Morning broke over Lighthouse City with the usual cacophony of dimensional stabilizers humming to life. I picked through the last of my pudding cups for breakfast, savoring the artificial sweetness while contemplating my next moves. Level 3 F-tier wasn't impressive by any stretch, but it was progress. With over 230,000 credits burning a hole in my account, it was time to properly equip myself.

  I showered, dressed, and headed out into the chaotic sprawl of Lower Residential. Unlike the pristine, gravity-defying architecture of downtown, this district remained firmly anchored to pre-Collapse sensibilities—massive concrete structures patched together with newer materials where dimensional fractures had compromised structural integrity, power conduits exposed along building facades because nobody bothered hiding them anymore, and the persistent scent of processed synthetic foods wafting from communal cooking stations.

  The shopping district occupied a strange middle ground between Lower Residential's decay and Downtown's gleaming excess—a transitional zone where F-tier citizens could glimpse what money could buy without quite being able to afford it. Holographic advertisements flickered from every surface, promising impossible benefits from even the most basic consumer goods.

  "Synthetic Nano-Feed: Feel fuller longer!" proclaimed a floating advert featuring an impossibly happy family. The small text beneath admitted the fullness sensation lasted approximately thirty minutes before neural receptors adapted.

  I browsed through the consumables section of Riker's General Supply, comparing prices and efficiency ratings. The basic F-tier Synthetic Nano-Feed was 50 credits for a box of twelve at a good discount—but the nutritional profile was barely above starvation levels. The E-tier luxury variant that didn’t taste like shower gel, Enhanced Cellular Nano-Feed, cost fifteen times as much but only delivered triple the nutritional density.

  "First time buying?" asked the clerk, noticing my hesitation.

  "No," I replied automatically, then caught myself. "Well, first time in a while."

  She nodded, not particularly interested in my life story. "The E-tier stuff is technically restricted to E-tier and above, but nobody enforces it. Just costs more."

  I loaded my cart with six boxes of the F-tier feed and two of the E-tier variant. At 1,500 credits for the E-tier boxes alone, it felt like robbery, but proper nutrition would be crucial if I wanted to maximize my performance in rifts.

  "Add 10 tubes of F-tier and 5 tubes of E-tier First-Aid Nanogel," I said, pointing to the medical section. "The standard version. Oh, and the same number of Artificial Harmonizers.”

  The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Planning an expedition?"

  "Something like that."

  She retrieved the Nanogel—viscous blue substance contained in pressurized tubes designed for direct application to wounds. They weren’t cheap, but considering my last rift experience had dropped me to 10 HP at one point, the investment seemed prudent. Especially now that the TAINT of my REALITY MATRIX often disabled my HP regenerations while it considered me in combat. This was the first time I had to purchase Artificial Harmonizers, but I needed a way to quickly regenerate my MANA outside of combat if I was going to search the outskirts of the city for rifts. This 'TAINT' nonsense was draining me dry...

  I studied the Rejuvenators section wistfully. In the past, these consumables that reduced EXHAUSTION had saved me countless times, but since they cost STAMINA, I couldn’t use them due to my trait…

  "That's going to be a problem," I muttered, calculating how to manage my EXHAUSTION stat without these tools. My volcanic escapade had pushed EXHAUSTION to 80, dangerously close to incapacitation. Managing that without consumables would require careful pacing and strategic resting—luxuries rarely available during intense rifts. Technically I could use the Reality Feedback combination effect to convert EXHAUSTION into HP more, but I had to consider my Fracture Charge generation. I have had bad luck with Fractures from Matrix Implosion lately.

  I added a few snacks and miscellaneous items into my cart then I paid for my purchases—12,000 credits total—and arranged for delivery to my apartment. The transaction barely dented my funds, but equipment would be another matter entirely. Top-tier E-gear could easily run 100,000 credits or more per piece. Better to save until I reached E-tier myself rather than waste credits on intermediate equipment I'd quickly outgrow.

  A crowd had gathered near the central plaza, eyes fixed on the massive holonews display dominating the western wall. I paused, joining the observers as the anchors discussed the latest dimensional developments.

  "—continuing fallout from the Terminus Protocol activation," the male anchor was saying, his expression professionally grave. "Stability Corps has proposed reorganizing all remaining F-tier raiders into mandatory cooperative parties capable of tackling E-tier rifts, but reports indicate the initiative is facing significant resistance."

  The display shifted to footage of an F-tier orientation session that had clearly gone poorly—chairs overturned, a Stability representative gesturing emphatically while surrounded by angry civilians.

