Kaelen sat cross-legged on the rough motel bed, the faint buzz of city noise filtering through the thin walls. He had laid out his spoils on the bedspread: 20k and the small stash of Cosmic Krystals he'd managed to grab from the Red Serpents' warehouse. They were rough, raw shards, faintly glowing with that strange cosmic energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. In his hand, they felt warm, alive, almost as if they were calling to him. He could almost feel their latent power thrumming through his fingertips.
The Voice slithered into his mind, as it always did when he was deep in thought, low and sly. "You know…those Krystals are worth a fortune on the black market. Enough to buy a new identity, a plane, and maybe even a few weapons to keep you protected from our friends."
"I know," Kaelen murmured, eyes fixed on the Krystals. But selling them wasn't as simple as walking into a pawn shop. The city had its black market, sure, but it was tightly controlled, and he didn't have the right connections. Besides, these Krystals were the kind of goods that attracted serious attention, the kind that would have people hunting him down if he wasn't careful.
He needed to find someone reliable, someone discreet. But that was easier said than done in a city where everyone had their loyalties and their price.
As he pondered, he absently reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, revealing a body riddled with scars. His torso was a map of old wounds, each one a memory etched in flesh. Knife slashes, bullet wounds, burns from electric prods… each scar was a lesson the facility had taught him about pain, survival, and obedience. There was one in particular, a jagged line across his ribs, that he remembered receiving after a particularly grueling session of "discipline"—he'd been slow to execute an order, and they had carved it into him as a reminder.
He clenched his fists, forcing the memories back down. They were in the past. The facility was behind him. He was free now, and that was all that mattered.
"Better hurry," the Voice whispered, a sinister undertone lacing its words. "Those Gangsters won't rest until they find you. And you…You will be sending bodies to those who sent them"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He knew the Voice was right. Victor "Vortex" Ruiz and his Red Serpents were infamous for their ruthlessness. Word would have spread by now about the attack on their warehouse, and Victor wouldn't let something like that slide. Men like him didn't tolerate threats to their authority; they stomped them out, usually with brutal efficiency. And Kaelen had done more than bruise their pride—he'd cost them valuable assets, men, and Cosmic Krystals.
They'd come for him. It was only a matter of time.
But that was fine. Kaelen wasn't one to hide or cower. If they wanted a fight, he'd give them one.
Still, he needed to make use of the Krystals before they got their hands on him. Selling them might draw attention, but it was a risk he had to take. And if he found the right buyer, maybe he could kill two birds with one stone: unload the Krystals and gather some useful intel on the local players in the underground scene.
Kaelen flexed his arms, feeling the taut muscles ripple under his skin as he prepared to begin his morning workout. Despite the cramped space of the motel room, he could still move through his routine—shadowboxing, stretches, and the grueling exercises the facility had ingrained in him from the time he could stand. Push-ups, planks, kicks, rapid-fire punches at an invisible target…each movement was precise, deadly, honed by years of practice.
But as he moved through the exercises, his mind wandered, flashes of memories blending with the present.
He remembered a day when he was maybe thirteen, standing in front of a tall, brutal-looking trainer. The man had a snarl etched into his face, eyes cold as steel, and he held a baton in one hand, tapping it rhythmically against his thigh. Kaelen had missed a mark during a training drill, a mistake so small any human might have overlooked it. But the facility didn't overlook anything.
The baton came down on him, again and again, while he held his stance, gritting his teeth, swallowing the cries of pain that bubbled up inside him. Each strike was a reminder: weakness would not be tolerated. Mistakes were deadly. He'd learned to be perfect under their gaze, a flawless killing machine that bent to their every command.
Back in the present, he ground his teeth, pushing himself harder, his knuckles striking the wall with enough force to bruise. It didn't matter. Pain was nothing to him now. Pain was just…there.
When he finally stopped, chest heaving, the Voice slipped into his mind once more. "You're holding back," it taunted. "Still clinging to those scars like they matter."
"They don't," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. But there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"They do," the Voice sneered. "Or else you wouldn't let them haunt you. But no matter. Focus on what's in front of you. Money, connections, and power—all waiting for you in the shadows of this city. You know what you have to do."
Kaelen nodded, pushing aside the ghosts of his past. He had a purpose now, and he wouldn't let anything deter him.
He stashed the Krystals carefully in his backpack, securing them tightly. First, he'd find a way to make contact with a broker, someone who could discreetly set up a transaction without drawing too many eyes. From there, he'd see where the leads took him. Maybe, just maybe, he'd catch wind of someone with information on how to acquire a false identity and secure a foothold in this world.
As he shouldered his bag and headed toward the door, he took one last glance at himself in the cracked motel mirror. His face was gaunt, the eyes dark and shadowed with exhaustion, but there was a fire in them—a hunger. The Voice had called it his "deepest desires," but Kaelen knew it was something darker. A drive for freedom, for vengeance, for control over his life.
And he would get it. One way or another.
