He shoved his hands into his pockets and jumped off the cargo deck.

  Thud.

  A dull landing. Dust kicked up. No one noticed—just another body melting into the swarm. Here, in the Under Lagos nightscape, that was survival. Blend in. Disappear.

  No suit. No polished shoes.

  No neatness at all.

  In these parts, standing out could get you killed.

  It had gotten him killed before. Many times.

  The second hand on his watch ticked.

  Behind him, the driver of the horse-drawn cart pulled away, wheels creaking as the vehicle vanished into the city’s labyrinth. It was a strange, broken fusion of the old world and the new.

  Underground Lagos.

  The side government didn’t let cameras see

  The side Nigeria pretended didn't exist.

  Spelltech flowed here. Illicit weaponry. Black market food codes. Smuggled trade itself. Here, surveillance was almost nonexistent—making it the perfect place for to exist.

  Of course, that came with its downsides: criminals, effector mercs, smugglers with in their blood from the other six different nations.

  People from the Foreign Inclusion (IF) were chill—most of them. Locals? Not so much.

  The city churned around him. Chaos in motion.

  He adjusted his weight, centering his mass. His hands sank deeper into his pockets, the watch long since slipped from view. People bumped into him from all sides.

  The third moon was already rising. Its pale light glazed the rooftops.

  “Shit.”

  Thud.

  Falling meant death.

  After-hours was when the police picked up bodies. Never made it that far.

  He was pushed, jostled, and tossed around like trash. But he held his center. Eventually, he broke free—pivoted left, ducked into a tight alley lit by a neon sign flickering INTEL

  His eyes scanned the reflections in puddles, glasses, windows—anything shiny.

  He didn’t look back.

  “Are you gonna dance, yeh, if I show you my money?”

  Dying had its advantages.

  You learned when danger was near, even without proof. One of the comic books the heroes smuggled in had a term for it: “Peter Tingle.”

  He smirked at the thought.

  He slipped through the market again, changed direction, looped around and passed the same neon sign—this time, a block over. Through the tomato slush again.

  Like clockwork.

  SYSTEM ONLINE: [Effector Interface v0.9.2-b]

  Identity: Aiden Holt

  Caste: MAGE

  Chip Status: ILLEGAL // Link Established

  IGA Rating: Bronze-F

  ...

  [System Advisory]

  High COZ levels detected

  Probable causality: Space. Prepare for battle.

  The door to opened with a hiss of ozone and old wood.

  From the outside, it looked small. From inside?

  It was massive.

  Ten times the size, at least. Spatial expansion codes. Of course. Some effectors were crazy enough to use them, even without IGA authorization.

  Inside, voices tangled like wire. Buzzing. Scheming. A guild-meets-crime-syndicate vibe, lit by candlelight and half-dead holograms. Old-world wood beams interwoven with data threads like digital cobwebs.

  To power all this?

  You’d need Solflare.

  Or electricity. electricity.

  He was here for two things.

  Maybe three.

  He moved past clusters of mercs, mages, and dealers. They sat under ghostlight, bargaining in half-code. A wall of glass shelves distorted his reflection—warped his features into something inhuman.

  Not just spatial distortion.

  Some kind of interference field. Lighting artifacts, maybe.

  He'd love to meet the architect who built this place.

  Word in the shadows said . The boldest, maybe the best.

  Not that it followed IGA construction protocols.

  That was a fifty-year sentence.

  Unless Suspended’s cowboys got to the builder first.

  He sat down.

  Pulled out a chair. Opened a book.

  “Man,” a voice groaned beside him. “Why do you always pick hard missions? This one’s like, a solid C+. Whatever they call it.”

  Aiden’s eyes didn’t move from the page.

  “Talk like that and you’ll never improve,” he murmured. “Adventuring’s easy if you know what you’re doing. We’re not dragon sweeping. Not yet.”

  The kid slouched forward—maybe sixteen, wired like he ran on sugar and bad ideas. He was the newest in their party. Loud. Eager. Probably dead in a week.

  “Package hunt, AHv92. That kinda shit?”

  Raz, the bald man with a log plate hanging like a noose from his neck, answered before Aiden had to.

  “They’re different fields, you dolt.”

  The kid opened his mouth again. Aiden didn’t even look up.

  “When you don’t know something, it’s best to keep quiet. Talking shows you’re a fool.”

  He bit into a kola nut.

  “I’m an adventurer. I dragon sweep too. It’s not that hard. Just finding drops that fall from Suspended.”

  “You need contacts in Suspended for that,” the kid muttered.

  Raz’s forehead creased as he looked at the kid’s log plate.

  “What about going adventuring with an expired IGA plate?” he said flatly.

