A single droplet fell from a rusted pipe overhead, cracking through the silence of the alley like a whisper in a tomb. It struck a puddle, distorting the reflection of crumbling brick and sagging fire escapes. The darkness was thick—unbothered—until the low hum of drones stirred the stillness. Gear-driven, whining softly, they hovered in formation, their lights strobing across graffiti-smeared walls and broken glass.

  Brief flashes of motion. Then black again.

  Kane crouched beside the man, who was still shaking like a wet wire. He’d been running. Now he wasn’t.

  “Hold still,” Kane said, voice flat, like he was tired of repeating himself. He wasn’t winded. He hadn’t broken a sweat. His appearance—worn boots, dust-coated coat, gray creeping into his stubble—was a costume. Underneath, he was built like steel rebar.

  The man whimpered, “Pl—please—”

  Kane clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shhh.”

  It wasn’t anger. Just routine. Like swatting a fly.

  “Why’d you send Jason after me? Who paid you?”

  Kane’s eyes hadn’t blinked in hours. He had been tailing this man for days. Too long, honestly. But once you start something, you finish it.

  The guy writhed. “It wasn’t me! I swear—”

  Kane held up a finger to his lips again. Calm.

  “Let’s not do the whole panic-pleading bit. I’ve seen it. Gets old.”

  His eyes began to shift—slowly at first, then faster—like storm clouds reconfiguring. Patterns rolled through his irises: circles, spirals, crosshatches. Each one a stored sequence, a living catalog of gene codes he’d collected, cataloged, and internalized over the years. Most people bought enhancements. Kane stole them.

  He flipped through the options in silence, until he landed on one he knew well.

  The vampire’s.

  He’d taken it during a mission Suspended had sent him on. Killed the target, consumed the tissue, mapped the genetics. Their eyes were beautiful in a way—hypnotic, predatory. Designed for control.

  But Kane wasn’t interested in beauty. He wanted precision.

  So he spliced the pattern, altering the structure mid-shift. Faint ridges sharpened at the edge of his pupils, the lines resolving into a hybrid form: the vampire’s ocular compulsion fused with reptilian slit-edges—something he’d lifted from a modified alligator hybrid in Sector 9. The slits tightened his focus, cut out peripheral noise, made his lock-on absolute.

  Now he had both: influence and accuracy.

  He blinked once, slowly. The patterns stopped shifting.

  It was time to listen.

  “Now talk.”

  The man convulsed, once. His amulet flared, then cracked as Kane ripped it from his neck.

  “Cheap protection,” Kane muttered.

  The shaking stopped. And the words started to pour.

  Someone else was after Kane. Not Suspended. Not the usual scavengers either. Someone clever. Someone meticulous.

  That got Kane’s attention. Barely.

  A year of breadcrumbs—records pulled, questions asked in just the right order. Enough to set off the mental alarms Kane had hardwired into people he'd compelled. A sort of psychic tripwire. Someone had been brushing too close to truths that were supposed to stay buried.

  “He’s good,” Kane muttered to himself. “Sloppy once in a while, but human. Nigerian. Probably male. Probably.”

  Interesting. Not enough to care. But enough to keep tabs.

  He turned back to the man, bored again.

  A jab to the neck. Quick. Precise. Crack.

  He wiped his hands on the man’s shirt—sky blue, soft fabric—then reached into the chest pocket and pulled out a small laminated card. An adventurer’s ID.

  **Name:** Dick Sam Rogers

  **Rank:** Bronze B++

  **Kills:** 1200

  **Latest:** Goblin Lord, est. Rank Lv5

  **Warning:** Not for sale or display. Penalties apply.

  Kane sighed. “Goblin Lord. Real impressive.”

  He peeled the back off the card. The adhesive activated with moisture, clinging to the inside of his coat. A shimmer passed over his body—bones reshaped, skin tone deepened, face pulled into the form on the card. Dick Sam Rogers. Just another face.

  The corpse behind him was still warm. Unremarkable. Forgettable.

  Minutes later, a man emerged from the alleyway, wiping his mouth with a napkin. No trace of what had happened. He wore a straw hat tilted back on his head and a faded guayabera shirt. His eyes glowed faintly blue.

  He looked like he’d just finished lunch.

  ---

  The crowd was thick, all pushing for a glimpse—not of the typical government-controlled Effectors from Suspended or the Expanse, but the rogue ones. Mage Caste. Real Adventurers.

