Here is **Chapter 4 of Zeko Super**, narrated:
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### **ZEKO SUPER**
**Chapter 4: Fragmented Order**
The siren howled, a sonic blade that ripped through the air of the NexTech laboratory. Red lights flashed in chaotic synchronicity, painting the titanium walls with hues of blood and emergency. The perimeter corridor had become a trap, a maze of plasma tubes and armored doors where ten cybernetic mercenaries converged, their electromagnetic pulse rifles raised like metal fangs.
The squad commander, a mountain of cybernetic implants and scars, his voice modulated by a cold AI, echoed through the communicator.
— Intruders detected. Disposal protocol: shred and incinerate. Concentrated fire!
Bursts of energy buzzed through the narrow hallway, bouncing off the walls. In the center of the chaos, the Choque Z trio advanced. Oliver led the way, his movements precise and dismissive. The prototype chip pulsed in his hand, a stolen acid-green heart. Belka floated beside him, a silhouette of neon purple and restraint. And Jarrette stumbled behind, a point of pulsing anxiety amid the impending order.
"Inefficiency in motion," Oliver said, his voice as calm as a theorem being proven. — Ten vectors armed against three optimized structures. Predictable. Belka, contain the left flank. Pratt... try not to glittle the entire scene. I take care of symmetry.
The mercenaries opened fire. An electromagnetic pulse hit the ground near Jarrette, making his suit throb erratically. He reacted on instinct, a scream caught in his throat. He extended his hands, and the chameleon silk obeyed, releasing a wave of **Chromatic Error**.
A high-pitched, digital hum, like the sound of a file corrupting, filled the air. The world in front of three mercenaries failed to render. The ground beneath them turned into a viscous liquid that sucked at their boots like digital quicksand. One's rifle turned into cotton candy, harmless and ridiculous. The air around another solidified into breakable shards that crackled like glass to the touch.
— Take that, you failed pixels! Glitch them! shouted Jarrette, a momentary triumph in his voice.
But the effect only lasted three seconds. Two mercenaries recovered, and one of them fired a blast that grazed Jarrette's shoulder, burning the fabric. His suit turned a panicked purple, pulsing erratically, on the verge of overload.
Belka intervened, floating gracefully to the left flank, where four enemies surrounded her. She smiled—a predatory expression, yet restrained by Oliver's fear.
— You would dirty my look — she said, her voice soft with an echo of lethal glamour. — Time for a glow-up... permanent.
She activated her **Foton-Gold Textile Disruption**. A vibrational energy exploded from his transparent uniform, and the golden threads intertwined in the air. The four mercenaries—weapons, armor, and flesh—disintegrated into purple neon glows and floating golden threads. They turned into immobile, conceptual sculptures: one man frozen mid-shot, another in a defensive pose, floating like macabre gallery art.
— Chic even in chaos — she whispered to herself, a cold pride in her voice.
Meanwhile, Oliver watched everything with calculated disdain. The commander and the five remaining mercenaries advanced on him, coordinating a synchronized attack with pulse grenades and crossfire. Oliver didn't move. The panels of his acid green suit disconnected slightly, the glow intensifying under the emergency light.
— You are structural anomalies. Disorganized. Inefficient," he said, his voice like a surgeon dissecting a flaw. — Allow me... to correct.
He touched the air casually. **Luminous Fragmentation** activated on a terrifying scale. The grenades in the air instantly deconstructed into thousands of acid-green energy particles, which traveled like a quantum swarm. They did not rematerialize as explosives, but as sharp blades that dug into the shooters' legs, piercing exoskeletons with surgical precision. Two mercenaries fell screaming, their severed limbs teleported to the ceiling, dripping plasma.
The commander shot Oliver directly in the chest. The bullet stopped centimeters away, crumbling into particles that the suit absorbed as fuel. Oliver reached out and touched the commander's shoulder.
The entire man—armor, implants, flesh—fragmented into green light. The particles danced in a controlled vortex before rematerializing. But not whole.
The commander reappeared five meters away, but with his torso inverted. His arms had been replaced with the cybernetic legs of a fallen comrade, and his face was a semi-liquid mass, melting into green acid. He roared in agony, a shaky, grotesque attempt to move before collapsing into a steaming puddle.
Oliver laughed—a cold, pleasurable, pure nihilistic sound.
- Look? Reality corrected. Their "order" was an illusion. Now, you are functional art: a reminder of inefficiency. Die in symmetry.
He kicked the steaming puddle, and the particles scattered like quantum confetti. The last mercenaries hesitated, horrified. With a lazy gesture, Oliver collectively fragmented them. They rematerialized in a grotesque heap—limbs intertwined, faces overlapping in a living, screaming heap. Oliver walked over them, crushing skulls with precise steps, his attire immaculate.
He turned to Belka and Jarrette, superiority dripping from his voice like poison.
— Look at quantum superiority. Belka, your "rupture" is tolerable aesthetics—a veneer over chaos. Pratt... your chromatic error? A three-second joke. I impose real order. No emotional weaknesses. No glitches. Follow, or become... corrections.
Jarrette swallowed hard, the suit pulsing weakly in defeat. His powers, once a unique tool, now seemed ridiculous and pathetic in front of that fragmentation machine. Belka nodded, suppressing the disgust bubbling in her stomach.
— Got it... boss. Lesson learned," Jarrette muttered, eyes downcast.
They continued down the final corridor, with the few remaining enemies fleeing within sight of them. Oliver handed the chip to a ZOK extraction drone, which took off with a victorious buzz. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant echoes of screams and the quantum hum that seemed to emanate from Oliver.
***
The trio emerged into Zeko's acid rain at dawn. Oliver's suit neutralized the corrosive droplets with a subtle force field. The city woke up in distant neon, indifferent to the horror they had just committed.
Oliver stopped, looking at the two with a sharp smile.
— Mission complete. Efficiency: 98.7%. You... tolerable. But remember: internal disorder leads to external fragmentation. Next time, I'll correct you too.
He stepped away, breaking a puddle of acid into harmless particles with a casual touch. Belka and Jarrette exchanged a look—a silent complicity born of shared terror.
— Hold on — Belka whispered to him, her voice low and firm. — He's the top. But tops fall.
Jarrette nodded, new determination budding beneath the layers of fear.
— One glitch at a time...
**In Zeko, power is order. And cruelty, his signature.**