The neon lights of Calvera flickered weakly in the haze, painting the smog-stained sky in flickers of blue and crimson. The city was a maze of towers, alleys, and steel bones stitched together by poverty and greed. It moved like a living machine, pulsing with energy and tension beneath its synthetic skin. In this concrete hive, where the rich ascended and the rest were left to rot, survival was a skill, not a right.
Zero kept his head low as he walked. His boots echoed faintly along the fractured pavement, a dull rhythm muffled by the ambient hum of mag-trams above. The jacket he wore hung loosely on his lean frame. Black and silver, it bore the crest of the Academy, though the fabric was faded and fraying. Most kids in this district had dropped out or disappeared. Zero remained because he knew how to read systems, city systems, gang territories, human behavior. But that did not make him untouchable.
He saw the ambush a second too late.
The push came hard from behind. His shoulder slammed into the street. Pain radiated up his ribs. He rolled and pushed up, only to face a semi-circle of figures stepping from the shadows. Nox Syndicate. Their presence was unmistakable, chrome-touched faces, synthetic muscle grafts, and neon tattoos that glowed like warnings.
"Look what wandered into our lane," said one of them. Male. Mid-twenties. A half-scrambled voice modulator warped his tone. The left side of his jaw was augmented, the plating badly fused. "Schoolboy from the Academy. Lost or stupid?"
Zero kept his expression neutral. His eyes tracked exits, scanning for cover. No good options.
"Not here for trouble," he said, voice level.
"Then you're in the wrong place," said a second one. This one was a woman with a reinforced bionic arm. Hydraulic pistons hissed as she flexed her hand. She stepped in. Her gaze was colder than steel. "You walk through Nox turf, you pay."
Zero held up both hands, palms out. "I don't carry creds."
"Then you pay with pain."
The punch came fast. Zero ducked, but the blow caught his shoulder and sent him reeling sideways. He hit the wall. Grit scraped his cheek. The next strike came from the male, an arc of a stun baton that buzzed as it neared. Zero blocked with his arm. Sparks danced across his jacket. He fell hard.
Breathing shallow. Chest burning.
"You think you're better than us?" the leader asked, crouching next to him. "With your books and simulations. You think you'll walk into some corp job and leave all this behind?"
Zero spat blood. "No. I think you're wasting your time."
The leader laughed. It was short and humorless. He stood. "We control this sector. Every block. Every alley. You're one more failed number in the system. You just don't know it yet."
The others closed in. Boots circled. Weapons hummed.
In the distance, a vehicle passed overhead. Its searchlight cut through the smog, then vanished. No help. No intervention. Just another Calvera moment that nobody saw.
Zero's mind raced. He slid a hand into his sleeve. A ceramic shard, no bigger than his thumb, slid into his palm. Academy-issue. Non-metallic. Undetectable.
He surged upward, driving the shard into the woman's forearm joint. She screamed as fluid sprayed. Her arm spasmed and locked.
Zero pivoted. Slammed his shoulder into the leader's midsection. They both hit the ground. Zero scrambled free, bleeding, dizzy, but mobile.
A baton missed his head by centimeters. He kicked off the wall and rolled into a side street. Dark. Narrow. He didn't stop.
Footsteps thundered behind him. Orders barked. He vaulted over a pipe, ducked beneath hanging cables. He knew these streets better than they did.
He slid behind a trash receptacle. Heard them split up.
A minute passed.
He checked his surroundings. No more voices. No more footsteps. Zero pressed his back against the wall, staying still. He knew what came next. The syndicate would not stop until someone was bleeding on the pavement.
A pair of distant shadows passed. Voices carried. Then faded.
He waited until the street quieted. Then he stood, wiped his face with a torn sleeve, and made his way out of the alley. Limping. Bruised.
The lights of the inner district were ahead. Cleaner. Richer. But not safer.
He crossed into the next block. Surveillance towers loomed above. Cameras swiveled. His ID pinged. He kept walking.
The Academy gates stood tall. Armed. Automated. He passed through.
Inside, students walked in uniforms of polished silver. Their faces clean. Their records paid for. Zero walked past them unnoticed.
He reached his dorm. Door sealed. Inside, darkness.
He sat at the edge of his cot. Pulled off his jacket. Blood stained the inner lining. A micro-patch deployed from the wall unit to seal the worst of the wounds.
No one would ask. No one would care.
Zero didn't speak. He stared at the wall.
Calvera had taught him another lesson tonight.
Brains could keep you alive, but only if you were willing to bleed.
He leaned back. Closed his eyes.
He wasn't done. Not by a long shot.