That was all the money Raven had left in his account.
And in this city, 58 credits could only get you one tube of nutrient gel.
He had been working for three days at Drail’s Techn Shop, cluttered with junk and old parts. But Drail had made it clear that he wouldn’t pay until the end of the week—“That’s how I work!” he’d said. The arrogant bastard had no intention of feeding Raven either.
He took a small sip from the half tube of orange nutrient gel he’d bought with his last bit of money. The moment it touched his tongue, it left a faintly burnt, metallic taste. It was hard to get used to, but once it hit the stomach, it gave a sense of warmth—at least a temporary feeling of fullness. He stuffed the remaining tube into his pocket and continued walking down the street.
Neon signs flickered under the dim glow of the streetlights, and the city groaned with the strain of its sporadic power outages. Steam rising between rusted pipes accompanied Raven’s walk.
As he approached Drail’s shop, his eyes scanned the surroundings. The city was awake. It was always awake. And cities were more dangerous when they were awake.
He called out to ION.
“Yo, ION. Got a deal for you.”
A brief silence… then a metallic, cold, emotionless voice echoed in his head:
“ION will not make any agreements with Host-02. Host-02 is classified as unreliable.”
Raven clenched his teeth. He took a deep breath but tried to keep his tone steady. He noticed a couple passing by giving him a suspicious look. He didn’t want to look like a lunatic talking to himself.
“Listen, man, just shut up and hear me out. This whole thing’s a bust. That asshole’s not paying. I’ve been busting my ass fixing his junk pile of machines—for ten damn credits! I could make more panhandling with a busted synth drum.”
But ION’s voice remained emotionless and firm:
“According to my calculations, you will earn enough to purchase a battery within sixteen days.”
Raven rubbed his head with both hands. It felt like arguing with a stone-headed old man. Nothing he said was getting through. His voice was nearing the edge of his patience.
“No, seriously. I’m telling you—he’s not gonna cough up a single cred. And there’s no way I’m rotting in this dump of a city for sixteen freakin’ days. You feel me?”
“Host-02, although your current settlement has poor conditions, there is no obstruction to remaining here for sixteen days.”
Raven’s voice had started to crack.
“This ain’t about the city, alright? Someone’s hunting me. Like, real bad. If they find me… I’m dead. And if I go down, guess what? You’re screwed too, tin-head. Dead Host-02 ain’t worth jack, right? So help me out, and I’ll drag you outta this hellhole with me.”
ION remained silent. This time for longer. Raven kept walking, but his steps were hesitant. There was a glimmer of hope inside him; either he’d be ignored completely… or…
And then, finally, the voice he was waiting for echoed:
“What is your offer?”
A glint appeared in Raven’s eyes. A victorious smile spread across his face as he spoke:
“Let me hit up the Black Pit. I’ll throw down in a few matches. If I win, we’ll be swimming in creds. I get the battery. We find that Western Union whatever.”
Another silence. Then the reply caught Raven off guard:
“Host-02, didn’t you previously fight and lose in the Black Pit Fight Arena?”
Raven’s smile vanished. His brows furrowed.
“C’mon, that guy was juiced to the gills—and his damn arm was bionic! That was my third fight that day, man! If I had some chrome too, I’d have rearranged his skull!”
As he finished the sentence, a brilliant idea struck him. His eyes lit up. He began speaking quickly:
“Wait—just think for a sec. Can’t you rig me up something? Like… a bionic arm or whatever? With that, I’d wreck every bastard in the arena. We’d be rolling in credits. I’d buy you crates of Myralite. Sounds good, tin-head?”
After a moment of silent evaluation, ION responded:
“Agreed. However, I cannot make a bionic arm. I can only create a combat glove.”
Raven’s excitement was overwhelming. He briefly jumped in the middle of the crowd, then quickened his pace and arrived at Drail’s shop. The metal door was closed, but the real work was done in the back room anyway.
He headed to his workstation. He immediately reached into the drawer, pulling out small screws, a soldering device, and a few rusty steel scraps. Following the diagrams ION projected in his mind, he began assembling the pieces.
Hours passed. His fingers were slick with grease, sweat dripped from his brow. Finally, he looked at the glove taking shape. It looked like a monstrosity—metal plates strapped onto a simple leather glove, with wires and circuits jammed in between.
