Chapter 5: Mission
Jacob, you’re gonna be our getaway driver.” Kalaf’s voice cut through the ambient noise of the underbelly as the group navigated the crumbling streets. Rusted buildings loomed over them, their metallic surfaces marred with graffiti and grime. Beggars huddled in doorways, shaking plastic cups in quiet desperation, their faces hollow and shadowed. Kalaf strode ahead, her movements brisk and confident, a stark contrast to the oppressive surroundings.
Kaeas, carrying her gun slung casually over her shoulders, scoffed loudly. “Oh, no way! How come Jacob gets the easiest job?” She stuck her tongue out, a mocking gesture that made her dissatisfaction clear.
“Ain’t it obvious?” Brodyn’s deep voice rumbled as he walked with purpose, his arms swinging in wide arcs like a man spoiling for a fight. “The guy just learned what ‘creds’ meant. You want him in combat on day one? Not happening.”
Kaeas rolled her eyes dramatically but quickened her pace, darting in front of Jacob and coming to an abrupt halt. She turned, pointing a finger at him with an exaggerated grin.
“Don’t you get ONE scratch on that car! That ride’s my pride and joy—I spent good pops fixing her up. You hear me?”
Jacob gave a nervous nod. “Y-yeah. Don’t worry. I… I drove in Florida. I think I know what I’m doing.”
“Florida?” Kaeas’s brow furrowed, her curiosity piqued, but before she could press further, Brodyn grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into step. The others chuckled softly as they moved on, leaving Jacob to catch up.
The group came to a stop in front of a decaying building. Its once-pristine white façade was now a sickly patchwork of green stains and blackened streaks, an eerie testament to years of neglect. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of unfamiliar drugs, a sharp reminder of the underbelly’s lawless nature.
Forming a tight circle around Brodyn, they waited as their leader began to speak. But Jacob’s focus wavered as Kalaf nudged his side and leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Don’t go playing hero today,” she said, her tone devoid of its usual playful undertone. There was no mistaking her seriousness, and the weight of her words settled uneasily on Jacob. He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond, and instead gave a stiff nod before redirecting his attention to Brodyn.
“Mission is simple,” Brodyn began, his voice commanding as he addressed the group. “We use the address Junpei and Kalaf scouted to infiltrate the Steezers—better known as the Puffers—and retrieve the president’s creds. This could very well be a trap, but the reward is worth the risk. If you spot anything suspicious while we’re inside, speak up immediately. All clear?”
His piercing gaze swept across the circle, lingering on each member. The slight sway of his beard in the faint breeze added a gravity to his words.
“Yeah, so… I can shoot people, right?” Kaeas asked, raising her rifle with a grin as if it were a trophy.
Brodyn sighed heavily. “Not unless they’re hostile. First, we ask politely if they’ll hand over the creds. If not, well…” He paused, letting the sentence hang in the air.
“Shooting! Yay!” Kaeas finished with a jump, her excitement childlike. Carline, standing nearby, wiped away a small smile before resuming her stern expression.
Brodyn turned to Jacob, pulling a small chip from his pocket. It was a slim, white rectangle with a black streak running down its center. He handed it to Jacob, who took it hesitantly.
“You might be the most important part of this mission,” Brodyn said firmly.
“Way to ease the pressure off the new guy, captain,” Canrad quipped, scratching at the back of his spiky hair. Brodyn shot him a glare that silenced him instantly.
Sliding the chip into his pocket, Jacob nodded as Brodyn clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Your task is straightforward. Head to the mid-layers and secure the getaway car. Near the entrance is a car spawner. Hand this chip to the attendant, say you’re renting, and follow her directions. Then, use this disk to find the drop-off location. Wait there until we load the goods, then get out as fast as you can and head to the tech bazaar. Got it?” Brodyn handed Jacob a small disk, the same one Kalaf used to play that recording a moment ago,
Jacob nodded quickly, though his mind spun with the unfamiliar terms.