  Kane walked faster, down the path reserved for certified ranks. Kids and vendors lined the edges. He slipped past a food cart, ducked under someone’s cloak, and kept moving.

  “There they are!” someone shouted.

  A kid darted out of the mass, straight toward him.

  “Hey!” an android in black armor snapped, but the boy was already through, skidding to a stop in front of Kane.

  Shit.

  Kane slowed, brow raised. “You all right, kid?”

  The boy nodded quickly, eyes wide. “Can—can I ask you something?”

  Kane forced his facial muscles to soften a little. “Go on, then.”

  “Do you think...” The boy’s voice cracked. “Do you think someone like me could ever become one of you? A mage-class Effector?”

  Kane opened his mouth—but something stopped him. The smile faltered.

  In a blink, the memory hit.

  The stench of blood. His own voice, hoarse, screaming through broken ribs: _Don’t die! Please, don’t die!_

  The chains. The flogging. Bones jutting under torn skin. They’d called it training.

  He came back to the present with a slow breath.

  “What causality can you use?” Kane asked.

  “Fire,” the boy said proudly.

  He made a quick sequence of casting signs. No flame appeared—just a shimmer of heat in the air.

  But that was more than most of the population could do.

  Kane looked at the kid for a long moment. Part of him wanted to say no. Wanted to warn him, tell him the truth: _You wouldn’t last a day._ But it wasn’t his business.

  Instead, he said, “Yeah. One day, you just might be one of us. Save up, buy yourself a starter atom gear—helps a lot in early casting.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The boy lit up. “Nilo!” he said, standing on his toes to pinky-touch the silver plate welded to Kane’s shirt.

  Kane blinked slowly, once, twice, watching him.

  He reached out and ruffled the kid’s hair, then turned to go. He looked back once—Nilo still stood there, frozen like someone had lit a fire in his chest.

  Kane picked up his pace.

  He’d lied. The kid would probably die on his first day out.

  But telling the truth would only turn heads—and the last thing Kane needed was attention, or that kid crying in front of everyone.

  The heavy tungsten door creaked as Kane pushed it open. Warm light spilled out, along with the low murmur of voices and the clink of mugs. The guild hall smelled of smoke, steel, and old leather.

  It made proper use of gears—efficient, mechanical, reliable. If more homes had tech like this, the fear of being sent to Suspended over a missed electricity or solfare payment would vanish.

  Kane stepped inside, boots echoing on stone. A few heads turned. Most didn’t bother.

  The mission board stood against the far wall—crammed with parchment, some new, others yellowed and curling. He walked over, scanning.

  Monster clusters near the Kenya outer wall.

  A suspected creature eating other monsters around the Kenya border.

  Lost transport modules.

  Something about a nightmare leaking out of a dream, killing a family on the edge of Lagos.

  He yanked one loose, read it again, then stuffed it into his coat.

  Behind him, someone chuckled.

  “Hope you brought a shovel,” they said.

  Kane didn’t answer. He was already moving.

  He had barely turned when a voice called from the counter.

  “Hey. Dick.”

  He paused. Looked up.

  One of the women behind the bar was waving him over—small, quick movements, like she didn’t want to be seen doing it. Her face was tight. Too composed.

  Kane walked up slowly, leaning on his elbows like nothing was wrong.

  “How you doing?” he asked, voice casual.

  She didn’t smile. She leaned in close, her breath shaky, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I need to know. Did she find out?”

  Kane’s expression didn’t change. “Find out what?”

  “Stop,” she hissed. “Don’t play dumb. You think I’d call you over if I didn’t have a reason? She was in here last night, _asking questions._ Real calm. Too calm.”

  Kane’s eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced around—nobody was watching. Not yet.

  “She look angry?”

  “No. That’s what scared me.”

  The bartender’s hand trembled as she poured a drink for someone else. Her fingers fumbled the glass.

  “She didn’t blink once,” she whispered.

  Kane stood straight again, brushing something off his coat. “If she knew, you wouldn’t be talking to me. Or anyone.”

  The woman stared at him, pale.

  “I’ll handle it,” Kane said, turning to go.

  She grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. Please. I don’t— I didn’t mean to get caught in the middle.”

  He looked at her hand, then at her. “Then don’t stay in the middle.”

  She let go instantly, stepping back.

  Kane gave her a final nod. “Eight tonight.”

  Then he was gone.

  He slung his bag over one shoulder, adjusting the straps.