  The short woman leaning at the edge of the table scoffed, arms crossed under a chest that defied her height and most tactical gear regulations. She had big eyes and an even bigger presence—fidgety, like someone used to being underestimated.

  “Chill, Peter,” she said, voice cutting clean through the buzz. “Look at Raz’s log plate.”

  The chain swung as Raz tilted his head, letting the tag catch the candlelight. It flickered with a faint silver glow.

  “They make kids stupid and expensive these days. Young and reckless.”

  Raz put his hand down on the table.

  Silver: D++

  Codename: Angry Boar

  IGA Rating: Expired—5 years

  Kills: …

  The tag lit up, projecting a tiny holo display.

  Warning: Operating with an expired license can result in prosecution…

  “He’s done so many missions, he should—”

  “He was a dragon sweeper?”

  Aiden flipped the page.

  Interesting.

  The page was bright, the words typed instead of scrawled. Official. Government-style. Untrustworthy.

  He adjusted his glasses. Light hit the lens—just right.

  Maybe not today.

  But soon.

  He was ninety percent sure

  Then:

  Splat.

  A wad of gum smacked into the book.

  Right on the word kill

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  A little to the left, and it would’ve hit his glasses.

  Slowly, he turned.

  Eyes locked.

  A girl across the table grinned at him like she’d just licked a live wire.

  “Why are you eavesdropping, rich baby?”

  “I—I wasn’t.”

  Aiden scratched the back of his head, eyes steady behind smudged lenses. He lifted the book, calm as glass.

   of stuff on the spiritual level…”

  Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile—more like the grin of a predator playing with its food.

  “Yeah? Your eye movements weren’t tracking like someone who was reading.”

  She mimicked him—pushed up imaginary glasses, exaggerated the motion. A perfect, mocking echo.

  “With the kind of blocky shit you’re reading? You should be making brief stops to take in info

  She pointed directly at his face.

  Everyone at the table turned.

  Raz blinked. “Wait—he was?”

  Aiden said nothing.

  “Wait, you actually did?”

  Peter leaned in, stunned. “How could you tell, Alyce?”

  She just smirked.

  Clink.

  The tag shimmered, lighting the space in a pulse of hot pink and violent static.

  Silver S+++

  IGA Rating: NONE

  Crudes Killed: 20,475

  Mission Requests Completed: 100

  Twenty.

  Thousand.

  Even Raz’s mouth hung open. “Like hell…”

  She took a lazy sip from her drink, and without missing a beat:

  “I dragon sweep too.”

  Her shoulder lifted like a shrug wrapped in pride.

  “Packages captured: twenty-three. Seven were A-Rank.”

  Raz muttered, “Pure ego. Nothing else.”

  Aiden didn’t respond—just observed. The light caught on his lenses again.

  Her or the burly man. Raz.

  He was ninety-two percent sure now.

  She didn’t just at him. She sensed Buried under her playful exterior was pure, tactical murder.

  She’d kill them all on the mission.

  Aiden considered this. Maybe he needed a wild card.

  “Hello,” he said, stepping forward. “Can I join your team? I’m new to this.”

  Raz opened his mouth. “Wait, we’re not really accepting—”

  “Sure,” Alyce interrupted, voice honey-laced and edged with razors.

  She tilted her head, half-curious, half-dangerous.

  “What you got?”

  “Wait—we’re accepting this?” Raz blurted.

  She leaned forward across the table. Her cleavage was... intentional.

  Weapon-grade distraction.

  His internal sensors pinged.

  His spiked like a needle through his skull.

  Red hair. Sculpted body. Killer instinct barely leashed behind pink lips.

  He wanted to stab her.

  Just to see her reaction.

  But he might not be able to rewind time here. Not fully.

  “Ehm. I have money.”

  He reached into his pocket, pulling out Narai bills, then smoothly swapped them for Universals—the platinum-black currency used in Suspended and the Expanse.

  Flick.

  “Two thousand. For the five of you. If you let me in.”

  Alyce smiled.

  Spike.

  His system blipped in warning.

  [Emotional Interference Detected]

  [Threat Index: 84%]

  He didn’t care.

  “I’ll give you time to think about it.”

  He gestured toward the counter.

  “I want to get something first.”

  “I’m not into white men,” she called after him. “But if you bring me a drink, I might consider it.”

  The receptionist was a synthetic hybrid. Human-shaped, but her eyes flickered like loading bars. Holographic screens drifted behind her in a lazy carousel—data, names, bounties, spelltech tags.

  Aiden said nothing. Just waited.

  Then caught the eye of a woman at the far end.

  “I heard someone brought in a shard. Old Age tech. I also need any Effector books on time, and data on the AHv92.”

  The woman looked amused. Others nearby chuckled.

  “You got that ‘chosen one’ look,” a man grinned.

  Their laughter faded when Aiden pulled out the card.

