Masses of children, all between the ages of five and six, were crammed into the hall. Holographic projections flickered above their heads, displaying names and class designations. The room itself was pristine—white walls, evenly spaced pillars, a glossy reflective floor, and a ceiling composed of illuminated grid panels.

  A man in pitch-black garments stood on the podium, flanked by guards. No skin was visible; even his face was concealed beneath a black mask, with only a stark white beard emerging from beneath it.

  My heartbeat quickened.

  He was the one.

  The one who killed her.

  "Welcome to the Orbit—one of the most advanced places in the world, I dare say. I will just go through the must-knows of this place so you don’t make a mistake and get punished. I have already done this before, but for good measure—"

  Thud.

  I collapsed to the floor, my white locks spilling over my face. My left hand clutched my chest, crumpling my shirt as if trying to hold my heart in place.

  He—h-he was the one.

  Memories crashed over me, unbidden.

  ---

  Blood.

  The smell of iron flooded my senses. My mother was on her knees, pleading.

  "Please! Just let him go. He’s just a child—"

  A flick of his finger.

  The explosion took half her head.

  Blood splattered in a triangular arc across the white walls. It was warm when it hit my face.

  Bend the metal.

  I had done it after that. I didn’t even hesitate.

  ---

  A hand gripped my arm, yanking me upright.

  “Hey, get up. If the guards see you like this—” The girl next to me dragged a finger across her neck. Then let her tongue loll from the side of her mouth. A warning.

  Above the stage, the man continued his speech as though nothing had happened.

  "You cannot die in this place. As long as the metal is glued to your body. But that doesn’t mean you should go around killing each other. Your mental health isn’t inexhaustible. The Coz should still be enough for each person to die at least. . . well, once."

  A coppery taste filled my mouth. I swallowed it down.

  "You serve the Council. The Ten Seats."

  The loud reverberation of his voice shook me back to reality.

  "Starting today, you will learn how to kill an Effector."

  Though his expression was hidden, we all knew he was smiling beneath that mask.

  "Dismissed."

  He walked off the podium, the guards following close behind. A few steps later, his form shimmered and blinked out of existence.

  For a moment, none of us moved. Then instinct took over. Kids in matching clothes grouped together. There were seven distinct colors, but soon, the largest cluster formed around those in green. The smallest? The ones in black.

  Like me.

  A girl next to me smiled. “You think what they did to you was bad? Try screaming for three days straight while they make you watch.”

  I stared at her.

  “They didn’t just kill my family and my pet,” she continued with a shrug. “They tortured me too.”

  A sharp voice interrupted. “Dee. Stop talking to him.”

  A boy, maybe twenty, shoved his hand between us like he was cutting through air. He had patches of facial hair beneath his jaw, a stark contrast to the rest of us.

  Why’s he so old? I muttered, stepping back.

  His holographic name glowed above his head: Emeka.

  He stepped closer. “You’re new, so let me explain something: I don’t answer questions.”

  "What's your name?"

  Ogu. But the guards changed it. They said no African names. How come they didn’t change yours?

  A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

  Didn’t I say no talking?

  Something glinted in my peripheral vision. A knife.

  It hurtled toward me.

  Bang.

  The world went white—static, pressure, ringing—then silence.

  ---

  The next breath he took wasn’t in the Orbit.

  It was here. Now.

  The memory let go, but not the blood. That taste stayed.

  His hand clutched something—not his chest. Crumpled bills, singed at the edges. He tapped them against the bed, grounding himself in the present, forcing rhythm into his heart that kept slamming against his ribs.

  Kane jerked awake, gasping. The air smelled of rust and sweat. A low hum vibrated through the room from somewhere behind the walls. The mech still loomed, half-buried in the cathedral ruins, its vines trembling like nerves.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth.

  The room was dim, dawn barely breaking.

  Kill-shot. The words echoed in his head.

  Leaning against the wall near the bathroom, something large, wrapped in plastic, hummed faintly.

  His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. Cracks in the stained glass above drew faint lines across his vision. Morning light spilled through, slicing the room into pieces.

  Beside him, Molly shifted under the dusty sheet.

  Kane closed his eyes.

  A voice crackled through the radio box.

  "Breathe in… hold… breathe out. The battle is over, soldier."

  He clicked it off.

  Then he reached for her.

  He touched her like a question he already knew the answer to—deliberate, unflinching, trying to burn Jason’s memory out of his hands. The way his skull had exploded. No tenderness. No hesitation. Just urgency.

  Her breath hitched as his mouth grazed her skin. She gasped when his teeth scraped her collarbone, her body reacting before she could think. Her hand shot out—not to stop him, but to steady herself.

