Cain didn't slow.
District 12 sprawled ahead like a dying animal—skyscrapers sheared in half by old fires, billboards hanging by rusted cables, alleyways blocked by burned-out vans. The ground here wasn't flat. It shifted, cracked, held secrets under the concrete.
The burner phone vibrated again in his pocket.
[ECHO DETECTED – SIGNAL BOUNCE IN PROGRESS]
They were close enough to echo his signal, not close enough to catch him. Someone was rerouting his trail.
Cain veered left down a skeletal walkway that wrapped around a gutted hotel. The bridge cracked beneath his boots but held. He stopped in the shadow of a tilted water tank, pulled the burner from his coat, and killed the location beacon.
Then he pulled out a backup shell — a fake clone. He powered it, synced the signal and set it on a delay loop. Thirty seconds later, his decoy would start walking in the wrong direction.
Cain tossed it over the edge and watched it clatter down the metal stairwell. He turned and kept moving. The garment factory was two blocks down. Mostly caved in with windows shattered. Black fabric strips flapped in the wind.
Cain entered through a cracked delivery door. Dust coated the floor thick enough to leave footprints, so he crossed on the steel rafters overhead. Balanced and silent.
He made it to the old freight office and sealed the door. The drive Roach tried to sell pulsed faint red. He popped it open and noticed it had no lockout protocol. Nothing defensive. Just raw, fractured data and one playable file.
He ran it.
"You said he's freelance. No Binder?" "None. The crew dropped his name two nights ago. Street rat out of Sector 7." "Then he's clean. But if he's watching the wrong threads—terminate."
The second voice chilled him.
Female. Precise.
"We didn't build him. We can't predict him."
Cain let the recording loop once. His name was never said but it was about him and they had no idea who he was. That was the only edge he had left. He killed the player and pocketed the drive. Then he snapped the burner in half. Crushed the SIM and swallowed it dry.
He exited through the north wall and took the side fire escape.
Below, a body hit the ground.
Cain froze.
A teenager. Courier vest. Shot clean in the throat. He'd been running.
The shooter stepped out from a nearby awning, brushed the blood off his glove.
Cain tracked him—young, lean, silent. Light footfalls. Light gear. Moved fast. Moved wrong.
Not gang, not hired muscle.
Ranked.
Tier E, maybe. The air warped slightly when he turned—body pressure nullified. Not invisibility but harder to feel. Harder to notice. Cain memorized his face. Didn't move. The shooter vanished up the side of the building, one leap, two grips, gone.
Cain stepped down once he was sure.
The courier's mouth was open. Eyes wider than the wound. No one was around. No one came. Cain checked the pouch.
Empty.
Roach's package had already moved through here. That body was a message. He slid back into the alleys and pushed east. By the time the static in his skull began to buzz, he was two blocks deeper into District 12.
[System Ping: Unstable Surveillance Pressure Detected]
Cain ducked into a maintenance shaft between two buildings. Down two ladders. Crossed through a broken panel that dropped into the city's old fiber node.
Beneath Ashvale.
It was quiet. Still, it smelled like mold, copper, and old electric. Dead servers hummed in sleep. Walls were torn open, wiring exposed like ribs. A few lights still blinked faint yellow. Cain moved to the relay column. Tapped the power nodes. Got just enough juice.
He inserted a second drive — blank — and rerouted a ghost trace to an open public server. Dummy noise. A signal that would light up ten false sectors. He pulled back.
Ten seconds later, the relay exploded. Not overloaded, detonated.
Cain crouched low. Covered his mouth. The heat passed.
"They're watching live nodes."
Whoever they were, they had taps inside Ashvale's bones.
The System surged hard in his head. Not a countdown ping — something else.
[System Trait Unlocked: Trace Shield – Stage I]
[Effect: Scrambles passive and active signal locks for 45 seconds | Auto-triggered during pursuit]
Cain felt his spine tighten. Like his muscles were syncing to a pulse. The street above might already be crawling. He exited through the far end of the node, passing through steam ducts and crawlspace tubes.
When he emerged into the freight tunnel beyond, his lungs burned, and his coat stank of copper and smoke.
