chime like distant glass. Text burned into his vision:
QUANTUM v3.2 — INSTALLING
Neural mesh: SYNCING…
Latency: 12 ms… 9 ms… LOCKED
Safety profile: LOW-TIER
Viral shields: BASIC
Tournament / Hunt modules: AVAILABLE
Stake module: ENABLED
Heat prickled down his spine, then ebbed. The room slammed back into focus: Raina's face, the buzzing light, the smell of solder and antiseptic.
"Congratulations," she said, voice softer now. "You're illegal."
A faint overlay hovered at the edge of Kane's vision—health, stamina, a blank slot labelled SKILLS. Beneath that, a rank marker: D-Class (Unrated). Not who he was. Just what he could prove.
"How long before I can queue?" he asked.
Raina tilted her head. "Tournament or Hunt?"
"Tournament first," Kane said. "Quicker payout."
"Then listen." She leaned in. "Stake something small until you know your limits. Don't flash credits. Don't trust mid-match messages. And if your HUD flickers green-black like oil—run. That's how the virus says hello."
Kane stood, shoulders squaring around the new weight inside his skull. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"It's not a pep talk," Raina said, already wiping down the chair. "It's the difference between climbing to C-Class and getting scraped off the floor."
At the door, Kane paused. The overlay pulsed:
NEW ACCESS: TOURNAMENT LOBBY
Entry fee (D-Class): WAIVED
Optional stake: SET
Free Trial Stats Activated:
• Strength: 10
• Vitality / Stamina: 10 (Health Points /HP: 100)
• Intelligence: 10 (Energy Points/ EP: 100)
• Agility: 10
• Sense: 10
He thumbed the air and keyed in the only thing he could afford to lose: his boots—steel-toed, split at the seams, his last belief in luck.
Outside, rain hissed on broken pavement. Sirens moaned somewhere he couldn't afford to care about. Kane pulled up his hood and let the system draw a thin arrow in his vision, pointing toward the nearest access node.
"Welcome to the grind," Raina called after him. "Try not to explode."
Kane didn't look back. "No promises."
He walked into the rain, and the world became a crosshair.
The arrow led him through collapsed blocks and alleys that smelled of rust and mould. Hologram billboards flickered above, advertising luxury chips Kane could never afford—polished models smiling with glowing irises, promising "safety" and "potential." One billboard jittered mid-loop, face twisting into static, muttering something about "errors." He pulled his hood tighter.
The node blinked him toward what looked like a rotting two-bedroom house tucked between collapsed tenements. Windows smashed, weeds splitting the pavement. And yet something about it hummed—subtle, like static under his skin.
At the fence stood a man built like a wall. Dark-skinned, shirt tight across muscle, eyes sharp. The kind of guy who'd break bones before breakfast.
"What's your business here?" the bouncer asked, voice flat.
"I want to join the tournament," Kane said.
The bouncer's lip curled. "Tournament? There's nothing here."
"My chip says otherwise." Kane tapped his temple, letting the faint glow of the QUANTUM implant show through his skin.
That earned a shift. Not a smile—something colder. The bouncer pulled a handheld scanner from his belt, waved it across Kane's head. The detector chirped, green bars flickering.
"You're a user." The bouncer's tone wasn't friendly, but it wasn't dismissive either. He pushed the gate open. "Follow me."
Inside, the house was just a shell. Dust, splintered floorboards, broken plaster. But the staircase at the back told the truth. Kane followed him down, step after step, until the air turned electric.
Then he heard it—cheers, chants, the roar of a hundred throats. The underground opened into a wide hall lit by floodlights.
The cage dominated the centre. Steel mesh streaked with rust and blood stains too old to scrub out. The metallic stink of sweat and copper clung to the air. Screens hovered above, projecting fighter stats for the crowd. Bettors shouted odds, credits flashing across neon panels as numbers swung.
People packed tight around the cage, drinks sloshing as they screamed for blood. Inside, two fighters tore at each other—chips flashing as health bars hovered above their heads. Sparks flew with every strike, one man's HUD already half-drained.
"Here," the bouncer said, steering him toward a stocky, ginger-bearded man. Green eyes gleamed as if he'd already measured Kane in one glance.
"Sean Morgan," the man said, gripping his hand with rough confidence. "One of the organisers of this fine chaos."
"Kane Bernard," Kane replied. "Rookie user. I'm here to make some quick money."
Sean's grin widened, revealing a gold tooth. "A rookie, huh? And you want fast cash? Lucky for you, that's exactly what we sell down here."
Kane let a smirk slip. For once, the system seemed like it was on his side.
Sean led him down a side hall into a holding room. A dozen others waited inside—some shifting nervously, some leaning against walls with casual menace. A mix of ordinary faces and others already half-shaped by their chips, faint overlays or glowing irises giving them away.
"All of these folks are like you," Sean said. "Rookies. Hungry. Stupid. Brave. Doesn't matter which. What matters is who's left standing."
Kane glanced around. Some pairs whispered like old friends. Others sat alone, hard eyes scanning the room the way predators size up a herd. He belonged to the latter.
"Sit tight," Sean said. "I'll line you up a match."
Kane dropped into a cracked chair, heart thudding—not fear exactly, but a jagged edge of anticipation. He flexed his fingers, feeling the new chip humming at the back of his skull, waiting to be tested.
Thirty minutes later, Sean kicked the door back open, voice booming.
"Alright, listen up! I've got a match for two of you." He scanned the room, grin wicked. "If I call your name, you're stepping into the cage. No excuses, no backing out. You win, you move up. You lose… well, you're not my problem."
Silence fell.
"Enoch Lander…" Sean paused for dramatic effect, then locked eyes on Kane. "…and Kane Bernard. You're first."
Kane stood. His HUD flickered in the corner of his vision, a faint glow pulsing with new lines of code. Across the room, a tall, lean man with sharp cheekbones and a scar down his jaw—Enoch—pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders like a predator warming up.
The crowd above roared as another fight ended in a spray of blood. Sean gestured toward the stairs.
"Showtime, boys. Let's see what your QUANTUM's worth."