The voice of the driver's announcement crackled through the bus speakers, waking Jacques from his sleep.
"Next stop: Beckronn. Don't forget your belongings, and have a great day."
Whatever the dream was, it certainly left him feeling nostalgic—especially about Charles.
Apparently, they had met before in a past timeline, back when Jacques was a wild, free man with no home, no direction, and nothing holding him back. He had simply lived as he pleased.
Resting his head against the seat, his gaze fixed on the bus's ceiling, Jacques wondered—had he made the right choice by leaving Charles and ending everything? Because in the memories he had of them, it was fiery, passionate. Just thinking about it was enough to make his heart pound with excitement.
Maybe, once he bought a new device, he could call Charles. Just a simple "hello" wouldn't hurt, right? And perhaps—just perhaps—this time, they could fix everything that had gone wrong in the past.
The bus finally stop, and Jacques stepped off the transport and into the bustling streets of Beckronn. Neon signs flickered above him, advertising everything from synthetic meals to cybernetic enhancements. The air smelled of rain and exhaust, a familiar combination in the lower districts. He pulled the hood of his jacket tighter around his face and made his way to the nearest tech shop.
Inside, shelves were lined with various devices, but he already knew what he needed. He approached the counter, scanning the inventory behind the clerk—a woman with augmented eyes that glowed faintly.
"I need a smart wristband," Jacques said.
"Basic model or encrypted?" she asked, lazily chewing her gum.
The basic model was cheaper and easier to use—ideal for people on a tight budget. It seemed like the obvious choice for Jacques, given that he had no clear plan yet—no destination, no solid footing. Besides, the smartwatch would take nearly half of what little he had left.
"Something cheap, but the best you've got," he said.
The clerk, still lazily chewing her gum, raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. She reached under the counter, pulled out a sleek black band, and dropped it onto the surface with a dull thud—a smartwatch branded "BosS."
"You got the creds?"
"How much?" Jacques asked.
"Just 4,000 credits," the clerk shrugged, chewing her gum lazily.
Jacques smirked at first, but his expression quickly soured. "No way. There's no chance this thing costs 4,000." His voice carried a sharp edge now, irritation creeping in.
"You asked for the best of the basic. That's what you're getting," she replied smoothly, unfazed. "Besides, this one'll last you a good ten years." Her tone was practiced, professional—like she'd dealt with this reaction more times than she could count.
Just when he's about to argue, Jacques found a flyer on that smartwatch on the counter. He grabbed it and skimmed through it, to see why it was so damn expensive. The brand the clerk suggested was right there, listed at 4,000 credits—far more than the standard 2,500 most basic models cost.
The advertisement was flashy, selling it as "The Ultimate Smartband for Voyagers!" boasting military-grade durability, waterproofing, and multi-functionality designed for extreme conditions. It even claimed that the watch can stops bullets! It was shockproof, resistant to extreme weather, and reinforced with high-end materials like titanium alloy and graphene coating, built to last for over a decade.
Instead of needing a daily charge, it had an advanced battery system, possibly solar-powered or kinetic energy-based, allowing it to run for weeks, even months, without recharging. Unlike standard models that relied on an internet connection, this one had offline GPS/GNS navigation, ensuring the wearer could find their way even in dead zones—perfect for hikers, travelers, and fugitives, perhaps?
It also included biometric scanning, a built-in torchlight, and emergency distress signaling, along with health monitoring functions like heart rate, body temperature, and stress detection. But what caught Jacques' attention the most was the location-sharing feature, advertised with a cheerful tagline: "Your family will never lose track of you again!"
Supposedly designed for lost hikers.
Here's a revised version with improved grammar and flow:
And then there was one last feature, buried in small text at the bottom—No ID registration required. That explained a lot. Devices like this were often favored by people who wanted to stay off the grid, which, ironically, made it both the best and worst choice for him. Unfortunately, with no access to the internet to compare other models, Jacques had little choice but to take the clerk's word for it.
"If you want the encrypted one, I've got one for 3,000 credits," the clerk said, pulling out a smartwatch branded Ilophone.
Just seeing the brand was enough for Jacques to shake his head. Ilophone was notorious for its terrible battery life and bizarre navigation system—nothing but frustration waiting to happen.
"I'll take this one, uh…" Jacques picked up another encrypted smartwatch, this one priced at 4,200 credits. The brand name LOCO was printed across the band. It was almost as durable as BosS, but with better security against hackers.
"Alright. Show me your ID," the clerk said, grabbing a notepad and waiting for him to comply.
Jacques froze.
