The address Senna had pinged led to a nothing storefront squeezed between a pizza shop venting steam clouds and a store selling recycled cybernetic limbs. The limb shop's window was macabre—cybernetic arms and legs hanging like meat at a butcher's, some still twitching from leftover neural activity. Only sign was a flickering holographic brain with 'MINDSTATE' underneath. The brain kept glitching, showing a skull before reforming.

  Cole pushed through the door, soft chime announcing him. The grimy exterior was a lie. Inside was all high-tech workshop, smelling like hot circuits and that sweet smell of coffee left on the burner too long. Under it all was another smell that made his nose wrinkle: neural fluid, the stuff that kept wetware from cooking itself.

  Server racks hummed against one wall, indicator lights blinking in patterns that probably meant something to someone. Each rack had warnings in multiple languages: "ACTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS STORAGE - DO NOT DISCONNECT."

  Real comforting. Like playing 'don't touch the red button' except the stakes were someone's brain.

  Holographic schematics floated in the air—neural pathways mixed with weapon trajectories. In the center, a man hunched over a workbench, finishing something delicate on a glowing data slate. Puff of acrid smoke marked the job done.

  Guy didn't look up. Rich auburn skin, neat beard, curly hair tied back loose, and purple eyes. His hands were steady despite the empty stim injectors on his workspace. Been at it too long.

  "Michael?" Cole asked.

  "Who's wondering? Got business?" Michael's voice came out low, half-man half-synth from a high-end vocal modulator. Made him sound like he was talking from the bottom of a digital well.

  "Senna sent me. Said you had some top-of-the-line software, maybe even wetware, to help me out."

  That got his attention. Michael set his tool down and turned on his stool, taking a long sip from a stained coffee mug that read 'My other ride is a Class-4 Kaiju.' Steam rose from it in spirals, probably laced with nootropics.

  He smiled, a flash of metal on his left canine. "Ah, I see. Love that girl, blunt as hell, just the way I like it. Honest in a world full of liars and corporate doublespeak. Shame she is chasing some storm-addled asshole though, turned me down plenty of times. Can't compete with a wildfire when you're all about order and code. Anyhow, what can I do you for?"

  Cole felt a flash of awkwardness. He'd been part of the team for less than two days and was already knee-deep in their drama.

  "Newly ascended, Lucent Domain, forty-eight hours fresh." Cole kept his voice steady. “I want some downloads that can help me with combat.”

  Michael gave him a once-over, his gaze lingering on the still-healing scorch marks on Cole's jacket and the faint tremor in his hands. "Fresh surgery too, by the look of it. Al's work. I can tell by the suture patterns. Man's an artist with a plasma scalpel."

  Michael continued, "Yeah, considering how beaten you look, I can see why. My stuff ain't cheap, though, and for a rookie, you probably don't have the credits."

  "Got off a job last night. I'm good," Cole smiled.

  "Job that required Al's emergency services usually means either spectacular success or spectacular failure. Since you're standing here, I'm guessing success."

  Michael's fingers twitched, his eyes flickering with data streams, and Cole knew he was running a credit check. "Well then, if that is the case, I have a list of skillsofts for you."

  Michael flicked his wrist, and a holographic menu crackled to life in the air between them. Each item rotated slowly, showing preview clips of the skills in action: perfect form, lethal efficiency, zero wasted movement.

  "I see that pair of Fractal Blades on you. High-end Lucent gear. Here's a full spec analysis and tactical overlay on all the intricate ways you can use them, most of which you probably never thought of before. We're talking ricochet vectors, resonance frequency exploits, a full breakdown of their pattern-recording abilities… Did you know they can store up to nineteen different attack patterns and replay them simultaneously? Most never get past three."

  "Thinking of getting legs that can create a mirrored surface regardless of where I am at, within a 30-foot area," Cole added, thinking of Al's catalogue.

  "Hmm, yeah, I got something for you here." Michael's fingers moved across the hologram, pulling up another file. The display showed a warrior surrounded by mirrors that materialized from nothing, enemies confused and disoriented. He reached into a nearby diagnostic scanner and pulled out another gleaming data chip, which was warm to the touch. The chip had military markings, the serial numbers filed off.

  "Footing patterns, advanced combat evasion maneuvers, and a predictive algorithm on how to coax your enemy and use the battlefield to your advantage so they stay in range. This one's ex-military, from a Lucent spec-ops soldier who didn't need it anymore. Because he’s dead."

  "Got anything for someone who is repping top-tier Nexus gear? A Lucent body suit?"

  Michael let out a howl of laughter, throwing his head back. "Nexus Lucent division? Those psychopaths? What the hell have you been running into being so fresh? You need a luck-booster, not a skillsoft! Or maybe a new profession. I hear accounting is safe. There's a casino down the block; considering you are still standing, I should give you a discount if you're willing to stand next to me at the poker table with the luck you have."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "You don’t want this kind of luck, might end up with a missing hand instead of your pile of credits”

  "Fair enough." Michael sobered up. He pulled up another display, this one marked with red warning indicators. "Well, I do have a counter-intel deck which is a list of counter-attacks to over a hundred Lucent Domain abilities. It includes exploits for most corporate and military-grade refraction armor, including the Nexus Mark IV. The Mark V just came out, but the exploits are similar. They didn't fix the resonance vulnerability in the shoulder joints. Not exactly what you need, but it will do in a pinch."

  "How much?"

  Michael leaned back, tapping a chrome finger on his chin. Cole's neural-link felt a faint, phantom itch as the shop's local network scanned his public credit rating. The scan was aggressive, digging deep into his financial history before his firewall slapped it away. "For the whole package? Twenty-five thousand. And that's the 'Senna dragged your sorry ass in here' discount. Anyone else, I'd charge double just for breathing my air. This air's filtered, climate-controlled, and costs me fifty credits an hour to maintain."