But still… it was hope.
He slipped the glove onto his right hand. There weren’t enough materials for the left. He stood up and threw a few punches.
“This… thing. You sure it won’t fall apart after the first hit? It’s held together with duct tape and bad luck.”
And honestly, the glove did seem like it could shatter on the first blow.
“Yes. It will work.”
ION’s voice was sharp and clear this time. Then he added:
“Also, the glove is not designed for punching. It is designed to deliver a shock.”
Raven raised an eyebrow. What the hell did that mean? Sensing his confusion, ION elaborated:
“The glove is intended to deliver short electric shocks to disrupt opponents upon contact and to momentarily disable bionic equipment. Not for brute force.”
Raven examined the glove again. There was no power terminal attached.
“We didn’t even hook up a power core.” he said.
“Host-02’s biological energy will be used as the power source.”
He paused for a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly.
“So… we’re using the energy you usually zap me with?”
There was no reply.
Raven exited the shop without waiting for a response. He swiftly navigated through the crowded alleyways and arrived at the rusted iron gates of the Black Pit. This place was the heart of the city’s underworld—or at least its nauseating, filthy core. The walls reeked of dampness, and neon lights flickered from wires hanging from the ceilings. The metallic scent, mingled with sweat and blood, made this place as dark as the sins of those who came to fight.
Upon entering, he quickly registered for a fight with the attendant. The documents were scanned via a barcode reader, and he gave his approval. His turn came without much delay.
His first opponent was a burly fighter without any bionic enhancements. Muscular, but Raven noticed the man’s slow movements. The fight ended swiftly. Though Raven took a few hard hits, he didn’t even need to use his glove. He was out of breath but still standing.
Just as he was about to register for the next fight, that familiar metallic echo resonated in his mind.
“Drail will return to the shop shortly. Please collect your reward and return immediately.”
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ION’s voice etched into Raven’s brain with mechanical coldness. He understood the seriousness. If he insisted on staying, he was sure ION would initiate a disciplinary procedure, which usually meant electric shocks.
Sighing, he brought his wallet close to the reader. The screen displayed +200 Credits.
“Look at that—200 creds in under an hour. One more fights, and we can buy the battery!” he said, but ION remained silent. Lately, it had been like this. Less talk, more observation.
When Raven returned to the shop, it was quite late. He threw himself onto the bed. But his peace didn’t last long. As usual, Drail barged in, shouting. He grabbed Raven by the arms, lifted him up, and threw a rusty bucket and a tattered sponge in front of him.
“Get your ass up! Clean the damn toilet!” he barked, mumbling as he shuffled off.
“Always napping, and he’s still begging for cash. Freakin’ leech.”
All Raven could mutter under his breath was a curse. “Son of a…” With the bucket in hand, he slowly moved to the back. The toilet… It seemed even God hadn’t visited this place.
After Drail spent the day grumbling and working, he left the shop. Raven immediately returned to the Black Pit. This time, it took longer to find a suitable opponent. Finally, a fighter with a prosthetic arm appeared.
Raven donned the glove he had prepared under ION’s instructions on his right hand. His fingers trembled, though he couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or exhaustion. When the fight began, he moved cautiously. He didn’t attack until he deciphered his opponent’s guard. Then he seized the right moment. He landed his left fist into the opponent’s armored abdomen—but it was merely a distraction.
With his right hand, he grabbed the opponent’s prosthetic arm. Clenching his teeth, he shouted:
“Come on, ION! Light this bastard up!”
With a hissing sound, sparks flew from the glove. ION broke its annoying silence in this manner. The electric current disabled the connections of the prosthetic arm. The LED lights went out, and the opponent’s body began to tremble.
Raven took down his shocked opponent with a single blow.
In the next fight, he employed the same tactic. After short-circuiting the opponent’s bionic leg, he finished the job with a hard kick. Among the names displayed on the holographic screens, Raven had become more recognizable.
But these victories came at a cost. His body was now sounding the alarm.
“Fighting further is risky. You haven’t slept for 18 hours and have expended too much biological energy. Please return to the shop.” said ION.
This time, Raven didn’t argue. He felt ION was right. He collected his reward. He bet on himself. On the way, he bought two nutrient gels; he consumed one and pocketed the other.