He had been locked in that laboratory since he was sixteen, unconscious for most of those years. He didn't have an ID—how could he? He had just woken up from a coma.
The clerk watched his reaction, lazily chewing her gum, already guessing that her customer would go with the BosS.
"Uhh..." Jacques hesitated.
"You can come back tomorrow if you forgot your ID card," she said, popping her gum loudly. Then, with a knowing smirk, she added, "Or..."
She nudged the BosS smartwatch toward him.
"Alright, I'll take it," Jacques said, pulling out a stack of cash. Before leaving the motel, he had already organized the bills into rolls—each worth 1,000 credits—making it easy to pay the exact amount.
Still, as a good clerk, she had to make sure everything was in order. With a sigh, she took her time counting, flipping through each bill one by one. It was a lot of paper, making the process painfully slow.
While waiting, Jacques wandered over to the waiting area and sank into the worn-out sofa in the lobby. He reached into the cool case beside him and grabbed a drink, twisting the cap off with a quiet pop.
There was nothing to do but stare at the TV mounted on the wall. He barely paid attention—until the breaking news banner flashed across the screen.
His breath caught in his throat.
DANGEROUS FUGITIVE ON THE LOOSE – JACQUES DURANT
BOUNTY: 100,000 CREDITS
His own face stared back at him.
"Subject 043: Former lab experiment. Human injected with Argonarian cells. Escaped. Armed and dangerous. Responsible for multiple deaths during breakout."
Jacques gripped the bottle tighter.
Shit.
He froze even more as he listened to the news anchor's explanation.
"Jacques Durant was the only survivor of the terrible accident near Mojinko three years ago. To save his life, doctors implanted Argonarian-cultivated cells, stemmed from General Mricha. This method saved his life, but it also granted him superhuman speed and strength, making him a heartless being with no empathy.
He cold-bloodedly killed the doctor who saved his life, Dr. Zhicotte, and slaughtered the guards as he fled the laboratory..."
His jaw tightened. Lies. All of it. They were twisting the story to make him sound like an ungrateful brat who had been saved by their so-called mercy—ignoring the real reason he had been down there in the first place; He was kidnapped, experimented on, and turned into nothing more than a clone donor.
And now, with a bounty this high, every mercenary, bounty hunter, and desperate citizen in the system would be gunning for him.
He had to disappear. Fast.
He left his soda behind and strode to the counter. "Give me back my money."
The clerk blinked. "What? Why?"
"I don't want to buy it right now. Hurry up!" he demanded, voice urgent.
The clerk frowned, clearly confused—she hadn't seen the news yet. But at least she didn't argue. With a shrug, she handed the cash back. Jacques grabbed the bills, stuffed them into his rucksack, and bolted out of the store. His heart pounded, a mix of adrenaline and anger surging through him. He had almost bought something that could help the government track him down.
He couldn't stay here. He need a place to hide with no one to trust!
Slipping into the shadows of an alley, he watched a patrol of officers walk by. The city was already on alert. His escape from the cloning lab had turned him into the most wanted man on the planet.
He moved fast, weaving through side streets until he reached an abandoned storage facility. He pried open the rusted metal door and stepped inside.
Now came the hard part.
He needed an identity. So he running the street with round hat, enough to cover half of his face, and he watches while drinking coffee, hiding as a homeless man. A group of young thugs are passing him by, joking around as they push each other playfully.
Jacques walked past them, brushing against one of the boys as he passed.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!" the guy snapped.
Jacques didn't even acknowledge him. He just kept walking, slipping into the shadows of a narrow alley, disappearing from the crowd. His hands moved instinctively, the stolen ID card now in his grip. He had no memory of ever learning to pickpocket—maybe it was from one of the previous timelines, perhaps when he had lived under the name Byron. But it didn't matter. It came naturally to him. He was just good at it.
He flipped the card over, scanning the name. Ben Cosco.
Stealing his identity wasn't the plan. His time at the police academy had taught him a thing or two about how IDs were verified. Every government-issued ID contained an embedded chip—an invisible verification system that could instantly reveal whether an ID was real or fake. Even something as simple as a parking lot scanner could detect it.
Which meant using Ben's ID was pointless.
Instead, Jacques carefully scratched at the surface, splitting the card open to extract the hidden identification chip. That was the only part that mattered. The rest of the plastic? Useless. He burned the remains, making sure there was no trace left behind.
Now, all he needed was someone who could help him forge an identity of his own.
Until then, it's better to be back living in the dark alley among the trash bins, with rats and maggots, hidden by shadow, dressed up as a hobo. It wasn't a new thing for him, instead, it reminds him of the warmth of his mother dog that he missed so much.