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Chapter 11 – Chaos in Techno City
Techno City did not welcome them. It tested them.
From the moment the Shaders stepped into the metallic sprawl, the city swallowed them whole, pulling each member into its labyrinth of noise, smoke, and watching eyes.
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Hunter wandered first, naturally. He was drawn to the busiest parts of the city — the clang of anvils, the bright sparks of smithies, the bellowing voices of traders hawking their wares. He pressed his nose against a shop window where a redstone cannon sat gleaming on a pedestal.
"Can you believe this?" he said aloud, to no one in particular. "I'd blow my arm off in, what, five minutes?"
The shopkeeper glared. "We don't sell to rogues."
Hunter blinked. "Rogues? Nah, I'm just a traveler."
But his grin gave him away. His name was already running through the markets like a river — the idiot who called himself rogue in Autumnvale. Shouts followed him down the street, and before long two Miner soldiers spotted him.
Hunter's laugh carried even as he bolted. "Guess that means I'm famous!"
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Elsewhere, Vince walked with measured calm, but his presence alone invited challenge. His twin blades at his sides drew the eyes of bounty hunters who thrived in Techno City's back alleys. One approached — a lean fighter with daggers strapped across his chest.
"You're Vince Roa, aren't you?" the man asked, smirking. "Word is you travel with the loudmouth calling himself a rogue. There's a price on his head, but anyone who runs with him… well, I wouldn't mind collecting yours too."
Vince cracked his neck, unimpressed. "Try it."
The fight was fast, brutal, and quiet. Sparks from the channeling blades lit the darkened alley as lightning snapped against steel. When the bounty hunter crumpled unconscious in the dirt, Vince wiped the blood from his lip and walked on, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior.
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Emily, meanwhile, had ducked into a guildhall to study maps. She traced the lines of trade routes with greedy fascination, whispering calculations about currents, storms, and safe harbors. But curiosity drew attention, and soon a guild clerk leaned over her shoulder.
"Those aren't for public eyes," he said sharply.
Emily flashed a nervous smile. "Oh, I was just… admiring the penmanship."
When he reached for the maps, she stuffed one hastily into her cloak. The clerk shouted, guards turned, and Emily bolted, heart racing, nearly tripping over herself in the street. She ducked behind barrels until the soldiers passed, muttering, "I'm not cut out for this…" Yet her hand still clutched the stolen map tightly.
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James found himself in a tavern, drawn by the scent of cooking. A crowd had gathered around a local chef boasting about his unbeatable seafood stew. James sat down quietly, listening, until someone challenged him to try it.
He did. Then, unimpressed, he said with that calm, cutting accent of his, "Bland. The broth is thin. You drown the fish instead of letting it speak."
The tavern roared with offense. The chef hurled the ladle at him. James caught it. "Give me five minutes."
Against all logic, he cooked — moving with fluid ease, seasoning precisely, fire flaring at his command. When he presented the stew, the same crowd that had jeered fell silent, savoring the taste. Half the tavern cheered, the chef collapsed in despair, and James left with a smirk. But whispers spread — a sharp-tongued cook with pistols at his hip was in the city.
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Ryder kept to the outskirts, goats in tow. His plan was simple: stay quiet, stay out of trouble. But trouble found him anyway. A group of boys threw rocks at his goats, laughing, until Ryder shoved them back with more force than he meant. The boys fled — straight into Miner soldiers who demanded to know why Ryder was assaulting children.
Ryder panicked, mumbling excuses. Then instinct kicked in — a burst of wind knocked a soldier's helmet clean off, scattering the patrol. Ryder froze, realizing what he'd done. "I-I didn't mean to…"
The goats bleated loudly. Ryder grabbed their ropes and hurried away, heart pounding.
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By dusk, all five had been chased, noticed, or nearly exposed. The name Shaders had begun to float in Techno City's smoke-choked air. A rogue crew, fresh from Autumnvale, stirring chaos without even trying.
And in the middle of it, Hunter finally slipped away from the noise. Something unseen pulled him down a narrow stone path, away from the clatter and suspicion. His laughter had faded, his grin turned thoughtful. His feet carried him toward a courtyard few dared visit, where the air was quieter, reverent.
Toward the shrine.
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