As the team exchanged goodbyes and performed their odd salute—middle finger to the forehead—Jacob mimicked the gesture, earning approving nods. Turning to leave, he caught Kalaf lingering behind. Her golden eyes locked onto his, sharp and piercing, as though seeing more of him than he knew himself.
“Good luck out there,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of finality. “You’ll need it.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks. Hey, Kal—” He turned to speak, but she was gone, her dark cloak blending seamlessly into the shadows.
Weird woman. But he was interested in her. Not in that way of course- but the common interest that plauges every human mind. The kind where he wanted to know more about her. Why she did the things she did- what she saw in him to make him join the jumpers, what she said a moment ago…
‘Don’t go playing hero today’
Jacob felt a soft chill prickle across his skin. He shook the sensation away with a sharp exhale. If there was one thing he couldn’t afford, it was to let nerves take hold. His fingers tightened around the small metallic disc in his palm. With a deliberate press, a holographic arrow projected upward, glowing faintly as it floated above the device, pointing north. Without hesitation, Jacob started walking.
The streets of the underbelly were a labyrinth of decay and desperation. Rusted buildings loomed like forgotten relics, their skeletal structures barely holding up against time. The stench of dampness and chemicals hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke from makeshift fires. He kept his pace brisk, avoiding eye contact with the shuffling figures that haunted the alleyways—drugged-out souls and weathered faces of the homeless who seemed more like phantoms than people. The arrow guided him forward until he reached an abrupt dead end.
Jacob stopped, craning his neck to follow the arrow’s direction. It pointed up. Above him, the faint shimmer of the Mid-layers’ neon lights flickered through gaps in the massive disc that served as the underbelly’s ceiling. Voices and the hum of distant traffic filtered down, warped and hollow, as though mocking the world below. The massive structure overhead felt like a lid on a trash can—the underbelly a pile of waste, forgotten and unwanted.
With a shrug, he unhooked the gloves strapped to his sides. Their sleek design betrayed their functionality, glowing faintly as he slid them on.
{SCANNING. SCANNING. JACOB SWING DETECTED. ALLOWED ENTRY. WELCOME BACK.}
The robotic voice, monotone yet oddly omnipresent, startled him. Jacob’s eyes darted around, searching for its source, but found nothing. Before he could dwell on it, the wall in front of him shimmered, flickering like a broken screen before vanishing entirely. In its place was a cylindrical tube glowing faintly with light.
Jacob’s mind raced. Where had the voice come from? How had the wall simply dissolved? Questions buzzed in his head, but he pushed them aside. Best not to question the future—it never answered anyway. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the tube.
In an instant, the world transformed. He stumbled forward, catching himself as cleaner, crisper air filled his lungs. The blinding light above forced him to shield his eyes until they adjusted. The brightness wasn’t overwhelming, but compared to the oppressive gloom of the underbelly, it was a stark contrast. He lowered his arm and took in the Mid-layers.
The streets bustled with life and chaos. People weaved through crowds and vehicles with practiced urgency, their faces tense and hurried. Cars floated silently, their holographic frames flickering as they maneuvered sharply around corners. Some drivers reclined in their seats, fast asleep, while their vehicles navigated the gridlocked streets autonomously. Despite the quiet hum of the cars, the Mid-layers were anything but tranquil. Shouts echoed from nearby vendors, unfamiliar sounds blared from advertisement screens, and a symphony of disjointed noises filled the air.
Jacob allowed himself a brief smile. The Mid-layers were chaotic, yes, but they were a world apart from the underbelly. Yet, even amidst the din, his eyes were drawn upward. The Skyline District floated above, its grandeur dwarfing the Mid-layers below. Skyscrapers pierced the clouds, their tops vanishing into the heavens. Roads of light crisscrossed the sky, with cars soaring like shooting stars. The disks supporting the Skyline District gleamed with pristine perfection, a stark contrast to the dingy underbelly.
He couldn’t stop staring. The Skyline District was a dream, a utopia perched above the chaos. The Mid-layers might have been a step up, but they were still a middle ground. Up there, he thought, up there… nothing could go wrong.
