Ethan Kane pressed his back against the rough crate in the Neon Market's shadowed corner, his breath coming in shallow gasps, the Shadow Trade data chip clutched so tightly in his hand that its edges dug into his palm. The chip's runes glowed with a faint, eerie light, pulsing in sync with the golden tattoo etched into his left forearm—a mark of the WealthCore system that had yanked him into this surreal, high-stakes game. The market buzzed around him, a chaotic tapestry of neon signs flashing with cryptocurrency spikes, vendors shouting over the sizzle of street food stalls, and the electric hum of drones weaving through the air, their red lights scanning for profit or prey. The air was thick with the mingled scents of molten metal from nearby forges, the sharp tang of fried noodles, and the faint, bitter undertone of desperation that clung to every player's breath. It was a world more vivid, more real, than the mildew-soaked apartment he'd left behind, where an eviction notice screamed "$1,200 by Friday" and $15,000 in medical bills loomed like a guillotine.
His WealthCore screen hovered before his eyes, its holographic text a relentless judge: Cash Balance: $25.00. Objective: Earn $1,000 in 24 hours or face deletion. Time Remaining: 23 hours, 10 minutes. The word "deletion" echoed in his mind, a shadow heavier than the game-over screens of his childhood. Was it just his account, or something more—his life, his soul? The uncertainty gnawed at him as Scarface's voice sliced through the alley: "Spread out! That runt's got my chip!" The Greedrats' laughter followed, a pack of wolves baying for blood. Ethan peeked around the crate, his heart hammering, spotting Buzzcut's stocky silhouette weaving through the crowd, her knife glinting under the neon glow like a predator's fang. Twitchy darted nearby, his giggles a chilling promise of chaos, while Scarface's lanky frame loomed closer, his scar a stark line against the flickering light.
Ethan's tattoo flared, and WealthCore's voice hissed: Hostile players detected. Recommend evasion. Fighting was out of the question—his Level 2 stats were a neon "kick me" sign against Scarface's Level 5 gang, armed with crackling knives and ruthless intent. Running was his only shot, but the crowd was a wall of bodies, and the alley ahead reeked of ambush, its shadows hiding who knew what. He scanned his options, his eyes darting to the service path that branched off, a narrow corridor lined with walls plastered with flickering holo-ads for "Quantum Stocks" and "Memory NFTs." A stack of crates offered temporary cover, but a drone's red beam swept closer, its hum a predator's growl, scanning for fugitives or valuable trades.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, the debt collector's voicemail icon blinking—a lifeline to his real-world nightmare. He pulled it out, the screen cracked but legible, showing "Unknown Number" with a new message waiting. The weight of $15,000 in medical bills from his mom's cancer treatment pressed on him, her frail figure counting coins in their empty kitchen flashing in his mind. "We'll make it work, kid," she'd said, her smile fading with each unpaid notice. He'd dropped out of college to care for her, watched her waste away, and now he was failing again, teetering on the edge of homelessness. He shoved the phone back, focusing on survival. Profit Sense was on cooldown, but the Shadow Trade quest pinged: Task: Locate contract seller within 2 hours. Reward: $50 + Clue to Overlord Auction. The Overlord statue's red eyes burned in his memory, a silent overseer of this deadly game, its presence a constant threat from the market's heart.
A figure stepped from the alley's end—the elite player, their armor a sleek blue etched with golden runes that shimmered under the neon. Their screen read: Player: Cobalt (Level 10). Faction: Unknown. Cobalt's visor reflected the light, their stance calm but lethal, exuding an aura of unyielding power. "You've got something I want, Kane," they said, voice modulated, cold as a winter blade cutting through the din. "Hand over the chip, and I'll let you crawl away." Ethan's gut twisted into knots. How did they know his name? The hooded figure's smirk from earlier flashed in his mind—they'd sold him out, a pawn in a larger game. "Not a chance," he said, stepping back, his voice steadier than he felt.
Cobalt's hand twitched, a plasma blade igniting with a hiss that scorched the air, the heat brushing Ethan's face as he dove aside. The crate's edge smoked, a black scar marring its surface. Scarface burst into the alley, Buzzcut and Twitchy flanking him like hounds on a scent. "Got you now!" Scarface roared, his knife raised, its static crackling. Ethan's tattoo burned, and WealthCore glitched: Activating Emergency Skill: Haggle Hack (Rank F).
Haggle Hack (Rank F)
Negotiate better deals or distract foes with verbal manipulation. Cooldown: 2 hours. Success rate: 15%.
A prompt flashed: Target: Cobalt. Action: Distract. Ethan's voice steadied, drawing on every ounce of bravado. "Wait! This chip's tied to the Overlord Auction—worth $500. Help me deliver it, and we split the profit. Fifty-fifty." Cobalt paused, the blade's hum softening, their visor darkening as if processing. "Overlord Auction? Prove it." Ethan held up the chip, its runes glowing brighter under WealthCore's scan. A hologram projected: Data Chip: Shadow Contract (Rare). Access: Overlord Auction. Value: $500. Cobalt tilted their head, a sign of interest. "A gamble. Deal—60/40, my favor. Deliver it, or die."
