The abandoned subway line curved into pitch‑black darkness. Lyra's mage‑light floated ahead like a captive star, illuminating clouds of dust and the rat‑gnawed remnants of old transit maps.
Jack ambled at her side, whistling off‑key. His torn hoodie was now singed, soaked, and half frozen—yet somehow still clinging to him like a bad reputation.
Patch the pigeon perched on his shoulder, feathers puffed in irritation. "Sing quieter. Echoes attract tunnel creepers."
"Creepers?" Jack asked. "On a scale of one to shadow‑psycho, how bad?"
"About a four—but they travel in sevens," Patch muttered.
Lyra ignored them and keyed a code sequence into a rusted service door. Ancient hydraulics hissed. "Zara's safehouse is through here. Try not to scare her."
"Scare her?" Jack smirked, flexing the glowing sigil in his palm. "I'm practically a cuddle magnet."
The door slid open onto a cavernous maintenance bay repurposed into a hacker's playground: holo‑screens floated like jellyfish, cables dangled from scaffolding, and neon graffiti covered every surface—mostly stylized fox masks and QR codes that redirected to cat memes.
A woman reclined in a swivel chair at the center, combat boots up on a desk stacked with empty energy‑drink cans. Electric‑blue micro‑dreads framed her mocha skin. She chewed bubblegum while a dozen mini‑drones flitted around her like metallic fireflies.
"Zara Blade, in the pixelated flesh," Lyra announced.
Zara eyed Jack over her reflective visor shades. "So this is the chaos tamagotchi you adopted."
Jack bowed theatrically. "Jack Wilson, professional dumpster diver, part‑time demolition consultant. Your memes brighten my darkest days."
The hacker's lips twitched. "Flattery accepted. Payment required." She snapped her fingers; a drone projected a contract in mid‑air. "Data, relics, or crypto—pick your poison."
Lyra stepped forward. "He's got something better: direct access to Chaos code."
Zara's visor scrolled streams of text. "Big talk. Show me."
Jack shrugged and flicked his palm. The sigil flared, ejecting a single ember of violet glyphs that hovered before dissolving like sparks.
Every screen in the den flickered. One by one, Zara's drones dropped to standby. Alarm sirens chirped. Zara's gum popped in disbelief.
"Okay… payment accepted." She spun her chair, typing furiously to quarantine the surge. "What's the job?"
Patch flapped to a console. "Guild hunter Elias Draven tried to shish‑kebab us. We need new IDs, untraceable comms, and a map of guild outposts."
"I can do all that by breakfast," Zara said, then side‑eyed Jack. "But chaos boy pays with exclusive dumps of that code weekly. Non‑negotiable."
Jack considered. The ember trick had drained him—a dull ache pulsed in his bones. Still, power itched for release.
"Deal," he said—then added mentally, I'll just grow more.
Lyra gave him a wary look but said nothing.
---
The First Upgrade
While Zara compiled data, Jack wandered to a wall mirror between server racks. He examined the sigil; it pulsed like a living circuit. Curiosity—or maybe hubris—spurred him.
He placed his hand on the cold metal surface and pushed inward with the strange instinct guiding his regeneration. Flesh flowed, muscles knitting, bones compressing. A ripple of pain‑pleasure spread through him. When it faded, his reflection stared back—leaner, eyes faintly luminous.
"Huh. Version 1.1," he whispered.
Patch landed on the rack, alarmed. "Did you just self‑optimize?"
Jack flexed. "Dropped unnecessary scar tissue, boosted oxygen uptake. Thought I'd tidy up."
Lyra approached, tension in her shoulders. "You're literally rewriting your biology in a hacker den. That doesn't worry you?"
"Not yet," Jack said, stretching. "Let's revisit when I grow gills or something."
Lyra opened her mouth, closed it, and finally sighed. "Anti‑hero tip one: maybe throttle the body‑hacking until we're safe."
Jack offered a crooked grin. "But then I wouldn't be me."
---
Data for Blood
Hours later, Zara projected a 3‑D city map peppered with crimson sigils. "Guild outposts across West Hollow. Draven funnels resources from this warehouse hub." She highlighted a compound near the river.
"Security?" Lyra asked.
"Top‑tier wards, automated turrets, spectral guards," Zara listed. "But there's a supply tunnel connected to the sewers—low oversight."
Jack cracked his knuckles, skin knitting where glass cuts healed. "Sounds like a welcome party."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "We're scouting first, not blowing it up."
"Scouting can involve small explosions," Jack argued.
Patch face‑winged. "We need subtlety, not barbecue."
Zara handed Jack a sleek wristband. "Prototype jammer. Scrambles basic ward detection. Two‑hour battery. Don't lick it."
"No promises," Jack said, strapping it on.
---
Draven's Oath
Across the city, Elias Draven knelt in a shadowed infirmary as medics tended his burns. Guild Master Marrick loomed above, face hidden by a silver mask.
"Wilson must be retrieved," Marrick intoned. "No matter the cost."
Draven's eyes burned with cold resolve. "I will bring back his corpse and the sigil with it."
He stood, gathering shadows like a cloak. The hunter was far from finished.
---
Back in Zara's den, Jack tapped the jammer, adrenaline already rising. "Team dumpster fire is a go."
Lyra rubbed her temples. "I regret everything."
Jack winked. "Stick with me, Hayes. I'll make heroes out of us yet—or at least glorious cautionary tales."