Jacob shook himself from his reverie. The mission. Right. He flipped open the disc, and the arrow realigned, pointing toward a new destination. With renewed focus, he pushed through the crowded streets, following the projection.
The journey led him to an unassuming building. Its façade stood out against the sleek surroundings—a blocky, brick structure that seemed plucked from another era. Its sole window perched at the very top, casting a dim reflection of the vibrant city. It was three or four stories tall, but its boxy simplicity made it feel more imposing than inviting.
Jacob stepped inside and was immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion—not his own, but the collective weariness of the people within. The air was heavy with desperation and frustration. Parents cradled crying babies, teens lounged with feigned indifference, and overworked staff barked orders at each other while shuffling papers and tablets. It took him a moment to realize where he was.
This place was like the DMV. Of course.
Suppressing a groan, Jacob hurried to the counter, slipping a small chip across to the man seated there. The older gentleman barely glanced up, his shoulders slumping as he reached for a floating microphone.
“Chip check!” he called out, his voice hoarse.
Jacob watched, puzzled, as another worker approached. The man held the chip up to the light, inspecting it with exaggerated care. Satisfied, he handed it back to the counter worker, who scanned it before sliding it back to Jacob.
“All good,” the man said, adjusting his glasses.
“What was that about?” Jacob asked, pocketing the chip.
The man smirked. “Not many people use chips these days. Everyone’s gone digital. You might want to convert—lot more convenient.”
Jacob nodded, feigning understanding. “Yeah, uh, you know… money’s tight.”
The man squinted at him. “Money?”
Jacob winced. His mind raced for a response. “I mean… the pops. The pops aren’t selling like they used to.”
The man’s confused expression deepened, and Jacob cringed inwardly. He was rambling. Deciding he’d embarrassed himself enough, he mumbled a quick thanks and bolted for the door.
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Outside, a holographic car awaited him. Its sleek, semi-transparent design shimmered in the light. Jacob hesitated before pulling out his chip. As he approached, the car’s hologram dissolved, revealing a solid, tangible vehicle beneath. Its smooth curves and minimalist design reminded him of old-world Teslas, but with a futuristic simplicity.
He slid into the driver’s seat, noting the big red “Eject” button on the dashboard. Was that standard in Megacity vehicles? Tempted to press it, he shook his head and inserted the chip. The car roared to life—or rather, hummed quietly as its systems engaged. The arrow reappeared on the dashboard, pointing toward his next destination.
Jacob gripped the wheel, muttering to himself as he navigated the busy streets. He obeyed every traffic law, his mind racing. The mission was far from over.
Jacob eventually parked next to an abandoned building, the soft glow of the streetlight casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. He slipped the disk back into his pocket as its interface dimmed, signaling that it had completed its task. This was the rendezvous point. According to the cryptic instructions he’d received, something would be dropped off here. His job was simple: use the disk and follow the arrow to wherever it pointed next. For a first day on the job, Jacob had few complaints. The work was easy—almost suspiciously so.
Leaning back in his car’s memory foam seat, he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation. The foam seemed to cradle him perfectly, contouring to the curve of his back in a way that was almost unnervingly comfortable. He didn’t know how long he would be waiting, but he was content to let the world outside blur into a distant hum. As he reclined further, he closed his eyes, welcoming the comforting darkness. But thinking was dangerous when your eyes were closed. It had a way of spiraling, of pulling you into the kind of thoughts you tried to avoid during the daylight.
Jacob didn’t care. He was tired—bone-tired. Sleep had been elusive since his life had turned upside down. For better or for worse? He dwelled on the question, feeling its weight settle over him. His life felt more significant now, with purpose replacing the hollow nothingness that had once defined him. Yet purpose came with its own burdens: hope, and with it, the shadow of despair. And despair—in Jacob’s mind—was always stronger. It clung to the edges of his thoughts, a dark tide threatening to pull him under.
