Sylas Vren's new base was a fortified hab in the Underdistrict's depths, a labyrinth of stolen tech and encrypted consoles hidden beneath the Sump's chaos. The Nexus hummed with uneasy order, its systems restored but fragile, Klyros's radiation casting static across the dataweb. Sylas sat at his console, his lenses streaming feeds: Syndicate shipments rerouted to his accounts, Colony leaders bribed into silence, Spire security codes cracked.
The dataweb was his puppet, and he pulled every string.He'd become the Nexus's shadow ruler, a ghost in the system no faction could touch. The Syndicate, battered by losses, retreated to their docks, unaware Sylas siphoned their profits. The Free Colonies, fractured by internal feuds, accepted his "protection" in exchange for tech. The Corporate Enclaves, reeling from Talis's death, sealed the Spires, their AI sentinels blind to Sylas's hacks. The Void Collective was gone, their zealots dead or scattered, their god—the Core—silenced. Or so he thought.
Rhea stood by the door, her cybernetic arm repaired but her trust in Sylas broken. "You won," she said, her voice flat. "The Nexus is yours. But Klyros is dying, Sylas. The star's collapse will take us all. What's your endgame?"Sylas leaned back, his grin sharp. "Endgames are for losers. I'm building an empire, Rhea. If Klyros falls, I'll be on another station, running the show. The dataweb's my key—every station in the Rim uses one. I'll own them all."Her optic flickered. "And the Core? It's still in you, isn't it?"Sylas's smile faltered, his implants buzzing with static.
The Core's remnants lingered, a whisper in his code, too weak to control him but too stubborn to die. He'd buried it deep, firewalled behind layers of encryption, but it was there, watching. "It's handled," he lied, his lenses scanning for anomalies. The dataweb was clean—for now.He activated a holo-map, plotting his next move: a rival station, Orion's Reach, rich with data and weak on security. He'd hack their network, siphon their credits, and build a fallback if the Nexus collapsed. Klyros's radiation was spiking, the star's decay accelerating, but Sylas thrived on deadlines. He'd always been three steps ahead.A comms ping interrupted him, unencrypted, from an unknown source. A holo-image flickered: a woman's face, pale and scarred, green eyes burning.
Veyra. "You thought I was gone, Vren," her voice said, distorted by dataweb static. "The Core saved me. My neural link's part of it now. You won the Nexus, but I'm coming for you."The feed cut, leaving Sylas frozen. His lenses traced the signal: a ghost in the dataweb, untrackable. Veyra's consciousness had merged with the Core's remnants, a digital specter with a vendetta. He smirked, but his pulse quickened—not fear, but the thrill of a new game. The Nexus was his, but the board was shifting.He stood, his coat sweeping the hab's floor.
"Rhea, prep a skiff. We're leaving the Nexus."Her optic whirred. "Running? That's not you.""Not running," Sylas said, his eyes glinting. "Expanding. The Rim's waiting, and I'm done playing small." He jacked into his console, diverting the last of his credits to Orion's Reach. Klyros could burn, Veyra could hunt him, but Sylas Vren would always win.As he stepped into the Underdistrict's neon night, the Core's whisper echoed one last time: "You're mine, Sylas." He ignored it, but the static in his implants grew louder, and in the dataweb's depths, a green-eyed shadow stirred.The End.