The underhive stank of smoke and wet metal.
I sat on the edge of a broken platform, neon rain dripping down through the cracks above, hissing as it struck the glowing puddles below. My arm was still trembling, gears in my wrist clicking from the new augment the Core had stolen. Every time it pulsed, I remembered the way the Jackal screamed when his saw-arm went dead.
The Core was feeding.
And I was starting to realize how hungry it really was.
Footsteps echoed. Too steady for a gang rat, too calm for a scavenger. I didn't move when Helena Veyra stepped into the light.
She didn't belong here—her coat too clean, her steps too sharp, her face carrying none of the grime that lived in these tunnels. She looked at me the way a banker looks at stolen currency. Valuable, dangerous, and not entirely legal.
"You're making a lot of noise," she said. Her voice carried in the empty chamber, silver eyes glowing faint in the dark.
I didn't answer.
She walked closer, her heels clicking against the rusted steel as though it were marble. "The Jackals are dead. Their leader gutted. Circuit runners are whispering about a man who eats augments. And VoidNet has already red-flagged your anomaly. You're not hiding anymore, Elias. You're bleeding neon across the whole city."
I stood, slow, the chain on my wrist clattering. "Then let them come."
Her smile was thin, cruel, and almost pitying. "Do you even understand what 'let them come' means? When VoidNet erases someone, Elias, it doesn't just kill them. It deletes them. Your face, your name, your entire existence—gone. As if you never breathed."
Her words cut deeper than the chain ever had.
I clenched my fist, feeling the Core pulse hot in my chest. "Then I'll burn bright enough they can't erase me."
She studied me for a long moment, then exhaled. "Reckless. But useful." She slid a holo-disc from her coat and tossed it at my feet. It lit the chamber in pale blue, projecting streams of data: gang emblems, smuggler routes, corporate weak points, propaganda feeds.
"The gangs are circling you. Some want your head. Some want your blood. Some want to follow. And the corps?" She tapped her temple. "They're deciding whether to erase you tonight or tomorrow."
The data shifted, showing a map of the underhive, each sector crawling with glowing symbols. Helena pointed at them one by one.
"Iron Syndicate. Black Seraphs. Krieg Rats. Vultures. Jackals. Dozens of little empires tearing each other apart. But for all their power, they bow when VoidNet speaks. None of them matter, unless someone forces them to kneel."
Her eyes found mine again. "You want to survive? You need a Circle. Your own pack. Men and women who bleed for you. Because one monster alone can be erased. But a monster with a following… becomes a revolution."
I stayed silent, though my blood thundered at the word.
She leaned close, whispering like a serpent. "You don't have the luxury of choice, Elias. The game has already started. The only question is whether you'll play it—or be deleted before the next round."
The Core throbbed in my chest, hot, demanding. For a moment, I imagined the chants in the arena again, the way thousands of voices had screamed my curse like a crown.
Exile. Exile. Exile.
I wasn't ready to be their king.
But maybe Helena was right. I wasn't allowed to be anything else.
---
The holo-map flickered between us, bleeding blue light across the rusted chamber. I stared at the shifting symbols, gangs crawling over the underhive like roaches. Helena's words still burned in my ears.
A Circle. A pack. A revolution.
It sounded like a trap. But so did the alternative—walking alone until VoidNet's dogs found me and erased me from existence.
A shadow moved behind Helena.
The figure that stepped forward wasn't a scavenger or a thug. It was too precise. Too sharp.
Sofia-9.
Her frame gleamed faint silver, though much of it was hidden under a black combat coat scarred from battles I didn't want to imagine. Her face was synthetic, almost human, but too flawless, too still. Eyes that burned faint white scanned me from head to toe like I was a weapon on a rack.
Twin blades were folded across her back, humming faintly with stored energy. Every movement of hers was economy, nothing wasted.
Helena gestured toward her as though unveiling a priceless artifact. "Sofia-9. Former Aegis combat unit. Decommissioned. Escaped. Now… available."
Sofia's voice was flat, filtered, almost mechanical. "Subject: Elias Drexler. Designation: anomaly. Observation: Core unstable. Probability of survival past one cycle: low."
I bristled. "You talk too much for a machine."
Her head tilted slightly, almost curious. "Correction: machines don't talk. They calculate. I am calculating that you are dangerous. And that danger attracts followers."
Helena's smile sharpened. "See? Even she understands what you don't. Monsters inspire. Monsters gather. And monsters, Elias… terrify those who claim to rule."
I wanted to spit her words back at her, but I couldn't. Not when I still felt the chant of the crowd in my veins.
The silence broke when a hiss echoed from the street outside. Boots. Dozens of them.
Helena's eyes flicked to the holo-map, and her smile didn't falter. "And right on time."
We stepped outside into the rain-soaked street.
They were waiting for me.
Iron Syndicate bruisers, metal-plated and stinking of oil. Black Seraph zealots with glowing tattoos across their faces, whispering prayers as they fingered plasma daggers. Krieg Rats, twitching and muttering, tails of synthetic tubing dragging in the muck.
Dozens of them. Different banners, same hunger.
One Syndicate brute spat into the puddles. "Exile. You think one fight in the pit makes you king? We'll tear the Core out of your chest and wear it like a trophy."
A Black Seraph priestess raised her arms, voice shrill. "No! He is the Neon Messiah! The blood of the Seraphim burns in his veins!"
The gangs erupted, shouting, cursing, screaming my name in different tongues. Some in reverence. Some in rage. Some in pure desperation.
The chaos felt alive. The city itself seemed to breathe it in, graffiti glowing brighter with every chant.
Helena stepped beside me, whispering so only I could hear. "Do you see it now? They're already yours. All you have to do is decide—fear or faith. Blade or crown."
Sofia-9's hand rested lightly on her weapon, her gaze never leaving the mob. "Recommendation: kill one faction leader. Subjugate the rest. Efficiency: 87%."
The rain hissed louder, neon blood from the earlier fight still glowing in the gutters.
Dozens of eyes burned into me, waiting. The gangs, the zealots, the rats, all of them trembling at the edge of war.
I clenched my fist. The Core answered, hot and furious, ready to spill more blood.
Maybe Helena was right. Maybe the game had already started.
And maybe tonight, the underhive would learn who Exile really was.