The sun struggled to pierce through the thick haze of Neo-Vespera, casting muted light over the fractured skyline. Below, the streets churned with activity—vendors hawking wares, drones zipping through the air, and clusters of people huddling under flickering neon signs. The alleys reeked of oil and mildew, and the distant hum of surveillance drones mixed with the sharp shouts of street vendors.
Greg trudged through the chaos, Tempo lagging a few steps behind. His chest ached from where the operative’s blast had hit him, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“Do you even have a plan?” Tempo asked, breaking the silence.
Greg gave a noncommittal grunt.
“That’s not a plan,” Tempo pressed, hurrying to keep pace. “Where are we even going? You don’t have a base, you don’t have backup, and you don’t seem to care that the Syndicate is watching our every move!”
Greg finally stopped, turning to face him. “Kid, let me tell you something about plans. They don’t matter when people like the Syndicate have resources to burn and no moral compass. You deal with what’s in front of you, and you try to survive.”
Tempo threw up his hands. “Great. So we’re just wandering around until they corner us again? That’s your big idea?”
Greg opened his mouth to respond, but a faint, melodic voice interrupted.
“Sounds like you two could use a little guidance.”
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Both turned to see a woman leaning casually against a nearby wall. She was tall, with sharp features and striking silver hair that fell in a sleek braid over her shoulder. Her eyes glinted with intelligence, and a sly smirk played on her lips. Despite her polished appearance—a tailored jacket with subtle silver accents—there was something endearingly awkward about the way she adjusted the earpiece tucked into her ear. A small, spider-like robot perched on her shoulder, its glowing eyes scanning the alley with methodical precision.
“Who’s this?” Tempo asked, his tone suspicious.
The woman pushed off the wall, her movements smooth and unhurried. “Name’s Cora,” she said, her voice measured but sharp. “And you must be Napman—the city’s most reluctant hero.”
Greg raised an eyebrow. “That’s me. You a fan, or just here to criticize?”
“Neither,” she said, her smirk widening. “I’m here to help.”
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Greg crossed his arms. “Help? From someone I’ve never met? That’s convenient.”
Cora chuckled. “Suspicious. Good. That’ll keep you alive a little longer.” She reached up, and the robot on her shoulder scuttled down her arm, hopping to the wall. Its glowing eyes projected a detailed map of Neo-Vespera into the air, several districts marked in pulsing red.
“You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest,” Cora said, gesturing to the map. “The Syndicate’s mobilizing. They won’t just send grunts next time—they’ll send someone like Ironshade, or worse.”
Tempo stepped closer, studying the projection. “How do you know all this?”
“Because,” Cora said, tilting her head, “I’ve been tracking the Syndicate for years. I know how they think, how they move. And I know you two don’t stand a chance if you keep wandering the streets like sitting ducks.”
Greg squinted at her. “What’s your angle?”
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Her smirk faded slightly. “My angle is survival. The Syndicate doesn’t just take control of a city. They take control of people—twist them into something unrecognizable.”
Her gaze drifted for a moment, a flicker of pain crossing her face before she smoothed it away. “They don’t stop until there’s nothing left.”
Greg watched her carefully. She spoke with a sharp confidence, but something about the way she glanced away—it reminded him of someone wrestling with more than they let on.
Tempo frowned. “What does that mean?”
Cora’s sharp gaze returned. “It means you need a base—and a plan.”
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She led them through a narrow alley, weaving past piles of discarded tech and crumbling walls. The group passed a wall plastered with a crumbling Syndicate slogan: “Order Above All.” Someone had scrawled over it in red paint: “Freedom is chaos.”
Greg glanced at the graffiti, his brow furrowing. “They really got their claws into this place.”
“They do,” Cora said quietly. “You learn that the hard way when you’re one of their targets.”
Tempo tilted his head. “You mean they’re after you specifically?”
Cora didn’t answer immediately, running her fingers along the terminal of a rusted metal door. “Let’s just say I’ve been on their radar for longer than I’d like. I know how they operate—how they get into people’s heads. That’s why I built all this. To stay ahead of them.”
The door hissed open, revealing a sleek, minimalist interior.
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Inside was a small but well-equipped base. A holographic terminal flickered in the corner, surrounded by stacks of files and schematics. Maps of Neo-Vespera were pinned to the walls, crisscrossed with notes and markings.
Tempo’s eyes widened. “This is incredible. You built all this?”
“Had to,” Cora said, stepping inside. “The Syndicate has eyes everywhere. If you want to survive, you need a base they can’t touch.”
Greg glanced around, unimpressed at first, but his gaze lingered on the maps and schematics. It was more organized than he’d ever bother to be—and maybe exactly what they needed.
“Fancy,” Greg muttered. “But how’s it help us?”
Cora walked to the terminal, pulling up a series of profiles. Images of Syndicate operatives and their known hideouts flickered into view.
“This,” she said, gesturing to the display. “Information. Strategy. You don’t just punch your way through the Syndicate—you dismantle them piece by piece. Target their resources, weaken their hold, and hit them where it hurts.”
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Tempo leaned closer, his expression serious. “This is it,” he thought, “a real chance to fight back.” His fists clenched as he stared at the map. “What’s the first step?”
Cora tapped a district on the map, which zoomed in to show a sprawling factory complex marked in red.
“This factory is producing advanced tech for their enforcers,” Cora said, her voice quieter. “It’s where they build their tools—machines, sure, but also people. They augment them, rewire their thoughts, and make them... compliant.”
Tempo frowned. “They brainwash people?”
Cora nodded, brushing a hand over her earpiece. “More than that. They take away who you are and replace it with what they want you to be.” Her hand hovered over the terminal, her fingers tightening into a fist. The memory of distant eyes—cold and unfamiliar—flashed through her mind. “It’s not something you come back from easily,” she finished, her voice quieter.
Tempo hesitated. “To someone you knew?”
Cora’s hands stilled over the terminal, her shoulders tensing. “Yes.” She straightened quickly, her tone sharp again. “That’s why I’m here. But I can’t do it alone.”
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Before she could continue, her robot chirped sharply. Its eyes flashed red as it emitted a distorted message: “We see you.”
Cora’s smirk disappeared as she touched her earpiece. “They’re intercepting Blink,” she muttered. Her fingers flew across the terminal, and the robot’s projection flickered before stabilizing.
Greg frowned. “Doesn’t take them long, does it?”
Tempo tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. “They’re watching us?”
“They always watch,” Cora said flatly. “That’s why we move fast.”
Greg stretched, yawning. “Sounds like a lot of work. Hope you brought snacks.”
Cora raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right?”
Greg smirked. “Guess you’ll find out.”
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To Be Continued...