Kael found no rest throughout the night. Uncertainty held him prisoner in his own room, a narrow, gloomy cubicle that could barely be called a home. The dampness clung to the cracked walls, and the faint hum of the emergency generator was the only sound breaking the silence, accompanying the symphony of his chaotic thoughts.
Sitting at the edge of the sunken old mattress, elbows resting on his knees, hands gripping his hair tightly, he struggled to find a way out—a plan, anything that would allow him to escape the predicament he had gotten himself into. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that every option led him to a dead end.
The holopanel on the wall flickered erratically, projecting fragmented data and automated ads for dead-end jobs and illegal gambling. It was a perfect reflection of his mind at that moment: chaotic, filled with noise and useless information that did nothing to solve his dilemma. The bluish glow of the projector flickered across his sweaty skin, casting uncertain shadows in the cluttered room.
He lifted his gaze, and his eyes settled on Lira's sleeping figure, wrapped in a thin, tattered blanket. Her breathing was calm, her expression relaxed, unaware of the storm raging inside him. So fragile, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt pierced his chest. He wasn't afraid for himself—he had been doomed from the moment he entered the game. He was afraid for her.
He couldn't risk the consequences of his actions reaching her. Not while he could do something about it.
Kael let out a shaky sigh and clenched his fists. He had made a decision. He couldn't wait a week—he had to disappear tomorrow, rebuild his life somewhere else. Not as an antihero, not as a shadow lurking in the city's alleys. Just as a brother protecting the only thing that truly mattered.
He knew he had to act, that he couldn't let the past catch up with them. He had to vanish, fade into nothingness like a ghost. Erase any trace of his antihero identity, sell what little he owned, and take Lira somewhere safe—far from the corruption and violence of the slums. He knew it wouldn't be easy. The better-protected districts demanded credits he didn't have, connections he had burned long ago. But it was his only option, the only way to protect his sister.
When the first ray of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the window, Kael gently woke Lira, his fingers tenderly brushing through her hair.
"We have to go, Lira," he whispered, urgency lacing his voice. "We're not safe here anymore."
Lira stretched, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
"Go? Where?"
"It doesn't matter right now," Kael replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Just trust me. Pack only what you need. We're leaving this afternoon."
Though suspicion flickered in her eyes, Lira asked no questions. She knew better than to argue when Kael spoke like that.
"I'm going to sell a few things and I'll be back by dusk," he said. "I want everything ready by then."
Kael melted into the streets of District Seven, a ghost slipping through a sea of shadows. He abandoned his usual worn-out but familiar attire, replacing it with anonymity: a tattered leather jacket fished from a dumpster, loose dark pants to obscure his movements, and battered combat boots. A faded gray cap covered his hair, and smoked-lens glasses concealed his sharp gaze. He became invisible.
The bag slung over his shoulder held the remnants of his former life: an old development console, once his prized hacking tool, now just another relic for sale. Alongside it, cutting-edge hardware stolen from corporate systems—valuable, dangerous. And hidden in a secret compartment, a datapad crammed with a gang's illicit dealings, and a memory chip containing blueprints of a high-end security network. Every item was a risk. Every item, an opportunity.
District Seven was a labyrinth of grimy alleys and neon-lit stalls, where burnt wires and cheap fried food scented the heavy air. Vendors hawked illicit tech in hoarse voices under the flickering gaze of broken holograms.
Kael moved cautiously through the crowd, a ghost among scavengers. He stopped at a stall manned by a scarred dealer, whose yellowed grin spoke of desperation.
"Looking for something, kid?" the man rasped.
Kael pulled out his battered development console.
"I'm selling."
The man squinted, evaluating.
"Old model. I'll give you fifteen hundred credits."
Kael shook his head.
"Three thousand."
The dealer smirked but relented after a beat.
"Two thousand three hundred. Take it or leave it."
Kael accepted, selling off the rest of his wares with quick, quiet deals. It wasn't a fortune, but it would buy them a month's breathing room in a safer sector.
As he left the market, unease gnawed at his gut. Every move now felt like balancing on a blade's edge. But Lira's safety mattered more than fear.
By dusk, he returned home, hope flickering in his chest for the first time in months. He opened the door—then froze.
The apartment was wrecked. Drawers yanked open, the bed overturned, the holopanel smashed into glittering shards. But worse than the destruction was the silence—a suffocating, absolute silence.
"Lira!" he shouted, panic tearing through him.
He tore through the wreckage, searching, calling—but there was no sign of his sister. No blood. No signs of struggle.
Only a single crumpled note on the table:
"If you want to see your little sister again, come to the Crimson Whisper tonight. —The Butcher."
Time collapsed. His breath came ragged and shallow. Fury burned behind his eyes. He had tried to leave that life behind—to smother the dangerous new force awakening within him. But fate had other plans.
He would go. If Lira's life demanded his own, he would pay it without hesitation.
But tonight, something darker stirred inside him.
Vengeance.
And redemption.