Neon Remnant

Sol forced himself to calm down and focus. Panicking would get him killed. He took a deep breath, feeling the ACE System subtly regulating his stress levels, processing data faster than he could on his own. His senses were still adjusting, every detail heightened to an almost overwhelming degree. The acrid scent of burnt metal stung his nose, the distant crackling of fire echoed unnaturally in his ears, and even in the bunker's darkness, he could feel the tremors of movement above—each footstep, each shifting pile of debris. It was surreal.
But he had no time to marvel at his newfound awareness. He had to move.
He mentally recalled the black-market route outlined in his teacher's letter, the winding pathways and hidden corridors only known to those who thrived in the shadows. If he could make it past DreamCorp's lockdown, he could reach the lower slums and find the smuggler. The problem was getting out unnoticed. His usual exit points were compromised—his safest tunnels collapsed, his backup routes monitored, and the wreckage outside offered little cover. Surveillance drones hovered in tight patrol patterns, their sensors sweeping for heat signatures and movement. Ground squads moved methodically, leaving no blind spots for an easy escape. He needed a way to slip past their net undetected, something they wouldn't anticipate.
His fingers clenched into a fist as he analyzed his resources. No aerial drones, no heavy firepower. Just himself, his ACE-linked spiders, and whatever tools his teacher had left him. He glanced at the bag strapped securely to his side, its storage capabilities hiding an arsenal of supplies. Flash grenades, replacement drone parts, a few rations—nothing that could punch through a blockade, but enough to survive.
His mind raced through the possibilities. A direct escape was impossible, but misdirection? That was doable.
DreamCorp's forces were systematically sweeping the area, leaving no stone unturned. They weren't just blindly searching either; each squad was responsible for a certain sector, coordinating via an open communication channel for emergencies. They were prepared this time. There would be no more mishaps.
Sol tapped into his spiders, watching through their optics as they skittered through the rubble. He mapped out enemy positions, marking troop movement patterns. The mechs and armored vehicles were stationed at key chokepoints, their operators scanning for anything out of place. The foot soldiers worked in tight squads, sweeping sections in waves, reporting back in timed intervals.
Then, he spotted it. A weak point.
His lips curled into a smirk. "Found you."
There was a momentary gap in their coordination—a brief delay between squad rotations where they relied on previous reports rather than immediate data. If he could disrupt their communication network, even for a moment, it would create uncertainty among the troops. And uncertainty led to hesitation. A hesitation he intended to exploit.
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small device—one of his custom signal scramblers. He'd designed it for hijacking comms during gang jobs, but now it had a new purpose. With a quick modification, he configured it to send out a short-range pulse, mimicking a distorted distress signal. As he powered it on, the ACE System reacted instantly, feeding him real-time data on interference patterns and potential weaknesses in DreamCorp's network. A subtle ripple of digital static crawled along his neural interface, adjusting his perception to compensate for the electromagnetic disruption. The ACE System even suggested an optimal deployment angle, calculating the best placement for maximum signal diffusion. Sol smirked—it felt like the system was two steps ahead of him.
His spiders would plant it near the edge of the patrol zone, far from his actual escape route. If DreamCorp detected a potential survivor—or worse, an intruder—they'd divert resources to investigate.
A single signal glitch wouldn't be enough. He needed to make them believe something was actively moving, something worth chasing.
He pulled out two flash grenades, attaching them to small motors rigged to detonate mid-air. His spiders would place them strategically—one near a collapsed building, another deeper in the ruins. When the scrambler activated, the grenades would detonate seconds later, mimicking a frantic escape attempt.
DreamCorp wouldn't ignore that. They'd swarm the area. And while they were busy chasing a ghost, he'd be slipping through their blind spot.
There was only one viable exit—the old sewer system beneath the junkyard. A sprawling labyrinth of rusted pipes, stagnant water, and crumbling tunnels, it connected to multiple sections of the lower slums, some leading to abandoned factories, others to hidden black-market hubs. The walls dripped with condensation, and the air reeked of decay and industrial runoff. In some sections, waist-high water made movement slow and treacherous, while other passages were so narrow he'd have to crawl through. DreamCorp's search grid was focused on surface-level movement; they hadn't deployed units underground yet. If he could reach the entrance unnoticed, he'd have a real shot at disappearing into the underbelly of the city.
His spiders scouted the area, pinpointing a half-buried maintenance hatch just outside the main search zone. That was his target. He just needed to get there before DreamCorp restructured their patrols.
Sol exhaled, a small frown creeping onto his face. His heart pounded like a drum before being forcibly slowed by the ACE System.
He had a plan. Now, he just needed to execute it.
Still, he wasn't naive. A lot could go wrong. DreamCorp wasn't stupid—they had contingencies of their own. Which meant he needed backup plans, ways to adapt if things went sideways.
If his distraction failed? He'd use the emergency EMP charge hidden in his jacket.
If the patrols closed in too fast? He had a secondary route mapped out through an abandoned supply tunnel.
If all else failed? He'd fight. The ACE System enhanced his reflexes beyond human limits—he just had to make sure he never needed to rely on it.
With one final deep breath, he activated his spiders and set his plan into motion.