Kovacs sat in his cramped Flat, the faint hum of the air conditioning barely audible over the whirring of his computer. His mind raced, still trying to process what Johnson had told him. Someone was shopping around his armor formulation, and if Johnson’s sources were right, it could only be one of his professors. His thoughts drifted back to Professor Angstrom, the Metallurgy professor who had been uncharacteristically curious about his work lately.
He remembered their last conversation in Angstrom's office. The professor had been probing, asking detailed questions about the new armor formulation Kovacs was working on. At the time, he’d assumed Angstrom was just being thorough, maybe even slightly impressed. But now, the questions seemed more sinister.
Angstrom had asked about the Designer system, too, hadn’t he? Kovacs frowned, recalling the professor’s interest. But Angstrom’s questions had been oddly specific, almost as if he was trying to figure out what the Designer could do.
Kovacs leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “What does Angstrom know about the Designer?” He wondered aloud. “And what doesn’t he know?” If Angstrom didn’t understand the system's full capabilities, then maybe… just maybe, the professor wasn’t aware of all it could do. That thought brought Kovacs some comfort, but it also raised more questions than it answered.
He turned back to his computer and opened up a search window. How to patent an armor formula, he typed. A slew of results popped up, and he began scrolling through them. Kovacs knew he needed to protect his work—if not from the professors, then from whoever was trying to steal it. But as he skimmed the results, his thoughts drifted back to the Designer.
“Where did it come from?” Kovacs had always taken the system for granted, but now he realized he knew almost nothing about its origins. “Who designed it? And why was it so powerful?” And most importantly, “Why did it seem to be tailor-made for him?”
He pulled up the interface for the Designer, watching as the familiar display lit up his screen. He’d spent countless hours designing and redesigning mechas, tweaking armor formulations, and testing new weapons configurations. The system had given him the advantage of knowledge, but he still had to figure out how to apply what it had placed in his head. But he had no idea where it came from or who had built it. Nothing he had been given was far from the current technology, “but what about further information?”
Kovacs bit his lip, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What if the Designer isn’t just a tool?” he thought aloud as a chill ran down his spine. What if it’s something more?” He felt an overwhelming desire to find out more about the system, but he didn’t know where to start.
Just then, his mind flashed back to a conversation with Angstrom. The professor mentioned the Designer's capabilities but seemed unsure of its full potential. What if Angstrom was looking for the same answers? Kovacs thought. What if he didn’t know everything about the Designer either? The young man realized how much that would make sense. “The only contact I’ve had with the system is through Iron Reaper.” He said musingly.
He felt a sudden rush of determination. If Angstrom was after his formula and possibly the secrets of the Designer, then he needed to get ahead of him. Kovacs needed to be smarter and more cautious. And most of all, he needed to figure out who was behind all of this—before it was too late.
Kovacs sat up straight, determination settling into his featues. If he was going to find out more about the Designer, Iron Reaper was the place to start. He limped over to the bed and pulled up the game’s interface over his head and logged in. The familiar world of Iron Reaper loaded onto his screen. He found himself in his familiar mecha lab. He sighed remembering when his life wasn’t as complicated.
The digital space was filled with the virtual representations of his mecha designs, including the latest model, the Devil's Mantis, which hadn't garnered the attention or success he had hoped for. Kovacs sighed, pushing that frustration aside. He had bigger concerns now.
“Okay, where do I start?” he muttered to himself. Kovacs knew the Designer was integrated deeply into Iron Reaper, but he had never really explored beyond the surface level. He had always been focused on his work—designing, testing, and refining mechas. But now, he needed to dig deeper. He needed to understand the foundations of the system itself.
First though he needed to find out how it was interfacing with Iron Reaper. He knew Angstrom knew something about the system but what, “ and the man was who it came from. Who did he get it from?” The young man asked the duck.
Kovacs stared at his screen, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. Could he check the professor’s files? He hadn’t thought of that before, but it made sense. Start at the beginning. Start with the people closest to him. Professor Angstrom had always seemed a bit too interested in his work, and now, with the recent developments, Kovacs had to consider the possibility that his professor might be the one trying to undermine him.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see what you’re hiding, Angstrom.”
But this wasn’t going to be easy. Kovacs had no legitimate access to Angstrom’s files. He wasn’t some hacker with a skill set for breaking into secure systems. But he did know his way around a few tricks within the Iron Reaper’s interface. And more importantly, he had a few connections.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
He navigated back to the Iron Reaper interface, pulling up the contacts list. There were a few people he knew who might be able to help him dig into something as sensitive as a professor's files. After scrolling down the list, he stopped on a name: **GhostWalker**. She was an information broker within Iron Reaper—a figure known for getting her hands on all sorts of data. If anyone could get into Angstrom's files, it would be her.
Kovacs hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. GhostWalker wasn’t cheap, and she definitely wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to owe favors to. But what choice did he have? This wasn’t just about some classroom rivalry anymore. This was about his future, his designs, his very survival in a world that was quickly proving to be far more cutthroat than he’d ever imagined.
