He had found this disgusting piece yesterday, in a filthy scrapyard. The only reason he had bought it was the trace amount of Myralite on it—just like the other four pieces he had collected over the past three days. All of them were broken-down machines, left at the mercy of time, rust, and neglect. But to Raven, these seemingly worthless remnants marked the fine line between survival and death.
Suddenly, a mechanical voice broke the silence of the room.
“Nanite production complete. Current operational nanite count: 203,980.”
ION’s cold and emotionless voice echoed through the air. Raven rolled his eyes. That number was far below his expectations.
As his shoulders slumped, that familiar gut ache returned—the one that came every time he realized he had traded his dignity for scraps of rusty metal. He clutched his stomach, trying to take a deep breath, but the disappointment within him poisoned even that simple reflex.
Grumbling, he muttered,
“Yo… What if I melt this barrel down… shrink it… and swallow it or something? Think I could make more nanites that way?”
His words hung somewhere between a desperate joke and a genuine question. But ION didn’t immediately respond to the absurdity. It was as if its mechanical mind was calculating the most polite way to reject such foolishness.
After a short pause, the answer came, clear and final:
“No. If we had certain chemicals and proper equipment, we could purify far more Myralite. However, given current conditions, we are making solid progress. Shall we continue with our work?”
ION’s suggestion rang in Raven’s mind. Yes, the work. Work always dulled the pain. He stood up. The hotel room had long since transformed into an engineering workshop. Piles of metal parts, cables, charging stations, and old bionic components had turned the space into a swamp of technology.
At the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting, right next to the scrap heaps, lay two special work gloves—the starting point of his next project. They were originally designed for heavy construction work: reinforced to protect the finger bones, and covered with impact-resistant material. But in Raven’s mind, these gloves were the first step toward a much grander purpose: the new Super Punchinator.
He set to work meticulously. He dismantled old, broken bionic hands—once worn by someone unknown. Some of the exteriors were still intact; despite the scratches and burns, the inner metal skeletons had endured.
Raven twisted a tiny screwdriver, picked out small screws, cut wires with surgical precision. His fingers, once unfamiliar with this mechanical world, now danced over it with growing mastery. Still, he wasn’t an engineer—not yet. He didn’t understand what most of the circuits did. He merely followed ION’s instructions. But that didn’t stop him. Every piece he worked on was another brick in the wall that would keep him alive.
When he finally slid his hands into the new Super Punchinators, his eyes sparkled with excitement. His old model had been crooked, barely a step above junk. But this—this was a work of art. The new Super Punchinators fit snugly over his fingers like a glove forged from dark gray metal. Its surface was lined with strategically placed ridges, designed to increase the impact of each punch—every edge, every corner served a deadly purpose. The joints were still a bit stiff, but Raven didn’t care. The power he felt was worth everything.
From behind the workbench, ION called out:
“Open your palm.”
Without asking why, Raven extended his hand. Within seconds, fine blue sparks danced between his fingers. The electric current flowed over the joints of the Super Punchinators, gathering in the center of his palm. A translucent bundle of energy formed there, twitching like it was ready to explode at any second.
Raven squinted, mesmerized.
“Wait— hold up— is this a Lightning Bomb?!” he blurted out.
“Can I throw it?! Does it actually launch?!”
His excitement escalated with childlike intensity as the ball of electricity in his hand grew, trembled… and then, just as suddenly, vanished as if it had never existed. A wave of dizziness hit him; he felt his body grow heavy, as if all his energy had been drained.
ION folded its arms.
“That is your new ability.” it said in a calm tone.
“But use it carefully. Overexertion may result in serious side effects—muscle tears, nerve damage… even temporary paralysis.”
Raven frowned. It was a cool trick, sure—but in real combat, what good would it do?
ION began to explain:
“If you make direct contact with an enemy at close range, you’ll fry them. It’s nearly impossible to block. But more importantly, you’ll be able to throw this electric orb at mid-range targets. The magnetic enhancements allow it. However, the farther it travels, the weaker it becomes.”
Out of all the technical explanations, Raven focused on one thing.
He could throw it.
His eyes lit up.
“Lightning bomb…” he whispered—then suddenly burst into motion.
“BRO, I CAN SHOOT LIGHTNING OUTTA MY HANDS NOW!” he shouted, leaping into the air.
