Level 10 never had a sunrise.

  There was only one kind of light — neon.

  It shone upon blood, garbage, and empty faces, as if putting makeup on hell itself.

  Z-69 followed John through the narrow alley, the violet glow from the crystal in his chest reflecting off the wet brick walls.

  Lumina lay curled inside his coat pocket, her frail body trembling softly, occasionally letting out a faint whimper from the lingering energy backlash.

  Above them, a billboard flickered: “Heaven Club – No Entry for Poor Souls.”

  Another one showed a smiling robotic girl: “Buy New Skin – Live Forever.”

  “Welcome to Level Ten,” John said, puffing a cheap cigarette.

  “Neon hell. The lights never go out here — because if they did, people would see just how rotten they really are.”

  Z-69 looked around.

  The air was thick with ozone and smoke, pulsing with the bass of distant electronic music leaking from nightclubs.

  A drunken gang staggered past, blood-stained jackets gleaming under pink light, laughing hysterically.

  A broken sex-bot stood against the wall, sparks crawling up its arm.

  He asked quietly, “Is this what humans call freedom?”

  John replied, “When you’ve been caged too long, even decay feels like choice.”

  They stopped before a round steel building, its sign half-burnt: RUSTLIGHT.

  Noise poured from inside — laughter, metal clatter, the low growl of black-market gamblers.

  John pushed the door open.

  The room was filled with smoke and green light.

  Dozens of shabby patrons crowded around the bar — bodies stitched with cybernetic cables, fingers replaced by data ports.

  Behind the counter stood Carmine — a large, bald man with glowing red cyber-eyes. When he saw John, he let out a gravelly laugh.

  “Well, if it isn’t the immortal smoke machine himself! Thought you got compressed into scrap on Level Twelve.”

  “Not my turn yet,” John replied, pulling up a chair.

  “And that one?” Carmine eyed Z-69. “Looks like a corpse wrapped in clothes.”

  “Client.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind who could fry this whole room in a second if he wanted to.”

  Carmine chuckled, but his eyes dimmed slightly when he saw the faint violet glow pulsing from the crystal in Z-69’s chest.

  “Interesting. That kind of energy… I thought it went extinct.”

  “We need information,” John said. “Battle for the Ascension — rules, conditions, and entry.”

  Carmine set his glass down, lowering his voice.

  “The tournament’s sponsored by the Level-Three Council. Win it, and you get a genuine pass to Level Nine. But a legal pass is rarer than clean oxygen these days. You either get invited, or survive the death-trial preliminaries. And believe me—both are harder than setting yourself on fire with lightning.”

  “Anyone survive?”

  “Sure.” He grinned. “But people only see their corpses on the screens the next week.”

  John exhaled a thin cloud of smoke. “Sounds like a joke.”

  “Crimeria’s full of jokes. The punchline is just never for the players.”

  They left the bar as the neon lights turned pale violet.

  Loudspeakers blared across the streets:

  “Battle for the Ascension! – The Central Arena of Level Ten opens at midnight! Win your pass! Claim your freedom!”

  Crowds gathered, shouting and betting.

  Children sold recording chips, girls waved flags printed with fighter emblems.

  Lumina poked her head out of the pocket and whispered, “These people don’t want to escape. They just want to see their blood glowing on the screens.”

  Z-69 looked at the flickering faces under the lights.

  The crystal in his chest vibrated faintly.

  “The brighter the light,” he said, “the thicker the darkness.”

  As they passed through the market, a gang called Skull Chain blocked the path.

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  Their leader was a tall, wiry man with a chain tattoo around his neck and an energy gun in hand.

  “Well, look at this — a relic cyborg, a glowing fox, and a pale boy with a shiny toy on his wrist.”

  He pointed at Z-69’s bracelet. “Hand it over, or I’ll take it.”

  John sighed, taking a slow drag. “You shouldn’t touch him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’ll die before you understand why.”

  The gang leader laughed and grabbed Z-69’s wrist.

  In that instant, a small violet spark flashed — not enough to kill, but enough to make the air pop.

  The entire market went dark for half a second.

  When the lights flickered back, the gang leader lay motionless, smoke curling from his hand.

  The rest drew their weapons, surrounding them.

  John grimaced. “Damn it, Z-69 — you just lit a beacon for trouble.”

  Heels clicked against the wet street.

  Slow, measured — yet echoing with predatory rhythm.

  The crowd parted instinctively, like prey sensing a true hunter.

  From the end of the alley stepped Elise.

  She wore a dark business dress, thin black gloves hugging her fingers, and a cropped coat fluttering in the drizzle. Her pale pink hair gleamed under the purple light, one eye hidden behind a black patch.

  Her smile was soft — sweet as synthetic sugar — inviting, yet carrying poison in its sweetness.

  Her voice was smooth, feminine, but cold beneath the surface.

  “Pretty lights,” she said. “But I hate when they shine on ugly people.”

  Before anyone could react, she lifted a hand.

  From the thin choker around her neck, dozens of micro-plasma bullets launched, curving in graceful arcs before raining down like purple fire.

  A chorus of small explosions followed.

  The Skull Chain gang dropped like flies — dead before they could scream.

  Elise walked through the smoke without looking down.

  Neon light reflected off her black heels and porcelain-white skin.

  “You still like making dramatic entrances,” John said, narrowing his eyes.

  Elise turned, her smile unchanged. “And you still like taking garbage for a walk in broad daylight.”

  Her gaze shifted to Z-69.