Ethan nodded, relief warring with dread. Sixty percent left him $200—enough to inch toward his $1,000 goal if he survived. Cobalt sheathed the blade, but their gaze stayed sharp, a predator assessing prey. "Move. They're close." Scarface lunged, but Cobalt's plasma blade flared, a arc of light sending Buzzcut sprawling, her knife skittering across the cobblestones. Twitchy yelped and bolted, disappearing into the crowd, while Scarface retreated, snarling, "You're dead, newbie! This ain't over!" Ethan's screen updated: Cash Balance: $25.00. Quest Progress: 20%.
Cobalt motioned him onward, and they wove through the crowd, the east stalls glowing with holo-signs advertising rare gear and digital artifacts. The air grew thicker with the scent of ozone and incense, vendors haggling over glowing contracts. A cloaked figure stood by a stall, their screen tagged: Seller: Vex (Level 7). Item: Shadow Contract. Vex's eyes narrowed, a scar running down their cheek catching the light. "You've got my chip. $500, or no deal. And don't try anything funny—my crew's watching." Ethan glanced at Cobalt, who nodded curtly. He handed over the chip, and Vex scanned it with a handheld device, the transfer confirmed with a chime. His screen flashed: Cash Balance: $525.00. Quest Completed! Reward: $50 + Clue to Overlord Auction. A new message read: Clue: Overlord's Vault opens at $1,000 total wealth. Ethan's pulse raced—$475 to go, but the vault hinted at a deeper, more dangerous game, the Overlord's influence stretching beyond the market.
His phone buzzed again, the voicemail playing through the speaker: "Kane, this is your final warning. Pay $1,200 in 48 hours, or we seize your apartment. Call back, or we'll send the bailiffs." Ethan's knees buckled, the weight of reality crashing down. A memory flooded back—his mom, sitting at their kitchen table, counting coins with trembling hands, her frail figure illuminated by a single bulb. "We'll make it work, kid," she'd said, her smile fading as the cancer bills piled up, each unpaid notice a nail in their coffin. He'd dropped out of college to care for her, watched her waste away, and now he was teetering on the edge of losing everything again. Cobalt smirked, their visor glinting. "Debt troubles? Focus, or you're toast." They handed him $200—his cut—updating his balance to $725.00. "Keep up," Cobalt said, their tone impatient.
As they moved through the crowd, the hooded figure reappeared, their cloak blending with the shadows. "Well done, Kane," they rasped, their voice like gravel under boots. "But the Overlord's eyes are on you. Deliver the contract to the vault, or your soul's forfeit." They vanished in a swirl of static, leaving a chill that seeped into Ethan's bones. His screen glitched, static roaring: Warning: Overlord Surveillance Detected. Cobalt's visor flashed. "Vault's at the statue. Move, or we're both targets." They navigated the market's edge, the crowd thinning as they approached the Overlord statue, its towering form dominating the skyline, red eyes glowing like twin suns. The air grew heavy, a low rumble vibrating through the cobblestones.
They reached the statue, its base adorned with cryptic carvings of coins and chains. A panel slid open, revealing a slot for the chip. Ethan inserted it, and the statue rumbled, the ground trembling beneath his feet. A voice boomed from the stone, deep and resonant: "Initiate Trial: Vault of Wealth. Survive, or be deleted." The red eyes flared, and a portal swirled open, its edges crackling with energy. Cobalt stepped through, motioning Ethan with a curt gesture. "Last chance, Kane. Step in, or stay and face the Greedrats alone."
Ethan hesitated, the debt collector's threat clashing with the game's stakes. A vendor nearby, a grizzled man with a cybernetic eye, muttered, "Vault's a meat grinder—few come back. Heard a guy scream for hours last week." Ethan's tattoo pulsed, a flashback hitting—his mom's last words, "Make it work, kid," whispered as she slipped away, her hand cold in his. He couldn't quit—not for her, not for himself. He stepped into the portal, darkness swallowing him. The air thickened, a metallic tang filling his lungs, and the ground shifted beneath his feet. A black-armored knight emerged from the mist, its screen blank, its blade gleaming. "Welcome, Kane," it intoned, its voice echoing. "Your trial begins. Fail, and your soul is forfeit." Ethan's screen screamed: Overlord Trial Activated.
The knight charged, its blade a blur of silver. Ethan dove, rolling across the uneven ground, the impact jarring his shoulder. A second knight rose from the shadows, its armor etched with the same golden runes as Cobalt's, doubling the threat. Cobalt drew their plasma blade, stepping between Ethan and the first knight. "Stay sharp, kid," they said, parrying a strike. Ethan's tattoo flared, and WealthCore whispered: New Skill Unlocked: Defensive Bargain (Rank F). Use wealth to create temporary shields. A prompt appeared: Cost: $50. Activate? Ethan tapped "Yes," and a shimmering barrier formed, deflecting the second knight's blow. His balance dropped to $675.00, but he was alive.
The knights pressed their attack, their movements synchronized, forcing Ethan and Cobalt back. Ethan's mind raced—$475 to the vault, Greedrats outside, and now this. The portal's edge flickered, a reminder of the market's dangers. A third figure loomed in the mist, its screen blank, its presence a silent promise of more trials. Ethan gripped his phone, the debt collector's voice echoing, and steeled himself. The Overlord's game had just begun.