He stopped cold.
Someone had left a message on the tunnel wall. Scratched into the concrete.
GHOST RAT: YOU'RE LATE
Cain's knuckles cracked. He didn't speak. He just kept walking. The tunnel narrowed ahead.
Cain moved like the walls were listening. His boots avoided puddles. Fingers brushed the knife tucked in his belt, then settled back. Whatever was waiting past that scratched message wasn't street-level. That was a callout.
Ghost Rat.
The name wasn't new. But hearing it here—in this body, in this alley—was wrong.
No one should've known.
He ducked under a bent conduit and entered the next chamber. The space widened into an old tech substation. Ancient servers lined the walls, cables strewn like vines. A makeshift light swung from an exposed pipe, flickering yellow.
Someone had been living here.
Blankets. Ration packs. Empty bottles lined the shelf beside an old receiver deck wired into the city's darknet spine. Cain stepped inside and didn't make a sound. The floor creaked once behind a pillar.
He was already moving.
His knife was in his hand before the breath finished behind him. A figure stepped into the flickering light hooded, palms raised.
"Don't," the voice rasped. "I'm unarmed."
Cain said nothing. Just watched. The man lowered his hood. Mid-thirties, Grey stubble. One eye covered in a cybernetic patch. He didn't flinch under the blade. He looked tired.
"You're fast," the man said. "They didn't lie about that."
Cain's blade pressed into his neck.
"Who's they?"
"Your watchers."
Wrong answer.
Cain swept his foot behind the man's knee and dropped him. Blade at his throat. A knee in his spine. The man coughed. "They call you Ghost Rat. Not just for what you do. For what you don't leave behind."
Cain's grip didn't shift.
"You're not with the crews," Cain said.
"No."
"Not Ranked."
The man smiled through the pressure on his windpipe. "I wouldn't last five seconds with one. I'm just a signal leech. A snitch. But one who listens."
Cain held still.
The man added, "Roach sold your movement data. But he didn't sell your name. That name's been floating underground for months. Ghost Rat. No face. No file. Just fear."
Cain stood but the man stayed down. Cain asked, "Why carve the wall?"
"To warn you."
Cain tilted his head. The man reached slowly into his jacket and pulled out a pocket terminal.
Cain let him.
The man powered it up. Static at first. Then audio played.
"District 12 unit sweep—target signal ghosted. Tracker confirms anomaly origin. Unknown sync pattern. Lock failed. Recommend suppression."
Cain narrowed his eyes.
"Who recorded that?"
"I did," the man said. "Fifteen minutes ago. While you were walking here."
Cain took the terminal and shut it off.
"You're being profiled," the man said. "They think you're something new. Not a threat yet. But… soon."
Cain stepped closer. "Why help me?"
The man exhaled. "Because I hate them more than I fear you."
Cain considered killing him anyway. Just for safety but then the lights in the substation blinked.
All of them.
Cain's eyes snapped to the receiver tower.
An alert ran across the cracked display:
SURVEILLANCE TRACE ACTIVATED – LEVEL 1 WATCH EVENT
Cain turned to the man.
"What'd you connect?"
"I didn't. You brought it with you."
Cain's pulse jumped.
The System surged.
[System Alert: Trace Shield Overloaded | Countermeasure Compromised][Tracking Method: Passive Residue Trigger Detected]
They weren't tracing him through devices.
They were tracing where he'd been.
He moved.
Grabbed the man by the collar.
"Where's the exit?"
"Maintenance shaft—three floors up—west pillar!"
Cain dragged him halfway, then let go.
"Leave. Change clothes. Burn the signal."
The man didn't argue.
Cain ran.
Up rusted stairs. Past data racks blinking red. Every server node now lit up like a beacon. They knew where he was but not yet who. He reached the top platform, found the hatch. Cranked it pushed through. Staggered into the night.
The sky above District 12 glowed sick orange.
But the signal was still rising.
[System Ping: Pursuit Lock Acquired – ETA: 3 minutes]
Cain's jaw tightened.
He checked the alley below.
And jumped.