The rain had softened to a whisper by midnight, a faint patter against Orion Tower's windows as Jun Xi stood on the 15th floor, his faded black hoodie clinging damp to his shoulders. Neo-Shanghai sprawled below—slums a shadowed scar south, Midtown's neon a restless glow, the Northern Towers a cold gleam piercing the haze. 56,440,776 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 2,822,038 UN since dusk, a steady thrum in his skull that synced with the grid's pulse—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue heartbeat against the concrete. Eleven days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech was a fire spreading, NexCorp's heiress Sofia Valtieri a name on Tara's holo-pad, and his crew a lifeline he hadn't expected. His dark eyes traced the city, calculative, calm—but beneath, guilt flickered, ash stirring in the quiet.
Lina sat cross-legged on a crate, her jumpsuit smudged with grease, a holo-wrench idle in her lap—her voice broke the hum, low and rough. "Grid's locked—100 servers, X9s tight, hub's a beast. 56 mil UN—11 days, Jun Xi. You're a damn tornado." Her dark hair fell loose, sweat streaking her neck, and Jun Xi felt it—her fire, her weight, the way she'd gripped him through his ghosts. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's file glowed: blonde, sharp-eyed, NexCorp's blade. "Towers link's cracked," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "Sofia's their ops—Midtown's a front, she's the real heat. 56 mil's a siren—she's coming."
Kai slumped against a server, wiry frame spent, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was dock-rough. "56 mil? Slum king's nuts—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia perched on the floor, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked, bright. "MarketPulse's at 4,000—40 mil UN banked. You're at 60 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—60,262,814 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—60 mil's a spark. Lina, grid's gold—rest. Tara, Sofia's yours—dig deeper. Kai, Jia—keep pushing."
Lina stood, stretching—her joints popped, her smirk tired but fierce. "Rest? When you do, maybe. 60 mil—slum kid's rewriting the rules." She stepped closer, her hand brushing his—grease-slick, warm—and her voice dipped, real now. "That fire—your folks—I felt it last night. Roof, rain, you shaking. You're not alone, Jun Xi—talk." His gut clenched—flashback hit hard: smoke choking, flames roaring, his mother's scream, "You did this!"—and he turned to the window, rain streaking glass, Midtown's neon a blur. Ash clung, heavy, but her touch anchored him.
"System," he thought, and it answered: "Funds: 61,084,852 UN. Interest: 3,054,242 UN daily. Mission: Secure XiTech—Reward: 5 mil UN, Network Security Knowledge. Progress: 95%." 95%—so close—but the fire burned louder. Tara's pad beeped, her grin sly. "Sales spike—4,500 users, 45 mil UN banked. 64 mil now—Sofia's file's deep. NexCorp's pissed, lightning kid." Kai snorted, wiping sweat. "Pissed? They'll crush us—Jia's freaking again." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "Not freaking—just… 64 mil's huge, Jun Xi. Nuts!"
He exhaled, rain pulling him back—two years ago, his shack, PC humming, storm raging. He'd coded the bot, crashed on a cot—drunk father slurring, mother's fist bruising—then smoke, heat, a crackle. Flames licked walls, sprinkler spat, shock ripped through him—window smashed, he'd jumped, mud swallowing him as the house burned. Parents gone—his fault, not his fault—guilt and freedom a knot he couldn't cut. Now, 64 mil UN, and it still haunted. Lina's hand slid to his chest—firm, real—her breath warm on his neck. "Jun Xi—where'd you go?" Her eyes locked his, fierce but soft, rain framing her face.
He turned, hoodie dripping, his grin shaky but flirty. "Ash—fire took 'em. Bot overheated, my screw-up. Hated 'em, still hate me for it. 64 mil doesn't burn that out." Her breath hitched, hand pressing harder—grease and warmth sank in. "Screw-up? Slum kids carry worse—you're not that fire. You're this." She tapped the grid, its hum swelling. "I'm here—guilt's a ghost, we're real." His chest tightened—her words cut, her touch held—and he pulled her close, rain-soaked hair against his cheek, her scent sharp with oil and sweat. "Real's you—my pulse," he murmured, voice low, raw. She smirked, fierce, her lips brushing his—messy, alive—then pulled back. "Pulse, huh? Keep that up, I'll short you out."
Tara whistled, sharp and wild. "Hot, gear queen—lightning kid's got scars and moves. Sofia's file's gold—NexCorp's ops, 27, ruthless. 64 mil's a war cry—she's close." Funds hit 66 mil UN—MarketPulse pinged, 5,000 users, 50 mil UN banked. Kai groaned, hauling coolant. "66 mil? Haunted or not, you're nuts—Jia's tweak's insane." Jia beamed, holo-pad glowing. "5% bump—5 mil more. 68 mil now—nuts!" The system hummed: "Funds: 68,906,894 UN. Interest: 3,445,344 UN. Mission Progress: 98%."
Jun Xi stepped to the grid, boots scuffing concrete—Lina's warmth lingered, ash fading. "Ghosts don't stop me—68 mil's loud. Tara, Sofia's heat—names, moves. Lina, Kai, Jia—grid's ours." Tara's fingers flew, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's file deepened: NexCorp Ops, Northern Towers, AI core project. "She's their blade—AI's their endgame. 68 mil's a target—watch it." Lina smirked, wiping grease. "Target? We're the hunters—grid's ready." Kai grunted, Jia nodded—crew tight, a spark binding them.
By 2 AM, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 70 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge. Jun Xi stood on the roof, rain cold on his face, Lina beside him—her hand in his, grease-slick, steady. The city hummed below—slums dark, Midtown alive, Towers looming. He'd jumped from fire, landed in lightning—parents burned, but he'd risen. "70 mil—11 days," Lina said, voice soft, real. "Ghosts can't touch this—crew's your spine, I'm your pulse." He squeezed her hand, flirty grin sharp. "Pulse and spine—slum kids don't crack. NexCorp's bleeding—we're the spark."
Tara banged up, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's moves flickered: Midtown meeting, tomorrow. "She's here—68 mil's a beacon. War's on, lightning kid." Kai followed, Jia trailing—crew complete, rain streaking their faces. "70 mil—nuts," Kai muttered, grinning. Jia nodded, glasses fogged. "Nuts—5 mil more, 72 mil!" The system chimed: "Funds: 72,352,238 UN. Interest: 3,617,611 UN. Mission Complete: Secure XiTech—Reward: 5 mil UN, Network Security Knowledge granted."
Jun Xi's smirk widened—77,352,238 UN now, knowledge flooding in: firewalls, encryption, NexCorp's weak spots. Rain hit his face, cold and alive—Lina's kiss lingered, Tara's grin burned, Kai and Jia's faith held. Ash echoed, but the grid's pulse drowned it—slum king's spark was a fire, and Neo-Shanghai felt it shake.