  “This old man’s got monsters to kill.”

  ---

  Kane kept his head down as he passed through the archway—no ID scan, no retinal check, no causal signature pulled from his bones. That’s why he chose the trains. The portals tracked everything. Every detail logged, every step archived in some gleaming server farm under Suspended’s watchful eye.

  But the Spirit Network? That was old. Big. Analog in the ways that mattered.

  He moved through the station’s haze of incense and ozone, boots tapping across cracked glass tiles. The train loomed ahead, its body coiled like a sleeping beast. Carved brass etchings marked each car—names of the seven countries it stitched together like arteries in a buried god.

  It cut through Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana, Chad, Benin, Cameroon, and Equatorial Guinea like they were neighborhoods on a map—spanning the Expanse in hours, not days.

  The doors hissed open.

  He stepped inside.

  It smelled like dust, smoke, and something faintly floral—solfare. That’s what kept it running. The only thing Suspended still subsidized without complaint. Even they had lines they didn’t cross, and the emperor had pulled strings from abroad to make this one count.

  Kane settled into a seat by the window, his coat folding stiffly around him.

  A pair of men slumped into the seats across from him, mid-conversation and too heated to care who was listening.

  “Man, did you _see_ the trending quest board?” one of them said, voice sharp with disbelief. He was broad-shouldered, maybe thirty, his jacket patched with scorch marks and a cracked badge from the Accra Freelance Guild. His accent clipped his vowels—a sharp Speak One, Ghanaian through and through. “Everyone’s avoiding it now. Acting like it’s _done_—like that thing’s dead.”

  The man next to him—lean, wiry, with cybernetic implants snaking down his neck and a badge marked **Nairobi Operative Collective**—snorted loud. “Because they _think_ it’s dead. Bunch of idiots. I was there when it went down. That thing didn’t die. It just… _stopped moving_.”

  “Exactly!” the Ghanaian slapped the seatback in frustration. “They just tore it up enough so it’d _look_ like it’d bleed out on its own. Which it didn’t. Probably crawled somewhere deep to regenerate.”

  “Bro,” said the Kenyan, leaning in now, voice low and tight. “You know what I’ve been saying about the Expanse Broadcast Authority, yeah? They sanitized the footage. That final blow? Fake. They edited the aftermath so you wouldn’t see it dragging itself into the marshlands. I feel like they're too concerned about not spreading fear, that they just... lie.”

  Kane didn’t turn his head.

  “Crudes have been evolving so fast lately. Is this the end of the world?” The Kenyan ran a hand down his face multiple times, stomping the train floor. His eyes flashed under bioluminescent contact lenses.

  “We sent a probe yesterday into that adventure zone.”

  The Ghanaian hissed through his teeth. “And the Kenyan government? Still won’t greenlight funding.”

  “Not until it grows big enough to threaten a city. That’s how they work. Wait until half of Kisumu is vaporized, then throw money at a corpse pile.”

  “Madness, bro. Absolute madness.”

  They paused. Then both men looked at Kane.

  The Ghanaian squinted, curious. “How far, boss?” he said with a quick up-nod. “You hear all that and no input?”

  The Kenyan chuckled. “Most adventurers would’ve jumped into this kind of talk fast, no lie. Thought you were one of us.”

  Kane’s reflection met theirs in the window—flat, unreadable. The train jolted hard. Most passengers swayed.

  Kane didn’t move.

  He blinked once. Slow.

  He’d forgotten to blink again.

  By now, Sam Rogers had full muscle control of the face. Kane flashed a casual smile.

  “Omo, a lot was on my mind. Bills to pay, that kind of thing,” Kane said, then added, “Sam Rogers. Bronze B++. What about you guys?”

  “Kojo Dampare,” the Ghanaian said. “Silver C+.”

  “Wekesa Ndiritu. Gold F+,” said the Kenyan.

  “Whoa—you’re one of the few adventurers I’ve seen in a while that’s Gold rank,” Kane said, bowing with a smile.

  “No whine me, guy. Abeg.” Wekesa laughed. “People always talking like I’m Diamond or Blackrock. Chill.”

  “See, this is what kills me,” Kane said. It had taken a moment, but he’d figured out what to say. “We’ve got monsters growing like tumors out there—eating mana fields, collapsing towns—and the ministers want feasibility studies. _Feasibility_, my guy.”

  Wekesa leaned back, arms folded, a cable twitching near his jawline. His cybernetic eye flickered once.

