The rain fell in needle-thin streams, bouncing off the metal-plated streets of New Eden City, where neon lights flickered against storm clouds and hope had long since drowned. The towering spires of GeneCorp Headquarters loomed in the distance like a sleeping giant wrapped in chrome and arrogance, its logo — a twisting double helix of silver and crimson — pulsing gently on every holo-screen in the sector.
Somewhere in those shining towers, people played god. And somewhere far below, a boy they feared more than any monster they'd created was running for his life.
Xander Knight pressed his back to the cold steel of a maintenance tunnel, his breath ragged, his heart racing like a trapped animal. His clothing was soaked, clinging to his lean frame, and his left hand pressed tightly against a cut along his ribs — shallow but bleeding just enough to sting. The patrol drones hummed overhead, their scanning beams slicing through the alleys like blades of pale blue light.
"Come on…" he whispered to himself, wiping rain and sweat from his brow.
The sirens were still faint, but growing louder. They knew. They had found him.
He cursed under his breath. He'd been so careful. Months of hiding in the Lower Sectors, blending in with the forgotten and the desperate, making sure not to trip facial recognition scans or retinal sweeps. He hadn't used his real name since his parents were taken. He didn't even know if they were alive.
And now he'd slipped. A stolen food crate, a security camera he missed — or maybe someone had recognized him.
They were coming.
He forced himself to move, slipping down the narrow gap between two walls, boots splashing in stagnant water, ignoring the sharp stink of rotting waste. Above, thunder cracked, masking the low roar of hovercraft engines.
A shadow passed over him.
He froze.
A sleek black shape, silent as death, hovered overhead. A GeneCorp Enforcer Drone — humanoid in shape, larger than any man, with smooth armor plating and crimson sensor eyes scanning every crevice.
Move. Now.
Xander took a deep breath and lunged forward, rolling under a rusted ventilation pipe and sprinting into a wider tunnel. His pulse pounded in his ears. Every part of him screamed to stop, but he couldn't. If they caught him, it was over. He'd seen what happened to those they took — whispered stories of genetic reprogramming, turning rebels into living experiments.
He wasn't going to be one of them.
The tunnel opened onto a maintenance platform overlooking the undercity. Thousands of lights below, flickering like dying stars. Somewhere down there, the rebellion hid — if they were even real. If not, he was running toward a ghost.
A soft mechanical whine made his blood run cold.
He spun just as the Enforcer landed with a metallic thud behind him, rising from a crouch like a nightmare come to life. Seven feet tall. Featureless armor. No face, only that burning red eye.
"Xander Knight," the synthetic voice echoed, smooth but cold. "You are property of GeneCorp Genetic Asset Division. Surrender for retrieval."
Xander's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Yeah. Not happening."
He dove to the side as the Enforcer's arm split open into a gleaming harpoon launcher. The weapon fired — the harpoon crackling with electric current — and embedded into the wall where his head had been a second earlier.
He hit the ground, rolled, and sprang to his feet. His hand went instinctively to the small plasma cutter he'd stolen from a junkyard two days ago. Pathetic against armored drones, but it was all he had.
The Enforcer advanced with mechanical grace, raising its arm again.
Xander threw the plasma cutter. It clattered harmlessly off the Enforcer's chest.
"Non-lethal force authorized," the Enforcer intoned.
"Lucky me," Xander muttered.
The Enforcer's shoulder split open, revealing a concussive pulse cannon. It fired.
The blast caught him square in the chest, launching him off the platform. He hit the railing, flipped, and plunged into the abyss below.
Wind roared past his ears. He twisted mid-fall, arms flailing, heart hammering. Below — rooftops, jagged metal, death. He reached out instinctively, grabbed a hanging cable, and felt his shoulder wrench painfully as he slammed into the side of a building.
The cable snapped. He fell the last twenty feet and landed hard in a pile of garbage bags, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.
Pain bloomed in his ribs and back, but nothing felt broken.
Above, the Enforcer leapt from the platform, descending in slow, controlled pulses.
Xander staggered to his feet and ran.
The undercity swallowed him — tight alleys, crumbling concrete, flickering neon signs advertising synthetic pleasure and black-market enhancements. The kind of place GeneCorp rarely bothered to patrol.
He ducked into a crowd of junkies and drifters, pulling up the hood of his rain-soaked jacket.
The Enforcer's heavy steps echoed behind him.
A sudden hand grabbed his wrist.
He spun, ready to fight — but the face that met him was pale, sharp-eyed, and wrapped in a tattered scarf.
"You wanna live?" the stranger hissed.
Xander hesitated.
"Move!"
He followed.
The stranger led him through a maze of narrow corridors, past malfunctioning vending machines and abandoned shops. Down into the old service tunnels, where the air was thick with rust and mildew.
Finally, they stopped in a dim chamber lit only by a single flickering lantern.
The stranger pulled off the scarf. She was young — maybe a year older than him. Dirty blonde hair tied back, freckles dusted across her nose. A jagged scar ran down her jawline.
"Name's Mara," she said. "You just made a hell of a mess, kid."
Xander didn't answer. He was still catching his breath.
She studied him. "You're him, aren't you? The ghost GeneCorp's been hunting."
"Doesn't matter," he rasped.
"It does to me."
A metallic thud echoed down the tunnel. The Enforcer was coming.
Mara cursed. "Come on."
They ran.
The tunnels twisted and narrowed until they reached a rusted hatch. Mara slammed her palm against an ancient control panel. The hatch groaned open, revealing an old maintenance shaft.
"In."
They climbed down into darkness.
The Enforcer reached the hatch moments later. For a long moment, silence. Then it spoke.
"Target lost. Initiating search grid."
The hatch slammed shut.
They descended for what felt like forever until the shaft opened into a cavernous underground space — old subway tunnels, long abandoned, turned into a hidden camp. Dim lanterns cast shadows over makeshift tents and rusted machinery.
Eyes turned toward them.
Mara raised a hand. "He's with me."
Murmurs spread.
Xander looked around. This was it. The rebellion. Not soldiers. Not heroes. Just survivors.
A tall man stepped forward. Greying hair, mechanical left eye glowing faintly.
"You led them here," he said coldly.
Mara shook her head. "We lost them in the tunnels."
The man's gaze turned to Xander. "Who are you?"
"Xander," he said hoarsely.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Knight?"
Xander hesitated. Then nodded.
The man's expression changed. Caution. Fear.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
Xander's fists clenched. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
A long silence.
Finally, the man exhaled. "I'm Voss. Leader of what's left of this mess." He gestured to the camp. "You just painted a target on all our backs."
"I didn't ask for any of this," Xander said quietly.
Voss's eyes softened. "None of us did."
He turned. "Get him a bunk. We'll talk tomorrow."
Mara placed a hand on Xander's shoulder. "Come on."
As they walked deeper into the camp, Xander glanced back once — up toward the city above, where the towers of GeneCorp glistened like poisoned jewels.