Jace Varn slumped against the shielded wall of the Rusty Nail's backroom, the stunning baton's afterglow still humming in his veins. Lena patched a fresh scrape on his arm from the vent crawl, her touch steady but her eyes sharp as knives. "You attract trouble like a magnet, Varn," she muttered, tying off the bandage. The air was thick with the bar's stale beer stink seeping through the walls, mixed with the faint ozone buzz from Jace's new hacking skill frying that rival's lock. Two players down in two days—Level 5 at the pier, now this Level 3 punk and his buddy. The system wasn't playing nice; it was stacking the deck.
"Blame the chip," Jace said, flexing his hand. HP at 110/140 after the level boosts, armor mod soaking minor hits. The HUD flickered soft in the dim light: Safe House Ac
