
My name is Zoe.I live in 2089, in Tropicana a buzzing, sweating, beautiful mess of a city tucked in the heart of Africa. The streets here hum with stolen neon light and secondhand tech. My adopted parents try their best but "best" in Tropicana doesn't stretch very far. We survive. That's about it.But survival is something I've always been good at.I was heading home when I saw them.Three of them no, five. Hovering around an old woman like vultures in cheap hoodies, their worn-out neural scanners flickering with corrupted code. Mind scammers. The lowest kind of criminal in 2089. Thanks to Neon King the man who turned the entire earth into his personal tech empire everything runs on neural currency now. Your thoughts, your memories, your identity. All of it, data. And data could be stolen.They were trying to drain her dry right there on the street.Not today."Hey." My voice cut through the alley static. "Back off her."The tallest one turned slowly. Dark skin, ruined teeth, eyes glazed with cheap neural stimulants. He looked me up and down with a grin that made my skin crawl."Ohhh." He licked his cracked lips. "I like your figure, baby girl. Why don't you mind your business before I make you my business."Wrong thing to say.The anger that moved through me wasn't slow it was instant, electric, the kind that skips thought entirely and goes straight to the hands.I moved first.My elbow caught the nearest one across the jaw before he even registered I'd closed the distance he spun sideways and crashed into a stack of defunct hover-crates. The second lunged at me from the left, neural baton crackling with blue current. I ducked low, felt the heat of it graze my ear, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, twisted hard until something popped and he screamed. The baton clattered to the wet ground.Three down to two.But the remaining pair weren't amateurs. They split one circling left, one right, classic street pincer. Old trick. I'd learned the counter when I was twelve.I let them think they had me.Waited.Then the moment the one on the right committed his weight forward I pivoted, used his own momentum to flip him face-first into the ground with a crack that echoed off the alley walls. The last one Mr. Ruined Teeth himself charged with a snarl, grabbing a fistful of my jacket.Big mistake.I headbutted him. Stars burst between us. His grip loosened just enough. I grabbed his collar, drove my knee up hard into his ribs once, twice, then shoved him back into the alley wall where he slid down slow like wet paper.Five of them.Thirty seconds.Done.I stood there panting, knuckles stinging, jacket half torn at the shoulder. The hum of the city continued around us like nothing happened. That's Tropicana. Violence is just background noise here.I gathered the old woman's scattered things a cracked holo-purse, a small bundle of wrapped food, her little neural ID chip that had rolled into the gutter and pressed them gently into her trembling hands.She looked at me.Really looked at me.Her eyes were grateful but there was something else behind them. Something ancient and knowing that didn't belong on the face of a random street grandmother."Thank you, child," she whispered. Her voice was too smooth. Too calm for someone who'd just been nearly robbed.She turned and walked away and something cold settled in my chest.I watched her disappear into the crowd.Something wasn't right about her.I just didn't know yet how very, very right I was