  You know the kind of white I seen...

  Her hips met his, the friction deliberate. Her thighs locked around him, pulling him deeper, even as a whisper left her throat.

  “Stop,” she said, once. Trembling.

  He heard her. He paused—but her nails dug in. The war between want and fear was hers to lose, and he let her decide.

  You’re messing with the way this city works...

  A moan slipped out—half protest, half release. Her spine arched, and her head fell back, eyes shut tight.

  When it was over, silence swelled.

  She lay dazed, chest heaving, hair damp and tangled across her cheek. The sheet was twisted around her hips, dust and sweat smudged across its once-white fabric.

  Kane sat on the edge of the bed, shirt half-buttoned, watching the light creep across the floor.

  The mech remained unmoved—one arm frozen mid-reach toward the broken altar, a relic from an age when electricity still ruled. Likely used during the Aldwars, its surface was now split and eroded. Moss clung to its shoulder plates like medals tarnished by time. Wires and vines spilled from its open chest like severed nerves.

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  Where its fingers touched the stone, white flowers bloomed in rust.

  No hum. No circuits. Just the quiet tick of cooling metal.

  Molly stirred. Her voice was soft.

  “You’re shaking.”

  Sweat traced the ridges of his muscles—no implants, just hardened flesh. The rune mark on his left chest, where the metal coin had once been, had almost healed. Ten years, and still, the scar of the Orbit remained.

  He didn’t answer.

  "Seriously, I know you're enhanced—but it's not like what the media shows. I work in the industry, yunno. They downplay everything. Half the time, we're told to make you look like myths or monsters—nothing in between."

  "Sure. Most people that know are afraid to ask. Think I’ll kill them," Kane said, casually rotating his arm until it cracked at the joint.

  Her hair was long—beautiful in a way that felt out of place—a thick, golden sheet that spilled over her shoulders and stretched far past her chest. It draped over her face, almost hiding it completely.

  But he could still see the smile. Small. Real.

  ***

  Molly stirred beside him, her body a stretch of warm skin and shadow, sweat-damp curls clinging to one flushed cheek. She sat up—slow, fluid—bare back catching the dim light as she reached for her glasses on the nightstand like a sniper lining up a shot. Then: a tiny leather-bound notebook. Snap. Open.

  “Alright. So tell me—how does it actually work? This thing you do?”

  Kane blinked, half-laughing, propped up on one elbow. “You’re seriously doing this ?”

  She shrugged, bare shoulders rising in the half-light. “I'm a journalist. That was the most illegal thing I’ve ever seen, and I once interviewed a bioterrorist mid-hijack.”

  “Guess I should be flattered.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve got... reasons. Personal ones.”

  Kane raised an eyebrow.

  Molly’s fingers tapped the edge of the notebook. Her voice went quiet—softer, but sharper.

  “My brother was enhanced. Minor causality—nothing like you. Didn’t even know how to use it yet. A few neighbors figured it out anyway. Sold him off before he hit thirteen.”

  Kane didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  “My mom was Black,” she said. “My dad didn’t like that. Apart from the way he fucked her, apparently. He had this little tick when people turned around in the malls and looked at her, on the street, in parties. One day, he just stopped pretending.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “She died slow. No one did shit. They didn’t even write it up.”

  She looked at Kane now— looked. Something in her eyes raw, deliberate, gleaming behind the glass.

  “So yeah, I write. I dig. I talk. Because too many people stay quiet when the world breaks the wrong bodies.”

  “Fair.”

  She flipped to a fresh page, pen poised like a blade.

  He grinned. “Come on.

  Molly stared. He raised his eyebrows.

  She sighed, snapped the book shut, and tossed it somewhere near her bra. “Fine. Just talk. But if this turns into a lecture, I’m going back to sleep.”

  “Alright.” He rolled onto his back, eyes on the cracked ceiling. “I won’t explain it twice, so you better listen.”

  She laughed and turned on her side, hugging a pillow. “Dude—I didn’t even ask for a lesson. I was terrible at school.”

  “Yeah, I can tell,” he muttered with a smirk, then let the air settle.

  “The basics.”

  His voice dropped into that low rhythm people use when they’re not teaching, but remembering.

  “Coz... isn’t really energy. It isn’t really even a concept. Or a substance. It’s—”

  Molly adjusted her glasses, watching his face like she might catch him lying.

  “It’s everything. And so nothing. You can’t put it in a box. It’s the silence before a thought. The space between things moving. The ‘why’ that things obey—if you’re lucky enough to notice it.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, then just muttered, “Damn.”

