The roaring, mechanical hum vibrating through the train's metal roof suddenly changed pitches.
The shrieking wind began to die down, dropping from a deafening roar to a low, pressurized hiss. Beneath Shin'ya's boots actually what boots? His currently inside his Shadow, the massive magnetic brakes clamped down, sending a violent shudder through the entire segmented line.
We're stopping.
Shin'ya didn't wait for the train to fully park inside the terminal. He let his other already sticking out halve form dissolve into the rushing darkness beneath him, using Shadow Slip to slide effortlessly down the side of the slowing carriage, completely bypassing the security sensors.
The moment the train screeched to a halt alongside a glowing, subterranean platform, a patch of shade beneath an automated billboard rippled.
Shin'ya popped out of the darkness, landing on his feet, stumbling slightly as his equilibrium tried to adjust to the sudden lack of high-speed velocity.
The station was massive. It looked less like a train stop and more like a neon-lit hive, packed with hundreds of commuters moving in rigid, mechanical synchronization. Most of them had sleek chrome lines etched into their necks, glowing artificial eyes, or limbs made of matte-black carbon fiber.
And then there was Shin'ya.
A fourteen-year-old kid in a dirty, modern-Earth hoodie, stained with the sand of a dimension-hop, holding a primitive piece of sharpened medieval metal.
The crowd's uniform momentum shattered. People actually stopped walking, their synthetic eyes whirring and clicking as they zoomed in on him.
"Is that... real fabric?" a woman whispered, her cybernetic iris pulsing blue as she scanned his clothes. "Why does that kid look like he just crawled out of an ancient museum exhibition?"
"Hey, look at his hip," a guy with a metallic jaw muttered to his friend. "What is that thing? A long, curved metal stick? What was it called in the historical archives... a sword, probably? I don't know, man, I don't study history."
Shin'ya ignored the whispers, his jaw dropping as he stared at a digital vending machine across the concourse. The screen displayed glowing canisters of something called V-FUEL: 400% Caffeine & Neuro-Stimulant.
"Perfect," Shin'ya muttered, taking a step forward. "I don't have their currency, but maybe I can shadow-slip a can out of the–"
"Stand down, civilian."
The voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a specific, icy authority that made the entire platform go dead silent.
The crowd parted instantly. Walking down the center of the platform was a man wearing a long, high-collar trench coat made of a strange material that seemed to swallow the ambient neon light. He wore a badge that pulsed with a shifting holographic crest: PEACEMAKER PROTOCOL - SECTOR 7. He was the cyberpunk equivalent of a high-ranking federal agent.
The Agent didn't draw a weapon. He didn't need to. His right eye was a solid, glowing red reticle that was currently painting a target lock directly onto Shin'ya's forehead.
"Unregistered biological unit. Zero cyber-grid signature. Possession of an unclassified kinetic blade," the Agent recited, his voice completely devoid of human emotion as he walked closer. "Identify yourself, or you will be parsed for scrap."
"Uh," Shin'ya stammered, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the Ketsugai. "I'm just a tourist? A very lost, very tired tourist?"
The Agent's red eye flared brighter. "Compliance failure. Initiating physical lockdown."
The man moved with terrifying, cybernetic speed, his hand reaching out like a steel trap.
Panic exploded in Shin'ya's brain. His body, still running on the muscle memory of Yuki's brutal training sessions, reacted before his mind could formulate a plan. He didn't just reach for the shadow to hide—he reached for the spark in his chest and poured it directly into the legendary blade, pulling it from the sheath in a blind, defensive arc.
He didn't just swing. He pushed the shadow outward.
A crescent wave of absolute black energy erupted from the edge of the Ketsugai. It wasn't a physical blade; it was a tearing rift of darkness that cut through the air with a terrifying shriek.
The Peacemaker Agent's artificial eye instantly calculated the threat level and forced him to dive backward.
The wave slammed into the massive concrete pillar behind the agent, cleanly cleaving through two feet of reinforced futuristic alloy. The cut was so perfectly smooth it looked like it had been done by a laser, leaving a smoking, dark void in the structure.
The Agent hit the ground, his trench coat torn, his red eye flickering violently as his internal systems registered a near-fatality.
"Holy crap!" Shin'ya gasped, staring at the destruction. "I almost killed him!"
The Agent was already coming now, pushing himself back up and starting to sprint. His mechanical legs hissing with pneumatic pressure, he lifted his wrist to his mouth and talked into a built-in comms device.
"Code Red! High-threat anomaly in Sector 7 Terminal! Deploy the tactical drones, he's wielding an unclassified high-density energy."
Shin'ya didn't stay to hear the rest of the transmission.
He already used Shadow Slip. Dropping straight into the shadow cast by the crumbling pillar, he ran away, dissolving into the darkness just as a swarm of flying security drones flooded the station.
A few seconds later, a mile away from the terminal, a shadow cast by an industrial exhaust pipe on top of a towering skyscraper rippled.
Shin'ya tumbled out onto the hard, grated roof of the building, coughing up a lung as he collapsed on his back. He immediately shoved the Ketsugai back into its pitch-black sheath, his hands trembling from the sheer adrenaline and the sudden drain on his stamina.
"Okay... okay... note to self," he wheezed, staring up at the dark, smog-filled sky. "Whatever i just used is cool, but it feels like it just took a massive bite out of my remaining lifespan not literally though. I need to sit down. I need a nap. No! Wait! No naps! If I nap, I'm gone!"
He forced himself onto his elbows, looking out over the edge of the roof at the sprawling, dystopian metropolis below.
Suddenly, a humongous, three-block-wide holographic billboard floating between two skyscrapers refreshed. The colorful advertisement for cybernetic neural-chips blinked out, replaced by a massive, flashing red border.
Shin'ya's eyes widen.
Right there, projected in high-definition light for the entire city to see, was a rendering of his own face. It was a perfect capture from the station's security cameras—dirt stains, tired eyes, messy hair and all.
Underneath his floating face, glowing neon characters spelled out a description of what Shin'ya could have looked like in their eyes, announcing him as a high-priority threat, followed by a massive wanted prize pull.
Shin'ya stared at the massive floating billboard, his reflection casting a red glow over his pale face.
He let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Bullshit," Shin'ya muttered to the empty sky, his voice cracking with pure exhaustion. "Why am I caught into this?"
To Be Continued