The thinking enveloped him, his body relaxing even as his mind churned. For better or for worse? The question echoed in his head, looping endlessly until it became a mantra.
For the better, or for the worse? For the better, or for the worse? For the better, or for the—
“For the better, son.”
Jacob’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him shifted with dizzying speed. Gone was the dim, quiet car and the abandoned street. In its place, he stood on a brightly lit stage, the harsh glare of spotlights making him squint. The roar of an unseen crowd filled his ears, accompanied by flashing cameras and the hum of voices. Beside him stood a man in a tan trench cloak, pacing back and forth with a microphone in hand. It took Jacob a moment to recognize him. His father.
“We tell ourselves every day,” his father began, his voice commanding the attention of the room, ‘Tomorrow.’” The crowd fell silent as he spoke, the air in the vast theater growing heavy with anticipation. “When we wake up, our minds focus on the day ahead of us. But even as we plan for today, we push things back to tomorrow.” He paused, slipping a hand into his pocket as he gazed out at the darkened audience. “Why? Why not try to accomplish everything today, so there is no tomorrow?”
The audience erupted into murmurs, their collective uncertainty rippling through the room. Jacob stood frozen, unsure of what to make of the scene. Was this a dream? It had to be. His father—the man who hated crowds and preferred solitude above all else—standing on a stage before a massive audience? Impossible. Yet the details felt too vivid to dismiss. The polished wood of the stage beneath his feet, the heat of the spotlights, the faint smell of smoke and cologne—it all felt real.
As the crowd’s whispers subsided, his father suddenly turned and placed a firm hand on Jacob’s shoulder. The gesture sent a chill racing down his spine. “Take my son, for example,” his father said, his voice carrying an edge of steel. “He’s got no direction, no identity. In his own city, he’s lost. A nobody. But what does he have that can change that?”
The audience sat in stunned silence. Jacob’s throat tightened as he stared at his father, who now wore a faint, almost mocking smile.
“He’s got potential,” his father continued, letting go of Jacob’s shoulder. “Potential can go a long way. It can shape a future, redefine a person. Everyone has potential, but it’s how you use it that will define you.”
Jacob felt the weight of his father’s gaze, the words sinking into him like hooks. The crowd erupted into applause, but his father didn’t acknowledge them. His eyes remained locked on Jacob’s, intense and unrelenting. “Wake up,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Use that potential for something good today. Not tomorrow.”
A deafening ringing filled Jacob’s ears, cutting through the noise of the applause. The world around him began to collapse, the stage and audience blurring into a whirlpool of light and sound. He gasped, and suddenly, he was back in the car.
The dashboard lit up with holographic notifications, accompanied by a robotic chime:
{200 POPS OBTAINED}
{200 POPS OBTAINED}
{UNKNOWN ITEM OBTAINED. CODENAME: PRESIDENT CRED}
Jacob sat up, pulling the disk from his pocket as the notifications faded. His hands tightened around the wheel, and he stepped on the gas. The car surged forward, the arrow on the holographic display pointing north. The tires hummed against the road as he followed the directions, speeding up a ramp and onto the expressway. The other vehicles whizzed by in blurs of light, eerily similar to those of the world he once knew.
His mind raced. How long had he been out? Had the mission been completed while he was dreaming? And what was that dream? His father, the speech, the overwhelming sense of urgency—what did it all mean? The questions churned in his mind, but no answers came. All he knew was that the arrow kept pointing forward, and for now, that was all he could do. Drive forward.
The highway was a battlefield of old and new. Self-driving cars glided with mechanical precision, interspersed with manual drivers who clung to the wheel in defiance of automation. Jacob was among the latter, gripping his steering wheel with white-knuckled determination as he sped through the express lane. The arrow signs overhead pointed north, his destination still miles away. Everything depended on him making it—the mission, their survival, all of it.
Then they appeared: the Kamuras.
