In the heart of the sprawling slums, narrow alleyways snaked between dilapidated buildings, forming a labyrinthine network that teemed with clandestine activities. Crowded shops, their neon signs flickering with rebellious defiance, catered to the darker side of commerce. Broken fragments of scrap metal littered the streets, mingling with discarded detritus—a testament to the forgotten remnants of a forgotten society.

Amidst this urban decay, the figure moved with purpose, their every step echoing a determination forged in the crucible of the streets. Their sleek, form-fitting gear, comprised of reinforced plating interwoven with a mesh of nano-fibers, emanated a subtle iridescence in the dimly lit surroundings. The suit, a seamless amalgamation of protection and agility, allowed for fluid movement while providing an imposing presence.

Hanging low at their side, a sidearm of formidable design rested within a quick-draw holster. Its polished metal frame, etched with intricate engravings, gleamed under the sporadic glow of flickering neon lights. The grip, textured for optimal grip and control, hinted at a weapon crafted for deadly precision. The barrel, partially concealed within an extended suppressor, promised the quiet dispatch of adversaries. It was a tool of discreet authority, ready to be unleashed with calculated force when necessary.

As they navigated the labyrinth of alleys, the figure's keen gaze surveyed the surroundings, ever watchful for signs of danger or opportunity. Bloodstains splattered the walls—an unspoken testament to the vicious dance that played out in the shadows. Machine augmentations, both crude and elegant, adorned the bodies of those they encountered—subtle reminders of the symbiotic relationship between flesh and technology.

Throughout the desolate streets, an overflow of trash mingled with discarded beer bottles and crumpled bags, evidence of a society teetering on the edge of its own decay. Above, lampposts cast flickering light, their luminescence intermittently swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Patrol drones, their scanners vigilant, monitored the labyrinth below, their presence a reminder of a watchful yet indifferent system.

Amongst the deranged and destitute, figures lurked with predatory intent. Clad in ratty gothic attire, their faces etched with the scars of desperation, they lounged on the fringes, like twisted sentinels of anarchy. Eyes burned with a feral hunger, weapons of varied lethal ingenuity clutched possessively, a deterrent to those who might challenge their perceived dominance.

Through this intricate web of decay and desolation, the figure weaved, their purpose veiled beneath the layers of their enigmatic persona. The streets whispered their name in hushed reverence, acknowledging their prowess without fully comprehending their motives. And in the midst of this visceral reality, the Rusty Nexus beckoned.

Tibbar, a long-haired man in a tattered cloak hiding the barely visible cybernetic enhancements on his arms sat before a large bloated thug bearing a tattoo of a bear on his right knuckle. Tibbar held a bottle in one hand and a tablet in the other, his cybernetic eyes scanning the digital pages.

"So, what's your gang up to these days?" Tibbar asked, his gaze fixed on the man.

The thug leaned in, a deceptive smile on his face, as he took a swig from his drink. "Survival of the fittest, my friend," he chuckled, the glimmer in his eyes hinting at hidden motives.

Tibbar's eyebrows furrowed slightly, sensing an underlying agenda beneath the thug's friendly facade. "Playing dirty, huh? The big fish eating up the small fry?"

Nodding with a hint of bitterness, the thug confirmed Tibbar's suspicions. "It's a tough world out here."

Tibbar's expression hardened, his instincts telling him there was more to this thug than met the eye. "Everyone's gotta make a living, even if it means getting your hands dirty."

The thug clinked his bottle against Tibbar's, a cynical glint in his eyes. "True that. But maybe we can find a way to shake things up, turn the tables on those corporate overlords."

Tibbar raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the thug's veiled proposition. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Leaning in closer, the thug's voice dropped to a whisper. "I've got valuable information for you, Tibbar. Heard you've been digging around. Those suits at Odyssyus Inc. are causing quite a stir in the lower districts. I know who you really are and I also know we share a common enemy."

Tibbar took a swig from his bottle, maintaining a cool facade while his mind worked to decipher the thug's true intentions. "Information ain't free. What's the catch?"

The thug smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, there's always a catch, my friend. But let's just say we can help each other out. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Wouldn't have called you here otherwise."

The large man slides him a chip with a flick as he continues, "My group is gathering by the Smog district. You meet any Fang members on your way there, tell 'em Lombta sent for ya. Hoping you aren't filled with lead by the time you get there."

Tibbar narrowed his eyes at the chip before returning to scanning the news displayed on his tablet and replying nonchalantly, "That's great and all friend. Only problem is that you're awfully confident I'll show."

The thug chuckles in a deep low rasp before responding to the vagrant, "You and I both want things the other has. Tell you what, you show up and lend us the much-needed firepower, I'll make it worth your while with some intel on the bastard that offed your client. Don't forget, the only reason I haven't blown your brain out is cuz you managed to get your ass this far. I hope the rumors aren't just rumors."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Before the thug could continue, Tibbar's attention was caught by the entrance. A mysterious security figure, clad in gear reminiscent of the standard Odyssyus Inc. security officer, walked in. Trusting his instincts, Tibbar hastily interrupted.

"Hold that thought. We'll have to continue this conversation another time. I've got somewhere to be," he said, as he pocketed his tablet and readied to draw his weapon at a moment's notice.

The thug's voice rose, attempting to interject and urging Tibbar to stay, but it was too late. Tibbar was already consumed by his next move, a nagging instinct cautioning him to proceed with care. Pulling his hood low to shield his identity, Tibbar disappeared into the crowd, leaving the thug's pleas hanging in the air, unheard. Purposefully, he strode towards the wooden counter, where the bartender deftly mixed his peculiar concoctions.

Tibbar leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the bartender.

