Scared, Alexei noted, clocking the trembling hands and the pile of unpaid bills peeking from beneath a datapad. Desperate. His old NexusCorp training kicked in—every deal had a weak point, every flaw a hook. Money trouble’s my in. He stepped up, voice cold and clipped. “Two hundred for the Helix-9.”
The vendor’s eye whirred, snapping to him with a mechanical clack. “Four hundred. Non-negotiable.”
Alexei shrugged, pivoting like it didn’t sting. “I’ll find cheaper.” He didn’t stray far—just slipped behind a stack of crates, watching from the gloom. The vendor’s hands jittered harder, his eye scanning faster. He’s waiting for trouble, Alexei thought. He’d seen this script before— stalls like this got shaken down at dusk, a rhythm baked into the city’s underbelly.
A wiry bystander leaned in, ‘I have a friend with a used Helix-12, it's a smooth ride!’ Alexei ignored him—credits didn’t stretch for dreams. He would just have to wait...
Sure enough, two thugs rolled in, faces carved with scars and eyes dead as slate. “This week’s cut, old man,” the shorter one rasped, voice grinding like bone on stone.
The vendor faltered, sweat glistening on his face. “I don’t have it yet. One more day—”
A fist slammed the counter, wood cracking with a sharp snap. The taller thug’s hand drifted to his belt, fingers grazing the grip of a hidden blade. He lifted his coat just enough to flash the steel, eyes boring into the vendor. “You sure you wanna test us, old man?” he snarled, low and lethal.
Alexei moved, flashing his old NexusCorp ID—a sleek, black card that still oozed authority. “Back off. Now.”
The taller thug stepped closer, blade half-out, lips curling. “NexusCorp don’t crawl down here. You’re full of it.” His partner shifted, cutting off the alley. Alexei’s heart pounded, but his expression stayed ice-cold.
“Check the logo,” Alexei said, voice steady as stone. “Call my bluff, if you’re dumb enough.”
The shorter thug squinted at the ID, then yanked his partner’s arm. “It’s legit. You want drones up our asses?” The taller one’s grip tightened on the blade, veins bulging.
Then the taller thug hesitated, his fingers lingering on the blade’s grip for a moment longer before he let his coat fall back into place. He muttered a curse under his breath as the two slunk away into the shadows.
The vendor’s breath hitched, his cybernetic eye flickering with a mix of relief and fear. Alexei’s bluff had held, but the threat lingered in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. Alexei stepped forward, his voice cold and steady. “Now, about that pod. Two hundred credits.”
The vendor’s hands shook as he slid the access code across the counter. “Fine. Two hundred.” His voice was barely a whisper, defeat sinking in.
Alexei transferred the credits, a grim satisfaction settling into his bones. Fear’s the best currency. He’d watched, waited, and struck when the crack split wide. The Helix-9 pod was his, carved out with cold precision in a city that ate the unprepared.
Hauling it home was a war of its own. The pod was too bulky to carry, too precious to leave in streets crawling with scavengers who’d gut it in seconds. Alexei pulled out his corporate phone—a glossy slab etched with NexusCorp’s logo, a bitter relic from his old life. It purred awake, screen casting a pale glow on his face, though he knew its tracking chips were still whispering to someone. He tapped into the city’s delivery net, settling on the cheapest rig he could stomach: an automated van, dented and peeling, no frills, no guards—just a creaking box on treads. Luxury was dead, but he couldn’t lose the pod.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
As he locked in the order, a ping flared: “NexusCorp Security Update: Activity logged.” His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. Always watching. He dismissed it, focusing on the van clattering up minutes later, its frame groaning under its own weight. Alexei wrestled the Helix-9 into its hold, knees buckling for a moment under the strain. He stifled a cough, the rasp catching in his throat—a reminder of the disease gnawing at him. He punched a route into the sluggish interface. The van’s AI was brain-dead, prone to wandering into kill zones or gang turf without a leash, so he mapped it himself—skirting enforcer patrols, dodging the city’s traps. Every mile was a roll of the dice, but failure wasn’t on the table.
He tracked it on his phone, breath hitching as the dot grazed a red zone—gang tags and gunfire echoes flashing in his mind. Enforcer drones swept the streets with red scanner beams, and Alexei muttered bitterly, “NexusCorp’s cheap upkeep.” The neon haze pressed in, suffocating, while graffiti screamed NexusCorp Owns You from crumbling walls. Finally, the van lurched to a stop outside his apartment block—a gleaming tower piercing the slums, its fortified doors and neon skyline a fading NexusCorp perk. Corporate housing, a step above the gutter. For now.