  “For mages,” he continued, “coz is malleable. They can... shape it. Fold it. Twist it into a causality. Like the causality of fire.” Causalities are infinite.

  “Okay, fire.”

  “Not just flames. But the whole event-chain that allows fire to exist. Oxygen. Friction. Heat. Intent. They mold coz until it settles into a moment—until it chooses to become fire. Mages do that molding with the great code”

  “That’s... poetic,” she said, trying not to smile. “Also God this is so boring.”

  She laughed, burying her face in the pillow.

  He let her have that. Then continued.

  “Enhanced are different. Coz bonds to us. We don’t shape it. It shapes us. Becomes part of the body. Locked. Sometimes one causality. Sometimes two. Maybe more. But always unique. And always...”

  He paused, frowning slightly like he’d tasted blood in his mouth. There was a stillness in him, just for a second—like a ripple in a pond no one else could see.

  Always traumatic—just to trigger it

  Molly reached over and tapped his shoulder. “You’re such a tough guy.”

  “And you,” he said, turning his head toward her, eyes heavy with grin, “you love danger. You’re sleeping with a Negro Enhanced in a city that throws your type off balconies.”

  She laughed, pulling the sheet around her like it could protect her from the truth. “I’ll go make coffee.”

  She got halfway to the door, then paused. Spun around, slow.

  “Wait. Where’s the kitchen again? This place is... too much pointing. The space bends or something.”

  He chuckled from the bed, folding his arms behind his head.

  “Left, past the mirror that doesn’t reflect, then just follow the smell of burnt wiring and broken dreams.”

  Molly shook her head, glasses sliding slightly. “So dramatic.”

  Then disappeared, bare feet padding over cold floor, the sound of her voice fading into another room that maybe didn’t exist the same way twice.

  He would go to the portals today. He needed to clear his head before any mission.

  The portals were illegal.

  Sometimes Kane wondered how they’d even written the spatial code for it. There was only one explanation:

  It had been jammed into the Great Code. Forced syntax. Sloppy logic. Dangerous precision.

  You couldn’t use Coz to fuel it—no Atom Gears worked in transit. So they siphoned from the outer teleportation rings instead.

  The Dice Festival preparations was in full swing, which meant the siphons were running hot. 2-4-7 alignment. He didn’t care. Let Suspended burn themselves out on it. As long as they didn’t touch him, it was background noise.

  This portal?

  Owned by the newest intel faction in Lagos. Probably desperate. Definitely sloppy.

  Glass panels flickered overhead, stuttering with half-formed coordinates and status glyphs. Countdown lights pulsed in red along the chamber walls, keeping pace with the thrum of far-off machines.

  Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…

  The room wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either—just dense enough to make Kane sigh. Clusters of strangers huddled near the entry points, pretending not to stare at one another. One particular group caught his eye: a red-haired woman, two identical twins, a balding short man, and a guy in glasses with a cartoonishly large mustache.

  The mustache guy waved at him, grinning like they knew each other.

  Kane stared at him.

  The woman slapped the man’s hand down, muttering something sharp.

  He blinked slowly, adjusted his hoodie.

  No one tailed him today.

  Good.

  He felt it begin—the static rising in his ears, the sudden drop in pressure like a held breath. Usually, that meant company. This time, it was just the portal. Just the jump.

  He exhaled.

  Weightlessness followed. The kind that yanked you from the inside out, like your bones were racing ahead of your skin. Kane didn’t brace. He’d done this too many times to pretend it still deserved effort.

  Then—

  A vacuumed silence. No air, no light, no orientation.

  Then—

  Bang.

  Reality hit him like a slap.

  He landed in mud, skidding a few feet before casually twisting his body to a halt.

  He lay there for a beat, staring at the sky.

  “Could’ve made that jump smoother,” he muttered to no one, voice flat.

  Same terrible drop zone. Same dumb mud. Same static cling of magic in the air.

  He didn’t move yet.

  A bridge of red glass spanned the chasm—hairline-thin, wide enough for two, never more.

  Kane thought the bridge would break under the weight of the coffin he was carrying.

  But it didn’t.

  It groaned. Screamed, even. But it held—just like he did.

  He made it to the other side.

  Now, he stood barefoot on a fractured road, the city’s dead wind sweeping past him like ghosts in retreat. His headphones clicked into place. Hoodie unzipped, open to the ribs. His torso was carved like a weapon—lean, ridged with definition, humming with cold control. Across his skin, ink bloomed: jagged black lines curled around his ribs and neck like cursed scripture. Symbols pulsed beneath the skin, shifting faintly, glowing.

  The music hit its crescendo.

  Then—his eyes opened.

  Initiate: Synchronization.

