It is the year 5173. The world had reached beyond the stars.
Cities hung in the sky, suspended by gravity defying engines. Ships traveled faster than light, folding space through warp drives. Humans now lived for centuries, their lifespans extended by nanotech and genetic engineering. AI governed economies, and cybernetic implants turned weak people into demigods.
And yet—there were still slums.
Beneath the floating towers of Helion City, below the holo-billboards flashing billion-credit advertisements, lay the underbelly. A place where the rich and noble never set foot. A place where the dregs of the city roamed.
Here, in the maze of rusted buildings and neon-lit alleyways, life wasn't about thriving and cruising. It was about surviving.
And 17 yr old Dylan Ashen was such a survivor.
______
The first plasma bolt sizzled past his ear.
Dylan didn't flinch—he was already moving.
Boots slammed against the pavement behind him, soldiers barking orders as they chased him through the labyrinth of the slums. His lungs burned, his heart pounded, but his mind was sharp. He was always sharp.
Three pursuers. Cybernetically enhanced. No way to outrun them in a straight sprint. Think.
His worn-out shoes skidded against the metal ground as he turned left into a narrow alleyway. The walls were lined with old pipes, flickering neon signs buzzing overhead.
A dead end.
Or at least, that's what the soldiers would think.
Dylan reached into his pocket and grabbed a rusted metal sphere the size of a baseball. It was barely holding together—scrap tech he had scavenged and repaired.
But it would do.
He twisted the top and tossed it to the ground.
Then he jumped.
His fingers caught the edge of a rusted fire escape, muscles straining as he pulled himself up. The soldiers rounded the corner below, just in time for the EMP grenade to explode.
A crackling wave of energy pulsed out. The soldiers' cybernetics flickered. Their enhanced vision dimmed. Their legs locked.
For five seconds, they were no better than unaugmented men.
And five seconds was all Dylan needed. He smirked.
He yanked a loose pipe from the railing and dropped it. The metal knocked a stack of crates, tipping them over and sending a thick cluster of debris onto the soldiers below.
They cursed, scrambling to get free as Dylan leaped from the fire escape, landing on the opposite rooftop.
He didn't stop to see if they got up. He just ran.
Minutes later, he slipped into the underground tunnels of Helion's slums, heart still racing. It was just one failed mission and here he was running for his life
The Zone Chief's soldiers are closing in on him He needed to move… fast. And he needed money for this. So he headed to the market.
****
The market was alive with flashing neon signs, glitchy holograms, and the endless shout of desperate traders. The air smelled like burnt circuits and cheap street food. Hover drones buzzed overhead, scanning faces, while pickpockets moved through the crowd like ghosts.
Dylan slipped through the chaos, hands in his ragged jacket pockets. He wasn't here to look around. He needed a deal—fast.
He stopped at a rundown stall stacked with old cybernetics and sketchy black-market tech. The merchant, a fat guy with greasy cybernetic arms barely looked up.
"You buying or just standing there wasting my air?"
Dylan smirked. "Depends. You got what I need?"
The merchant raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
Dylan pulled a small security bypass chip from his pocket, twirling it between his fingers. "Something worth your time."
The merchant's eyes flickered. "Where'd you get that?"
Dylan shrugged. "It fell off a transport."
"Liar."
"Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that it works."
The merchant stared at the chip like it was a golden ticket. "That's high-grade security tech. These don't just 'fall off' anywhere."
Dylan leaned against the counter. "Nope. But it's on a timer. Patch updates roll out next week, and this thing becomes worthless. You want it or not?"
The merchant narrowed his eyes. "What do you want for it?"
"Food rations, 300 credits, and a transit pass. Off the grid."
The merchant scoffed. "For one chip?"
Dylan grinned. "One chip that can crack any locked door in the Core District. You could buy ten times that back in stolen goods. But hey, if you don't want it…" He started to slip it back into his pocket.
"Wait." The merchant exhaled sharply. "200 credits. One-week ration pack. And a low-level pass. That's my best."
Dylan pretended to hesitate, then gave a lazy nod. "Deal."
The merchant slid the goods across the counter. Dylan took them in one smooth motion.
As he walked away, he could feel the merchant's eyes on him.
Yeah, he'd just been scammed. He just didn't know it yet. Dylan needed to get away from here fast before he figured it out.
As he walked towards the station, his lips curled into a smirk.
Another day, another chase.
Another win.
He didn't have cybernetics. He didn't have money. He sure as hell didn't have an easy life.
But he had his mind.
And in the slums, that was the deadliest weapon.
He tore open the ration pack and took a bite of the nutrient bar.
Bleh.
Tasted like cardboard. But it had everything his body needed to keep running, so he chewed through it anyway.
As he turned to toss the empty wrapper—he froze.
A shadow.
His fingers tensed around the ration pack. Was it the flickering neon lights? Or… something else?
No. He knew better.
Someone was following him.
His heart rate didn't change. His face stayed neutral. He just walked faster.
But in his head? He was already planning a dozen ways to get out of here.