In that moment, Raven was like a child again, spinning with pure joy, while ION remained silent. A few seconds later, it spoke again in a serious tone:
“We also need to modify your weapon, Raven.”
His excitement shattered like glass hitting the floor. His dream world crumbled. Reluctantly, he walked back to the bench.
“Now listen carefully,” said ION.
“To channel the electrical current from your gloves into your weapon, we’ll need to make a few small but effective modifications.”
Raven’s face slowly brightened again.
“We’re going to add an electromagnetic propulsion mechanism.” said ION, pausing dramatically.
“And… the Mini Railgun Modification.”
Raven’s eyes widened instantly.
“RAILGUN?!” he shouted, his voice a mix of awe and disbelieving excitement.
“Like— the kind in games? Giant plasma shells? Light-speed? Bigass space cannon style?!”
“The basic principle is the same.” ION replied calmly.
“But this will be a miniaturized version suited to our scale. We’ll accelerate lightweight projectiles between magnetic rails. In short: ammo is easy to find. Just some solid scrap, a bit of electricity, and a whole lot of raw kinetic force.”
Raven’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he glanced at the pile of junk ION had selected: a cracked circuit board, worn-out coils, a few old power capacitors, and dismantled magnet modules.
“We’ll integrate the electromagnetic propulsion system into the weapon you got from Ogon. The energy from your gloves will be channeled directly from the trigger to the rails. It’ll inject a massive amount of kinetic energy into each shot. With low voltage, you can fire at close range. With high voltage… you can pierce any Active Defense Surface we’ve encountered so far.”
Raven held his breath in near childlike excitement. He clenched his fists and couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth:
“So lemme get this straight… I can throw punches… shoot lightning… and pop fools with a mini railgun?!”
ION was silent for a brief moment, reanalyzing Raven’s age just to be sure.
“Yes.” it said at last.
“But remember: the charge time will depend on the material of the projectile. And our material quality is… very low. Firing high-voltage rounds is risky. Overuse could fry the internal circuits of your Super Punchinator and your weapon. It could also severely damage your nervous system.”
ION’s serious warning dissolved within seconds in Raven’s mind. Only one thought echoed through the young warrior’s brain:
Lightning bomb… super punches… and a railgun!
They got to work at the bench. Raven had already begun disassembling the weapon before ION could even finish its instructions. He knew how to break a weapon down into its parts.
His fingers moved over the old components with the precision of a surgeon. He aligned the coils, mounted the magnet modules, and adapted the power capacitor to the new connections.
Suddenly, a soft alarm sound interrupted his work. Raven looked up, startled, and checked his watch. He rubbed his eyes.
Time had flown by.
With a small curse, he hastily cleaned up the table. He threw on his new outfit: a sleek, black jacket over a flexible inner layer—light armor designed for maximum mobility. It was a new-generation Active Defense Surface. To the naked eye, it didn’t even look like armor, but its fibrous structure provided extraordinary protection against cutting and piercing attacks. It was nearly useless against most modern firearms, though. Raven had paid 40,000 credits for this armor—but he felt it was worth every single one.
He made his way through the dusty, gray streets of Delta-6 toward the train station. The concrete ground was cracked. Rusted pillars, flickering lights, and scattered trash all screamed that this place was still alive—but long forgotten.
A few minutes later, the day’s only train slowly pulled into the station. Raven, hands in his pockets, blended into the crowd in silence. His eyes scanned the passengers with instinctual precision: workers, jobless drifters, a few lost faces… all looked ordinary.
Meanwhile, ION was scanning the signals from previously hacked communication devices.
“Clear.” said the mechanical voice in his mind. The tension in Raven’s shoulders eased slightly. He slipped into the waves of the crowd.
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He raised his hand to his ear and tapped his comms device. A transparent blue holographic screen popped up. He scrolled through his contacts and tapped a name: Koran.
Within seconds, static crackled—then a familiar voice rang out.
“Yo! Where you at, man?” shouted Koran, his voice carrying its usual friendly roughness.
For the past few days, Raven had been meeting Koran every evening, slowly working his way into the gang’s inner circle. With ION’s data analysis and Raven’s natural social instincts, the job had been almost too easy.
