All Chapters of Game of the Streets: Chapter 1
- Chapter 10
15 chapters
Hustle in the Neon
Jace Varn ducked under a flickering neon sign, the kind that buzzed like a dying bug and painted the alley in sickly green. New Cascadia’s streets never slept, and neither did he, not really. The air stank of burnt circuits and cheap noodles from a cart across the way, where a vendor barked at some drunk stumbling into the crowd. Jace pulled his hood low, eyes scanning the mess of bodies weaving through the market. Drones whirred overhead, their red lenses glinting like vultures circling for scraps. He wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a job.The mark was a tech vendor, some wiry guy named Tiko who ran a stall piled with knockoff implants and jury-rigged datapads. Tiko was sloppy—too busy haggling to notice his stock wasn’t bolted down. Jace had been watching him for days, timing the guy’s habits. Tiko always turned his back to yell at his neighbor over some turf spat right around midnight. That’s when Jace would move.He leaned against a rusted railing, pretending to scroll on a cracke
Whispers on the Squat
Jace Varn trudged through the damp streets of New Cascadia, the memory chips in his pocket feeling heavier than they should. The neon glow of the market was behind him now, replaced by the dim flicker of busted streetlights and the low hum of drones patrolling above. His boots squelched in puddles that smelled like oil and regret. He’d shaken Kael’s crew, but his heart was still thumping from the chase. Close calls were part of the game, but they never got easier. He needed a place to crash, somewhere the city’s eyes couldn’t follow.He headed for the Pit, a crumbling tenement on the edge of the slums where drifters like him holed up. It wasn’t home—Jace didn’t have one of those—but it was close enough. The building was a skeleton of concrete and rusted rebar, windows boarded or smashed, tagged with gang signs and faded holo-ads that hadn’t worked in years. Inside, it smelled like mold and burnt wiring, but it was off the grid, out of the drones’ main scan routes. That made it worth t
Job Gone Sideways
Jace Varn was halfway through a fried noodle bowl when the call came in. The noodles were greasy, cheap, and probably half vat-grown, but after yesterday’s score, he was treating himself. He sat at a wobbly table in a hole-in-the-wall joint, neon signs buzzing outside, painting the cracked window in reds and blues. His phone—a beat-up piece of junk he’d nabbed from a pawn shop—vibrated against the table. Unknown number. Jace wiped his mouth, glanced around the mostly empty diner, and answered.“Yo, Varn,” came a raspy voice. Riko, his fence. “Got a job. Easy money, in and out. You in?”Jace leaned back, picking at a noodle stuck to his sleeve. Riko’s jobs were never “easy,” but the guy paid quickly, and Jace’s wallet was already feeling light. The memory chips from Tiko’s stall were still in his pocket—he’d meet Riko later to cash them out. “What’s the gig?” he asked, keeping his voice low. A couple of techheads at the counter were too zoned into their feeds to care, but you never kne
Tech and Trouble
Jace Varn’s boots crunched on broken glass as he ducked into a narrow alley off 12th Street, the kind of place New Cascadia forgot to light. The air was heavy with the stink of burnt circuits and spilled booze, and the faint buzz of drones overhead kept him on edge. Last night’s job at the Docks still had his nerves fried—corporate goons chasing him wasn’t part of the plan, and that data stick in his pocket felt like a ticking bomb. He needed answers, and Riko, his fence, wasn’t picking up. Typical. Jace wasn’t about to sit around waiting, though. He had other ways to move his haul.That’s why he was headed to Milo’s, a black-market tech shop buried in the slums. Milo was a twitchy old guy who dealt in everything from cracked datapads to sketchy neural mods. He wasn’t as connected as Riko, but he’d buy the memory chips Jace lifted from Tiko’s stall, maybe even take a look at the data stick. If anyone knew what kind of heat Jace had stumbled into, it’d be Milo. The guy had a nose for t
Scars of the Streets
Jace Varn sat on the roof of a crumbling tenement, legs dangling over the edge, the city of New Cascadia sprawling below like a neon-lit beast. The data stick and memory chips were still in his jacket, heavy as guilt. After Milo’s cryptic warnings about players and brain chips, Jace’s head was spinning. He needed a minute to breathe, away from the streets’ chaos. The roof was quiet, just the hum of drones and the distant blare of holo-ads. Up here, he could think, even if thinking took him places he didn’t like going.The night air was cool, carrying the tang of salt from the bay and the sharp bite of burnt circuits. Jace leaned back on his hands, staring at the flickering skyline—sky-towers glowing for the rich, slums drowning in shadows below. He hadn’t slept since the squat, and Milo’s words kept gnawing at him. Players. Power. Trouble. He didn’t want to buy into it, but that glitch he’d seen—code flickering in the air—felt too real. His mind drifted, unbidden, to the past. To the