Kaelen adjusted the straps of his backpack, the weight of the Krystals inside grounding him as he stepped out of the shabby motel room into the cool morning air. The city sprawled out before him, a chaotic mix of neon lights, towering skyscrapers, and shadowed alleys that seemed to breathe with life even at dawn. He didn't know much about this place—its names, its players, or the network of gangs and syndicates that lurked in its underbelly—but he would learn.
Every step forward was a step away from the facility, from the shackles they'd forced on him since he was a child. Every step was freedom, even if it came with the ever-present threat of danger, the knowledge that those who had trained him were probably searching for him. And yet, he was finally free to make his own decisions, and he was going to keep it that way.
As he walked, he kept his eyes sharp, scanning the area for anything that might hint at the local criminal network. Information was what he needed now, and the city streets, with their graffiti-laced walls and lurking figures, were full of whispers waiting to be heard.
In his mind, the Voice stirred, its presence subtle but unmistakable. "You've got the Krystals, but what's your next move?" it whispered, prodding him. "You can't just wave them around, hoping someone buys them. There are protocols, layers of secrecy, places only those who know the game can access. You're a ghost here, Kaelen. No one knows you, and that's a double-edged sword."
Kaelen didn't respond, not verbally. He knew that speaking to the Voice aloud in public would draw unwanted attention. But he agreed with it, even if he wouldn't admit it. He needed contacts, resources, a way to enter the underworld without raising too many questions.
The Voice sensed his agreement and continued. "Find the bars, the back alleys, the places where men and women gather to exchange secrets. There, you'll find someone willing to trade information… for the right price."
Kaelen let his feet guide him, weaving through the winding city streets. His eyes noted every detail—the subtle markings on buildings, the scrawled symbols in alleyways, the hushed conversations as he passed people who averted their gaze. There was a rhythm here, one that felt familiar, almost comforting, as if he were slipping back into the world of shadows and whispers he had always known. He just needed to find the right lead.
After wandering for a few hours, he spotted a dingy bar tucked away in a dimly lit side street. It wasn't the kind of place that advertised its presence—no signs, no open windows. Just a heavy metal door with scratches along the frame and a faint, muffled hum of noise behind it. This was the sort of place he was looking for.
He stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark, smoky room. The patrons were an eclectic mix, rough and guarded, their eyes sizing up anyone who walked through the door. He felt their gazes briefly rest on him, analyzing, evaluating, before dismissing him as just another drifter. Good. He preferred not to stand out.
He moved toward the bar, catching the bartender's eye. The man was thick-set, with a beard that looked like it hadn't seen a trim in years. He gave Kaelen a slow once-over before grunting, "What'll it be?"
Kaelen kept his tone casual. "Just a drink. And maybe a bit of advice."
The bartender's eyebrow rose slightly. "Advice costs extra."
Kaelen pulled out a small bill, slipping it across the counter. "I'm looking for someone who deals in…special items. Maybe someone who knows how to get in touch with certain people."
The bartender pocketed the money, leaning in a little closer. "Depends on the item, and the people. You new around here?"
Kaelen nodded. "Just passing through. But I heard the city's got its…opportunities. For those who know where to look."
The bartender's gaze sharpened, but he kept his expression neutral. "Opportunities, huh? You must mean the kind that might get a man killed."
Kaelen shrugged, playing it cool. "I like to think of it as the kind that keeps a man alive. But I'm not looking for trouble. Just some people who are good with…trade."
After a moment's silence, the bartender sighed, leaning back as he wiped a glass with an old rag. "There's a warehouse on the east side. They say a lot of… business happens there. People who want to sell things that don't belong to them. Or buy things they're not supposed to have."
Kaelen filed away the information, giving the bartender a slight nod. "Thanks."
As he turned to leave, he caught snippets of conversations from nearby tables. Words like "mutant," "Krystals," and "boost" filtered through the haze of smoke and the murmured voices. It was clear he was in the right place; this city thrived on secrets, and the people here guarded theirs fiercely.
The Voice hummed with satisfaction as Kaelen exited the bar, the cool air hitting his face once more. "See? Easy as that. You just need to nudge them in the right direction. Now, let's see what this warehouse has to offer. If they're dealing in Krystals… well, maybe they'll know more than just their price."
Kaelen felt a flicker of excitement under his stoic exterior. This was the beginning of something—information, connections, maybe even the resources he needed to truly free himself from his past. And if this warehouse had answers, then he'd find them, one way or another.
But even as he walked toward the east side, he couldn't shake the lingering sense that someone was watching him, that eyes followed his every step. It was probably just his paranoia, a remnant of years spent looking over his shoulder. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was new here, without allies or an identity.
"Keep moving, Kaelen," the Voice whispered. "And stay sharp. The moment you let your guard down, they'll be on you."
Kaelen's fingers flexed instinctively, a reflex honed through endless training. He moved with purpose, with the predatory grace of someone who knew that danger could lurk around any corner. As he approached the warehouse district, he steeled himself. He had a feeling that whatever he found here would be only the beginning of the tangled web he'd have to unravel.
This was the life he'd chosen. No allies, no family, just a relentless search for answers and survival. And he was ready to face whatever came next.