Kai emerged from Undercut into a night rendered in neon and shadow. The city pulsed around him, data flowing through visible and invisible channels. The skates connected more deeply to his neural pathways—an intimate fusion that no training simulation could have prepared him for.
Then he moved.
The first push sent him gliding forward, power cores activating with a soft hum that vibrated through his bones. By the third stroke, he was picking up serious speed, environment blurring at the edges as wind resistance algorithms kicked in, creating that perfect illusion of rushing air against his face.
[Sync Rate improved by 2%]
All those practice sessions suddenly clicked into place—the perfect optimization of push and glide, the thrust vectoring system amplifying his momentum. Tonight the city itself seemed to conspire to speed him along, friction coefficients dropping just enough to make each stroke more efficient than the last.
Lower Neon formed a maze of narrow streets, elevated walkways, and hidden passages where the electric glow from countless signs painted every surface in blues and pinks and violent purples. The official grid map showed main thoroughfares, all neat and orderly, but Proxy had loaded his interface with the shadow map used by Undercut's couriers—a constantly updated guide to the spaces between spaces, forgotten corridors and maintenance paths that existed in corporate blind spots.
He took a sharp right, ducking under a low-hanging data conduit that hummed with traffic he couldn't see but somehow felt. A hard bank and quick grab sent him up a maintenance ladder to a service catwalk, rusted metal clanging beneath his skates.
From this vantage, he could see the first security checkpoint—a corporate boundary marker where automated systems scanned all passing traffic, invisible fields probing for contraband data and unauthorized transit.
But the shadow map showed what the official grid map didn't: a thin maintenance rail running above the checkpoint, hidden in the shadows of larger architectural features, invisible to anyone who didn't know exactly where to look.
He took a deep breath, simulated oxygen flooding digital lungs. Built up speed, each push feeding kinetic energy into his skates' momentum storage, and launched himself at the rail.
His skates connected with a satisfying clank, power cores flaring bright amber as they magnetically locked to the metal surface. The grinding technique Proxy had drilled into him activated without conscious thought—knees bent, weight centered, eyes forward, arms slightly extended for balance. His body remembered what his mind was still processing.
He slid above the security checkpoint, suspended twenty feet in the air, completely invisible to the scanning systems below. Just another shadow among many in the digital night, another bit of unrendered data skimming along the city's forgotten infrastructure.
The rail ended abruptly over empty space, but he was ready. He jumped, momentary weightlessness sending his stomach lurching, before landing on a sloped surface that carried him down to street level on the other side of the boundary. The entire maneuver had taken less than fifteen seconds.
[Sync Rate improved by 4%]
"Not bad," he muttered, checking the time display hovering at the edge of his vision. Eighty-three minutes remaining on the delivery window.
He pushed on, finding a rhythm that felt like his physical-world courier routes, but enhanced—faster, smoother, gravity bending slightly in his favor. The skates were becoming less like equipment and more like extensions of his own body, the neural interface blurring the line between command and execution until movement became pure instinct.
As he approached the financial district—necessary to cross to reach his destination—he noticed something strange. Faint trails of light hung in the air along certain paths, visible only from specific angles, like oil slicks on water caught in just the right light. They resembled exhaust flickers from high-end skates, but persisted long after any skater had passed.
Flux lines. The digital footprints of couriers who had gone before.
Proxy had mentioned them, but seeing them was different—ethereal pathways of light existing in a strange liminal space between code and perception, neither fully rendered nor completely invisible. He adjusted his course, angling his skates to align with one heading in his direction. Something in his gut said to trust it.
The moment his skates crossed the flux line, he felt it—a subtle but undeniable boost, as if he'd found a current in still water. His speed increased by at least twenty percent without additional effort, energy flowing into his skates like a tributary joining a river.