  He slid it across the surface—marked with a double-X burn. A NextBank rerouted card

  “Printed,” he said.

  They froze.

  “Paper?” she echoed. “Actual paper?”

  “It’s ten times the price,” someone muttered.

  Aiden shrugged, adjusted his glasses. The light made his eyes unreadable.

  “I’m rich.”

  Flick.

  He pressed a button on the strap of his book bag—stuffed tight with manuscripts and gear.

  “Transfer a million.”

  The room went quiet.

  Respect shifted the air.

  One step closer.

  He returned to the table, setting the drink in front of Alyce like a peace offering made of glass and trouble.

  “So. When are we doing this?”

  “Who said you’re in?” she teased.

  He said nothing. Just slid a thick bill toward each person at the table.

  Alyce’s eyes glittered. She leaned forward again, predatory.

  “Tomorrow. Portals. Think you can handle it?”

  “I can.”

  He didn’t look back as the alley swallowed him again. The alley was empty, save for the soft buzz of neon and the wet whisper of the third moonlight sliding across broken walls. Dim neon painted the walls in flickering color. Rain-slick concrete made the ground shine like glass.

  Aiden stopped. Turned slightly.

  His breath was visible.

  Even when the air wasn’t cold.

  He reached into his coat.

  Pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Angled it under a flickering sign.

  Coordinates.

  Written by hand—carefully, precisely. The kind of ink that bled if you held your gaze too long.

  13.5460° N, 44.0178° W

  He read it under his breath.

  “Bola, you’re doing a damn good job.”

  He smiled. Briefly.

  Then turned toward the wall.

  Dead end.

  He waited.

  Just a while.

  ---

  Rustle.

  Footsteps.

  Shifting weight. A shadow broke the alley’s mouth.

  He didn’t move.

  The figure stepped forward—hooded, limping slightly, hand half-extended like a merchant, like a thief.

  Eyes flicked between Aiden and the bag resting at his feet.

  Wrong move.

  The man lunged.

  The bag arced up into the air—intentional. Aiden threw it.

  Instinct took over. The man’s hands left his side. Reached.

  Aiden moved.

  ---

  The two collided.

  Aiden’s hand snapped up, fingers brushing the man’s forehead.

  But the man grabbed Aiden’s wrist—tight.

  Too tight.

  They twisted. Fought. Slammed against the alley wall.

  His system lit up.

  ---

  Effector Ability: Base — External Acceleration

  Target: Environment

  Delta: +X seconds

  Sync Type: Outward Time Flow Offset

  Duration: [Sync Duration]

  Biometric strain elevated

  ---

  Aiden’s breath caught.

  The alley blurred.

  The man froze—and then didn’t.

  His limbs twitched like marionette strings yanked too hard.

  His skin cracked.

  His teeth yellowed.

  His lips split open mid-snarl.

  [Acceleration active]

  The time in his body surged forward—13 seconds 200 times.

  The man's hair had grayed. His veins bulged. His pupils rolled back.

  He tried to scream—

  Aiden clamped his hand over the man’s mouth.

  “Shhh.”

  Blood trickled from Aiden’s nose. One drop. Then two.

  His hand trembled.

  The watch ticked once—hard. A chime rang out like glass cracking.

  ---

  And then—

  Dust.

  The man crumbled in his grip.

  Collapsed.

  Gone.

  Aiden staggered back, catching the wall with one palm.

  He wiped at his nose. A smear of red across the sleeve.

  ---

  He bent down, picked up the bag, and opened it.

  The shard pulsed.

  Faint. Silent. Its light curled like a waiting breath—alive and unreadable. Its structure twisted in that impossible way: metal melted into crystal, crystal fused with light.

  Glyphs flickered across its surface like it was whispering something only machines could understand.

  Then it fell quiet.

  Aiden zipped the bag shut.

  His thoughts drifted.

  What would his colleagues think if they knew their new boss wasn’t just an adventurer…

  He’d be dragon sweeping soon.

  He smiled.

  They’d call him a terrorist.

  Let them.

  He checked his watch. Three seconds remained on the sync buffer. That fight should’ve been easier.

  If that was enhanced.

  Well, at least he didn't die this time.

  He wiped his nose again and walked out of the alley, one hand deep in his coat, the other tightening around the bag’s strap.

  Location: Aiden’s Apartment | Expanse | Nigeria | Lagos Lower-Tier Block | 00:42

  The apartment was sterile. Too sterile.

  Everything was where it belonged. Shelves lined with books and blueprints, marked in fine-tipped pen. Paper maps of Suspended were pinned across the walls—tactical strings stretched across them like a spider’s web. A wall of white lit softly from behind, doubling as both display and mood killer.

  Aiden lived in curated silence. No dirt. No warmth.