  "According to Stability sources," the anchor continued, "over seventy percent of registered F-tier raiders have refused participation, citing 'unreasonable danger' and 'lack of adequate compensation.' With F-tier rifts still suspended and E-tier rifts increasing in both frequency and intensity, officials warn the situation is becoming untenable."

  I almost laughed. Of course F-tiers were refusing. Throwing unprepared raiders into E-tier rifts was essentially sending them to die. Without proper training, equipment, or traits, most F-tiers wouldn't last five minutes.

  "In related news," the female anchor continued smoothly, "Neo Shanghai has declared a city-wide state of emergency following the detection of an SS-tier rift within two hundred kilometers of its eighteenth expansion ring."

  The display shifted to aerial footage of Neo Shanghai—an engineering marvel that made Lighthouse City look like a primitive settlement by comparison. Unlike our coastal city anchored to land, Neo Shanghai consisted of massive circular platforms hovering above the churning waters of the East China Sea, connected by graceful transparent bridges that seemed impossibly delicate.

  The camera zoomed in on the newest outer ring—a perfect circle of ultramodern structures built around a central hub. Unlike the inner rings, which combined residential and commercial zones, the eighteenth expansion appeared primarily defensive, bristling with dimensional stabilizers and energy projectors.

  "Constructed after the catastrophic 2104 Shanghai Subduction Disaster that sank the original megalopolis," the anchor explained, "Neo Shanghai now houses over three million residents across its floating city complex. The municipal government has assured citizens that contingency protocols are in place, but has not ruled out a partial evacuation of the outermost rings."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The footage shifted to show what lay beneath the floating platforms—massive energy generators emitting regular pulses that repelled enormous shadowy forms lurking in the waters below. These weren't ordinary sea creatures, but dimensional entities that had adapted to aquatic environments, some large enough to swallow small buildings.

  "SS-tier," I muttered, feeling a chill despite the morning warmth. Only S- could even approach such rifts, and even they required extensive support teams. Whatever had emerged from that rift would require a coordinated response from multiple S-tier raiding parties.

  I moved away from the holonews display, thoughts turning to my own immediate challenges. The shopping district was unusually busy, raiders of various tiers moving with obvious purpose rather than the casual browsing typical of the area.

  A particularly dense flow of well-equipped individuals caught my attention—they weren't heading toward the main equipment vendors but instead moving down a side street toward what appeared to be a modest workshop. Curiosity piqued, I followed at a distance.

  The establishment looked unremarkable—"Cheng's Quality Repairs" according to the weathered sign—but the caliber of raiders entering suggested something more interesting than basic equipment maintenance. I approached the entrance, only to find my path blocked by an elderly woman seated on a stool just inside the doorway.

  "No business here for you," she said immediately, sharp eyes taking in my basic civilian implant and lack of equipment. "Supply shop is three blocks south."

  "I just want to look around," I replied, peering past her to where raiders were disappearing deeper into the workshop.

  The old woman shook her head firmly. "Private establishment. By invitation only."

  "Seems like a lot of people got invited," I observed, watching another group of four raiders enter and move past without a second glance from the guardian grandma.

  "They have business here. You don't."

  I sighed, recognizing the familiar dance of gatekeeping. "How much to enter?"

  "Ten thousand credits," she said without hesitation, clearly naming an outrageous sum to make me leave.

  My eyebrows rose. The amount was significant, but the steady stream of raiders suggested something valuable lay beyond. More importantly, the old woman's immediate response indicated this wasn't the first time she'd fielded such requests. This was a front for something.

  "Deal," I said, initiating the transfer before she could retract the offer.

  The transaction notification made her eyes widen, her composed fa?ade cracking momentarily. "You—" she began, then stopped as the confirmation appeared on her own display. "Very well." She moved her stool slightly, granting me passage with obvious reluctance.

  The workshop's front section appeared legitimate enough—various half-assembled pieces of low-tier equipment scattered across workbenches, tool racks lining the walls, the smell of lubricant and metal dust permeating the air. But the raiders weren't stopping here. They continued toward the back, where a nondescript door was partially hidden behind a storage rack.

  I followed discreetly, only to find the door secured with a numerical keypad. I stared at it in frustration, considering my options. Ten thousand credits to reach another locked door seemed like poor value.

  "Nine-seven-three-six-two!" the old woman's voice called from the front, clearly hearing my frustrated attempt to open the door. "And no refunds!"

  The lock disengaged with a soft click when I entered the code. Beyond lay a narrow staircase descending steeply beneath the building. I descended cautiously, the temperature dropping with each step, until the stairs opened into an expansive underground warehouse that dwarfed the modest shop above.

