The south docks of Erevos City smelled like rust and oil.
Cargo containers stretched in endless rows under floodlights, stacked so high they formed canyons of steel. The bay water lapped against corroded pylons, black with chemical foam. It was late, but the docks never truly rested—smugglers unloading stolen tech, workers moving shipments they didn't dare look inside, drones buzzing like steel hornets above.
Tonight, though, there was another presence.
The Chrome Fangs rolled in first, their hover-bikes growling like wolves. Half their gang had bodies more machine than flesh—steel jaws gleaming, cyber-spines clicking, knuckles that could punch through concrete. They wore their trademark mirrored helmets and neon tattoos that pulsed with bio-electric current.
At their head was Razor, a brute with chrome arms and a grin carved into a steel mask.
"These docks are ours," Razor growled, voice distorted through his modulator. "Sweep it clean."
The Fangs revved forward, smashing open containers and torching whatever they didn't like. Workers scattered into the shadows.
But the Steel Vultures were already waiting.
They rose from the container stacks like carrion birds, cloaked in matte-black armor with glowing red optics. Their leader, Mirek, dropped from a crane, twin plasma blades sparking to life in his hands.
"Wrong night to crawl out of your den, Razor."
The air tensed.
Then it exploded.
Gunfire lit up the docks, red tracers slicing through the fog. Bikes roared between crates, smashing into ambushes. Plasma burned into steel, sending containers crashing down in avalanches of sparks. The gangs collided like wolves and vultures in a feeding frenzy, tearing each other apart for turf neither would live to hold.
But somewhere far away, in a coffin apartment stacked among thousands, a man watched with cold detachment.
Kai Veyl lounged in his chair, neural rig humming around his skull. On his monitors, the docks glowed in wireframe blue, every gang member tagged, every shot traced, every movement logged in real-time. Drones fed him angles from the air. A hacked CorpSec satellite gave him thermal outlines of the battlefield.
It was a symphony, and he was the conductor.
He whispered commands into encrypted channels, his voice warped into something deep and inhuman:
"Unit Theta, push Razor south."
A Chrome Fang squad suddenly surged left, driving Razor into a narrow choke point. Mirek followed, blades ready, exactly where Kai wanted him.
"Floodlights. Now."
The power grid for Dock 12 shorted, blinding the Chrome Fangs. The Vultures struck in the glare, cutting down five bikers before the rest scrambled.
Kai smirked. Each move tightened the noose. Neither gang realized they were dancing to the same strings.
But not everyone was blind.
> CorpSec Dispatch: Unusual activity detected at Docks 12–15. Deploying enforcer squadron.
Kai's eyes narrowed. CorpSec—the megacorp's private military force—was moving earlier than he expected. Armored transports rolled out from a tower miles away, carrying cybernetic soldiers with enough firepower to level the docks.
Good. This was part of the plan.
He keyed into another channel, one reserved for a different kind of pawn.
"Crow, status?"
Static crackled, then a smooth female voice answered: "Sniper nest ready. Just say the word."
Kai's smirk widened. Crow wasn't gang trash like the others—she was his. A mercenary he'd pulled from a botched execution a year ago. Loyal only to Shadow Net.
"Hold until CorpSec arrives. Then paint the ground red."
"Yes, boss."
Back at the docks, Razor's laughter boomed through the chaos. He'd locked blades with Mirek, sparks spraying.
"You Vultures always were scavengers!" Razor snarled.
Mirek sneered, twisting his plasma blade. "And you Fangs never had brains."
The fight might've ended there, one brute killing the other. But then the sky lit with searchlights.
CorpSec had arrived.
Dropships screamed overhead, disgorging squads of soldiers in black armor, faces hidden behind mirrored visors. Their weapons hummed with lethal charge as they fanned out in formation.
"This is CorpSec," a mechanical voice blared from loudspeakers. "Cease activity immediately. Unauthorized conflict will be punished."
Neither gang listened.
So CorpSec opened fire.
The first volley tore through both sides. Bikers exploded in flame. Vultures crumpled under plasma bursts. The gangs turned on their new enemy, but they were nothing against corporate firepower.
And that's when Crow struck.
From a distant tower, her rifle hummed. A single shot cracked the night, piercing through a CorpSec officer's visor. Another shot, another enforcer down. Chaos erupted as soldiers scrambled for cover, thinking they were under gang fire.
Kai leaned back, satisfied. This was the moment he loved most—the point where chaos tipped into legend. Gangs tearing each other apart, CorpSec losing control, a phantom sniper nobody could place. And in the end, nobody would know who started it, who guided it, who reaped the rewards.
Shadow Net's work.
He toggled a private channel, voice a low growl.
"Crow, three more, then vanish. Leave a shell casing for the Fangs to find."
"Understood."
Within seconds, three more CorpSec enforcers dropped, their deaths perfectly spaced to appear like professional gang retaliation. Crow slipped away like smoke, leaving behind a trail of false evidence.
By dawn, the story would write itself: the Chrome Fangs ambushed the Steel Vultures, CorpSec intervened, and both sides bled heavily. Nobody would suspect a ghost sitting in a coffin apartment pulled the strings.
Kai closed the channels one by one, silencing the voices, the screams, the chaos. Only the hum of his neural rig remained.
He pulled off the helmet, sweat slicking his hair, and exhaled.
Another night, another game played.
On the newsfeeds tomorrow, pundits would rant about gang violence and corporate failures. Workers would whisper about rising tensions in the undercity. The gangs would swear vengeance against each other, blind to the fact they'd been puppets.
And in the heart of it all, Shadow Net's legend would grow.
Kai leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his coffin room. At NexCorps tomorrow, he would be invisible again. Forgotten. Overlooked.
But in the shadows of Erevos?
He was the hand that made the city twitch.