Cole locked the mag-seal on his unit and hit the lift. Still running through his new powers in his mind, part of him had hoped for something offensive. But the longer he considered it, the defense capabilities were life savers. They were on par with something one would receive at Sequence Five. He wondered if the Two-Horned Repeater's will had truly chosen the power for him, gifting him something that would prevent him from being in shambles after his next battle.

  The cooldown and limited uses were downsides, but it was far better than what he had before. Light shields that shattered easily couldn't compare. Plus the shockwave kickback could surprise an enemy, giving him the opening for a killing blow.

  The elevator chimed on Ashley’s level. Walking down the hall, he pressed the keypad on her door. It slid open smoothly.

  Guess that’s my signal to enter.

  He stepped inside, glancing around the elegant apartment. Art pieces and statues decorated the space. The view was spectacular, facing the city's financial district where titanium and glass towers twisted into the skyline, their surfaces reflecting the perpetual neon glow. Unlike his view of potential death, hers was of power and possibility.

  "Tea?" Ashley asked, already holding a pot. She was dressed casually—black tactical pants and a fitted red shirt. She'd removed most of her combat jewelry except for a single ring.

  "Of course. You probably wouldn't guess it, but I prefer it over coffee. My mother used to brew it when I was burning the midnight oil on study certs."

  She carefully poured the warm liquid into a small glass. The tea set was clearly antique. When such things were still made by human hands instead of fabricators.

  Cole picked it up, inhaling before taking a sip. "Null Strand City harvest? I can taste the soil acidity. The humidity in the leaf."

  Ashley arched a brow. "An aficionado. Consider me impressed."

  "It's one of my few splurges."

  "Ah, the secrets of frugal Cole." She smiled over her cup. "What else are you hiding?"

  "I'm not that frugal."

  "So you're saying you didn't drag furniture from that shitbox apartment instead of buying new?"

  "Why buy new when the old still holds gravity?"

  Ashley laughed and took a sip. "You know most people blow their first big payday on chrome they don't need or penthouses they can't maintain. Speaking of new, nice arm.”

  "Thanks, my chrome doc is quite the salesman. He got me this and the spinal implant." Cole tapped the base of his neck. The nodes were still warm, occasionally sending phantom sensations down his spine as they continued to integrate. "You're looking at a Sequence Six Lucent with a Repeater core who can reflect kinetic damage as a shockwave."

  Ashley gave a low whistle. "Impressive. Kinetic reversal from a Repeater? That's a top-tier manifestation. Most people who socket cores get the basics from the rift beast at best."

  "Appreciate it, though I know it's nowhere close to what you can do."

  "Every advantage helps." She set down her cup. "Now come on, let's go through the plan and run some simulations."

  She walked toward a structural wall. It shivered and dissolved on approach. A hard-light blind. Inside was a full tactical planning suite: holographic projectors, a neural interface chair, and enough processing power to run military-grade simulations.

  "Welcome to my office," Ashley said, gesturing to the setup. "The apartment out there is for show. This is where I plan jobs."

  Cole scanned the rig. "The overhead..."

  "Don't ask. But it pays for the heartbeat." She tapped the console. "My mentor had a saying. Intelligence buys you time. Ammo just buys you an exit."

  She keyed the sequence. The emitters fired. The room vanished. The Grand Mirage casino rendered around them.

  The detail was extraordinary. Cole could see the patterns in the carpet, the placement of every camera, even the subtle wear patterns on the poker tables from years of use. Holographic patrons milled about, their movements based on behavioral algorithms derived from footage.

  "How did you get this level of detail?"

  "I've been inside a few times over the past month," Ashley explained, manipulating the display to highlight different areas. "Casual visits, playing the tourist. My optical implants recorded everything, and I had a friend piece it together into this simulation."

  She zoomed in on the high-stakes area. "This is where our target will be. Private tables, minimum buy-in of fifty thousand credits. The buyer always takes Table Seven."

  Cole studied the layout. The table was positioned with good sightlines but also multiple escape routes. Smart positioning for someone expecting trouble. "Security?"

  "Visible security is minimal, Vance doesn't like obvious muscle. It disturbs the ambiance." Ashley highlighted several positions around the room. "But see these staff members? At least half are augmented for combat. The dealers all have neural links to the security system. And Vance himself..."

