Neo-Shanra, Lower Wards, 2147
Kael Varn crouched on the rusted fire escape, the city's pulse thrumming through his boots. Neon signs flickered below, bathing the alley in a sickly green glow. The air reeked of burnt circuitry and desperation. He adjusted the shard-blade strapped to his thigh, its faint hum syncing with his heartbeat. Too loud. Too alive. He hated how it felt like part of him now.
"Ghost, you in position?" he muttered into his comms, voice low.
A crackle, then Rhea's drawl: "Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on. I'm jacked into the warehouse cams. Two goons at the door, one inside with the package. You sure this shard's worth the heat?"
"It's always worth the heat," Kael said, though his gut twisted. The visions had started again last night flashes of fire, a woman's voice whispering about oblivion. The shard in his chest was to blame. He could feel it, clawing at his sanity.
He leapt, boots hitting the pavement with a soft thud. The alley was narrow, littered with discarded holo-ads and broken vials of synth-dope. The warehouse loomed ahead, its steel doors graffitied with anti-Protocol slogans. *Gods are dead. So are we.* Charming.
"Voss, you got my back?" Kael asked.
Toren's gravelly voice rumbled through the comms. "Always, kid. Don't do anything stupid."
Kael smirked. Stupid was his specialty.
He crept to the door, shard-blade glowing faintly. The two guards were amateurs sloppy stances, cheap cyber-eyes that wouldn't spot him in the dark. He focused, feeling the shard in his chest pulse. Kinetic energy coiled in his palms, invisible but heavy. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a ripple through the air, knocking the guards' heads together. They crumpled without a sound.
"Show-off," Rhea muttered.
"Jealous?" Kael slipped inside.
The warehouse was a maze of crates and flickering holo-screens. At its center, a single figure stood over a glowing case. The shard inside pulsed like a dying star, its light casting jagged shadows. Kael's chest ached in response, his own shard reacting. Bad sign.
"Protocol!" the figure shouted, spinning to face him. A woman, mid-30s, with a cybernetic arm and a shard-blade of her own. Her eyes glowed an unnatural violet. Harbinger. Shit.
Kael dove behind a crate as her blade slashed, carving through steel like paper. "Ghost, where's my exit?"
"Working on it!" Rhea snapped. "She's got a jammer. Systems are fried."
The Harbinger lunged, her blade grazing Kael's arm. Pain seared, but he rolled, channeling kinetic energy into a blast that sent her crashing into a stack of crates. She laughed, rising like it was nothing. "You're one of us," she hissed. "The shard chose you."
"Pass," Kael growled. He charged, blade meeting hers in a shower of sparks. Each clash sent tremors through his bones, the shard in his chest screaming. Then, a vision hit flames, a city in ruins, that same woman's voice: *The cycle begins with you.*
He staggered, and the Harbinger's blade nicked his shoulder. Blood hit the floor. Focus, damn it. He ducked her next swing, grabbed a fallen pipe, and infused it with kinetic force. The pipe flew like a missile, pinning her arm to the wall. She roared, but Kael was already at the case, snatching the shard.
"Voss, now!" he yelled.
The warehouse wall exploded inward, Toren barreling through in a hail of gunfire. His shard-enhanced strength made him a tank, and the Harbinger faltered. Kael sprinted for the breach, shard-case in hand, as alarms blared.
Outside, Rhea's drone hovered, lights flashing. "Move it, hero!"
Kael vaulted onto the drone, Toren behind him. The warehouse erupted in flames as the Harbinger's screams echoed. The drone sped into the neon-lit night, Neo-Shanra's skyline blurring past.
Kael clutched the case, heart pounding. The shard inside whispered, not in words but in feelings power, hunger, dread. He glanced at Toren, whose face was grim.
"This ain't just a shard, is it?" Kael asked.
Toren's eyes darkened. "No. And whatever it is, the Protocol's lying about it."