A New Pulse
Morning bled into the alleys like rust-stained light.
Jace hadn't slept. He sat hunched beside a window in his workshop, staring at the flicker of drones crossing the dawn sky. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the vault's blue light again, felt the electricity crawl through his veins.
The System hadn't spoken since before he'd drifted off, but he could still sense it—quiet, coiled, waiting.
When it finally broke the silence, it did so without warning.
[System Diagnostics Complete]
[Rank: Novice–Epsilon | Skill Grade: Debug]
[Abilities: Swipe / Memory Steal]
[Steal Count: 3 → Active Sync Confirmed]
A thin thrill moved through him. Three successful uses, and already the numbers seemed to climb like a heartbeat.
He caught himself smiling—a small, dangerous smile.
The voice inside him was still a mystery, but the possibilities it hinted at were endless.
A thief who could steal more than objects.
A survivor who could borrow memory, shape, identity.
He flexed his fingers. They trembled with anticipation.
"Time for a field test," he murmured.
---
The City Below
By midday, the rain had turned to drizzle. Jace pulled his hood low and walked toward the lower districts—where Syndralis kept its forgotten.
Here the streets narrowed, lined with flickering signage and the constant hum of broken neon. A place where law and logic dissolved, replaced by gangs, deals, and survival.
It was also the perfect testing ground.
He moved like smoke through the crowd: mechanics, couriers, cyber-junkies trading spare implants. The smell of coolant mixed with frying street food and wet metal.
A sign ahead pulsed faintly through the mist: EIGHT BALL'S BILLIARDS & BAR—letters half-burned, half-alive.
The Wizards ruled this block, a biker gang notorious for selling protection they never provided. They shook down vendors, collected debts, and occasionally tore apart anyone who crossed them.
Tonight, Jace wasn't here to pick a fight. He was here to see what his new reality could do.
He paused across the street, watching through the haze. A large man with tattoos like circuitry guarded the door. His knuckles were silver-capped; his eyes, unblinking.
Anyone who didn't belong usually ended up part of the pavement.
Jace waited until a regular stumbled out—a bearded man reeking of liquor, coat torn, muttering curses at the rain. Perfect.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "Swipe."
[Swipe Skill Activated]
[Target — Physical Identity Profile Detected]
[Transfer Successful: Old Jack / Duration: 20 Minutes]
[Steal Count: 4 | Cooldown Active]
Heat shimmered across his skin; his reflection in the window twisted.
Wrinkles deepened. His voice lowered, throat roughened. Even his posture changed—shoulders slouched by habit, not design.
He exhaled. "Show time."
---
Into the Lions' Den
The doorman squinted as Jace approached.
"Thought you left, Jack."
"I changed my mind," Jace rasped, pitching his tone into the old man's gravel register.
The doorman's suspicion melted into indifference. "Suit yourself."
He stepped aside.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and cheap synth-alcohol. Pool balls cracked like gunfire across tables. The floor stuck to his boots. The place stank of sweat, oil, and ozone from half-legal cyber-mods.
The bartender—thick neck, mechanical eye—glanced up. "What'll it be, Jack?"
Jace slid onto a stool. "Soda," he said without thinking.
The man frowned. "Soda?"
Realizing the slip, Jace forced a crooked grin. "Kidding. Beer. And a shot."
The bartender grunted approval and poured. Foam sloshed over the glass. Jace paid with credits scavenged from earlier jobs and lifted the mug. The first sip tasted like rust. He forced it down anyway.
That's when the door slammed open.
A wave of noise followed: boots, laughter, and the smell of wet asphalt.
The Wizards had arrived.
They filled the bar in seconds—men and women in leather and steel, laughter edged with violence. At their center moved Six Pack, the gang's leader—a mountain of muscle with a polished metal arm ending in four clawed fingers that twitched when he smiled.
Behind him stumbled an older man in a torn suit, blood already darkening his collar.
The bar quieted.
Six Pack shoved the man forward. "Back room."
The door to the rear hallway slammed shut behind them. Music started up again, louder than before—as if volume could erase what everyone had seen.
Jace's heartbeat kicked up. Curiosity overrode caution. He needed to know why that man mattered.
---
Wired Secrets
The System's voice flickered to life, whisper-thin.
[Swipe Cooldown Expired]
Good timing.
He waited until no one was watching, then brushed his hand against the comm-unit clipped to a biker's belt.
[Swipe Skill Activated]
[Item Acquired: Wizards Encrypted Communicator]
[Steal Count: 5 | Cooldown: 20 min]
He slipped away toward the restroom, locked himself in the last stall, and pressed the small device to his temple. The connector latched onto his skin with a faint static hiss.
Voices bled through instantly.
"…telling you, Six Pack, I don't know how the cops knew—"
The older man's voice—pleading, terrified.
Six Pack's reply came like gravel and metal grinding together. "You expect me to believe that? The police hit every shipment. Somebody talked."
"I swear, I didn't! My driver said they were waiting. Soon as we hit the city limits—boom—flashing lights."
Jace closed his eyes, visualizing the scene behind the wall: Six Pack pacing, claws flexing, the victim shaking.
Then came the crack of a punch. The comm hissed with impact noises and choked gasps.
"Okay! Okay! It was HexGate!" the man cried. "They paid me. They used the police to seize the power systems—said it was for 'public security.' They've been taking everything! Please, I told you everything!"
Silence. Then a low hum.
Six Pack spoke softly, almost kind. "Appreciate the honesty."
A surge of electricity screamed through the comm. The smell of ozone filled the stall. Then—nothing.
Jace's stomach twisted. HexGate again. Always HexGate.
He triggered the second ability without thinking.
[Memory Steal Activated]
[Target: Bill Myers – Quantum Technologies Shipping Manager]
[Transfer Complete | Steal Count: 6 | Cooldown: 20 min]
A rush of images hit him like a flood—documents, shipment manifests, unmarked crates loaded in midnight warehouses. Police seals. HexGate logos hidden under corporate subsidiaries.
He grabbed the stall divider to keep from collapsing. The rush faded, leaving fragments of someone else's guilt lodged in his mind.
He whispered, "You sold them everything."
---
Resolution
The communicator went dead—fried by the electric blast that had silenced its owner.
Jace removed it, pocketed the remains, and stared at his shaking hands.
Six successful steals. Four more to reach the next level. The thought should have thrilled him. Instead, it felt heavy, like a countdown to something he wasn't sure he wanted.
He washed his face in the sink, water cold enough to sting, then looked into the mirror. For an instant, Old Jack's reflection flickered back—drunken, weary. Then it melted away, leaving Jace's own face, pale and drawn.
[User Status: Stable]
[Steal Count: 6 | Next Threshold: 10]
[System Load: Increasing]
"Yeah," he whispered. "I feel it."
He left the restroom, moving through the crowd like smoke. No one looked twice; everyone here had their own crimes to nurse. At the exit, the doorman barely glanced up.
Outside, the air hit him like freedom. The drizzle had stopped; the streets gleamed under half-dead lights. Somewhere behind those walls lay another dead man, another secret sold.
He pulled his hood up and walked into the night.
The System pulsed once more in the back of his skull—soft, almost eager.
[Observation: User Adapting Efficiently.]
Jace ignored it.
But as he crossed the empty street, he realized the fear was gone. In its place was something colder: focus.
HexGate wasn't just a name anymore. It was a network of corruption that reached from their towers down into the gutters.
He didn't know yet how deep it went. But now he had tools—and a reason.
The night swallowed him whole.