Jace Varn hit the bayfront streets in a dead sprint, the salty wind whipping his face like it was pissed he was still breathing. His neck burned where that busted drone had jammed the chip in, a dull throb pulsing in time with his heartbeat. But the real mindfuck was the HUD overlaying everything—blue text boxes tagging crates as "Salvage: Low Value," distant drones as "Threat Level: Medium." New Cascadia hadn't changed; he had. The System, or whatever this crap was, turned the world into a goddamn video game. Stats, quests, death penalties. Players. It was all real, and he'd just gotten drafted.
He ducked into a narrow alley between rusting shipping containers, chest heaving. The HUD's map pulsed in his vision, highlighting Pier 5 a half-mile east—NeoTech Corp outpost, crawling with secu
