The noon sun barely cut through Neo-Shanghai's smog, a faint yellow haze seeping through the drizzle as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his faded black hoodie damp from the slums' wet streets. The city sprawled below—slums a rusting sprawl south, Midtown's neon a jagged hum, the Northern Towers a cold glint of steel and secrets. 130,070,005 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 6,503,500 UN since dawn, a steady thrum in his skull that synced with the grid's roar—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue pulse against the concrete. Fourteen days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech's website had the slums roaring, Jade Vipers whispered threats, and Sofia Valtieri's ops team scouted from Midtown—war was close. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—a slum kid's edge honed to a blade.
Lina leaned on a server rack, her jumpsuit smudged with grease, a holo-pad in hand—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and steady. "Grid's tight—100 servers, X9s locked, hub's gold. MarketPulse's at 9,500—95 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 135 mil now, Jun Xi—slum's on fire." Her dark hair hung loose, sweat streaking her neck, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her pulse, her fire, the way she'd steadied him through ghosts and envy. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's team glowed: Midtown to slums, recon, noon today. "135 mil's a war drum," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "Sofia's team's here—recon's done, they're moving. Northern Towers sent a message—brace."
Kai hauled a crate of server spares, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough. "135 mil? Slum king's insane—Jia's tweak's a beast." Jia sat cross-legged, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked, eager. "Predictive's humming—5% bump, 5 mil more. 140 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—140,573,505 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—140 mil's a roar. Jia, website's buzzing—push the feed. Lina, grid's yours—lock it down. Tara, Sofia's team—names, moves. Kai—gear up."
Jia's fingers flew—her holo-pad glowed, XiTech.com's feed streaming live: "Slum King Jun Xi—140 mil UN, 14 days. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code." Slum posts flooded in—"Jun Xi's our king—140 mil!""XiTech's real—my cousin's on MarketPulse!"—but envy sharpened: "Slum king's too big—Vipers'll cut him.""NexCorp's coming—watch out!" Funds hit 142 mil UN—MarketPulse soared to 10,000 users, 100 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 142,609,455 UN. Interest: 7,130,472 UN daily. Mission: Secure Slum Influence—Reward: 15 mil UN, Street Network Knowledge. Progress: 10%."
Lina's holo-pad pinged with slum chatter—her laugh was raw, fierce. "They're split—half worship you, half want you dead. 142 mil—14 days, Jun Xi. Vipers are loud—'Slum king's a target.' Techies love you, though." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "Sofia's team—recon's noon. Tara's right—brace." His gut flickered—envy was a spark, NexCorp a storm. He grinned, flirty edge sharp. "Brace? I'm the storm—142 mil says we're louder. Vipers'll bend, NexCorp'll bleed."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's team moved: Slums, Third Lane, drone recon, warning imminent. "Noon's now—drone's here. Sofia's message—Northern Towers don't play." Before Jun Xi could reply, a sharp whine cut the air—a holo-drone, sleek and black, NexCorp's logo glinting on its hull, smashed through Orion's window. Glass shattered, raining shards across the concrete—Lina ducked, Tara cursed, Kai dropped his crate, Jia yelped. The drone hovered, red eye glowing, a holo-message flickering: "Back off, slum king—NexCorp." It crashed to the floor, sparking—smoke curled, a burned-out husk.
Jun Xi's smirk didn't waver—his boots crunched glass, hoodie dripping as he kicked the drone. "Message received—Sofia's scared. 142 mil's a slap—slum king slaps harder." Lina stood, brushing glass off her jumpsuit—her voice was low, fierce. "Scared? She's pissed—drone's a warning. Grid's safe—X9s held, hub's fine. 142 mil's a target—slum's watching." Tara's fingers flew, holo-pad glowing—drone's signal traced: Northern Towers, Sofia Valtieri, ops lead. "Sofia's hand—ops team's close. Tomorrow, they'll hit—hard."
Kai wiped sweat, his grunt sharp. "142 mil—nuts. Drone's a toy—NexCorp's big, Vipers are worse—Jia's freaking." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "Not freaking—just… 145 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 145,739,927 UN—MarketPulse soared, slum posts spiked: "NexCorp hit Jun Xi—war's on!""Slum king's 145 mil—Vipers'll cut him!" Jun Xi slipped out, hoodie up, drizzle cold on his neck—slum streets buzzed, wet concrete stinging his boots, soy grease and rust thick in the air. Kids darted past, holo-balls flickering—vendors shouted over sizzling woks: "Slum king's 145 mil—NexCorp's mad!"
He hit Third Lane, where Jade Vipers had warned him—alleys hummed, ink gleaming on their necks, knives glinting. The scarred leader smirked, leaning on a wall—his growl was low. "Heard the crash—NexCorp's pissed, slum king. 145 mil's loud—Vipers don't like noise, but we hate NexCorp more. Step light—slum's split." Jun Xi's grin was flirty, calculative—100x learning spun: gang moves, NexCorp's strings. "Split's fine—145 mil's louder. Vipers hate NexCorp? Good—slum king's your storm."
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 148 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge—10,500 users, 105 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, glass swept—her voice was low, fierce. "148 mil—slum's on fire, Jun Xi. Vipers posted—'NexCorp's war, slum king's side.' Techies worship you—envy's sharper, though." She pulled him close, grease-slick hands on his hoodie—her warmth burned, steady. "Pulse's beating—slum's yours, but war's here." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "War's ours—148 mil's a roar. NexCorp'll bleed."
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's team moved: Slums to Midtown, ops plan, tomorrow strike. "Vipers picked a side—Sofia didn't. 148 mil's a war drum—ops team's hitting tomorrow. Noon, hard." Kai followed, wiping sweat—his grunt was sharp. "148 mil—nuts. Slum's buzzing, but NexCorp's bigger—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "11,000 users—110 mil banked. 150 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 150,870,399 UN—interest rolled, slum war loomed.
Jun Xi stood by the broken window, drizzle misting his face—Midtown pulsed, slums roared below. The system chimed: "Funds: 150,870,399 UN. Interest: 7,543,519 UN daily. Mission Progress: 20%—Secure Slum Influence." His smirk sharpened—150 mil UN, 14 days—slum king wasn't a whisper; it was a storm shaking Neo-Shanghai. Lina leaned on him, Tara grinned wild, Kai and Jia buzzed—crew tight, a spark alive. Vipers sided, Sofia's team closed in, but the slum's roar turned fierce—XiTech's fire burned, and he'd burn through anything.