He hauled the pod inside, the building’s AI chirping, “Welcome home, Mr. Volkov. You have one message.” He ignored it, muscling the Helix-9 into place beside his terminal. The pod was a relic—bulky and coffin-like, its scratched frame bearing the ghost of a defunct tech firm’s logo. He ran a hand over the cracked, tinted visor, grimacing at the worn straps dangling like loose tendons. It hissed open, revealing a cramped reclining seat with sweat-stained padding that reeked of stale sweat and overheated circuits. Budget immersion, all right, he thought, wrinkling his nose at the musty stench.
He wiped grime off the controls, muttering about “junkyard tech” as he tightened the frayed straps. This wasn’t the sleek, high-end pod from his NexusCorp days—no advanced neural sync, no nutrient delivery to sustain long sessions. Just a bare-bones rig, built for function over comfort. He’d have to break immersion to eat and hydrate manually, wasting precious time. The pod sputtered on, its visor flickering feebly like it might collapse. Alexei slid in, the stale air hitting him hard. He plugged the neural jack into the base of his skull, wincing at the faint buzz—a rough connection from outdated hardware. The visor stuttered, graphics lagging as Velocity Nexus booted up. A warning flashed: “Legacy hardware detected. Suboptimal performance expected.” He cursed under his breath, tweaking the settings to wring out every ounce of capability from the aging machine.
A jagged cityscape erupted—neon towers stabbing a smog-choked sky, edges bleeding into lights that pulsed like dying stars. The Helix-9’s age bled through: graphics lagged, outlines smeared, a cheap shadow of the real thing. Alexei’s gut twisted. This is it? But then, a low hum vibrated the pod—scorched wiring stung his nose—and the world sharpened. Lag dissolved, colors blazed, details sliced through the haze like glass. He blinked. “Too smooth,” but pinned it on the game’s backend, a lifeline for his junk heap.
The game exploded into being. The pod buzzed, and Alexei was flung into an S-tier machine—a sleek, neon-lit beast with an engine that roared like a predator. The tutorial track stretched out: a glowing ribbon snaking through a cyberpunk sprawl, towers stabbing a polluted sky. He slammed the throttle, and the speed crushed him back, a surge of raw power flooding his veins. The engine’s growl drowned the pod’s creaks; the VR world thrummed with life—the squeal of tires, the smear of lights, the adrenaline of slicing through traffic at insane velocity. For a fleeting second, he wasn’t a dying man in a decaying flat—he was invincible, electric. He swerved, but the car lagged—a half-second hiccup from the pod’s junk wiring. Alexei cursed, muscling past it.
Then the tutorial faded, dumping him into an F-tier junker: slow, weak, the same starter junk every rookie got. The drop hit hard, a slap of reality as the adrenaline faded. The pod’s straps dug into his shoulders, a nagging reminder of the discomfort awaiting him in longer sessions.
Back in the real world, his fridge clung to scraps—corporate synth-meals and nutrient packs, NexusCorp’s hollow “generosity.” He grabbed one, its label taunting: “optimal nutrition for peak performance.” A cruel jab for a man rotting from the inside. He ate without tasting, counting rations, the plastic crinkling in his grip.
His terminal pulsed with the unread message, a red dot glaring like blood. He opened it, and ice flooded his veins:
"Notice: Corporate Housing Agreement Terminated. Per Clause 7.3 of Directive 47-B, Asset Reassignment Protocol initiated. Compliance required."
Alexei’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need a date to know what it meant—thirty days. NexusCorp’s eviction clauses were ironclad, and he’d drafted enough of them in his career to know the drill. Thirty days to vacate, or the enforcers would drag him out like trash. His hand clenched, a tremor running through it. Not yet. Not like this.
In-game, he had a started account, the interface mocking him with zeros. The “Starter Package” blinked: 50 credits for a 500% value roll. Gacha garbage, a trap for the desperate, but he needed a spark—any spark. He also read enough guides to know it was a limited buy and a guaranteed full item or car. Most would get a B tier, but a few lucky ones could get higher. He clicked buy, and the screen exploded—lights flashing, synths blaring, reels spinning through duds: weak cosmetic skins, a couple of shards from the lowest ratings, his tension coiling tight. Then—a golden flash, a sonic boom, and it landed: SS-rated Chronos Engine Core. Stats blazed across the display:
-
Baseline: A-level acceleration and handling, strong but not divine.
-
Special Ability: Temporal Overdrive—+100% acceleration boost for 3 to 30 seconds, scaling with race length.
Alexei’s breath caught. SS-tier, a whisper from the mythical SSS—a jackpot in a sea of mediocrity. Chronos. Time. It mirrored his thirty-day clock, a chill slicing down his spine like a warning. Then, the screen glitched, a cryptic message flickering: “Time is a luxury, Alexei. Use it wisely.” It vanished, but the words burned as the pod disconnected him from the game. The AI’s intrusion was real—it knew him, watched him. This wasn’t luck; it was a play, cold and deliberate.