[SKILL UNLOCKED: Flux Line Recognition (F)]
[Sync Rate improved by 7%]
He laughed out loud, the sound echoing off glass and steel facades. This was what Proxy had been trying to explain—the hidden highways that only couriers could see and use, secret pathways through Server Nova's carefully controlled environments.
His moment of triumph was short-lived. Ahead, three skaters in matching outfits emerged from a side street, power cores glowing bright blue in the darkness. Each wore the distinctive lightning bolt emblem of the Slipstreams on their jackets, their movements displaying the fluid coordination of a unit that had worked together for years.
He cut hard left, hoping to avoid notice, but too late. The lead skater—a tall figure with a modified avatar showing unnaturally angular features—pointed directly at him. The three changed course in perfect formation, accelerating in his direction with predatory grace.
Territorial enforcers. Just his luck.
He didn't wait to exchange pleasantries. Maximum thrust kicked in, his skates whining with the sudden power demand. He banked sharply around a corner and down an access corridor too narrow for them to follow side-by-side, buying precious seconds as they were forced to reconfigure their formation.
The cube in his skate suddenly felt very heavy, very illegal, and very much the kind of thing that would get his contract permanently terminated if discovered. Worse, it might earn him a one-way ticket to Server Nova's darkest corners—the sectors where problematic users disappeared into endless processing loops.
"Hey, rookie!" a voice called from behind, amplified to carry through the narrow space. "This is Slipstream territory! Toll required!"
He ignored them, focusing instead on the path ahead, mind racing through options as his skates carved sharp turns through labyrinthine back alleys. The shadow map showed a maintenance tunnel entrance coming up on the right—a tight squeeze but one that would take him directly toward his destination if he could reach it before his pursuers caught up.
He spotted the entrance—a service hatch set into the side of a building, partially obscured by a glitching advertisement panel cycling through product images at irregular intervals. He angled toward it, building speed with each powerful stroke.
The lead Slipstream skater was gaining, riding a flux line with practiced efficiency that he couldn't yet match. Twenty meters behind. Then fifteen. Then ten. Close enough that he could hear the distinctive hum of high-end skates, power cores running at full capacity.
He reached the hatch, grabbed the handle, and wrenched it open. The metal was cold against his palm, oddly textured with years of digital wear. In one fluid motion, he ducked inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The heavy clang echoed in the tunnel, followed by muffled curses from outside.
For a split second before the door closed, his body reacted faster than his conscious mind had commanded—a fraction of extra speed that made the difference between escape and capture. His hand had moved before his brain had fully formed the intent, as if some deeper part of his neural interface had recognized danger and responded autonomously.
[WHISPER REFLEX ACTIVATED]
The maintenance tunnel was dark, illuminated only by occasional status lights casting everything in an eerie red glow, turning the mundane corridor into something from a digital nightmare. He switched to a slower pace, navigating by the dim light and the map in his interface, which pulsed faintly in the corner of his vision.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
According to Proxy's information, this tunnel would lead him toward the Bitrot District—but that presented its own problem. The tunnel would be monitored at the boundary, with automated systems scanning for unauthorized transit, designed to keep the district's digital decay contained.
As he approached the checkpoint, he slowed further, studying the setup. A security gate controlled access, with scanning arrays embedded in the walls on either side. Beyond it, the tunnel grew darker, the architecture showing signs of neglect—Server Nova's sleek utilitarianism giving way to corruption and decay at the edges, textures degrading and colors shifting unpredictably.
He checked the time: fifty-one minutes remaining. The encounter with the Slipstreams had cost him valuable time, eating into his safety margin.
He examined the security gate, looking for weaknesses. The scanning arrays would detect both his unauthorized presence and the contraband in his skate. Going through normally wasn't an option unless he wanted to trigger every security algorithm in a five-block radius.
But going over...
He studied the ceiling. The scanning arrays were focused on the tunnel itself, not the maintenance pipes that ran along the top. A tight squeeze, but possibly manageable—if his body could fit, and if the pipes could hold his weight.
