The alley smelled of rust and ozone.
Mark Reves pressed his back against the cold concrete, chest rising in uneven bursts. Every breath burned—not in his lungs, but deeper, as if something inside his ribcage was grinding against bone.
[WARNING: MODULE DESYNCHRONIZATION — 17%]
The translucent interface flickered in his vision. Lines warped. Text jittered. The system didn't sound calm.
It never did.
Seventeen percent.
To anyone else, it was just a number.
To Mark, it meant his body had already crossed a line it shouldn't have survived.
He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and forced himself upright.
Pain spiked. Sharp. Electric. His knees buckled before muscle memory dragged him back into position—feet spread, weight low, spine angled forward.
A stance drilled into him long before the system existed.
Close.
Brutal.
Efficient.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley.
Three of them.
Mark tilted his head, listening. Uneven steps. Impatient. Not soldiers. Scavengers, maybe. Contractors sent to clean up loose ends.
Him.
[HOST STATUS: CRITICAL]
[SUGGESTION: RETREAT]
"Yeah," Mark muttered. "I know."
He didn't retreat.
The first man rounded the corner, shock baton crackling in his grip. He spotted Mark, froze for half a second—then smiled.
"Found him," the man said into his comm. "Alive."
Mark moved.
Not fast.
Not clean.
Just first.
Two steps closed the gap. He slipped inside the baton's arc before it could swing. His left hand trapped the attacker's wrist. His right elbow drove up—not to the head.
The throat.
Cartilage collapsed with a wet crunch.
The man dropped instantly. The baton hit the ground and skidded away.
Pain detonated in Mark's chest.
[MODULE FEEDBACK SPIKE]
[INTERNAL DAMAGE: UNCONFIRMED]
No time to process it.
The second attacker came in wide, knife flashing. Mark twisted, letting the blade scrape his side instead of sinking in. He grabbed the man's sleeve, yanked him forward, and slammed a knee into his abdomen.
Too shallow.
The man stayed on his feet.
They collided hard, bodies slamming into the alley wall. Mark felt his strength stutter—not fade, but hesitate. Like his muscles were waiting for permission that never came.
[SYSTEM RESPONSE DELAY: 0.3s]
Too slow.
The knife plunged toward his ribs.
Mark caught the wrist at the last second. Fingers dug in. Tendons screamed. He twisted—not with strength, but leverage—forcing the joint past its limit.
Snap.
The knife fell.
He headbutted the man without thinking.
Bone met bone.
Both staggered back.
Only one stayed standing.
The third attacker hesitated.
Smart.
Mark straightened, chest heaving, vision swimming. Blood dripped from his chin onto cracked pavement. Warnings stacked in his vision, overlapping, unstable.
[MODULE INSTABILITY — 24%]
[HOST LIMIT APPROACHING]
[RECOMMENDATION: TERMINATE ENGAGEMENT]
The last man backed away.
Mark didn't chase.
He couldn't.
His legs finally gave out. He dropped to one knee, palm slamming into the ground to keep himself upright. The alley spun. Sound stretched and snapped.
For a moment, he thought the system had shut down.
Then new text appeared.
[ANALYSIS COMPLETE]
[COMBAT DATA RECORDED]
[TECHNIQUE ADAPTATION: PARTIAL]
Mark frowned.
"Adaptation?" he whispered.
No answer.
The system never explained. It only observed—cold and detached.
Just like the people who built it.
Just like the people who threw him away.
Heat pulsed in his chest now. Wrong. Not pain. Not healing.
Changing.
Mark clenched his jaw and forced himself up. Whatever the system was doing inside him, it wasn't finished—and staying here meant dying.
Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance.
Not for him.
Never for him.
He staggered toward the alley exit. Each step was heavy. Deliberate. His reflection flickered in a shattered window—bloodied, exhausted, eyes hollow but sharp.
A failed prototype.
Still standing.
[SYSTEM NOTE: HOST SURVIVAL CONFIRMED]
[NEXT EVALUATION PENDING]
Mark exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he said. "We'll see."
Then he disappeared into the city—carrying a system that never accepted him, and a body that refused to quit.
End of Chapter 2