The air in the Energie 1 sector didn’t just smell like ozone; it tasted like copper and old regrets. Harley Ferris pulled his collar up against the neon drizzle, his cybernetic eye whirring as it adjusted to the low-light smog of the lower levels.
Harley reached the heavy pressurized door of the warehouse. He didn't knock. He tapped a sequence into his wrist-comm, sending a surge through the lock’s mag-seal. The door hissed open, revealing a cavernous room glowing with the sickly green light of overclocked servers. Harley Ferris - Energie 1
Harley walked toward him, his metal hand glinting under the strobing lights. "The Syndicate doesn't do payment plans. They do shut-offs." The air in the Energie 1 sector didn’t
Harley stopped at the door, the neon light of Energie 1 reflecting in his synthetic iris. "Because sometimes the dark is the only place where things actually get done." He didn't knock
He reached into his trench coat, but instead of pulling his pulse-pistol, he withdrew a small, jagged bypass chip. He slammed it into the primary terminal. The screens flickered, then turned a steady, calm blue. "What did you do?" Jax whispered.
Harley paused. He looked at the diagnostic screens. Jax wasn't just mining coin; he was routing extra voltage to the nearby veteran clinics. It was a classic Robin Hood play in a city that usually hung heroes by their own capes. "You’re a terrible businessman, Jax," Harley muttered.
In this city, power wasn't just a utility—it was the only currency that didn’t lose value overnight. And Harley was the best collector in the business.
Back to top