It was old and pointless.

  Aiden yanked at his raincoat. Damp nylon clung to his wrists, sticky with sweat and rain. The statue had a sword in hand, frozen in the garb of a long-dead warrior. It was a thousand years old—born before electricity, still standing long after electrons died.

  But Aiden wasn’t here to admire floating city relics; he was here to get rewired.

  No Factor. No sponsor. No right to be on Suspended airspace. Just a fake ID and enough credits to bribe a black-market surgeon.

  If the Atom Gear implant didn't kill him, he could finally kill the Council.

  NG announced one day that it would be hosting it.

  In two months, the DICE Festival would sweep through Suspended and the Expanse—colors, lights, noise, and cover, the perfect time to do something big: bring a Gryphon down.

  He glanced around, checking for cameras.

  "That ewedu soup? Garbage. Tasted like soy sludge," the man near the fried rice stall muttered as Aiden pushed through the crowd.

  Tech had drained the flavor out of food, the same way it drained everything else in this floating city.

  This was ìpàg??—where accents blurred and no one asked questions. You could walk the block for a week and never hear a native tongue.

  Aiden rubbed his neck. A hum slid down his spine—low, magnetic, unnatural.

  The streetlights hiccuped. Conversations died.

  A baby wailed, sensing something none of them could name.

  Then the air changed. A pressure, a presence. Aiden’s skin prickled before he even knew why.

  He looked up. Reflex. Instinct.

  A hooded figure glitched across the sky—like a frozen game snapping back into motion.

  Glowing blue energy crackled from its core, illuminating the intricate arcane circuitry embedded in its attire. Its face was obscured beneath the hood, with only a single glowing cross-shaped light visible.

  The sky figure vanished as fast as it came, leaving a crackle in the air and whispers in its wake.

  Aiden let out a slow breath and turned toward the intersection.

  Power like that... the Council likely has armies of them. If he became an Effector, he could even the odds.

  The café’s glow cut through the wet night like an invitation. The doors slid open with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing warm wood, worn leather, and industrial-chic steel softened by steam.

  Aiden found his usual spot. Quiet. Out of the way. Perfect view of the baristas.

  Behind the counter stood Bola—the African with tribal scars, a pink bow tie over priestly robes, and a look that dared you to ask questions. His servo arm whirred as he reached for the kettle, matte-black plating shifting like armor, serial numbers etched across the forearm. Ghana's Aldwar combat-grade battlefield tech. Now making tea.

  Eerie.

  Aiden chuckled. “Militant turned barista?”

  Bola didn’t flinch. “Gryphon zealot. How are you?” His ugliness was the stuff of legend.

  Steam rose as hot water met loose-leaf blend. Sugar, measured precisely. A metal hand scraped the table, sliding forward a folded paper. No words.

  Aiden ran a thumb along the edge. Heavy stock. Printed ink. Not digital.

  Bola stirred his tea. “Took off a cheater’s head. He brought me from the Expanse. First boss who wasn’t a liar.” He slid a folded paper across the table. “You got that scent… not local.”

  Aiden smirked, tapping his cup. “Always this direct?”

  Bola’s grin widened. “Only with ghosts in daylight.”

  Aiden stood, adjusting his coat. The paper tucked neatly into his pocket.

  He didn’t notice the power flicker—the lights above never wavered. But something in the air had shifted.

  He stepped back into the street, wind brushing his coat like a warning.

  Solfare conduits webbed across the skyline like bright veins feeding Suspended's hunger. Lagos Sector was only a sliver of it, but the city’s weight pressed down like godsteel.

  He unrolled the paper.

  Mr. Adebayo Okonkwo

  Flat 3, Block B, Unity Estate

  10 Opebi Road, Ikeja Grid

  Lagos // Suspended Zone-1 — Former NG Sector

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Aiden sucked in a cold breath. Suspended. Highside. He hadn’t been back in years.

  "On Tinubu," he muttered, folding the letter with slow fingers. "Hope this isn't bullshit."

  The address was an antique. Nobody called it Nigeria anymore. But in the Suspended, paper still passed, and old names still opened doors.

  Where his father used to vanish when he needed to be forgotten. Off-grid, unregistered. A ghost’s sanctuary.

  He tucked the paper into his coat and started walking. No headlights. No noise. Just his own breath, and the metallic shuffle of his boots echoing off alley walls.

  He walked at a steady pace, his fingers idly tracing the frame of his glasses.He slipped them from his face.

  He turned them slowly, tilting them until he could see his reflection. He barely recognized the face in the reflection—something he built to pass scanners. Not his. But it worked.

  The lights began to change—brighter, colder. He was close now.

  It didn’t take him long to find the place.

  ******

  Sterile light hit him from six angles.

  “Subject cleared for bone graft insertion,” a voice echoed.