  Dozens of raiders milled about in what appeared to be a black market equipment bazaar. Vendors had set up impromptu stalls displaying wares that would never appear in legitimate Stability-approved shops—modified implants, unregistered weaponry, dimensional stabilizers of questionable origin. The air hummed with lowered voices negotiating prices and specifications.

  I wandered through the crowd, trying to appear purposeful while eavesdropping on conversations.

  "—fifteen percent more efficient than official-issue, but the energy signature is distinctive," one vendor was explaining to a customer examining a modified shield generator.

  "—straight from a D-tier rift core," another promised, showing off crystalline fragments that pulsed with inner light. "Stability would confiscate these in a heartbeat."

  Most of the raiders ignored me completely, my unimpressive appearance and basic implant marking me as irrelevant in this gathering of higher-tiers. I continued exploring until I reached the far wall, where a single heavily-implanted individual stood before another door. Unlike the grandma's casual gatekeeping, this guard's posture suggested serious intent—neural-linked reflexes and probably military-grade augmentations beneath the civilian clothing.

  The insignia on his collar caught my attention—a spiral pattern surrounding a stylized eye, the symbol of Dimensional Harmony. This wasn't just a black market; it was a Harmony operation.

  I approached directly, earning a dispassionate assessment from cybernetically enhanced eyes. Without speaking, the guard stepped aside, allowing me to pass through the door behind him. This wasn't gatekeeping; it was filtering—separating those who knew what they were looking for from random browsers.

  Beyond lay another workshop, this one significantly more advanced than the facade above. Holographic displays showed dimensional calculations beyond my comprehension, while specialized equipment analyzed what appeared to be rift fragments contained in shielded cases.

  A heavily-implanted man approached—like the guard, his augmentations were extensive but carefully concealed beneath civilian appearance. The Harmony insignia was more prominent here, displayed on his chest rather than discreetly on a collar.

  "Purpose?" he asked without preamble, his tone suggesting I had perhaps ten seconds to justify my presence.

  I hesitated, realizing I hadn't actually planned this far ahead. What did I want from Dimensional Harmony? My curiosity had led me here, but I needed a better answer than "just looking around."

  "I'd like to speak with Vidvan," I said, the name of Harmony's leader emerging as the first coherent thought.

  The man stared at me for a long moment, his expression shifting from neutral to incredulous. "You want... to speak... with Vidvan."

  "Yes," I confirmed, doubling down rather than backtracking. "Is there a way to arrange a meeting? Or at least send a message?"

  "Let me understand this correctly," he said, each word precisely enunciated. "You—an F-tier nobody with a basic civilian implant and not so much as a proper armor set—want me to arrange a meeting with Vidvan. The S-tier Ruler. The man who contributed to unlocking the Terminus Protocol."

  Put that way, it did sound ridiculous. I opened my mouth to clarify, but he continued.

  "Perhaps you'd also like me to schedule tea with the Emperor while I'm at it? Maybe arrange a dimensional tour with the Void Kings?"

  "I just thought—"

  "You clearly didn't," he interrupted. "I suggest you leave and return after you've received proper medical care for your failing brain cells. Whatever delusion brought you here isn't worth my time."

  The dismissal stung, but he wasn't wrong. I'd acted on impulse without a clear objective. With fifty raiders in the warehouse above—many significantly higher tier than myself—creating a scene would be unwise. I nodded and turned to leave, embarrassment warming my cheeks.

  As I navigated back through the underground market, a familiar profile caught my eye—a woman examining modified dimensional stabilizers at a nearby stall. The holographic badge hovering above her wrist confirmed what my memory already knew:

  Sehra E-tier, Level 19, SIEGE PLATFORM (CURSED)

  I froze, unexpected anger surging through me. Sehra—the opportunistic raider who had destroyed my solo run months ago, buying a single entry ticket to my carefully prepared rift only to snipe the boss at the last moment, claiming 60% of the contribution value and leaving me with scraps.

  Rationally, I knew she wouldn't remember me. Like everyone else, the quantum mechanism that preserved my existence had erased me from her memory. But unlike Old Man Troodie or my neighbor Nira, whose forgotten connections to me were benign, Sehra had been an adversary—one who had cost me valuable resources with her parasitic tactics.

  Without consciously deciding to do so, I found myself walking toward her. She remained focused on the stabilizers, unaware of my approach. Her equipment was top-tier—Custom Resonance Armor with multiple enhancement slots, a Dimensional Disruptor strapped to her thigh, and at least three visible implant upgrades beyond standard issue.

  "Sehra," I said, stopping just behind her.

  She turned, expression mildly surprised at being addressed by name. As expected, no recognition flickered in her eyes. "Yes? Do I know you?"

  "No," I replied truthfully. "But I know you."