  A low hum threaded through the air.

  He raised one finger. Flexed it. Watched the joints align with surgical precision.

  Density: Increase.

  Ligament: Reinforced.

  Tendon Oscillation: Stabilized.

  Skin Tension: Equalized.

  He took a step forward. His heel touched the ground exactly 0.03 seconds after his sole made contact. A rhythm. A metronome. Every breath aligned with the pulse of the planet.

  Something in the air shifted.

  Wrong.

  Each breath felt borrowed—from a place where life shouldn’t tread. It made his blood boil. And for a flicker—just a flicker—his lip curled.

  Pound.

  He glanced sideways.

  The space was cramped. Too narrow. Too dark. Lavender fog clung to everything like rot. The moisture in the air made even light feel heavy.

  The music filtered the sound of leaves, of his twin heartbeats—focus. His senses sharpened.

  Then—

  It screamed.

  And charged.

  He vanished.

  Pound.

  The claws raked through the space where his head had been, stirring a cloud of dust.

  Three jaws wide, armored in fungal plates, each step cracking the ground like dropped anvils. Spikes burst from its sides like clockwork, exhaling steam with each thunderous roar.

  Its eyes locked on him.

  Perfect.

  They’re strong. Physical. But worse—they memorize every movement they see. If one with intellect survives long enough, they might be like me someday…

  Not fast—precise. Kane folded around physics like it was a lazy rulebook. One second, he stood in its path. The next, he was inside its guard, palm pressed against its flank.

  Palm Temperature: 1220°C.

  Fingertip Conductivity: Maximum.

  Target: Chitin Breakpoint 07.

  The plating exploded outward in molten strips. Kane stepped through the gap like stepping through rain.

  It turned, slashing.

  He caught the limb mid-arc.

  A grin spread across his face.

  His bones shifted. Muscles bubbled to the surface. Calcium braided down his arms. Norepinephrine snapped to the brain.

  Their fists collided—deafening crack. Air ruptured. A sonic boom rattled the air, splintering the stone walls with sickly green light.

  Pain shot through Kane’s hand. It burned—momentarily.

  His forearm rotated 17°. Shoulder unlocked at the blade. Muscles tensed in three staggered phases. The beast’s momentum met his frame and vanished.

  Absorbed.

  Redirected.

  Stored.

  He surged forward.

  One punch.

  Not wild. Not dramatic. Just... delivered.

  A ring of force erupted behind the creature. Its chest caved inward—skin folding like paper, ribs cracking into spirals. It coughed blood that hissed in the air.

  Symbols along Kane’s spine flared—sharp, ancient things that resembled inverted musical notes.

  Adrenal Level: Nullified.

  Heart Rate: 60 BPM.

  Total Control: Maintained.

  He saw it all. The sweat beading on its brow. The twitch of a tendon. The claw.

  He thought, Wouldn’t it be nice if I dodged that?

  He didn’t.

  The claw hit. Barely an inch in. It still stung. His skull bounced off concrete. Ears rang.

  The beast was on top of him, sawing down at his throat with his own damn style.

  Great.

  Kane grabbed a fistful of its hair and yanked. The monster’s head snapped back, exposing its throat.

  He punched it. Once. Twice. A third time, kinetic backlash surging through his veins.

  It slumped—not dramatic. Just pathetic.

  Kane shoved it off, panting softly. Indicators streamed across his vision.

  He glanced at his hands, blood dripping from his fingertips. Then crouched by its head.

  "That all you had?" he asked. Not mocking—just tired. Almost disappointed.

  Its jaw opened for one last lunge.

  He let it.

  Then—

  He unhinged his.

  His mouth stretched wide. Symbols crept up his neck, lighting crimson across his jaw.

  Teeth lengthened.

  Feeding Protocol: Engaged.

  Assimilation Mode: Black Matrix.

  Mass Integration: Authorized.

  He devoured it.

  Flesh, bone, memory—gone in seconds. Swallowed into the void inside him.

  This was Devour Causality. One of seven.

  When he stood, only silence remained. No gore. No blood. Just a shimmer of steam curling from his lips.

  The symbols on his body dimmed, one by one.

  Trait Acquired: Spore Memory.

  Duration: 72 Hours.

  A soft hiss escaped his collarbones as faint violet mist bled from his pores.

  For a moment, he saw what the beast saw. Felt its panic. Its pride. Its rage.

  Then it was gone—folded into him like all the rest.

  He exhaled slow. “Didn’t ask for your memories.”

  Process Complete.

  Form Unchanged.

  Mood: Still Bored.

  He cracked his neck.

  Shrugged.

  “Next.”