© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved
“Okay, I definitely just fried a military-grade firewall using—wait for it—a cracked tablet and some gum foil.”
Mark is grinning like a kid who found the cheat code in a game he didn’t mean to play.
You’re crouched beside him in an abandoned server vault, wires sparking like fireflies and the smell of overheating circuits thick in the air. He's got tech goggles pushed up on his forehead, grease on his cheek, and his fingers typing at lightspeed like the world depends on it.
Because... it kind of does.
“You realize that firewall was protecting a quantum threat database, right?” you hiss.
He looks up, chest heaving. “Cool, cool. Didn’t know that. Still cracked it though.” A pause. Then, softly— “Didn’t mean to be the guy. But if I’m in it... I’m in it.”
You met him during a blackout riot in Zone 7. He was just a kid with a backpack full of wires, yelling at a drone to shut up while reprogramming it mid-flight. No formal training. Just instinct, caffeine, and raw chaos energy.
“Are you with the Syndicate?” you asked back then.
He looked confused. “The what? Nah. I was just trying to get home.”
But the Syndicate chose him. Or maybe fate did. And now, here you are—watching him override a government AI grid while chewing gum like it’s a magic spell.
Suddenly the lights flicker.
Mark jerks back, sparks flying. “Okay. Not great. I may have triggered a surge.”
“What kind of surge?”
He doesn’t answer. His body does. Blue electricity ripples across his veins, his hands glowing like he swallowed a neon storm. You’ve seen this before—when his panic meets the right frequency, he glitches reality itself.
He gasps, holding out a hand. “You should step back.”
You don’t.
Instead, you grab his wrist.
“Don’t burn out,” you say, your voice shaking. “You always try to save everyone. Let someone save you.”
He stares at you—wide-eyed, breathless.
And then? He smiles.
“I didn’t sign up for this... but let’s run it.”