He typed out a quick message:
**To: GhostWalker**
*Subject: Need Information*
*Message: I need access to a professor’s files. Discreetly. Can you help?*
He hit send and waited, tapping his fingers nervously on his desk. Seconds felt like hours as he watched the blinking cursor on the screen. Finally, a notification popped up.
**Incoming Message from GhostWalker.**
Kovacs clicked it open.
**GhostWalker:**
*You’ve got a lot of nerve asking for that kind of help, You know this isn't a charity, right? What’s in it for me?*
He grimaced. He knew this was coming. Quickly, he typed back.
**Kovacs:**
*Name your price.*
A few moments later, her reply came in.
**GhostWalker:**
*500 credits. And a favor. To be named later.*
Kovacs winced. That was steep, but he didn’t have time to haggle. He quickly agreed and initiated the money transfer. As the confirmation screen popped up, he felt a pang of regret. But there was no turning back now.
**GhostWalker:**
*Alright. This might take some time.*
Kovacs leaned back in his chair, trying to steady his breathing. He knew he was taking a risk, but he had to find out if Angstrom was involved. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his professor was at the center of all this.
He opened another window and pulled up Angstrom’s profile on the university’s network. He scanned through the public records, looking for anything that might hint at what Angstrom was up to. Publications, research grants, recent projects—nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But that didn’t mean much. If Angstrom was up to something shady, it wouldn’t be in the public files.
A notification popped up again, breaking his concentration.
**Incoming Message from GhostWalker.**
He quickly opened it.
**GhostWalker:**
*I’ve got access to Angstrom’s private files. What exactly are you looking for?*
Kovacs thought for a moment, then typed back.
**Kovacs:**
*Look for any mention of a new armor formulation, recent communications with other faculty, or anything related to the Designer system.*
There was a pause. Kovacs’ heart pounded in his chest as he waited. Then, the screen lit up again.
**GhostWalker:**
*You’re not going to believe this. Angstrom’s been sending encrypted messages to someone outside the university. No names, just an alias—RedFox. And he’s got a file here labeled “Designer Research.” Want me to dig into it?*
Kovacs felt a surge of adrenaline. “Yes,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Dig into it. Find out everything you can.”
As he waited for her response, he couldn’t help but wonder about this *RedFox*. Who were they, and what did they want with his armor formulation? And how much did they know about the Designer?
**GhostWalker:**
*Got it. But this is heavy stuff, Kovacs. If Angstrom finds out someone’s snooping around, it could get messy. Are you sure you want to go down this road?*
Kovacs clenched his jaw, determination setting in. “I don’t have a choice,” he whispered. “I have to know.”
**Kovacs:**
*Do it.*
There was a longer pause this time, and Kovacs could almost feel the tension in the air. Finally, the message came in.
**GhostWalker:**
*The file mentions your armor formulation, alright. Looks like Angstrom’s been trying to replicate it. And there’s a whole section on the Designer—notes, diagrams, algorithms. It’s like he’s trying to reverse-engineer the damn thing. But here’s the kicker—he doesn’t seem to fully understand it. He’s guessing at parts, filling in blanks. Whatever the Designer is, Angstrom doesn’t have all the pieces.*
Kovacs exhaled, a mixture of relief and anxiety washing over him. “So, he doesn’t know everything,” he muttered. “That’s something, at least.”
But this also meant Angstrom was getting desperate, trying to piece together what he could. And that made him dangerous.
**GhostWalker:**
*There’s more. There’s a reference to an upcoming meeting with RedFox. Looks like they’re planning to exchange something. Could be information, could be tech. Hard to say. But if you want to catch them in the act, that’s your chance.*
**GhostWalker:**
* there is also a reference to “THEM”, he got this system from someone but can’t use it. *
Kovacs’ mind raced. “A meeting?” he said to himself, already forming a plan. “I need to find out where and when.”
**Kovacs:**
*Can you find out where this meeting is happening?*
There was a longer delay this time.
**GhostWalker:**
*Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But you owe me for this, Kovacs. Remember that.*
He nodded to himself, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’ll owe you,” he muttered. “But first, I need to know what’s going on.”
Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. Kovacs’ foot tapped nervously against the floor. Finally, the message came through.
**GhostWalker:**
*Found it. Sending you coordinates. Three days from now. Midnight.*
Kovacs read the message twice, making sure he understood. This was his chance—a chance to find out what Angstrom and this RedFox were up to. But he knew the coordinators itwas a rundown area of town not the poorest but a place to walk with eyes in the back of your head. It was a risk—a big one.
But he knew he had to take it.
**Kovacs:**
*Thanks, GhostWalker. I’ll handle it from here.*
He logged off, his mind spinning with possibilities. He had three days to prepare, three days to figure out how to infiltrate the meeting without getting caught. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let Angstrom or RedFox get away with whatever they were planning. Not if he could help it.
“Time to go to work,” he muttered to himself, a steely determination settling in his eyes. And this time, he was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter the cost.