His new account balance was 948 Credits.
"You've got enough money to buy the battery. As soon as Drail arrives, we’ll purchase the BR7893 model. Please be prepared.” said ION.
Raven was as happy as a child. It felt like his life was finally getting back on track. “Yes, sir!” he said with theatrical seriousness. That night, he lay down as soon as he returned to the shop. He closed his eyes, finding peace in ION’s silence.
A few hours later, Drail woke Raven up. But this time, things were different. Raven got up and approached the workbench. He pointed to the battery ION had described with his fingertip.
“I’m done with your bullshit, Drail. That battery’s mine now.”
Drail’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked at Raven, then at the battery.
“This… is this a battery?”
Raven swallowed hard. He quickly tried to recover.
“How the hell should I know? Looks like one. Could be a damn lunchbox for all I care.”
A sly grin appeared on Drail’s face. His yellow teeth, along with his rusty metal tooth, loomed over Raven. His bionic eye gleamed.
“One thousand credits.” he said flatly.
Raven brought his hand to his head. Taking a deep breath, he slammed his fist on the workbench.
“Drail, I’ve fixed twenty of your junk machines in the last four days. Don’t screw me on this. Just hand it over, and I vanish from your life. Win-win.”
Just as he was about to take a step forward, the shop door creaked open. Three men entered. Tall, thin, and fat, these men hit Raven’s stomach like a punch. On the left chest of their jackets was a symbol of a rusty jawbone.
The Rustjaw Gang.
The fat one bumped into Raven with his shoulder, then placed the bag he was carrying on Drail’s workbench.
“Boss wants all this junk fixed by tomorrow. No excuses.” he said.
As the men turned to leave, the tall one stared intently at Raven. His eyes narrowed.
“Wait a sec… Aren’t you the dude who got smashed by Borka in the Pit?”
Raven’s heart raced. He quietly said, “No.” But he had already grasped his glove in his pocket.
The fat one interjected with a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, it is you… Ravon? Ravin? What was it?”
The tall one took a step closer.
“Raven! That’s it! Damn, I knew I recognized you. I put 500 creds on you, man! You owe me, you bastard!”
ION // SYSTEM FEEDBACK — [Session: 004 | Operator: Host-02]
Interface: ION_v4.6.1_β // Connection Stable [?]
[?] [MRS-09] Molecular Restoration System
- Operational Efficiency: 9.2%
- Primary Function:
→ Facilitates tissue regeneration via nano-scale biosynthetic repair protocols
→ Applies localized reconstruction on muscle, epidermal, and limited neural tissues
→ Simulates auto-fibrin production and coagulation to suppress superficial bleeding
→ Engages limited immunosuppression to minimize infection risk
- Critical Limitation:
→ In cases of major tissue disruption or internal organ trauma, system enters “Hemostatic Mode”
→ Prioritizes active hemorrhage control; regeneration rate significantly reduced
→ If operational load exceeds 60%, system may enter temporary shutdown
[?] [BEC-07] Bio-Energy Converter
- Operational Efficiency: 7.0%
- Primary Function:
→ Converts organic metabolic energy into usable electrical current
- Critical Limitation:
→ High-frequency usage may cause neuromuscular complications, including muscle spasms and potential nerve damage
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:
? Not garbage anymore. (“Borrowed” from a couple of street punks—synthetic leather streetwear. Style? Questionable. Protection? Even more so. But hey, at least it’s not patched.)
→ Weapon:
? Left Hook of God? (Cool, huh?)
? Combat Knife [Model: M-12] (Worn grip. Still cuts like betrayal.)
? [NEW!] Combat Glove (ION did something techy. The glove is fucking lightning now, man!)
→ Additions:
? Bad vibes (Persistent)
? Stolen e-Wallet – Balance : 948 [↑350] (Betting is sometimes good. But SOMETIMES!)
? Old Canvas Bag (Stains, holes, and secrets. Could be junk. Could be something worse. You never check—on purpose.)
? Bottled Rations (Technically food. Realistically? Packaged vomit with a label.)
? VX-21 Commlink (Wraps behind the ear, hugs the skull like a leech. Last missed call: None.)
? Field Medkit [Mk.0, expired] (Half-stocked. Half-trustworthy.)