  The number landed heavily in the air. Cole's hand tightened into a fist. Down to 69,900 after this. The credits were flowing out faster than blood from an arterial wound. But then he saw an afterimage of Silas's mirrored armor in his mind, the memory of his own powerlessness a fresh, sharp sting. He was buying a chance.

  "Deal."

  With a flick of his wrist, he brought up his payment interface, authorized the transfer with a retinal scan, and sent the credits.

  A soft chime came from Michael's console. "Instant payment, no haggling, no payment plan requests. Shit, kid, I like you. Didn't even flinch. Keep on coming back to me; I will make sure to take care of you."

  "Isn’t that what they all say?" Cole asked.

  Michael laughed. "They do, they do. Indeed. But a newby like you is a rare gem, not being so full of themselves. The stuff you're asking for?"

  He gestured to the glowing data slates on his bench. "Most rookies want some fancy holographic projection that makes their blades catch fire, something that will impress the ladies or guys, whatever they are into. Had a kid last week that wanted his Storm powers to play theme music when he attacked. Theme music! They don't listen to the real recommendations I toss their way. This is my way of saying I got you."

  Cole glanced at him, seeing what he thought was a spark of honesty in his eyes. Or maybe it was just a well-programmed sincerity subroutine. Hard to tell these days.

  "Fine, as long as you keep up with the latest software upgrades."

  "No worries about that. I've got connections in places that don't officially exist. Military black sites, corporate R&D dumps, even some Path cultists who trade secrets for credits."

  "By the way, as you have already figured out I have recently had some major surgery. The night prior to be more precise with some new organs installed. How long should I wait before installing all of this?"

  Michael's purple eyes dilated, scanning Cole more intensively. "Three days, minimum, unless you want to short-circuit your new kidney as your body tries to compensate. Your nervous system needs to finish rebooting before you dump this much raw data into it. I've seen people try to rush it. Best case, they seize and lose a few memories. Worst case, their brain literally cooks itself trying to process conflicting signals. You ever smell burning neurons? Smells like bacon mixed with burning metal. Not pleasant."

  "Sounds good to me." Cole took the three sleek, black data slates Michael handed him. They felt heavy, dense with information. Each one had a biometric lock keyed to his DNA. These skills would die with him.

  "One more thing," Michael added as Cole turned to leave. "That Nexus operative you mentioned? If you survived an encounter with one of their Lucent specialists, they've got your biometric profile now. They know how you move, how you think. These skills will help, but..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Next time will be an execution."

  "Thanks for the pep talk."

  "Free of charge," Michael grinned. "Stay paranoid, kid. In this city, paranoia is just another word for awareness."

  As Cole was heading out of the store, the gritty reality of the street hit him again.

  He sighed, breath turning into condensation in the cool air. The Industrial Sector had its own weather system down here, atmosphere thick with metallic particles that caught the light like caustic mist. Pretty in that way poisonous things sometimes were. The kind of pretty that'd kill you if you breathed it too long without filters.

  A group of gangsters were arguing over the corpse of what might have been a low-Sequence Domain, their chrome already being stripped for parts. He thought about taking public transportation, maybe hopping on the mag-train. It would only be a handful of credits. He also thought about the thugs Lia had casually mentioned running into that morning. Normally, he could handle them. But in his state? His back ached with dull fire.

  Diagnostic HUD kept flashing its opinion: [COMBAT EFFICIENCY: 31% - SEEK SHELTER]

  Yeah, thanks for the news flash.

  Plus if he died out here on these streets, Lia would probably drag every Sequence One from every Domain together, find some way to resurrect him just so she could kill him again herself. The thought made him smile despite the pain.

  He made another call to the armored taxi company. A moment later, his Neuro-Link chimed with the fare. With a grimace, he saw this time it was 350 credits. ‘Surge pricing,’ a small notification read. "Active gang conflict reported in your sector. Two Domains confirmed."

  As if to emphasize the point, an explosion echoed from a few blocks away, followed by the distinctive sound of someone screaming while their flesh was reshaped by a rogue Flesh Domain.

  Oh well, he thought, accepting the charge. That pineapple juice was amazing. And being alive to drink it again was worth any price.

  The same black armored taxi from before pulled up, had probably been circling like a well-paid vulture. "Mr. Walker," AEGIS-7's voice greeted him. "I see you survived your appointment. Statistical analysis suggested a 23% chance of incident. Well done."

  "You were calculating my survival odds?"

  "I calculate everyone's survival odds, Mr. Walker. It's something of a hobby. Yours are more interesting than most: highly variable, with unexpected spikes in both directions depending on the dimension observed. Would you like another pineapple juice?"

  Cole settled into the leather seats, his body finally starting to relax. "Make it two."

  The Great Weaver

  [Apocalypse Progression Fantasy]

  "In pursuit of an unattainable goal, I became sisyphus.

  Knowing that even the Gods are helpless, can I imagine myself happy?"

  and enjoyed a rather lukewarm career and cup of coffee.

  a lone boat sailing the storm.

  Above the surface, rumors spread of [Weavers]—mysterious individuals fighting supernatural horrors.

  through a chain of escalating calamities.

  What to Expect:

  [+] Weak to Strong

  [+] Time-Loop elements — mysteries linking present day to a doomed future

  [+] Secret Organisation Building

  [+] Deep Power Systems: Hexes, Divinations, Curses, Ritual Magic, Runes

  [+] Massive worldbuilding: Drowned Gods, Fallen Gods, Ruins, Crazed Monsters, and more!