  For a moment, he felt something cold run down his spine — as if she was scanning every line of code inside him.

  “And who might you be?” she asked.

  “Z-69... I think so?” Z-69 hesitated slightly, the violet light in his eyes trembling.

  “Z-69,” she repeated, her voice gliding off her tongue as if tasting an old flavor.

  “Sounds like the code name of a machine. But your eyes... they don’t.”

  She stepped closer, until the distance between them was just enough for him to feel her warmth and the faint scent of ozone surrounding him.

  “Elise Reiner,” she said softly, bowing her head slightly. “Security and Propaganda Division, Crimeria. And sometimes, I help those who don’t know who they are... remember their names.”

  John’s tone hardened. “Still working both sides, Elise?”

  “Call it balance.”

  She turned away, pink hair swaying. “Follow me — if you want to live more than ten minutes on this floor.”

  They followed her to a hidden bar, its back door labeled Maintenance Only.

  Inside was a dark room lined with wall-to-wall monitors, each showing different surveillance feeds of the city.

  Several people in black coats moved quickly at the consoles.

  “The underground resistance,” John muttered. “She’s deep in it.”

  Elise turned, smiling. “You talk too loud, Professor. Cameras aren’t deaf.”

  She sat on the table, crossing her legs, popping a candy into her mouth.

  “The Battle for the Ascension is a toy for the upper levels. But if we send someone to win, that person earns a real pass — and opens the gate for us.”

  Her eyes locked on Z-69, glowing like laser beams.

  “I saw that lightning. You have what we need.”

  John cut in sharply.

  “No. He’s unstable. Every time he uses electricity, he burns himself alive.”

  Elise shrugged, her voice dripping with honeyed venom.

  “That’s still better than waiting to rot. Everyone burns down here — some just burn brighter.”

  She stepped close to Z-69, so near he could smell the cold, chemical sweetness of her perfume.

  “Elise,” John warned.

  She glanced back, smirking.

  “Relax. I don’t eat corpses — unless they ask nicely.”

  Z-69 met her gaze, the purple glow mirrored in her crimson eyes.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Fight. And win. Leave the rest to me.”

  When they left the room, the rain had started again — thick, gray drops splattering on the glowing sign that read Battle for the Ascension.

  John pulled up his collar, tired. “You know what kind of woman she is.”

  “I do.”

  “And you’ll still go along?”

  “Not for her.”

  “Then for what?”

  Z-69 lifted his head toward the sky, a ceiling of shadows and flickering neon lights trembling in the artificial rain.

  “I need to find a reason to keep existing.” he murmured. His voice carried no pain, no chill — only emptiness.

  John burst into laughter so loud that a few people nearby turned to stare.

  A white haze of smoke billowed from his mouth.

  “A reason, huh? I can already see it — you’ve got your mind on that pink-haired psycho, haven’t you? Don’t deny it. I know your type too damn well.”

  Z-69 froze for half a beat.

  “You really think so? I… don’t know.” He scratched his head, wearing the look of a man rummaging through an empty cabinet of memories.

  John waved a hand dismissively. “Please. From what you used to tell me, your love life could fill an entire romantic–psychological–thriller series.”

  “Was it that bad?” Z-69 tilted his head. “Tell me a chapter, then.”

  John opened his mouth — but before he could speak, a small blue-furred head poked out from Z-69’s coat pocket.

  Lumina rubbed her eyes, her sleepy voice sharp enough to slice the conversation in half:

  “Don’t listen to him. None of that matters as much as making sure you don’t get torn in half during the preliminaries.”

  She finished speaking and crawled back into the pocket, leaving only her tail flicking outside — soft, harmless, yet clearly laced with irritation she didn’t bother to hide.

  John raised an eyebrow, giving Z-69 a see-what-I-mean look.

  “The little fox sure wakes up at the right time.”

  Z-69 glanced down at the pocket where Lumina had curled up and let out a faint smile — a rare one, as if he’d just remembered that beyond the battles, there was still something… soft left to hold onto.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly to John. “Not the time for small talk.”

  Lumina said nothing, merely pulled her forepaws over half her face — though her tail flicked again, this time harder.

  After a while, they finally reached the Central Dome of Level Ten — a massive black-steel structure ringed with white LED lights.

  Loudspeakers boomed, shaking the damp air.

  “Battle for the Ascension! Win your pass! Claim your own light!”

  Hundreds crowded the gate.

  Some carried knives, others wore masks, others hid prosthetic weapons under coats.

  Z-69 stared at the chaos — the lights, the blood, the roars.

  Something in it echoed deep in his scorched memories.

  John placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be watching from outside. If you die, I’ll— well, you know.”

  “If I die, what will you do?”

  “I’ll find a way to resurrect you again. I hate losing.”

  Elise approached, smiling. “Don’t disappoint me, Mr. Immortal Thunderlight.”

  He looked at her, the violet in his eyes flickering. “That name…why do your known it?”

  “Elise Reiner never forgets a hero’s face.” she said softly, turning away.

  Her silhouette melted into the sea of lights.

  The drums of the arena thundered.

  The crowd roared like an ocean.

  Z-69 clenched his fist.

  The violet light crawled across his skin, his energy bracelet turned amber — warning of rising charge.

  He stepped through the glowing doors.

  Heat and the clang of metal engulfed him.

  Outside, John watched, muttering under his breath:

  “Once again, Thunderlight walks into the storm.”

  The lights within the dome flared, flooding the artificial sky.

  “Rise or Rot.”