Vroom…
Vroom…
Oliver streaked between the towering cylindrical megastructures, his Ford XVII slicing through the air like a red streak of light.
The seamless lines of the cityscape began to distort as he veered off the main grid, heading toward a region few people bothered to look at anymore.
Ruin City.
A place abandoned by time and ignored by the government, nothing but a broken skeleton of what once might have been a thriving district.
Cracked towers leaned against each other like injured giants, and entire blocks lay collapsed under their own weight.
Oliver scanned the rear display inside his helmet, checking for pursuit.
But he found no shadows and no signals.
So, he pushed the accelerator forward, gliding past scorched walls and shattered bridges until the ragged outskirts of the ruins came into view — and with them, a half-destroyed seven-story mansion still standing like a stubborn ghost refusing to fall.
He rose toward the mansion's roof, where a massive hole gaped open, offering a straight drop into the heart of the building.
Dust curled upward as the bike's thrusters disturbed the air.
Oliver hovered above the opening, detached the cord linking his suit to the Ford XVII, and braced himself.
He jumped off.
Thump.
The impact echoed through the hollow building.
The suit's dampeners hissed, absorbing the force, letting him land cleanly on both feet.
Dust exploded around him, settling over the cracked flooring like a thin fog.
Breathing heavily inside the suit, Oliver removed his helmet.
The air that hit his face tasted old — a blend of dust, metal, and forgotten years.
"Damn…" he muttered, wiping a streak of grime from his cheek.
He set the helmet aside and continued further into the mansion, his footsteps crunching softly through debris.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he looked around the wreckage.
"These ruins haven't been excavated yet," he whispered.
"Perfect."
He ran a hand along one of the broken walls, feeling the dust crumble under his fingers.
"If I can grab the valuable stuff before the Union sniffing teams get here," he murmured, "I can unload everything on the Black Web… and walk out with a mountain of ZIX."
He felt his pulse quicken as he continued down the shattered corridor, dust drifting around him with each step, until he reached a door marked with a faded fang symbol.
The paint was chipped, the lines almost erased by time, but the design still carried a strange weight.
He couldn't help but smirk.
"If those idiots hadn't chased me here back in high school," he muttered, "I never would've realized an untouched ruin was hiding beneath this place."
He pressed his palm against the door, trying to push.
But the metal door didn't even budge.
Oliver narrowed his eyes, rolling his right sleeve back to reveal the small control tab embedded into his suit.
With a quick tap, he increased its power output.
The servos in his arms whirred softly as he braced himself and pushed again, this time with both hands.
Creeeeeak—
The ancient door groaned painfully, resisting at first, then finally giving way in small increments as Oliver forced it open inch by inch.
By the time it budged enough for him to slip inside, sweat clung to his forehead.
He stepped through, catching his breath.
"Damn Reed," he muttered bitterly.
"Must be nice walking around in Murkin's newest body armor while I'm stuck with my grandfather's antique."
He tugged at the sleeve of his suit, studying it with a mix of annoyance and reluctant affection.
It's a century-old relic.
Outdated but… Reliable.
After all, it was not built for comfort.
Murkin armor cost at least five hundred million ZIX. Way beyond anything he could ever hope to afford.
His own savings barely scratched ten million — an inheritance that kept him alive, gave him a roof, and left him with just enough technology to get by.
He took another step into the ruin, and the gloom thickened immediately, swallowing him in deeper shadows.
Oliver exhaled, wore a visor and tapped a different button on his wrist.
The suit responded by flaring to life, glowing with shifting bands of color.
Patterns of neon rippled across the armor, scattering rainbow reflections across the dusty walls like misplaced club lights.
But there was no music to lift the mood.
Only the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing.
He pushed forward again, letting the lights guide him through the darkness.
Slowly, the oppressive black began to peel away, retreating as the illumination stretched farther into the chamber.
And then he saw it.
A faintly lit compartment emerged ahead, its walls curving around a single object — a tall figure made of stone or metal, standing alone like the centrepiece.
'A statue.' Oliver's footsteps slowed, pulse rising in his chest.
"Holy shit—!" Oliver blurted, sprinting toward the illuminated chamber as the last shadows peeled away.
He stopped right in front of the massive figure, breath catching in his throat.
"The myth… it's real," he whispered.