The sky wept violet. Sheets of purple rain drummed against the city's dome, washing the world in a ghostly hue before turning clear upon impact with the transparent shield that covered Neo Prime.
The shield filtered radiation and toxic particles, but let the rain and wind pass freely, allowing the storm to fall upon the streets below like a cleansing illusion.
Neo Prime — a megacity with massive proportions, stretching halfway across an entire continent. Its walls and layers defined more than geography, they dictated power and survival.
Above all floated the Prime Isle, shrouded in clouds, home to the true powerhouses. Only the highest-ranked, most qualified beings could step foot there.
Below it, the Upper Spire formed the city's glittering heart: corporate titans, high-ranking Synths, and human Vassals who had clawed past Rank 3. With enough influence, even those below Rank 3 could buy their way in.
Midline sprawled around the Spire, a buffer of wealth and opportunity, while far below, in the forgotten Lowshield, life persisted quietly, ignored yet stubbornly alive.
From edge to edge, Neo Prime's vastness stretched for kilometers, a labyrinth of ambition, danger, and hierarchy, where each step upward was a gamble… and every misstep could be fatal.
* * *
Lowshield — Sector 5
Sector 5, known as Cellforge, was the sector of flesh and steel: biolabs, augmentation clinics, and hospitals where both human and Synth bodies were dissected, rebuilt, and sold to the highest bidder.
Yet deep within its quietest corner stood a lonely three-story house, veiled in overgrown greenery; a relic of a gentler world trying to exist amid chrome and circuitry.
Inside that house, a Synth woman stood over a corpse.
Airin lay motionless on the bed, pale beneath the soft light, his body flawless, not a trace of decay. The woman's trembling fingers traced his cold skin, her silver eyes glazed with a mix of obsession and sorrow — teetering between worship and madness.
Margret exhaled softly and drew her hand away. The flick of a lighter broke the silence.
A thin trail of smoke rose from her Neural cigarette as her lips curled into a faint, broken smile.
"So warm… even now," she whispered.
It was both the happiest and cruelest day of her life… though perhaps not the cruelest. As usual, she was busy processing bodies, harvesting organs to sell in bio facilities and the black market, when a reinforced truck rumbled to a stop outside her modest home.
Unlike the sleek, hovering transports of the Upper Spire, this truck exuded the Midline's brutal practicality. Inside, she was offered something she could never refuse: a body. Not just any body: Airin's body.
She had seen him countless times in the Net, admired by both female Synths and humans for his charm and accolades — last year's "Best Romantic Male," no less. Never had she expected someone like him to end up in the Lowshield. Now, he was entirely hers, a prize to be studied… savored… and possessed.
A wicked grin spread across her lips.
"Wait a while, boy," she murmured, leaning close to his face, her warm breath brushing his frozen skin. "I have to finish a heart delivery first." Her tongue traced his lips, tasting the cold, lifeless flesh.
Then, with predatory grace, she strode toward the automatic doors, descending to the lower floors to complete her macabre task.
* * *
The vast room lay silent, broken only by the patter of rain against the open window. A biomorphic grey Persian cat, soft and artificial, perched atop a table, tail curled like a coiled spring, its amber eyes glinting.
On the bed lay Airin's body, draped in a woolen sheet, still and lifeless… or so it seemed.
Suddenly, the curtains whipped violently in the wind, rain lashing harder, lightning split the sky, and the low rumble of thunder vibrated through the walls. Something was coming, something that did not belong to this era.
The cat raised its head, amber eyes scanning the storm outside. But as it turned, it froze.
Airin's black eyes, dark and endless — were staring straight at it, as if peering into its very soul. If the cat had possessed a human mind, it would have screamed.
For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to hold its breath. The two regarded each other in silence: a non-sentient cat and a corpse, bound by some strange, impossible recognition, like long-lost friends reunited.
Then the corpse jerked upright.
The sudden motion shattered the stillness like a lightning strike. His lips curled into a grin that split too wide, too human for a dead man.
A tremor rolled through his chest before it erupted into laughter: raw, manic… and unmistakably alive.
"Ha… HAHA! Hahaha—HAHAHAHA! I, ZAGAN OMEN LYSANDER, AM A FUCKING GENIUS!"
He slammed both hands on the bed, the frame groaning beneath his strength as his laughter echoed through the storm.
He turned toward the cat, eyes wild with triumph.
"Hear me, you miserable little fucker! I, ZAGAN, have done the impossible! And you… you're witnessing the first Time Traveller in history!"
The cat tilted its head, as though observing an entirely new species.
And perhaps, in every sense that mattered — it was.
* * *
Zagan finally calmed down after his initial childish outburst. He honestly hadn't expected it to work… but considering he was breathing again, it damn well had.
Chrono Singularity Engine [CSE].
That was the name his dad had given it. The old man always had a flair for the dramatic. Then again, with a name like his, maybe pretentious naming ran in the family. Zagan wouldn't even be surprised if his family was a fan of Gladiator.
The whole idea of time travel had started as a wild theory — until sheer luck handed them a miracle. An energy source unlike anything they'd ever encountered. Stable enough, powerful enough, to create a singularity seed. A temporal singularity seed.
The last thing he remembered after activating it was chaos: reality tearing apart at the seams, his body flickering and stretching through layers of time, his past and future overlapping in a single maddening instant. Then, nothing.
And now, he'd woken up here.
In a room far too advanced for his own era, clear proof that the impossible had worked.
Zagan sighed as he rose from the bed. Honestly, if the whole time-travel stunt hadn't worked, his fate was already sealed back home anyway. With all the shit he'd pulled, it was either life in prison or getting shot before the cops even showed up. So, when he activated the engine, he hadn't exactly cared whether he lived or died… and besides, the energy source had only enough juice for one shot.
He glanced around the unfamiliar room, taking in the faint hum of tech and the soft glow of the lights. Then his gaze caught on something — his reflection.
He froze.
"Who the fuck?!" The words slipped out before he could stop them, his eyes widening as he stumbled closer to the mirror.
Somehow… something had gone terribly wrong.