  Aiden squinted against the surgical lamps above. His wrists and legs were bound. Limbs trembling. The chill of the table beneath him gnawed through his coat.

  It’s real. I’m here.

  Mirrored panels above reflected a body he barely recognized—lean, ragged, strapped down like a criminal. The mustache twitched with each shuddering breath.

  The surgeon's hands hovered. Gloved. Steady.

  Alright,” said a woman off to the side, flipping through a screen of vitals. “Let’s get a look under the hood.”

  Her voice was sharp, playful. Too casual for someone about to cut him open.

  “Based on these scans,” she added, “our friend from Ground City is clearly… overcompensating.”

  Someone behind the bio-shielding laughed.

  “Oh, give it a rest, Lem,” another voice snapped.

  “I don’t care what he’s packing,” Lem shot back. “I care if this Atom Gear doesn’t fry him on the table.”

  “?l?run ran wa l?w?,” someone muttered.

  “Blow up?” Aiden rasped, his voice like dry cloth. The sedatives were wearing off, but pain still bloomed under his ribs.

  “Not the kind of encouragement I was hoping for.”

  “Relax,” said the surgeon, probably Dr. Caren.

  She leaned over him, eyeing the 3D skeletal projection hovering above. “We’re grafting the chipset just above the femur. Signal stabilizer here. Interface node there.”

  She tapped glowing points on the display with a stylus.

  “Gear this volatile? Even with prime Suspended tech, the integration’s risky. If your body rejects it…”

  “No second chances,” Aiden said. His voice steadied. “I know.”

  “You sure?” Caren asked, lower now, close to his ear. “Once this locks in, it blocks your cellular ability to take the Factor. This is permanent.”

  “I’m not here for the Factor,” he said. “I’m here to survive.”

  She nodded once.

  The containment drone whirred to life. A surgical arm lowered a small, curved piece of alloy—black, glossy, webbed with shimmering circuitry. Atom Gear. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

  “Beautiful,” Lem said behind the glass. “Like holding lightning in a tooth.”

  Caren ignored him.

  “Positioning chipset,” she said.

  The moment the drone moved, pain surged.

  Aiden bit down. Nerves screamed. His skin felt like it was turning inside out.

  “Hold him down!” Caren barked. “His pain response is spiking!”

  A second assistant straddled his chest, gripping a plastic syrette. “Don’t move. You want this in a vein, not your liver.”

  “I’m still—” he gasped.

  “Don’t talk!”

  She plunged the needle in. Cold fire flooded his body. His vision doubled.

  “It’s too much,” a technician muttered. “His bone density barely passes. If the graft doesn’t take—”

  “It will,” Caren snapped.

  Silence fell.

  Then Lem scoffed. “The real problem is his damn watch.”

  Aiden flinched.

  Caren’s frown deepened. “You want to embed Atom Gear… in this?”

  She tapped the small wristwatch he’d refused to remove. Old. Scuffed. Personal.

  “You’re cramming a war-grade chipset into something the size of a teacup,” she said. “You’d have better luck surviving a plasma storm in a paper bag.”

  Aiden didn’t flinch. “A glove’s too loud. I need precision. No one looks at a watch.”

  “You’ll burn your arm off,” Lem muttered.

  Caren paused. “He’s not wrong. Your range will be limited. Minimal bursts only.”

  “That’s all I need,” Aiden said, breathing hard. “Small effects. Targeted. I’m not trying to reshape the universe.”

  Caren leaned in again, voice low. “Men who say that usually end up trying.”

  Aiden’s eyes flicked toward the glowing surgical screen. “I’m not most men.”

  Blood trickled from his nose.

  The hum of the implant deepened. The drone positioned the chipset just above the femur. Aiden’s back arched involuntarily as heat flared through his leg.

  “Connections,” someone murmured. “That’s how he got up here. No Factor. No sponsor. Just back-alley pull.”

  “The Council will love this,” Lem muttered. “Another rat climbing up from the Expanse.”

  “He’s on this table,” Caren said sharply. “He’s my problem now.”

  Not for long, Aiden thought. Just until I stand again.

  He gritted his teeth as the Gear fused with bone.

  Heat bloomed through his thigh, like a second heart beating under the skin.

  Then—silence.

  Suspended erased my father.

  Now it’s my turn to return the favor.

  A breath.

  A flicker.

  [SYSTEM ONLINE: Effector Interface v0.9.2-b]

  Welcome, Initiate.

  Aiden blinked. The words floated in the air before him—translucent, digital, impossible.

  He looked at the medtechs. No one else seemed to notice.

  Reality Sync: 76%

  Anchor not detected. Please remain still.

  The words shimmered, then folded in on themselves, vanishing like breath in winter.

  He opened his mouth—said nothing.

  Whatever they implanted…

  It had just woken up.