Two sleek black cars roared up behind him, scattering traffic like bowling pins as they barreled down the lane. Jacob’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the unmistakable masks staring back at him through their tinted windows. Those grotesque, white masks—he’d seen them before, in the grainy footage Kalaf had shown him. They were the same ones worn by the assassins in the video, the ones who had left no survivors.
How had they found him? How did they know he had the disk? Questions spiraled in his mind as fear gripped his chest. He yanked the wheel hard to the right, narrowly avoiding a collision as one of the Kamura vehicles slammed into a neighboring car. The chaos spread instantly. Horns blared, tires screeched, and the once orderly highway devolved into a chaotic mess of spinning metal and shattered glass.
Jacob’s heart raced as he tried to find an escape route, but the Kamuras were relentless. Their cars flanked him on either side, boxing him in. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw one of them climbing out of their sunroof, a long cylindrical weapon slung over their shoulder.
A rocket launcher.
The man’s white cloak whipped in the wind as he took aim. Jacob’s foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor, but it was no use. The missile tracked his car with eerie precision. His mind froze, panic paralyzing him. He wanted to scream, to move, to think, but all he could do was stare at the incoming projectile.
The explosion tore through the air. His car was engulfed in flames, the force of the blast hurling Jacob’s body like a rag doll. Everything became a blur of heat, noise, and pain. His ears rang with a deafening hum. His skin felt like it was melting off, the searing agony eclipsed only by the numbing realization that this was the end.
He was dying.
Through the haze, he heard muffled voices—the Kamuras, triumphant in their victory. His vision dimmed, the world fading to black. Memories flashed before him: his father, Kalaf, the jumpers who had trusted him. He had failed them all.
Then came the darkness.
Jacob opened his eyes to an empty void. He stood, unburned and whole, but surrounded by an infinite expanse of black. The ground beneath him was nothingness, yet it held him firm. He turned in every direction, searching for something, anything, when faint blue cracks began to form. Tiny fissures in the void, glowing softly, spreading like veins. They multiplied, thousands of them webbing through the darkness until they surrounded him.
One crack in the center glowed brighter than the rest. It whispered to him, faintly at first, then louder, though the words were indecipherable. Yet he felt them, deep within his soul. They were for him. They were calling him.
Jacob reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed against the light. The whisper turned into a roar, the blue light flooding his vision. He felt whole, alive, renewed. When he blinked, he was back—sitting in his car, the express lane stretching out before him as if nothing had happened. The disk lay on the passenger seat. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the Kamuras’ cars approaching once again, just as they had before.
But this time, he wasn’t afraid.
Jacob grabbed the disk and slipped it into his pocket. His hand brushed against his boxing gloves, and he laced them on with practiced speed. Adrenaline surged through his veins. The Kamura climbed atop their car again, rocket launcher at the ready.
Jacob pressed the ejection button. His seat shot upward, catapulting him into the sky just as the rocket streaked toward his vehicle. The explosion bloomed beneath him, heat licking at his heels, but he was already in motion. Using his grappling mechanism, he latched onto one of the Kamura cars, the pull swinging him forward like a pendulum.
He landed hard on the roof of the vehicle, the impact jolting his bones. The Kamura atop the car turned, surprise flickering in their eyes just before Jacob’s metal-laced boxing glove collided with their face. The assassin’s body crumpled and fell, vanishing beneath the chaos of the expressway below.
Jacob dropped down through the sunroof. The driver barely had time to react before Jacob’s fists found him, a brutal one-two punch that left the man slumped over the wheel. Jacob shoved him out the door without hesitation, the body tumbling into the fray of oncoming traffic.
Jacob slid into the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel. The express lane was a warzone, flames and debris littering the path ahead. But Jacob’s gaze was sharp, his resolve unshaken.
Gunshots rang in his ears- the second kamura car shot at him in a messy frenzy. Jacob ducked, praying he wouldn’t get a lucky bullet in his head. The arrow of the disk pointed right, and he swerved into two lanes- cutting people off and heading down another ramp, back into the streets of the mid-layers.