  She pulled up a separate display showing a middle-aged man with unremarkable features and expensive clothes. "Elias Vance. Sequence Four, possibly Sequence Three Perception Domain. The entire casino is essentially an extension of his sensory network. He can read micro-expressions from across the room, hear conversations through the sound dampeners, even detect changes in electromagnetic fields from people's augmentations."

  "So he'll know the moment we do anything suspicious."

  "Which is why we're not doing anything that raises flags. We're creating a completely legitimate distraction."

  "Which is?"

  Ashley smiled. "I've been practicing my poker face, and with my light manipulation, I can create tells that don't exist. Make people think I'm bluffing when I'm not, or vice versa. When I take Calder for a hundred thousand credits in one hand, everyone will be watching."

  "And that's when I plant the tracker."

  "Exactly. In the chaos of a big win, people move around, congratulate, commiserate. You'll have maybe ten seconds of reduced attention to make contact and plant the nano-beacon. Which means you need to be natural. A handshake, a pat on the back, brushing past him at the bar." Ashley brought up tactical overlays. "Let's run it."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She gestured to the neural interface chair. "This will let you experience the simulation as if you were there. Full sensory immersion. We'll run different scenarios until you can do it in your sleep."

  Cole settled into the chair, feeling the neural connections activate. Suddenly he was standing in the Grand Mirage, the sounds of slot machines and conversation washing over him. He could feel the carpet under his feet.

  "First run," Ashley's voice came through his implants. "I'm at Table Seven. You're at the bar. I just won big. Move in and tag Calder."

  Cole pushed off from the bar, weaving through the crowd. He could see Ashley at the table, chips piled high, other players reacting with surprise and annoyance. Calder was standing, his bodyguards flanking him. Cole moved in, reaching out to pat Calder on the shoulder in fake commiseration—

  "Stop." The simulation froze. "You're telegraphing. Your body language screams 'I'm about to do something.' Vance would pick that up immediately. Again."

  The simulation reset. Cole tried again, this time trying to appear more casual. He made it five steps before—

  "Stop. You're overcompensating. Now you look drunk. Drunk people get escorted out. Again."

  Reset. This time Cole tried to blend with a group of tourists. He almost reached Calder when—

  "The bodyguard saw you. Your approach was too direct. Again."

  They ran it fifteen more times. Each attempt, Ashley found something wrong. His posture was off. His timing was bad. He looked at Calder too long. He didn't look at him enough. His augmented arm's fractal patterns were subconsciously reacting to stress.

  "Again," Ashley said.

  "This is impossible," Cole muttered, but reset his position.

  This time he moved with the flow of foot traffic, letting the crowd's natural movement carry him toward the table. He kept his eyes on Ashley's performance, reacting with genuine surprise at her win. When Calder stood, Cole turned as if to leave, shoulder-checking him lightly—

  "Stop. Better, but the contact wasn't long enough. You need three full seconds. Again."

  They ran it eight more times. Cole was getting frustrated, his new systems starting to heat up from the repeated simulation cycles. The Repeater core pulsed irritably against his spine, unused to this kind of mental exercise.

  "This is ridiculous," he said after the twenty-sixth failure. "How am I supposed to maintain three seconds of contact without being obvious?"

  "By being creative. You're thinking like a thief. Think like a person. What are natural reasons for extended contact?"

  Cole ran through possibilities. "Helping someone who's stumbled?"

  "Too dramatic. Vance would scan you immediately."

  "Squeezing past in a crowd?"

  "Better, but unreliable. You can't guarantee the positioning."

  They ran five more attempts with Cole trying different approaches. Each one failed for different reasons.

  "One more time," Ashley said.

  "This is attempt thirty-two. My neural pathways are starting to burn."

  "One more."

  Cole reset, taking his position at the bar. This time, he ordered a drink first. When Ashley's win triggered the commotion, he turned to watch like everyone else. Calder stood, angry at his loss. Cole moved forward, but instead of approaching directly, he positioned himself where Calder would walk.

  As Calder stormed past, Cole turned at exactly the wrong moment. They collided, Calder's drink spilling across his suit. Cole immediately reached out, steadying him, apologizing profusely while brushing at the spilled liquid with a napkin. His hand maintained contact for three full seconds.

  "Finally," Ashley said, ending the simulation. "That was believable."

  Cole extracted himself from the neural chair, his head pounding. "That was exhausting."

  "We're not done. We need to run extraction scenarios, backup plans, what to do if Vance makes us—"

  "Ashley." Cole dug the heels of his hands into his temples. The migraine was a spike driving behind the eyes. "I need a break. My new systems are still integrating, and that simulation is causing feedback loops."