"You know what I'm here for old man."

The bartender's gaze briefly shifted, acknowledging Lilize's mesmerizing performance in the back. He leaned with a glint of shrewdness in his eyes.

"Ah, Tibbar. A pleasure to have you at my table. The usual?"

The bartender had an air of elegance and refinement about him. His features were sharply defined, framed by a neatly trimmed beard that accentuated his distinguished look. His piercing eyes held a depth of knowledge and wisdom, hinting at a life filled with stories untold. He carried himself with a composed grace, his movements precise and deliberate. A subtle aura of authority surrounded him, making it clear that he commanded respect in his domain.

"Information, you know, comes at a price. These days, it's a rare commodity. The city tears itself apart as time progresses. Although it is quite inconvenient, for you and me both, information tends to change with it. However, if you are willing to pay, I might just have something for you."

Tibbar's eyes narrow, his impatience evident in his tone.

"Cut to the chase, old man."

With a composed demeanor, the bartender responded, "It depends on what in particular you seek, young man. I don't simply offer everything on a silver platter. Times have changed, and much like other things, the price of knowledge has also risen."

Nodding with a sigh, "A bottle of whiskey's tough to come by these days. So, if you wouldn't mind." He briskly glanced around the dimly lit bar, ensuring the absence of prying ears before he slid a chip toward the bartender. "Anything noteworthy regarding the ongoing turf wars? Got a tip regarding something big going down by Smog"

The bartender's expression tightened, a mix of caution and concern crossing his face as he reached for a bottle of whiskey on the back shelf and gracefully poured two glasses out, and slid one out to the young man while keeping one by his side.

After a brief pause, he offered a glimpse into the hidden underbelly of the city. "The streets stain with more blood with every passing day. The Bulls and Fangs are at each other's throats down by the Smog district. The two vied for more control over the manufacturing plants despite there being a shortage of alloys for manufacturing. This is what keeps the other players such as the Fiends and Powder Kegs away from the conflict. Apart from that, I'm sure you'll hear more from the word of mouth around these parts than from this old man." He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "But do bear in mind, although the noise from the rabble may appear enticing, the true orchestrators reside in the shadows above, pulling invisible strings sd their puppets massacre the masses."

Tibbar acknowledged the bartender's words with a nod as he threw his head back and launched the intoxicating liquid straight into his mouth. His eyes peeled, his gaze scanning the bar, alert for any unwanted listeners. As he prepared to make his exit, a figure emerged from the shadows, donning an ominous Odyssyus Inc. security uniform. Tibbar's grip instinctively tightened on his weapon, tension filling the air.

With a nod of farewell, Tibbar muttered, "Alright we'll have to continue this another time, old man. In the meantime, stay vigilant."

The bartender, a seasoned observer, offered a knowing smile in response.

As Tibbar turned to leave, the mysterious figure in their corporate armor approached, their mask shooting a penetrating gaze.

Tibbar glared, his eyes sweeping the room, acutely aware of any prying ears. Just as he was about to depart, he found himself face to face with an imposing security figure. His grip tightened on his holstered pistol, ready for a potential clash.

Before any movement could transpire between them, the bartender sighed and interjected, "Before you turn my bar into another unwanted spectacle, young man, perhaps you should hear the information I've painstakingly prepared for you."

Tibbar's eyes widened in surprise as he looked back at the bartender, taken aback by his unexpected words.

"I know who you are, Tibbar Shield," the figure continued, his voice cutting. "I could have you delivered to the authorities who are eager to claim your head. However, your friend over there has persuaded me that you might serve a greater purpose despite the company you've disgraced."

The figure's words struck a nerve, pricking at Tibbar's pride. Fueled by anger, he retorted, "Your kind never ceases to amaze me. Pursuing a man for the sins of another. Haven't you achieved your goals? Must you constantly remind me of my sole failure? You've crossed the line, and now I'll take you down along with every Odysseus lackey in my path. And you, old man," he said with icy certainty, drawing his gun and activating the lethal claw enhancements in his left arm, "are as good as dead."

With unwavering determination, the figure hurled a small tablet toward Tibbar before swiftly departing.

"Fortunately for you, I have an arrangement with the man you so recklessly threatened," the figure remarked. "He believes you have a greater purpose to fulfill. I can't fathom why this relic thinks you should be absolved of her death. But perhaps, if you do as you're told, we can find a resolution for you and your predicament."

With those parting words, the figure disappeared, leaving Tibbar standing there, poised for battle yet bewildered. He caught the tablet with his metallic appendage, retracting the metal enveloping his left arm before slowly pocketing the device, eyeing it with skeptical curiosity. Turning back to the bartender, he met the old man's calm gaze as he spoke, "You receive what you pay for, young man. And you paid a hefty price. So, I deemed it in your best interest to provide you with the opportunity you so desperately seek. I suggest you act swiftly before that opportunity slips away. If I've erred in my surprise, I apologize."

The old man slid a business card toward Tibbar, extending an apology. "As a gesture of goodwill, I have an associate who may be of assistance to you. With the necessary resources, they can prove invaluable to your cause."

Tibbar eyed the bartender with a cold, scrutinizing gaze.

"What's your game, old man?"

A low chuckle escaped the bartender's lips as he replied, "Just an old man repaying a favor. But as you know, information comes at a price. You know what you must do to obtain the knowledge you seek," he added, rubbing his fingers together.

Tibbar sighs to himself before turning to leave, ending the conversation with a low quip, "You're really something you know that. Makes me wonder who you really are sometimes."

He sighs to himself before parting with a farewell, "See you around old man."

Tibbar holsters his weapon and fixes his cloak, ignoring on-looking stares before heading into the vacant streets of Zephyria.