He backed up to gain momentum, then launched himself at the wall, using his skates' thrust vectoring system to propel himself higher than physically possible. His fingers caught a pipe, muscles straining as he pulled himself up into the narrow space between the pipes and ceiling, metal groaning softly under his weight.
Inching forward on his stomach, he dragged himself above the security gate. The scanning arrays pulsed beneath him, electric blue beams sweeping the tunnel at regular intervals, oblivious to his presence in their blind spot. Sweat beaded on his forehead—digital simulation or not, the fear was real enough to trigger physical responses, his body obeying the rules of a system designed to mimic reality.
Once past the gate, he lowered himself back to the tunnel floor, wincing at the slight sound his skates made against the surface. He paused, listening for any indication that he'd triggered an alert, but the tunnel remained silent save for the distant hum of machinery and occasional ping of cooling metal.
The environment changed noticeably as he continued. Polished surfaces gave way to corrupted textures, digital decay evident in flickering lights and unstable surfaces. Walls occasionally glitched, revealing wireframe underneath before snapping back to solid form. The air itself felt different, heavier somehow, as if the rendering engine struggled to maintain consistent atmospheric simulation.
This was the edge of the Bitrot District—the forgotten sectors of Server Nova where outdated code and abandoned data slowly deteriorated, corrupting the environment in unpredictable ways.
He checked the map again, orienting himself in the increasingly unstable landscape. He was close to the delivery point—a repurposed data center hidden in the labyrinthine structures of what had once been prime server real estate, now left to rot as development moved to newer, more profitable sectors.
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber where support struts twisted at odd angles, creating a disorienting space that seemed to defy Euclidean geometry. Lighting glitched unpredictably, casting shadows that moved independently of their sources, dancing across surfaces in patterns that made his eyes hurt if he tracked them too closely. At the center stood a figure waiting, avatar heavily modified with circuit-like patterns pulsing beneath artificial skin, creating the impression of living technology.
"You must be Cipher's new courier," the figure said, voice modulated with a subtle distortion that made it impossible to identify gender or age. "Right on time."
Kai approached cautiously, suddenly aware of other presences lurking in the shadows around the chamber. Guards, probably, though it was hard to distinguish their forms in the inconsistent light, where darkness seemed to have weight and substance.
"Delivery from Cipher," he confirmed, kneeling to retrieve the cube from his skate compartment. The hidden compartment opened with a soft click, revealing the small package nestled within.
The figure held out a hand. "The encryption architecture. Excellent."
As he placed the cube in their palm, it seemed to merge partially with their skin before disappearing completely—some advanced concealment technique beyond his understanding, definitely not standard-issue for normal Server Nova avatars.
"Your payment," the figure said, transferring credits directly to his account with a gesture that left a trail of golden sparks in the air between them. "And as promised, something more valuable."
They extended their other hand, palm up, where a small data chip materialized, glowing faintly with stored information.
"Flux line mappings for Central and Upper Neon. Routes not even the Slipstreams know about. Insert it into your neural interface when you're safely back in stable territory. Not here—the corruption could taint the data."
Kai accepted the chip, securing it in an inner pocket, feeling its weight despite knowing it was just a digital representation. "Appreciate the business."
"Cipher chooses his couriers well," the figure remarked, their eyes scanning him with an assessment that felt uncomfortably thorough. "Your sync rate is unusually high for a novice. Natural affinity for the digital space. We'll be watching your progress with interest."
Before he could respond to this cryptic evaluation, a distant alarm began to sound, its wailing echo distorted by the unstable acoustics of the Bitrot District. The figure's expression shifted to one of concern, circuit patterns flashing red momentarily.
"Security sweep. Not for you—routine patrol. But you should leave immediately. Take the eastern tunnel—it will lead you to a maintenance exit back in Lower Neon."
He nodded his thanks and pushed off toward the indicated tunnel, skating with renewed urgency. The alarm grew louder behind him, an oscillating howl that seemed to chase him through the corrupted architecture, motivating him to find depths of speed he hadn't known he possessed.
