Braya’s fingers flexed, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through them. "You swore you burned these schematics, Revna," she repeated, her voice a low, gravelly whisper that cut through the silence of the magistrate’s office. The gaslight sputtered, casting sharp angles across her jaw. Revna traced a complex conduit on the blueprint with a single, manicured nail. "Apparently, my past self had a rather twisted sense of humor and an even more twisted sense of self-preservation. Or perhaps, destruction." She looked up, meeting Braya's gaze. "The letter stated it was a trap. A trigger for Tavish. My memory wipe was… a fail-safe. Or a very elaborate distraction." Her mouth thinned. "Either way, the Velkarn Grid is active. And judging by the intricate layering, my past self didn't just want it activated. She wanted it *weaponized* in a very specific, very unpleasant way." Braya slammed a fist, not hard, but with enough force to make the dusty desk shudder. "The courier. The one who delivered the cylinder. He’s the first thread to pull. He knows who orchestrated the memory wipe. He knows where these schematics were stored. I’ll find him. I'll peel back his skin one layer at a time until he sings." Her knuckles ground against the timber. "He was a ghost," Revna mused, rolling the blueprint back up with practiced ease. "I watched him on the magistrate’s perimeter feeds. No facial recognition hit, no digital footprint. A trained phantom. Likely erased himself from existence the moment he left the district. But yes, he’s a start. A very cold start." She slid a compact datapad from her coat. "However, for now, we have more pressing matters. Tavish Yorn is currently experiencing a rapid, spectacular meltdown of his syndicate operations. My initial 'gift' has expanded. He’ll be desperate. And desperate men make blatant mistakes. Velkarn Proving Grounds. We move. Now." *** The proving grounds sprawled like a weaponized carcass, perpetually shrouded in a sickly, sulfurous fog. Towering steel spires clawed at the perpetually overcast sky, their upper reaches lost in the industrial haze. Beneath, a labyrinth of gas-lit alleys snaked between brutalist concrete blocks, echoing with the distant thrum of experimental engines and the sharp crackle of plasma discharges. Revna’s safehouse, a forgotten maintenance access point beneath the defunct ‘Ironclad Annex’ testing facility, smelled of ozone and damp concrete. "Cozy," Braya remarked, kicking a rusted servo-arm aside. She powered up an array of scavenged monitors, their sickly green glow illuminating Revna, who was already hunched over a new datapad, fingers flying across the holographic interface. Revna merely hummed. "Comfort breeds rot, Braya. We are not complacent." Her monitor crackled, pulling up an open broadcast. Tavish Yorn’s face, usually a mask of arrogant self-assurance, was contorted with barely suppressed fury. His neatly pressed uniform was rumpled, his hair disheveled. The official defense channel was playing on a loop, announcing an unprecedented, fifty-million credit bounty. “—the Kravat state offers a reward of fifty million kredits,” Tavish’s voice, digitally amplified, boomed across the safehouse, “for any information leading to the apprehension or identification of the malicious entity known only as ‘Zero.’ This rogue element has severely compromised critical infrastructure… disrupting vital logistics lines… jeopardizing national security.” He paused, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. “Any individual capable of restoring the compromised systems will be granted full immunity and a direct state contract.” Braya grinned, showing teeth. “Look at him bleed. Broad daylight, begging for help from the very gutter he despises.” Revna chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “Oh, he despises it, but he fears the collapse of his empire more. The state's defensive grids hold up well when not riddled with his syndicate’s backdoors. I merely exploited his own negligence. Now, the entire Kravat underworld will be buzzing. Every two-bit hacker with a rusty neural interface will be claiming to be Zero. It’s perfect. It sets the stage for a little… grand performance.” She gestured towards another monitor, displaying a ciphered summons. “The Black Ledger. A private, invitation-only gathering for high-value intel and illicit services. Held tonight, in the deepest levels of the ‘Spire-Root Caverns.’ Rumor has it, a ‘direct contact’ to Zero is being offered. I rather think I should attend. See how much my former husband is willing to pay for a ghost.” *** The air in the subterranean bazaar reeked of stale synth-smoke and grease. Revna, disguised in a simple, heavy, hooded cloak that obscured her features and an identity scrambler humming quietly at her wrist, moved through the throng of shadowy figures. Holographic holos hummed, showcasing everything from untraceable data-ghosts to modified neural-ware. The room pulsed with the low murmur of deals being struck, the clink of credits, and the suppressed excitement of those operating beyond the law. She found her way to the tiered amphitheater overlooking the central stage. The current item: a data-shard, purportedly containing the direct coordinates and a one-time secure comms link to 'Zero'. The bidding climbed fast, driven by Tavish’s desperation. His designated 'fixers', two hulking men in expensive, ill-fitting suits, were at the front, their faces grim, their bidding aggressive. “Fifty-five,” a fixer roared, his voice hoarse. “Fifty-eight!” another shouted from the gallery. The auctioneer, a gaunt, sweating broker with chrome wiring across his neck, wiped his brow. “Sixty! Going once… twice…” Revna curled her lip beneath the hood. Sixty for an empty spool. It was exquisite. She felt a surge of cold, focused energy. This was the moment. She slipped a custom-fabricated data-stick, barely the size of her thumbnail, into a discrete port on the wall, disguised as a charging station for personal communicators. The device hummed once, a silent, almost imperceptible whisper of data infiltration. Her fingers danced across a concealed, holographic interface projected onto her forearm. She didn't care about the spool. She needed the central terminal, its secure relays, its overhead monitors. A few lines of code, a precisely timed burst of data. The auctioneer's voice droned on, oblivious. “—Sold! To the front row!” The fixers exchanged a tense, relieved look, reaching for their transfer fobs. Just before the gavel dropped, the overhead glass arrays glitched and snapped to static. The auctioneer’s voice cut out, replaced by a sudden, jarring burst of static. Then, in stark white type against red phosphor, a new prompt hijacked the panels, mirrored by every personal terminal in the cavern. **ATTENTION, UNDERGROUND PATRONS.** **YOU SEEK 'ZERO'?** **PERHAPS 'ZERO' SEEKS YOU.** Mutters broke out across the tiers. The fixers blanched, craning their necks toward the glass. Encrypted transcripts, flagged with Tavish Yorn’s personal cryptographic seal, began to scroll line by line across the hall. **FROM: Tavish Yorn (Secure)** **TO: Zero (Unverified Alias)** **SUBJECT: Urgent – Your Services Required** **MESSAGE: Esteemed Zero,** **My apologies for the recent… misunderstanding. My network is in disarray. This is bleeding my accounts dry every hour. I am prepared to offer a private contract, far exceeding the state bounty. Name your price. Any price. This is paramount. My previous… disrespect… was unwarranted. I was mistaken about your capabilities.** The panels cleared, flashing another dispatch. **FROM: Tavish Yorn (Secure)** **TO: Zero (Unverified Alias)** **SUBJECT: Desperate Plea – Republic at Risk** **MESSAGE: Zero, I implore you. The Velkarn Grid… it's showing unprecedented activity. My patents, the ones you… acquired… are tied to it. Only you can stabilize this. I am willing to relinquish all claims. Just… make it stop. I can’t lose everything. Please. I am begging you. This isn’t about me. This is about the Republic.** Laughter, low and spiteful, rattled through the amphitheater. The fixers stood pinned in place, gray-faced. Tavish Yorn, the industrial heir, groveling before the entire sector for salvation. Revna studied her ex-husband’s desperate lines as the underworld jeered in chorus. She allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. This was merely the overture. The true performance had yet to begin. Just as the last email faded, a sudden, concussive blast rocked the caverns. The main entrance, previously sealed with reinforced steel, buckled inward with a screech of tortured metal. Heavily armored figures, their rifles raised, poured into the auction hall. Their dark, tactical suits bore the insignia of the Republic’s ‘Aegis Corps’ – the military’s elite anti-cybercrime unit. A tall, imposing commander, his face grim and scarred, stepped forward, his voice amplified by a helmet-mounted speaker. "This facility is compromised!" he bellowed, his gaze sweeping across the stunned crowd. "This facility is under military lockdown. We have intel… we have finally cornered the Phantom Architect!" His eyes, cold and calculating, landed directly on Revna’s hooded form.

Zero Bids