ARC 1: THE ROOKIE LEAGUE
Location: Croydon, South London
Time: 16:42 PM
The exam centre exhaled him into the rain.
Burnt ozone clung to his hoodie. Damp wool. The heavy blast doors sealed behind him with a hydraulic thud that vanished into the drizzle.
Croydon pressed low and grey. Brutalist concrete. Flickering ads. Puddles reflecting neon like corrupted UI elements.
Cameron didn’t mind the rain.
Rain meant fewer bodies. Fewer unpredictable collisions. Cleaner pathing.
He collapsed his staff.
The telescopic segments hissed as they retracted, sliding from six feet of reach down to a compact twelve-inch baton. Standard issue for licensed Charge users — officially for emergency grid response, unofficially for hitting things.
He clipped it to his belt.
Status Check.
Charge Level: 80%
Social Battery: 0%
He flicked his wrist-comp.
16:42 PM.
Aether-Gate server maintenance ended at 17:00.
Miss the login queue and you waited three hours.
The new raid dropped today.
Aether-Gate wasn’t just a game. It was ranked, monetised, streamed, sponsored. If you were good enough, you didn’t need a job.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
World-first clears meant contracts.
World-first meant escape.
He moved.
Fast. Efficient.
He skirted a puddle. Duck-stepped under a flickering holographic advert for CHARGE-BOOSTED ENERGY DRINKS. Cut a straight line toward the station.
His wrist-comp buzzed.
He slowed without stopping.
[URGENT: Rent Adjustment – Zone 4 Surge Pricing]
He stopped.
Not gradually.
Mid-stride.
The city flowed around him. Umbrellas clipped shoulders. A courier swore. A bus hissed at the curb. Cameron didn’t blink.
He tapped the alert.
The numbers projected into the air in augmented red.
Outgoing: ￡850.00 (Rent)
Outgoing: ￡60.00 (Utilities / Charge Levy)
Current Balance: ￡4.20
He stared.
Four pounds and twenty pence.
He refreshed.
Once.
Twice.
The projection flickered. Stabilised.
Current Balance: ￡4.20
“I’m soft-locked,” he said quietly.
No money meant no subscription renewal.
No subscription meant no Aether-Gate.
No Aether-Gate meant existing in the real world full-time.
The train overhead rumbled across the bridge. The vibration ran through his spine like mockery.
His wrist-comp buzzed again.
Incoming Call: Tony
[DO NOT ANSWER]
Cameron exhaled slowly.
Then accepted.
“Whereareyou?” Tony detonated through the speaker. “I’m at Morley’s. You said 16:30. It’s 16:45. My metabolism is collapsing. I require protein. I require grease. Did you pass? You passed. Tell me you passed.”
“I passed.”
“Knew it. Tutorial mode. Listen — get here. Lenny’s trying to hack the soda machine and I’m ninety percent sure it’s wired to the dungeon grid. If turrets deploy I’m blaming you. Also I ordered your combo but I ate the fries. They were deteriorating.”
“Tony.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m broke.”
“We’re all broke,” Tony said instantly. “That’s the starting zone. Poverty is the tutorial.”
“I have four pounds.”
There was a beat.
Then—
“Perfect,” Tony said. “Even better. You’ll be motivated.”
“For what?”
“The No-Limit Qualifier,” Tony said. Lower now. Serious. “Real dungeon. Real payout. Not cosmetics. Not leaderboard nonsense. Cash. Teams are pulling fifty grand on clean clears.”
Cameron’s eyes flicked back to the rent projection hovering in the rain.
“That’s tomorrow,” he said.
“Exactly. We grind tonight. We queue tomorrow. We win. Rent solved. Meta shifts. You can raid and exist.”
“I have a raid tonight.”
“Forget the digital raid,” Tony snapped. “This is an IRL raid. Permadeath settings. Loot drops. Human witnesses. Just get to Morley’s before Lenny commits a felony.”
The line went dead.
Cameron stood still a moment longer.
Rain intensified. Neon smeared across wet pavement. The rent figure hovered in red like a wound.
He closed the projection.
Looked toward the station.
Looked the other way.
Toward the chicken shop.
“I hate this questline,” he muttered.
Then he moved.
Not toward the station.
Toward Morley’s.
