The Market District was a chaotic sprawl of neon stalls, hanging wires, and the thick, heavy scent of synthetic spices. It was the only place in the Low-Sector that felt truly alive, a desperate middle ground between the absolute squalor of the residential blocks and the cold, unreachable steel of the Iron-Spires.
Joey kept his head down, his hand instinctively resting on the bulky shape of the Rust-Wrap hidden beneath his oversized coat. After the match with Cutter, his arm felt heavy—not with weight, but with a residual static that made the fine hairs on his skin stand up. Every time his sleeve brushed against a passerby, he flinched, expecting a spark of white light to give him away.
"There! Joey, look!"
Ana was pointing toward a stall draped in faded green silk. A hand-painted sign swayed in the smoggy breeze: PREMIUM ROASTS - OFF-WORLD IMPORTS.
In the slums, "Premium" usually meant it didn't have sawdust in it. But sitting on the top shelf, illuminated by a single, buzzing halogen bulb, was the silver bag. It was vacuum-sealed, reflecting the neon lights of the market like a polished mirror.
"Twelve hundred credits," Joey muttered, reading the digital tag. His heart twinged. That was enough to buy a month's worth of nutrient paste.
"But it smells like... like sunlight," Ana whispered, her eyes wide as she leaned over the counter. She looked like a child staring at a fairy tale. "The man says it comes from the orbital gardens. Real beans, Joey. Not the synthesized grit."
Joey looked at her—at the way the neon pinks and blues of the market danced in her hair—and the guilt vanished. He'd spent his whole life saving for things that just kept them alive. Tonight, he wanted to buy something that made them feel like they were actually living.
"One bag," Joey said, tapping his internal HUD to transfer the credits.
The vendor, a man with a cybernetic eye that whirred as it scanned Joey's account, grunted and tossed the bag onto the counter. "Expensive taste for a Squeaker."
"I had a good night," Joey said shortly, grabbing the bag.
As they turned to leave, the crowd seemed to part. It wasn't a natural movement; it was the way water moves around a stone. A man was standing in the center of the walkway, leaning against a rusted support pillar. He wore a charcoal-grey suit that was far too clean for the Low-Sector, and his shoes didn't have a single speck of the acidic mud that coated everyone else's.
He wasn't an Enforcer. He didn't have the bulk or the visor. He looked like an accountant for a god.
"That's a very specific resonance signature you're carrying, Joey," the man said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the roar of the market like a razor.
Joey froze. His hand tightened on the silver bag. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a scavenger."
"A scavenger who just dismantled a dual-link veteran with a five-percent pulse?" The man stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Joey's hidden gauntlet. "My name is Silas. I represent a... private interest. We've been looking for a pilot who can handle the Prime-OS without their nervous system melting into slag."
Ana stepped between them, her face twisting into a look of panicked confusion. "Joey, who is this? Is he from the Spires? Did we do something wrong?"
Silas looked at Ana, his head tilting slightly. He held up a small, handheld device—the same scanner from the tunnel. "The Spires are blunt instruments, my dear. I'm an architect. And your friend here just triggered a stability rating that shouldn't exist outside of a laboratory."
"I found the hardware in a scrap heap," Joey said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's a glitch. A legacy mode. That's all."
"Is it?" Silas smiled, and for the first time, Joey felt a genuine chill of terror. "Then you won't mind coming with me for a quick calibration. Just a few tests. No Spires, no Enforcers. Just a professional sponsorship. I can give you a real gauntlet, Joey. One that won't fall apart when you hit ten percent."
Joey felt the Rust-Wrap hum against his skin. It wasn't a warm pulse this time. It was a warning. The white light began to bleed through the fabric of his coat, a faint, ghostly glow.
[WARNING: EXTERNAL SCANNER DETECTED]
[COUNTER-MEASURES: DORMANT]
"He's not going anywhere," Ana said, her voice trembling. She grabbed Joey's arm, pulling him back. "We just want to go home and have our coffee. Leave us alone."
Silas didn't move, but the air around him seemed to grow cold. "Joey, think about the girl. How long can you protect her in a place like this with a piece of junk on your arm? One bad match, one hardware failure, and she's left alone in the gutters. Come with me, and I'll put you in a Tier-2 circuit by morning."
It was the perfect hook. Everything Joey had ever wanted—safety, money, a future for Ana—was being held out on a silver platter.
But then he felt Ana's grip on his arm. It wasn't the grip of a scared girl. Her fingers were digging into his bicep with a strength that felt like a vice. She wasn't just holding him; she was anchoring him.
"We're leaving," Joey said, his voice suddenly steady. He looked Silas in the eye. "I don't want your sponsorship. I don't want your Tier-2 circuit. I like my junk just fine."
Silas didn't look angry. He looked disappointed. "A pity. The Prime is a jealous master, Joey. It doesn't stay hidden for long. If you won't come to the lab, the lab will eventually come to you."
Joey didn't wait for another word. He grabbed Ana's hand and pushed through the crowd, his heart hammering against his ribs. They didn't stop running until they reached their block, sprinting up the rusted stairs and slamming the warped metal door behind them.
Joey slumped against the door, the silver bag of coffee falling to the floor with a soft thud. He was gasping for air, his vision swimming. "That guy... he knew. He knew about the Prime."
Ana was standing in the middle of the room, her back to him. The terrified, wide-eyed girl from the market was gone. She was staring at the silver bag on the floor, her shoulders square and her breathing perfectly level.
"He was a tracker, Joey," she said. Her voice was different. It wasn't high and chirpy anymore. It was low, resonant, and carried a weight that made the room feel small.
Joey blinked, rubbing his eyes. "A tracker? How do you know that?"
Ana turned around, and the "clumsy" smile was back in an instant, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I saw his badge! Under his coat! It looked just like the ones on the holos, right? Super scary."
Joey let out a long, shaky breath. "Yeah. Super scary. We have to be careful, Ana. If people like that are watching... I can't use the Prime anymore. Not even at five percent."
"You have to," Ana said softly, walking over and picking up the silver bag. She held it out to him, her eyes locking onto his. "If you don't win, we can't eat. And if you don't train, you won't be ready when they stop asking nicely."
Joey took the bag, his fingers brushing hers. For a second, he felt a spark—not of electricity, but of something much deeper. Something that felt like the 100% Sync from the arena.
"Ready for what?" Joey asked.
Ana just smiled and walked toward the kitchen. "Ready for the best cup of coffee you've ever had. Sit down, Joey. I'll handle the stove. I promise I won't break anything this time."
As she turned away, Joey looked down at his gauntlet. The HUD was flickering with a new notification, one that wasn't in the manual.
[NOTICE: EXTERNAL THREAT NEUTRALIZED]
[REMARK: SHE IS WATCHING OVER YOU]
Joey frowned, tapping the glass. "She? Who the hell is 'She'?"
He looked at Ana, who was humming that same off-key tune as she poured the beans into the grinder. It had to be a glitch. A legacy error in the code.
It had to be.