  Even the houseplants looked miserable—healthy enough to fake it, dying slow deaths under carefully regulated lighting. One had withered and rebloomed six times this month.

  The coffee table was a metal slab. Burnished edges. Clean welds.

  In the middle of it, the shard

  Jagged. Cored with flickering blue light. The crystal’s glyphs spun in slow, glitching spirals. Old Age tech. Powerful. Ancient. Alive.

  Natasha stepped out from the back, red cap pulled over sweat-damp hair, a wrench still in one hand. Her shirt was halfway buttoned. Dust streaked her thighs, grime on her hands. She looked like she’d just crawled out of an engine block.

  And smiled like she knew everything.

  “This shard is Old Age. Whoever got it did us a favor.”

  Her voice was casual, but her eyes flicked toward Aiden with interest. Not admiration. More like… analysis.

  “But let’s be honest. You didn’t really want it because of its function.”

  Clang.

  “You wanted it because of that white-haired thing. What was it again?”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer.

  “Virulent 09-A.”

  Aiden adjusted his glasses but didn’t look up.

  “Not particularly. But the shard will help us with the machine. The electronics. We can finally simulate flight paths.”

  He spoke like a man solving an equation mid-sentence. He picked up one of the dying plants and noted something in a leather-bound log.

  “We get this right, we start dragon sweeping properly.”

  The walls bore photos—some of Suspended’s outer rings, others of equipment he’d never been seen using. Diagrams of gryphon mechs, old flight blueprints, even random doodles pinned between tight code formulas. It looked like a genius lived there.

  Or a patient.

  Or both.

  In the center of it all, he was barefoot. Shirtless. Focused.

  A mustachioed engineer sat cross-legged nearby, flames spiraling up his palm in silence before vanishing like smoke. He scribbled something down. No one spoke for a few seconds.

  Then Natasha leaned on the table.

  “Congrats on your promotion, boss,” she said. stretched in her mouth like a joke she hadn’t decided to explain.

  “Did the bank throw a celebration? Champagne? A parade?”

  Aiden stayed facing the wall, hand trailing down the leaf of a plant that had just begun to go black at the tips.

  "The means were unethical. Even by my standards.”

  “Not something to be proud of.”

  She stepped closer. That grin hadn’t left her face.

  “I know all of that. Just wanted to congratulate you anyway.”

  “I thought you’d ask how I knew. Or act surprised. Y’know—try to outsmart me.”

  The leaf in his fingers crumbled to dust.

  Aiden turned, slowly.

  The smile on his face was thin.

  “If you know what you’re doing, hacking into NextBank isn’t particularly hard. It’s niche. But 3%? That’s manageable.”

  “I’ve already closed my backdoors. Can’t have anyone spying on me.”

  “But I thought I’d leave yours open… just a little longer than usual.”

  The tension hit like a string pulled taut.

  The lights in the room dimmed a little as a storm rolled by outside. Somewhere in Suspended’s upper decks, thunder cracked like broken steel.

  “While all of that’s debatable,” Natasha said, still smiling, “at least I got a sex life.”

  Aiden let out a soft laugh.

  “Didn’t know you were into low-blow one-liners.”

  “You don’t have one,” she grinned.

  “Wait—I a sex life.”

  “You don’t. And it’s okay to be embarrassed.”

  He squinted slightly, mouth open just a little.

  “You’ve been dry for two years, Aiden. Not one twitch

  He blinked.

  “Wait—so we’re using abilities on each other now?”

  “I didn’t need to,” she shrugged. “You’re easy to read.”

  “Even if I , would I just dangle my junk in front of you like an idiot?”

  “Please don’t,” she laughed, wiping a fake tear. “You’re not in the demographic of my possible love interests. Do whatever you want.”

  Then it hit him.

  Two years.

  She’d been probing him

  She was too smart. Too deliberate.

  That wasn’t flirting.

  That was recon.

  She’d scanned his patterns, timed his tells, , and sat on the intel until the right moment.

  She was dangerous.

  And he hadn’t earned her full trust.

  He needed to fix that.

  Or prepare for the moment she made a move.

  She leaned in again, voice quieter now.

  “What did you use that million for, anyway?”

  “The way you asked for it… like it was already yours.”

  It was a good pivot. Smooth. She knew the conversation had gone too far.

  She always knew.

  He didn’t answer.

  Just motioned to the wall.

  There, on a blank white panel, a sheet of paper hung from one piece of black tape.

  Letters hand-written. Sharp. Absolute.

  30 MORE DAYS.

  Natasha’s eyes narrowed—just a touch.

  The plan had already begun.

  They could call him a terrorist.

  Fine.

  But whoever ran Suspended…

  They’d wish they had never existed.

  He swore it.

  To his father.