The Apocalypse Currency Is Time

Chapter 8: Bandit Ambush

The lab’s heavy steel doors didn’t just open; they groaned, buckled, and then slammed inward with a shriek of tortured metal. Henrique spun around, his hand instinctively flying to his wrist, the violet light of his cuff flaring into a blinding, hungry radiance.

"They found us!" Julieta snapped, her blade already in her hand, the steel catching the dim emergency light. "How did they track us through the lead-lined sub-level?"

"I don't know," Henrique shouted, his voice tight. "Maybe the Spire isn't just sending data—maybe it’s tracking me like a beacon!"

"Doesn't matter now. Get behind the server racks!" Julieta ordered, shoving him toward the back of the lab. "If they get within ten feet of you, don't hold back. Use the drain!"

"It's too much, Julieta!" Henrique yelled, sliding behind a row of monolithic, dust-covered processors. "If I go full out, I might fry the whole system. What if I lose control?"

"Better to lose control than to lose your head!" she shot back. "Look at them. These aren't just scavengers, Henrique. These are specialized hunters. Look at the gear."

Three figures surged into the lab. They were lean, efficient, and dressed in form-fitting dark armor that seemed to absorb the light. They carried pulse-rifles and short, wicked-looking energy blades. The leader, a man with a jagged scar running across his nose, scanned the room with glowing, cybernetic eyes.

"We know you're in here, kid," the leader called out, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "The Syndicate pays a heavy price for a high-yield battery like you. Don't make this messy."

"Messy is my middle name!" Julieta taunted, popping up from behind a terminal to fire a shot that whistled past the leader's ear.

"Ignore the woman!" the leader commanded. "Focus on the mark. The one with the violet signature."

Henrique felt a surge of cold, jagged fear. He pressed his back against the vibrating machinery. "They know about the symbols! They know about the brand!"

"Then stop hiding and show them why you're a threat!" Julieta grunted, ducking as a volley of kinetic rounds shredded the plastic casing of the server near her head.

Henrique took a deep breath. He looked down at his wrist. The numbers weren't just ticking—they were dancing, vibrating with a chaotic, hungry energy. He could feel it waiting, coiled like a serpent, ready to strike. It wasn't just a weapon anymore. It felt like an extension of his own nervous system, an insatiable appetite that made his skin crawl with anticipation.

"Come on," Henrique whispered, his voice trembling. "Come and take it."

He stepped out from behind the cover, his left arm held high. The violet light illuminated the room, casting long, grotesque shadows.

"There he is!" one of the hunters shouted.

"Open fire!"

Henrique didn't wait. He didn't think about the ethics or the cost. He thrust his hand forward, pulling the air itself toward him. The sensation was intoxicating—like drinking ice water after a desert trek. He felt the life force of the attackers reaching out toward him, a faint, rhythmic pulse of energy that he could grasp and tear away.

The air warped. The bullets stopped mid-flight, caught in a distortion field as Henrique siphoned the kinetic energy right out of the room. The hunters staggered, their eyes widening in sudden, primal terror as their own vitality began to bleed into the red-violet glow of his cuff.

"What... what is this?" the leader choked out, dropping his rifle. He grabbed at his throat, his face graying, his muscles slackening as the unnatural exhaustion hit him.

"You wanted the battery," Henrique said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding colder, more alien. "Now you’re fueling it."

Julieta stepped out from behind the servers, her expression shifting from relief to something akin to horror as she watched the hunters wither. Their armor began to clang and drop as their bodies shriveled beneath the suits. It took only seconds for them to collapse, dry and brittle, into heaps of dust and discarded tech.

Henrique stood there, chest heaving, his eyes locked on the dust piles. He felt a rush—an incredible, surging euphoria that made the walls of the lab seem to pulse. He wanted more. The thought was sickening, but it was there, gnawing at the back of his mind.

"Henrique?" Julieta’s voice was hesitant. She walked toward him, but kept a careful distance. "You okay? You look... you look like you’re starving."

"I feel... strong," he replied, his gaze flickering back to his wrist. 75:00:00. The time kept growing. "Julieta, did you see that? I didn't even have to touch them. It just... it just flowed."

"That’s the drain, Henrique. It’s not a parlor trick," she said, her voice sharp. "The more you take, the more you need. You’re becoming a predator. We talked about this."

"I saved us!" he snapped, turning on her. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated until his irises were barely visible. "If I didn't do that, they would have butchered us."

"You did what you had to do," she said, softening her tone. "But look at you. You’re shaking. You’re hooked on the surge. We have to keep moving before more of them find us."

Henrique nodded, trying to steady his hands, but the craving for the energy—the sheer, intoxicating weight of stolen time—was vibrating under his skin. "I can feel them, Julieta. Not just the ones here. I can feel the Spire. It’s calling. It’s like a giant heart, and I’m the only one who can hear it."

"Then we go to the heart," she said, checking her blade. "But you need to lock your gate. If you keep pulling like that, you’ll burn out before we even reach the perimeter."

"I’m fine," he insisted, though his hand kept twitching, reaching out for the faint, residual energy still clinging to the room.

"You're not fine," she muttered, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the rear exit of the lab. "We need to get to the transit tunnels. If the Spire is calling, we're going to answer. But we're going to do it on our terms."

As they hurried through the dark, cramped corridors, Henrique stumbled. He looked down at the leader’s discarded gear. One of the items caught his eye: a localized data-pad, its screen cracked but still flickering.

He leaned down to pick it up, his fingers brushing the cold, metallic surface. The pad flickered to life, showing a scroll of faces—a list of high-value targets, marked with crimson skulls.

Henrique’s own face stared back at him. Underneath the photo were lines of code and a simple, bold header: TARGET: THE CONDUCTOR. TERMINATE ON SIGHT.

But it was the small, printed line at the bottom that stopped his heart.

RECOGNITION PROTOCOL: 001. SUBJECT: HENRIQUE WIJAYA. ORIGIN: PROTOTYPE-0. LAST KNOWN LOCATION: SECTOR 4.

"Julieta," he whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at the name on the pad. "It says I'm a prototype."

Julieta stopped, snatching the pad from his hand. She read the text, her face going deathly pale. "Prototype-0? Henrique, this isn't just a bounty. This is a factory designation."

"What does it mean?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"It means you weren't born in the slums," she said, her voice a hollow, chilling whisper. "It means you were made in a lab. And if you're Zero, it means there are others just like you."

"Others?" Henrique looked back at the shadows, the craving for the drain still burning in his chest. "How many?"

"Too many," she said, pocketing the pad. "We need to move. Now."

Henrique took a deep breath, the foul air of the tunnels filling his lungs. The clock on his arm flickered. 80:00:00. He was stronger than he had ever been, but as he followed Julieta into the dark, he realized the monster he was becoming wasn't just his own—it was an experiment, and the architects were waiting to see just how much he could destroy.