“I’m heading to the usual spot.” Koran said. A dull thrum of music buzzed in the background.
“You rollin’ through?”
Raven smiled.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” he said, closing the comms and dismissing the hologram.
He walked several blocks through narrow, damp alleys. With each step, the smell of decaying metal and chemical waste grew sharper. Neon lights flickered in competition with graffiti on the walls, casting a fake liveliness over the city’s wretched outskirts. Crumpled vagrants in dark corners, steam hissing from rusted pipes—all of it gave the city a sense of hopelessness.
Eventually, he reached his destination: a bar that looked like it was ready to collapse. A rust-covered metal sign hung above the door, its letters nearly worn away. Only a few red neon characters still glowed faintly.
In front of the door stood a group of men, trying to conceal their RiftBlades under their jackets. Their faces bore the familiar expression of apathy—Koran’s men.
Raven approached them with a slight nod and exchanged brief greetings. Then he pushed open the bar’s heavy, creaking door and stepped inside.
The interior was pure chaos. The high-ceilinged space was filled with neon light and smoke. Heavy electronic music, all pounding bass and distorted rhythm, shook the walls and vibrated up from the cracked floor. On the dance floor, dozens of people moved mindlessly, as if enslaved by the beat.
The DJ stood elevated like a commander, orchestrating the crowd with lights and sound, hypnotizing them.
Raven moved to the rhythm as he weaved through the crowd. He gently pushed aside dancing bodies, never taking his eyes off his destination: the private lounge upstairs.
The lounge was separated from the rest of the bar by a half-glass partition. Its luxury was an act of defiance against the filth below—leather couches, soft lighting, and frosted bottles slowly steaming on the table.
Koran was there, reclining comfortably with a drink in hand. The heavy faux-leather jacket he wore was old, but still gave him an imposing presence.
Raven approached slowly. They shook hands—a short but sincere gesture of friendship. Then Raven sank into the soft leather seat.
Just then, ION’s mechanical voice whispered into his ear:
“Koran’s stress levels: high. Heart rate: 23% above normal.”
Hearing that, Raven smiled slightly and leaned toward Koran. The music was so loud they practically had to shout.
“What’s going on? You broke or something’?!” Raven teased, a playful glint in his eyes.
Koran smirked, took a sip from his drink, then gestured for the woman next to him—who had been swinging her legs and vaping—to leave. She got up without a word and disappeared into the crowd.
Koran leaned in closer and lowered his voice even more.
“I’ll explain, but it stays between us, alright?”
Raven nodded seriously. Koran leaned over the table, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“So here’s the thing — our crew’s got some mercs behind us. You’ve heard of DeadFox, right?”
Raven gave a slight nod. Koran continued, his voice brimming with anger:
“But a few days ago… some psycho shows up! Shanks two of our guys and straight-up puts a fucking collar on Fox’s boss. Fox had us on a leash — now that nutjob’s got Fox on his!”
Raven raised his eyebrows slightly. He had to fight hard not to laugh — because the so-called lunatic was him.
“So what?” Raven asked, sounding indifferent.
“You still gettin’ your cut, ain’t you?”
Koran’s face fell. He couldn’t hide the frustration.
“No, Fox was leechin’ off us, sure. But with their firepower, we took over the city! Now that lunatic’s squeezing them! Boss called us in like, ‘Money’s tighter now, boys.’”
Koran took another angry gulp of his drink.
“So yeah man — my cut got slashed.”
Raven felt a quiet triumph ringing in his chest. The plan was working. Step by step. The veins on Koran’s forehead were starting to bulge with rage.
Koran went on:
“And our boss? Total coward. Dude’s got bionic arms just for show! If he had the balls your boss got, we wouldn’t be Fox’s lapdogs right now.”
Raven leaned back and hid a grin behind a cool expression.
“Then swap the boss.” he said casually.
“If you want, I’ll personally beat the crap out of him for you.”
Koran burst out laughing. He liked the idea.
“If only! But the problem’s not just the boss. It’s DeadFox! Even if we ditch our guy, they still got muscle.”
Raven leaned in, acting more interested. His eyes gleamed.
“How many?”
Koran held up three fingers.
“Three. Just three DeadFox boys still around. Rest took some cash and dipped. But it ain’t about the headcount — it’s the gear, the training.”
