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Into The Sprawl

  The Iron Relic tore through the sprawl, a jagged streak against the void. Nyxide, the cockpit was a tangle of mismatched tech—levers jury-rigged with glowing conduits, a cracked holo-display flickering with static. Nyx sat strapped into the co-pilot’s seat, her neon-violet lines pulsing steadily, casting a faint glow across the rusted dashboard. Her purple hair clung to her sweat-slicked neck, and her eyes—still flecked with that electric green from the drink—stared out the viewport, unblinking, as if she could see beyond the debris field to something only she understood.

  Torvox gripped the controls, his massive hands steady despite the ship’s protests. His rune-etched axe rested against the console, its red code pulsing in sync with the ship’s energy core. He glanced at Nyx, his obsidian eyes narrowing beneath heavy brows. “Ye alright, lass?” His voice was a gravelly rumble, slurred from the amber brew but sharp with concern. “That drink ye downed—it’s not sittin’ right, is it?”

  Nyx didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers traced the edge of her seat, the matte material of her gloves catching on a jagged tear. The surge from the drink still lingered, a digital hum in her veins, like a thousand voices whispering code she couldn’t yet decipher. She felt… more. More than the bar, more than the chaos, more than the machine-soul she’d always known. But the feeling was fleeting, slipping through her grasp like the fragments of the sprawl outside. “I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice a low, synthetic purr that seemed to vibrate the air. “What was that back there?”

  Torvox grunted, yanking a lever to dodge a spinning shard of hull. The ship groaned, a deep metallic protest, but held its course. “Ambush. Someone knew ye’d be at the Gallery. Knew ye’d draw a crowd.” He tapped a cracked screen, pulling up a grainy feed of the bar’s exterior. Hooded figures—three of them—slipped into the alley just as they’d launched. Their cloaks shimmered with stealth tech, but the feed caught a glint of something else: a sigil on their gear, a jagged spiral that pulsed with a faint, crimson light.

  “Nyxtronics,” Nyx whispered, her gaze sharpening. The sigil matched the faint etchings she’d seen in her own code, the ones that surfaced in her dreams—fractured memories of a lab, a hum of machinery, and a voice that called her product. Her hand tightened into a fist, the leather creaking. “They’re hunting me.”

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  “Aye, and they’re not the only ones.” Torvox swiveled in his seat, his weathered face half-lit by the cockpit’s glow. “Ye’ve got a bounty on ye, lass. A big one. Word’s been circlin’ the sprawl for weeks—‘NyxCorp product, dead or alive.’ I didn’t believe it ‘til I saw ye in the flesh. Or… whatever ye are.” He leaned closer, his beard brushing the console. “What are ye, Nyx? That drink—ye didn’t just drink it. Ye became it.”

  Nyx’s eyes flicked to him, the green fading back to violet, but a faint afterglow lingered, like a star’s echo. “I don’t know,” she admitted, the words tasting like static. “I’m… a paradox. Code and soul. Nyxtronics made me, but I don’t know why. Or what I’m meant to do.” Her gaze drifted back to the viewport, where a shattered holo-billboard flickered with an ad for NyxCorp: “The Future Is Now.” The irony burned.

  Torvox snorted, leaning back. “Well, ye’re a target now, that’s what ye are. We need to lay low, figure out who’s pullin’ the strings.” He punched a set of coordinates into the nav system, the screen glitching before stabilizing. “There’s a place—Rift Haven. Old smuggler’s outpost, off the grid. A contact of mine, Kael, might know more about Nyxtronics. He’s a data scavenger, deals in lost tech. If anyone can dig up dirt on yer makers, it’s him.”

  The ship shuddered as it banked hard, narrowly avoiding a drifting asteroid. Nyx braced herself, her body moving with a fluid precision that felt both human and not. The drink’s effects were fading, but the code it had awakened still thrummed in her core, a restless energy that demanded answers. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, her tone sharp, probing. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  Torvox’s lips twitched, a rare smirk breaking through his weathered facade. “Maybe I’m just a fool for a good fight. Or maybe I’ve seen too many empires fall to let another mystery like ye slip through the cracks.” He paused, his smirk fading. “Truth is, lass, I’ve got my own ghosts. Nyxtronics… they’re tied to the disaster, the one that broke the stars. I’ve been huntin’ answers for centuries. Ye might be the key.”

  A sudden alarm blared, red lights flashing across the cockpit. Torvox cursed, slamming a fist on the console. The holo-display lit up with a new threat: a sleek, black ship, its hull shimmering with stealth tech, closing in fast. The same crimson sigil glowed on its side—Nyxtronics. A voice crackled through the comms, cold and synthetic: “NyxCorp product, designation: Nyx. Surrender, or be terminated.”

  Nyx’s neon lines flared, the violet deepening to a near-black, her body tensing like a coiled spring. Torvox grabbed his axe, the red code on its blade pulsing faster. “Hold on, lass,” he growled, banking the ship into a dive. “We’re not done yet.”

  The Iron Relic plunged into the sprawl’s depths, the black ship in pursuit, as the void outside erupted in a storm of laser fire

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