Jacob’s foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roaring louder than he’d ever heard it. The thrill of the chase surged through his veins like liquid fire, adrenaline sharpening his senses. The blur of city lights streaked past him, the vibrant glow of neon signs reflecting on his windshield. He’d never driven this fast in his life. Every turn felt like a gamble, every swerve a brush with disaster—but he couldn’t stop. Not now.
Behind him, the Kamura car clung to his tail, its sleek black frame darting through the traffic as if it were a predator. Jacob’s pulse thundered in his ears as he cut off another car, ignoring the blaring horns and screeching tires. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. Ahead, a towering neon sign blinked: “Tech Bazaar,” its bold letters pointing toward a bustling district filled with shimmering buildings and crowded streets.
Jacob spotted his target—a small diner perched near the district’s edge, its fluorescent lights flickering like a beacon. He didn’t have time for finesse. Yanking the wheel, he veered sharply into the parking lot, tires screeching as the car skidded to a halt in the middle of the asphalt. Heart hammering, he ducked low in his seat, his mind racing for an escape plan. His grappling hook? It was risky, but it might be his only shot.
A minute later, the Kamura arrived, its tires crunching on the gravel as two men stepped out. They moved with purpose, their dark uniforms and sharp glares cutting through the crowd like knives. Jacob could feel their gaze boring into his car. They were getting closer—too close. His fingers fumbled for the grappling hook trigger right under his boxing glove. He heard loud gunshots spraying through the air a moment after-
Jacob froze. It wasn’t from the Kamuras.
The distinct crack of a sniper rifle followed, a thunderous boom that reverberated through the parking lot. Screams erupted as bystanders scattered, their panicked cries mingling with the sound of shattering glass. Jacob clutched his head, the noise and chaos pressing down on him like a weight. Before he could process what was happening, his car door swung open.
A gun stared him in the face, the cold barrel inches from his forehead.
Jacob’s breath caught in his throat. Then came the voice, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Damn, Jacob. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”
Jacob’s eyes darted upward to see Brodyn’s smirking face. The barrel of the gun lowered, and Brodyn extended a hand, pulling him out of the car. Behind them, the Kamura men lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies sprawled near the diner entrance. Jacob’s gaze shifted to the group standing nearby—the Jumpers. They were armed and alert, their weapons still smoking.
“Jesus, Jacob,” Brodyn continued, his voice laced with mock frustration. “What the hell were you doing in a Kamura car? They didn’t take you hostage, did they?”
Jacob shook his head, his body trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. His legs felt like lead, his arms heavy with exhaustion. The pain hit him all at once, sharp and unforgiving. His ribs ached from the impact of the crash, and his hands throbbed from gripping the wheel so tightly.
“I…” Jacob tried to speak but faltered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need a minute.”
Brodyn caught him as he stumbled, easing him against the side of the car. Jacob’s breaths came in shallow gasps, each one rattling his chest. He could taste blood on his lips, though he couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s. His mind raced with fragmented thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last.
Junpei’s voice broke through the haze. “Where’s the other car? The one with the creds and pops? It’s safe, right?”
Jacob’s stomach sank. He shook his head slowly, his silence answering the question. A heavy tension settled over the group. Brodyn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, shit,” he muttered. “Alright, everyone inside the diner. Except Jacob. He needs a moment.”
The Jumpers retreated into the diner, their murmured voices fading into the background. Jacob remained where he was, leaning against the battered car. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn’t let him. He replayed the events over and over, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him. He’d failed. He’d lost the car with the creds. Kalaf’s words echoed in his head: Don’t try to be a hero.
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson. The city seemed quieter now, the chaos of the chase replaced by an almost eerie calm. Jacob’s eyes drifted to the Kamura men—silent, unmoving. He’d survived, but at what cost?
As the first stars began to appear in the twilight sky, Jacob made a silent vow. He might have screwed up today, but he wouldn’t let this define him. He now understood what it meant to be a Jumper. From this moment on, his life would never be the same.