Raven reached inside his coat and pulled out his new Super Punchinators. The metal gleamed under the dim light.
“And how do they feel about electricity?” he asked, with a devilish grin.
A spark of hope lit up in Koran’s eyes. Maybe… just maybe… these machines could give them the upper hand.
“But there’s something else…” he added, lowering his voice.
“They say that psycho’s not alone. Word is he’s got two special squads — twelve elite merc in total.”
Raven’s eyes lit up with joy.
“Leave that to me. I’ll deal with Fox, and I’ll deal with the psycho. Then? You swap out your boss. And after that? We become kings of this city.”
Koran leaned back slightly. Hesitation flickered on his face. The risk was huge… but the reward? Even bigger.
Running a hand through his hair, he muttered:
“I’ll need to talk to the other officers… But Raven, that maniac’s got twelve men! I’m talking about elite mercs! They’ll slice through us!”
Raven just laughed as he ordered a lemonade.
“Trust me. And hey… no rush, right? Maybe they just… vanish on their own.”
When the lemonade arrived, Raven lifted the can. Koran raised his glass. Tin met glass — like the clink of two close comrades.
ION // SYSTEM FEEDBACK — [Session: 019 | Operator: Raven Karr]
Interface: ION_v4.6.1_β // Connection Stable [?]
- Number of new active nanites: 162,643 → 203,980
- Efficiency increase:
→ [MRS-09] Molecular Restoration System (10.4% → 11.2%)
→ [NRC-15] Neurochemical Regulator (8.3% → 9.9%)
→ [MSS-14] Multi-Spectrum Scanning System (14.0% → 15.6%)
→ [BEC-07] Bio-Energy Converter (9.4% → 10.8%)
→ [CQC-11] Close Quarters Combat Support Module (9.2% → 10.8%)
→ [TAM-18] Tactical Analysis Module (11.4% → 13.0%)
→ [MAP-08] Myralite Purification Protocol (12.1% → 13.9%)
→ [VIRUS-9] Vector Intrusion Relay for Uplink Synchronization (9.2% → 11.9%)
→ [AOSP-53] Acoustic Optimization and Signal Processing Protocol (7.4% → 8.0%)
→ [LST-08] Localized System Termination Unit (9.8% → 10.7%)
→ [IRM-10] Internal Rhythm Manipulator (6.8% → 7.7%)
→ [PSA-02X] Psycho-Social Analysis Module (2.1% → 3.7%)
System Notice: Stated efficiency percentages apply only under conditions of full, synchronized nanite allocation to each individual module. Partial or multi-tasking deployments may result in fluctuating efficiency levels.
Raven // BODYCHECK
→ Gear:
? [NEW!] Good quality clothes (Raven still looks like a punk, even though the clothes are intact. After all, he's still pretending to be a gang member.)
? Active Defense Surface [Model: AS929] (ION did something. It works now!)
? [NEW!] Upper Body Active Defense Surface [Model: CQ22] (Mostly provides protection for close combat. It will be much more effective when used in combination with AS929.)
? Emoji Mask (Why wear a mask if you want to show your facial expressions?)
→ Weapon:
? Left Hook of God? (Seriously? This ancient wrist-slam still here? Next to the Super Punchinator? No tech, no spark—just bruises and delusions of divine relevance.)
? Combat Knife [Model: M-12] (The only thing left of Rex.)
? [NEW!] Super Punchinators (Now there's not one, there's two! Stronger, more ‘shocking’! Plus, it can fire a FUCKING LIGHTNING BOMB!)
? [NEW!] Ogon's pistol (It's still being modified, but it looks promising.)
→ Additions:
? Sad vibes (Pov: Trauma)
? Stolen e-Wallet – Balance: 40000 [60000↓] (Everything is very expensive...)
? VX-21 Commlink (There's a missed call! Even Commlink is surprised.)
? Stylish Black Bag (Used to be cool. Now it’s just “Raven’s personal hell-pocket.” Still cursed. Still smells weird. It's a little lighter now.)
? Sustenance & Regret – Contents: Bottled Rations, Bottles labeled “Water” (Technically drinkable. Emotionally scarring. One hissed and called him “mom.”)
? (6) VX-21 Commlink (He's not gonna do anything with these.)