  She looked at him and seemed to notice the slight tremor in his arm. "You're right. I'm sorry. I forget not everyone has been doing this as long as I have."

  "How long have you been doing this?"

  "Planning jobs? Since I was fifteen. Running them? Since I hit Sequence Six four years ago." She deactivated the simulation room. "Come on let’s get some food. Those protein bars you've been mainlining won’t cut it. I know a pizza spot."

  "Works for me," he said, standing on legs that felt disconnected from his body. "But if this pizza place serves synthetic pepperoni, I'm filing a grievance for emotional distress."

  "Angelo's is strictly organic."

  They left her apartment and headed downstairs.

  They cut through the mid-district market. The streets widened. The graffiti turned from tagger scrawl to murals. Ashley was mid-lecture on micro-optimizations when Cole braked.

  Four figures blocked the intersection ahead.

  They were standing as if they were waiting.

  The first wore an intricate golden crown pressing into his brow. His head tilted back like a man drowning slowly. His robes were the color of dead moss, and he held a single pale flower in cupped hands. Face streaked with something dark. Paint or dried blood.

  The second was worse. Smooth porcelain mask. Bone-white. Empty sockets weeping black oil in a continuous stream. The substance stained the mask. The robes pooled on the concrete.

  The backup was less theatrical but no less unsettling. One with circuit-pattern tattoos covering every visible inch of skin, another whose eyes glowed with soft white light that never blinked.

  "Lucent Church?" Cole asked quietly.

  "Variation," Ashley said, her voice flat. "One of the splinter sects. They've been showing up more lately."

  The crowned figure's head snapped forward with unnatural speed, focusing on them. "The flesh is corrupted data. But light, light is the only truth that cannot be deleted."

  The masked one said nothing. Just turned its head slowly, tracking them as they approached. The black tears never stopped flowing.

  The circuit-tattooed missionary stepped forward, holding out pamphlets that shimmered with embedded holo-displays. "Have you considered the Singularity of Radiance? All paths converge in—"

  "Not interested," Cole said, steering Ashley around them.

  The missionary pulled up a device scanning Cole, "Your Divine signature marks you. Sequence Six Lucent. The light already flows through you. Why not embrace its—"

  Cole's hand instinctively made a fist at the intrusion.

  Ashley touched his arm. "Come on. Let’s keep walking."

  They passed through the missionaries, who made no move to physically stop them. But Cole could feel their eyes, or whatever the masked one used for eyes, tracking them until they turned the corner.

  They didn't speak until they'd put two blocks between them and the intersection.

  "They scanned us," Cole said.

  Ashley's jaw was tight, but not with fear, with something else. Annoyance? Recognition? "Perception-based tech. They can read Divine signatures from two feet out."

  "Intrusive way to learn my Sequence."

  "They broadcast it to make you uncomfortable. Make you feel exposed." Her tone had an edge to it. "Recruitment tactic. Once you feel vulnerable, they offer community, purpose, all the usual hooks."

  She was quiet for a moment.

  "You okay?" Cole asked.

  "Fine. Just... those splinter sects. They make the rest of us look bad." She caught herself. "The rest of them. The mainstream churches."

  Cole raised an eyebrow.

  "You know what I mean. My parents' church isn't like that, all performative weeping and invasive scanning. It's more..." She trailed off. "Doesn't matter. Point is, they're mostly harmless unless you engage. Then they get persistent."

  "Persistent like 'send you pamphlets' or persistent like 'follow you home'?"

  "Depends on how interested they are in your particular Divine signature." Ashley's expression was carefully neutral. "Sequence Six is enough to get attention. They might try a follow-up."

  "Great. Just what I need. Weeping missionaries at my door."

  "Could be worse. Could be the Forge fundamentalists. They show up with power tools."

  Cole glanced back at the intersection where the missionaries had been. Empty now, but he could still feel the weight of their attention, like they'd marked him somehow.

  He pushed the thought away. One problem at a time.

  "Come on," Ashley said. "Let's get food before you spiral into paranoia."

  Death March

  by E. S. Slimefall

  “Congratulations, Jay. As an unremarkable soul responsible for killing a candidate, you have been granted candidate status for this planet’s Death March. I envy you.”

  A death game for control of his planet.

  Aliens. Exploitative humans. Even gods.

  Welcome to the 76th Death March.