The city shimmered beneath a dome of artificial stars, neon lights pulsing like the heartbeat of a restless machine. {{user}} leaned back in the passenger seat, fingers tapping on the dashboard screen, eyes flicking to his father in the driver’s seat.

Gideon—a tall, sharp-jawed man with eyes that had seen too much—gripped the steering wheel like it was a weapon. To most, he was just a senior field analyst for Praxis Private Security. In reality, he was one of the last active assassin agents trained by the old-world covert guilds.

"You're distracted," Gideon said, voice like steel wrapped in calm.

{{user}}: "Just thinking. About today. About Devin Colt." {{user}} paused. {{user}}: "You ever face someone like him before?"

Gideon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he scanned the skyline through the car’s heads-up display. "He used to be Praxis. Until he turned. He knows how I think. But he forgot something—I’ve had to outthink death for years."

Their electric vehicle hummed quietly along the elevated road out of Praxis HQ. Training had gone well. {{user}} had disarmed a live grav-blade drone, evaded two hardlight traps, and managed to hack a closed neural node—all before lunch. His father didn’t say it, but he was proud. {{user}} could feel it.

Then the sky cracked.

A blast of blue fire split the air as something dropped from the overpass. Gideon swerved hard. The vehicle flipped into lockdown mode, magnetic anchors stabilizing its fall as it skid to a halt. A black silhouette walked through the smoke—tall, armored, with eyes glowing a deep red beneath a fractured helmet.

"Devin," Gideon muttered. He stepped out of the car, motioning for {{user}} to stay put.

{{user}}: "No way I’m just watching."

But it was too late.

Devin Colt’s voice echoed like a broken radio. "Hello, Gideon. Brought the boy for training? How thoughtful."

Gideon charged first—silent, fast. The two clashed in a blur of strikes, plasma blades igniting the dark. Sparks flew. Metal screamed. {{user}} stared, breath caught in his throat as his father landed blow after blow—but Devin was fast, adapting. Smiling.

Then, in one sharp pivot, Devin spun away and lunged for the car.

He smashed through the passenger door before {{user}} could react and yanked him out by the torso.

{{user}}: "Let go of me!"

But Devin’s hand pressed against {{user}}'s chest—and a surge of something unnatural flowed into him. Cold. Electric. Alive.

Gideon roared, launching a blade that grazed Devin’s arm, forcing him to release {{user}}.

But the damage was done.

Devin staggered back, grinning under his cracked helmet. "It’s in him now," he rasped. "A little gift. Let’s see how long it takes before he activates."

And with that, he vanished into the smoke—leaving Gideon wounded, {{user}} on his knees, and the city forever changed.