The stench of synthetic protein paste and stale antiseptic hit Kael's nostrils like a physical blow as he kicked open the rusted door to their hab-unit. His new neural implant—no longer glitching but pulsing with predatory awareness—flared to life, painting the room in clinical diagnostics:
>> ANALYSIS COMPLETE:
[Bloodstains on floor: 72 hours old]
[Med-packs emptied: 100% depletion]
[Single occupant: Male, late 30s, 63% muscle atrophy]
[Sepsis risk: 89% probability]
Miko looked up from his wheelchair, the dim glow of a pirated news feed reflecting off his hollowed cheeks. His once-champion augmetic legs—now just dead metal strapped to atrophied flesh—clanked as he shifted. The surgical scars where OmniCorp had reclaimed his tournament-grade implants stood out like pale worms in the gloom.
"You're late," he rasped, voice roughened by years of painkiller smoke. Then his bloodshot eyes focused on Kael's changed pupils—the way they now split vertically under stress like a reptile's. "And you're wrong."
Kael's fingers twitched toward the nutrient packs stuffed in his coat—stolen from the same vault that had birthed this new, hollowed-out version of himself. The TOXIN protocol whispered approval as he noted the exact angle of Miko's sunken collarbones, calculating caloric deficits.
"OmniCorp's hunting us," Miko coughed, jabbing a bony finger at the flickering screen. A security feed showed Kael's old face blinking under WANTED: TERMINATE ON SIGHT. The photo was from his old ident chip—still round-faced with the anxious eyes of someone who hadn't yet learned how the world worked. "Darius came by yesterday. Said you died on the job."
Kael's new instincts itched to explain. The way his bones now reforged themselves mid-combat. How he'd torn out a guard's thalamus with his teeth just to test if he still felt nausea. The black veins creeping up his neck like living circuitry.
Instead, he tossed the nutrient packs onto their moldering table. The sound made Miko flinch—another data point.
"Darius lied."
Miko's wheelchair squeaked as he rolled closer. His hands—still boxer-thick despite the tremors—grabbed Kael's wrist with surprising strength. The TOXIN protocol immediately mapped pressure points to break the hold. Kael ignored it.
"Your pulse is wrong," Miko hissed. "Like a metronome. No human's that regular." His cracked thumbnail dug into Kael's inner wrist, tracing the black veins. "And your skin's cold. Not 'out in the stacks' cold. Dead-cold."
Kael let him see. Pulled back his sleeve to reveal the full extent—the branching patterns beneath his skin like corrupted circuitry. The way his pupils dilated on command, splitting into jagged starbursts.
Miko recoiled so hard his chair hit the wall. "Christ. What'd they do to you down in that vault?"
The truth coiled in Kael's throat:
They didn't do anything.
I chose this.
I was weak and now I'm not.
But the TOXIN protocol whispered better words:
"What I had to."
Miko's fist connected with Kael's jaw.
>> IMPACT ANALYSIS:
[Force: 12% maximum capacity]
[Damage: 0.3%]
[Suggested Response: Disable threat]
Kael let the pain register. A gift.
"You dumb fuck," Miko seethed, shaking his broken hand. Blood welled from split knuckles—old scars tearing open. Kael's enhanced senses could taste the infection brewing beneath, the slow rot of slum-life killing his brother by degrees. "I told you not to trust that corpo-cock sucker! Two years I warned you!"
Kael watched a bead of blood trace the scars on Miko's wrist—identical to his own. The mark all lower-sector siblings got to prove they shared DNA when the slumlords came collecting.
>> MEDICAL ALERT:
[Septicemia imminent within 48 hours]
[Required treatment: Nano-staplers + phage therapy]
[Available inventory: None]
"We're leaving Neo-Babel," Kael said.
Miko laughed—a wet, broken sound that turned into a cough. "With what credits? Your corpse-bounty?" He gestured to the screen where Kael's face now had a six-figure price. "Face it, kid. We're terminal. Always were."
Kael activated his first skill.
>> NEUROTOXIC REFLEXES: [Engaged]
The room warped as his perception accelerated. Miko's wheelchair became a fossil in amber. The dripping sink froze mid-drop.
He had 9.8 seconds of borrowed time.
Long enough to:
1. Slide the stolen OmniCorp keycard into Miko's pocket—gold-trimmed with ELEVATOR-7 ACCESS glowing
2. Press a kiss to his brother's greasy hair, inhaling the familiar stench of cheap shampoo and infection
3. Whisper three words against his temple: "Wait three nights."
4. Empty the remaining nutrient packs into the ration drawer
5. Break his own finger to leave blood on the windowsill—a trail for OmniCorp to follow away from Miko
Then time snapped back.
Miko blinked at the empty space where Kael had stood. The keycard in his lap pulsed once—corporate blue.
On the rooftops, Kael's implant pinged.
>> TARGET ACQUIRED:
[Darius Malkovich]
[Location: The Gilded Cage, Sector 9 Pleasure District]
[Status: Celebrating with OmniCorp Security Personnel x4]
The TOXIN protocol purred as Kael's bones reshaped for the forty-story drop. His knuckles cracked as new keratin spikes erupted along his forearms—perfect for anchoring into permacrete.
Somewhere below, Miko screamed his name. The sound was raw enough to pierce even the TOXIN's cold calculus.
Kael didn't look back.
He had a birthday party to crash.