Running the Grid
Jace Varn’s boots hit the pavement hard, weaving through the crowded streets of New Cascadia’s lower district like rat dodging traps. The data stick from the Docks job was still in his pocket, a nagging weight next to the credits he’d scored from Milo. He hadn’t heard from Riko since the botched pickup, and that silence was louder than any curse. Jace knew better than to sit on hot goods, but he wasn’t ready to ditch the stick yet. Not until he knew what it was worth. For now, he needed cash to keep moving, and that meant taking whatever jobs came his way.The morning was gray, smog choking the sky, making the neon signs glow duller than usual. Holo-ads flickered overhead, pushing neural implants and fake promises of a better life. Jace ignored them, his eyes scanning for drones. The city’s surveillance was relentless—cameras on every corner, drones buzzing like flies, all feeding data to the corps or whoever paid the most. He pulled his hood low, slipping past a group of workers shuf
Eyes on the Deal
Jace Varn crouched in the shadows of a crumbling alley, the kind of place in New Cascadia where the air smelled like rust and bad choices. The slums never slept, and neither did he, not really. His latest job had him playing lookout for a black-market deal, and his nerves were already on edge. The data stick from the Docks job was still tucked in his jacket, a constant reminder of the trouble he’d stumbled into. Riko was still ghosting him, and Milo’s warnings about “players” and brain chips kept circling in his head like a bad song. But credits were credits, and Jace wasn’t about to starve waiting for answers.The gig came from a guy named Taz, a small-time hustler who moved stolen tech for lowlife crews. Taz wasn't in the big league, but he paid steady, and Jace needed steady right now. The job was simple: keep an eye out for drones or gang muscle while Taz’s crew swapped goods with some out-of-town buyers. Easy enough, except nothing in New Cascadia was ever easy. The meet was set
Data Dash
Jace Varn’s breath fogged in the chilly New Cascadia night, the slums’ neon glow casting jagged shadows across the street. His jacket was zipped tight, the data stick from the Docks job and the credits from Taz’s lookout gig weighing heavy in his pockets. Riko was still dodging his calls, and the player talked—first from the squat, then Milo, now Taz’s buyer—was piling up like trash in an alley. Those glitches, those flickers of code in the air, were messing with his head too. He needed to keep moving, keep hustling. Sitting still in this city was asking to get caught.He’d picked up a new job to stay afloat: data runner for a crew called the Wire Rats. They were a scrappy bunch, hacking low-level corp systems and selling the scraps to whoever paid. The gig was straightforward—grab a hacked data packet from a dead drop in the slums and shuttle it to a contact in a nearby district. Decent pay, high risk. Jace didn’t love running for hackers—they attracted too much heat—but the Wire Rat
Package Problems
Chapter 9: Package ProblemsJace Varn’s boots splashed through a puddle in New Cascadia’s slums, the neon glow of holo-ads reflecting off the slick pavement like a fever dream. The data stick from the Docks job was still in his jacket, a nagging weight next to the credits he’d scored from the Wire Rats’ data run. Riko’s silence was a problem, and the player talk—first the squat, then Milo, Taz’s buyers, and now street gossip—was piling up like bad debt. Those glitches, flashes of code in the air, were messing with his head, too. Jace needed to keep moving, keep hustling. Sitting still was how you got caught in this city.He’d grabbed another courier job to stay afloat, this one from a new contact named Vix, a slick-talking woman who ran packages for high-rollers dipping their toes in the black market. The gig was straightforward: pick up a sealed package from a drop in the slums and deliver it to a spot near the sky-towers. Good pay, but Vix’s jobs always came with a catch—too many ey
Watching the Shadows
Jace Varn crouched on a rusted catwalk overlooking a junk-strewn lot in New Cascadia’s slums, the kind of place where deals went down and trouble followed close. The city’s neon glow flickered through the smog, painting the night in shades of electric blue and pink. The data stick from the Docks job was still in his jacket, heavy as a bad decision, and the credits from his recent gigs—courier runs, data dashes—were barely enough to keep him going. Riko’s silence was a screaming red flag, and the player talk kept piling up—squat drifters, Milo, Taz’s buyers, street kids. Those glitches, flashes of code in the air, were eating at him too. He needed to hustle, keep moving, because standing still in this city was how you got buried.Tonight’s job was another lookout gig, this time for a crew called the Scrap Dogs. They were small-time, moving hacked tech to buyers too cheap for legit markets. The deal was set in a dead-end lot off Mason Street, a forgotten corner of the slums where even t