Sector 9, better known as Floodline, was a place the city pretended didn't exist.Official maps still showed it, of course. Old zoning data, outdated infrastructure plans, evacuation routes that had never actually been used. But no one talked about Floodline unless they had to, and even then they spoke in half sentences, like saying the name too clearly might draw attention.The land dipped lower here, sinking beneath what used to be sea level. Years ago, when the flood barriers failed and the emergency funds mysteriously vanished, water rushed in and never fully left. What remained was a patchwork of slick pavement, stagnant pools, and chemical runoff that glowed faintly when the light hit it just right.Buildings leaned inward as if they were tired of standing. Their windows were hollow and dark, some boarded up, others shattered and left to rot. Rust streaked down concrete walls like dried blood. Rain fell in thin, needling sheets, tapping broken signs and dripping steadily into cr

The car screamed down the highway, a jagged streak of metal tearing through the cooling night air.LeRoy’s hands were clamped so tight around the steering wheel that the tendons in his forearms stood out like strained cables. The speedometer climbed higher and higher, pushing into numbers that the vehicle’s frame wasn't built to handle. Every bolt in the chassis seemed to vibrate in a different, terrifying frequency. The engine didn’t just roar; it wailed, a mechanical shriek that sounded like a living thing being pushed to the edge of exhaustion.He didn’t give it any mercy. He couldn’t.Wind tore in through the hairline cracks in the windows, a turbulent force that slapped his face and dragged at his hood with invisible fingers. The air out here was thick and heavy, carrying the chemical stench of burnt rubber, hot oil, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone from the weapon fire trailing them.Behind them, two cars—black, low-slung, and wide—hugged the asphalt with predatory grace. T

Flames carved incandescent scars through the humid air as Ogya swung his blade in a wide, hungry arc. The fire trailed the steel like a living thing, a ribbon of orange heat that hissed as it collided with the falling rain. The temperature on the hillside spiked instantly, turning the mist into a thick, choking steam.Ashton didn't dodge by much. He didn't have to.The heat washed over him, drying the moisture on his skin and singeing the hair on his arms, but he was already moving. His boots, reinforced by the chip’s micro-adjustments to his balance, dug into the mud.BOOM.Ashton’s fist met the flat of the flaming blade in a bone-jarring clash. The impact wasn't just physical; it was a collision of raw stats. Steel and knuckles met, and the shockwave sent a halo of dirt and pulverized stone blasting outward.“Asraaahhh!” Ashton’s roar was a physical weight.He didn't let up. Using the momentum of the clash, he launched himself upward. He wasn't elegant—he was a landslide in human fo

Sector 10, South Neighbourhood.Midnight.Thirteen-year-old LeRoy Annan was running.The alley twisted endlessly ahead of him, splitting and reconnecting like a maze designed to swallow people whole. Rusted fire escapes loomed overhead. Trash bags burst open under his feet, spilling rot and broken glass across the concrete. His lungs burned with every breath, sharp gasps scraping his throat raw as panic pushed him faster than his legs wanted to go.Footsteps thundered behind him.“Don’t let him get away!”“We’ll show you what happens when you mess with the Joker Gang!”LeRoy risked a glance over his shoulder.Four of them.Older. Bigger. Angry.His heart slammed harder.“I’m sorry!” he shouted, voice cracking as he sprinted. “They looked real! Second-hand versions, I swear! I didn’t know they were fake!”The words fell flat. The gang laughed instead, the sound sharp and cruel, echoing off the narrow walls.“Save it,” one of them called back. “You think excuses matter now?”LeRoy pushe

A full week passed after the hillside. Seven nights. Seven mornings. LeRoy didn't leave the house once. Time blurred together in that small room, hours marked only by the dull glow of the city bleeding through the window at night and the quiet hum of distant traffic during the day. The world outside kept moving, but LeRoy stayed still. Sitting. Lying down. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking about things he couldn't undo. Levan's face came back to him more than he wanted. Not the way he looked at the end, but the way he used to smile when things went right. The way he laughed in the van after a clean escape. The way he always said they'd figure things out somehow. Now there was nothing to figure out. Marc had come by two days after the incident. No shouting. No blaming. Just a quiet knock and a heavy silence between them. He paid LeRoy what he'd been promised for the heist. Said it was only right. Said Levan would've wanted it that way. LeRoy didn't argue. The money sat untouched