The eastern tunnel was narrower than the one he'd arrived through, forcing him to skate in a perpetual crouch, back muscles protesting at the awkward position. The rendering here was especially unstable, patches of environment occasionally glitching to reveal raw wireframe underneath, like wounds in the fabric of reality showing the skeletal structure beneath.
Something strange happened as he pushed himself harder. He began to sense paths through the tunnel—subtle currents in the digital space that seemed more favorable than others. Without fully understanding how, he adjusted his line, finding a better path that seemed to reduce resistance as he moved, as if the environment itself were parting before him.
[SLIPSTREAM AFFINITY ACTIVATED]
[Sync Rate improved by 4%]
The exit appeared ahead—a maintenance hatch similar to the one he'd entered through, though this one was partially obscured by rendering corruption that made it flicker in and out of visibility, there one moment and gone the next.
He burst through the hatch into the familiar chaos of Lower Neon, the alarm fading behind him as the door sealed. The district's cacophony of sound and color hit him like a physical wave after the eerie quiet of the Bitrot tunnels. He checked the time: delivery completed with seventeen minutes to spare.
More importantly, he'd survived his first major courier run, evaded the Slipstreams, and made contact with a valuable client. Not bad for his first week on skates.
He took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against a wall as the adrenaline—or whatever its digital equivalent was—gradually subsided. The data chip felt heavy in his pocket, a promise of new pathways, new possibilities, new freedom.
His double life was becoming more complex by the day, the line between Nova Express runner and underground courier increasingly blurred. But in that complexity, Kai was discovering something unexpected: freedom.
In a system designed to constrain, to control, to funnel users along predetermined paths, he was learning to move between the lines. To find the spaces the system couldn't—or wouldn't—see. The spaces where rules bent or disappeared altogether.
He pushed off the wall, skating back toward Undercut at a casual pace that belied the night's adventures. One week in, and already the skates felt like they'd always been part of him, extensions of his will rather than tools he wore. The city unfolded before him like a puzzle he was gradually learning to solve, each piece revealing new possibilities.
He'd started with nothing but debt and determination. Now, he had skills, contacts, and the beginnings of a reputation. It wasn't much, but it was a foundation to build on.
A foundation for something greater than just surviving his five-year contract. Who knows what he might be capable of by the time those five years were up? What he could learn, who he could become.
As he crossed back into the familiar territory of Lower Neon, Kai realized he was smiling. For the first time since his upload, he wasn't just enduring Server Nova—he was thriving in it.
[USER STATUS UPDATE]
Name: Kai Reeves
Contract: MidCorp Financial (4 Years, 51 Weeks Remaining)
Courier Rank: Independent (Unaffiliated)
CORE ATTRIBUTES:
Speed: D+
Agility: D+
Stamina: C-
Perception: A-
SKILLS:
AT-Drive Proficiency: Basic (D+)
Balance Control: Novice (C-)
Flux Line Recognition: Undeveloped (F)
Route Memorization: Developing (C)
Spatial Awareness: Developing (C+)
SPECIAL ABILITIES:
Whisper Reflex (Latent) - Occasional unconscious evasive capability
Slipstream Affinity (Latent) - Beginning to sense optimal movement paths
REPUTATION:
Nova Express: Reliable (Standard Courier)
Undercut Network: Promising (Potential)
The Slipstreams: Noticed (Potential Rival)
EQUIPMENT:
Modified C-Class AT-Drive Skates
? Factory Decommissioned Security Model
? Cipher's Custom Modifications
? Hidden Compartment (Right Boot)
? Basic Neural Interface (Sync Rate: 17%)
ACTIVE MISSIONS:
1. Nova Express Daily Deliveries
2. Repay Cipher for Skate Acquisition
3. Avoid Security Detection
4. Improve Skating Abilities