  “They want deniability,” he said flatly. “If they admit there’s a problem, they’re on the hook to fix it. So they wait. Stall. Pray someone like us dies trying, then spin the footage for a sponsorship deal.”

  Kane snorted—fully in character now. “You think I _want_ to go chasing eldritch murder-beasts? Nah. But we don’t have a choice, do we? Because if we don’t, then some rural village out in Ibeju-Lekki or Epe gets erased. Just a crater and a broadcast delay.”

  Wekesa shrugged. “Collateral. Expendable zones. You’ve seen the maps. Anywhere outside a central node is marked red now. High-fatality zones with zero budget.”

  Kane laughed. “Meanwhile, politicians still flying portal-class. Full security teams. Half of ’em don’t even know what a causal mutation _looks_ like.”

  “They know,” Wekesa said. “They just don’t care. The Expanse was never meant to be equal. You— You look like you’re from Foreign Inclusion. I don’t care. We’re one family. But some people? The government will just shift an agenda and distract them all.”

  “Isn’t it in Nigeria that someone who didn’t even run well won? What’s his name again? I can’t remember.”

  Kane narrowed his eyes. “McAlister.”

  “Exactly. Like, explain how? Some people are arguing he’s doing a good job, but how did he even get there?”

  Kojo leaned forward, voice low and razor-sharp. “I said it. The Expanse was built on a lie. They united seven countries with promises and tech they barely understood—then sealed it with a Wall and started slicing it up. Power nodes in Cameroon. Resource pipelines through Ghana. Military command in South Equatorial Guinea. But the rest?”

  He tapped the window.

  “Feeding zones.”

  Wekesa looked away, jaw clenched. “Man, I hate when you’re right.”

  Kojo smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You should. Means it’s getting worse.”

  Kane ran a hand over his face. “You know what hurts? It’s not even the monsters. It’s that we could _stop_ this. We’ve got the tech. The old blueprints. Soulforging gear in vaults. Forbidden caster types in archives. But they’d rather regulate us to death.”

  _He didn’t really believe that, though—not completely. But it kept the conversation going._

  “Because they’re scared,” Wekesa said. “Of power they can’t monitor...”

  Kane let the conversation drift. The train had been slowing for a while.

  The jokes. The blame. Throwing shade at ministers and military heads. It was pointless.

  They didn’t get it. Not fully.

  They didn’t get it. Not fully.

  People like that kid—Nilo, the one in the square—thought you could _become_ something just by trying hard enough. Break a barrier. Learn some signs. Build a script. As if that made you an Effector.

  But Kane had seen the truth.

  Effectors and Enhanced? It wasn’t about the soulforging gear. It wasn’t about the best mods or atom gear. Not really.

  There was a reason Effectors were made in gene labs—designed for exact triggers, calibrated down to the neuron. Some in places the government didn’t admit existed.

  **How you got your power mattered.**

  It shaped you. Branded you. Played a crucial role in what you could touch, how deep you could go, what kind of monsters you could kill. There were layers to it. Paths you could never fake, even with a billion-cred suit or the finest tech enhancements on the market.

  He knew because he wasn’t a normal Effector.

  He was closer to a Crude than a human.

  And that meant he could speak with authority.

  The Crudes weren’t like the old ones—not anymore. These things weren’t just reacting. They were _adapting_. Feeding. Learning. Getting smarter with every kill.

  No algorithm or training regiment could keep up with that. And the old formula of preparing for war by building the occasional elite Effector or Enhanced? Dead on arrival.

  Hand out enough suits. Run the right drills. Throw enough bodies at the wild and hope the wild gets tired.

  It wouldn’t.

  Kane leaned his head against the glass, eyes half-lidded. The train swayed gently. He didn’t even feel it.

  His file—he’d seen it once. Orbit-side. A mistake. A glitch in a system that should’ve stayed sealed.

  The number attached to it?

  **One hundred trillion credits.**

  That’s what it had cost to make him.

  Not to train him.

  Not to equip him.

  **To make him.**

  And even that—_one hundred trillion_—might not be enough for what was waiting out there.

  But at least it would be fun.

  The train finally came to a halt.

  If you’re enjoying the story so far, consider leaving a rating and a comment—it helps more than you think.

  I’ll be doing a mass release whenever we hit 10 followers and a few solid ratings, so spread the word if you want more chapters faster!

  Kane’s POV for a while.

  Are you ready? Good.

  Because things are just getting started.