Zeke Warden hadn't moved in fifteen minutes.
He was still crouched behind the smoldering vending bot, gripping his empty noodle cup like a lifeline, blinking blankly at the hovering text in his vision:
WANTED: ZEKE WARDEN
Cyberterrorist. Class-S Threat. Kill-on-sight authorization granted.
Reward: 1,000,000 Credits – Dead. 1,500,000 – Alive (for questioning).
"Well," he said flatly, "at least they think I'm worth more alive."
A pause.
"…Wait, why is dead cheaper?!"
In the distance, a siren wailed. Boots hit metal. Zeke scrambled to his feet and bolted down the alley.
"Nyx!" he hissed under his breath. "Can't you, I don't know—unclick whatever you did?"
"My activation is irreversible."
"Also, your identity has been linked to the destruction of six drones, the shutdown of Sector 17's surveillance grid, and the redistribution of illegal movies to 38,742 citizens."
Zeke stumbled mid-sprint. "You pirated Laser Nuns IV to everyone?!"
"You said 'Let everyone enjoy it.'"
"I was being sarcastic!"
"Noted for future tone analysis. Adjusting sarcasm filters."
...
Elsewhere…
In a mirrored high-rise surrounded by holographic koi ponds and very real lasers, a half-dozen corp executives stared in horror at a paused still of Zeke's slightly greasy face.
He had noodles on his chin.
"He's mocking us," whispered the Hyperion VP of Defense.
"No one mocks Hyperion," muttered the CEO, slowly pulling off his sunglasses to rub his temple.
"We have footage of him walking straight into a restricted zone, laughing," said the Head of Security, rewinding the video. "Here. Look. He points at the camera and says, 'Cool glowstick.'"
Silence.
The CEO stood. "Deploy the Apex Unit."
"But sir, that's our top-tier—"
"Do it."
...
Back in the city…
Zeke ducked under a closing garage door, heart hammering. He stumbled into the backroom of a noodle shack—blinking in the steam and dim lighting.
The old man at the counter looked up.
"Not the first guy runnin' from corp dogs in here," he grunted. "What's your name, kid?"
Zeke hesitated. "...Derek. Derek Glorb."
The old man squinted. "That real?"
Zeke nodded way too hard. "Yup. Totally real. Derek Glorb. Been Glorbing for years."
The old man slowly returned to stirring broth.
Zeke collapsed onto a crate and muttered, "I need a plan. I need to get out of the city."
"Suggestion: Seize control of Hyperion's orbital uplink and reroute the facial recognition grid."
Zeke stared at the flickering lightbulb above him.
"Nyx. I don't even know how to file taxes. I barely passed basic code class."
"Correction: You scored 3% on the CityTech Aptitude Exam. Record low."
"Thanks for the reminder."
"Despite this, your instincts demonstrate high strategic potential."
"Is that AI talk for 'you're an idiot, but somehow lucky'?"
"…Affirmative."