---
The Verge had always been the one place you didn't look for answers—only shelter.
It wasn't a real district. Just a patchwork of skeletal buildings, skywalks that no longer led anywhere, and neon signs half-lit like dying memories. It was where old data towers came to die, where the sewers ran black with chemicals, and where those who didn't exist found a place to stay invisible.
Tonight, I wasn't just hiding here.
I was *running*.
---
By the time I reached the Verge outskirts, the Trace Units were gone—but the ache in my bones remained. My whole body throbbed from the fight. My knuckles were raw. My shoulder screamed with every step.
But worse than that was the silence.
Celeste was gone.
I didn't know if she was dead. Captured. On the run like me.
The only thing I knew for sure was this: everything I'd ever known had been a lie, and the people chasing me were willing to burn down half the city to keep the truth buried.
---
I found a place in the Verge that used to be a laundromat.
Only the metal carcasses of the machines remained, doors torn off like broken mouths. I settled into a corner behind the counter, wrapped myself in a blanket I scavenged from a nearby stairwell, and passed out.
I dreamed of numbers.
---
Not symbols, not visions.
*Numbers.*
Strings of code. DNA sequences. Binary floods rushing down empty halls. Over it all, a voice—my voice, but distorted—repeating the same phrase over and over:
> "Protocol Prime confirmed. Project Specter: phase resync engaged."
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.
The bracelet glowed softly in the dark, humming like a breathing thing.
---
By noon the next day, I'd moved deeper into the Verge.
You didn't last here by staying in one place too long. The gangs noticed. The scavs noticed. And worse—so did the city's unofficial surveillance: SkyEyes.
Drones that roamed unregulated districts, scanning faces and feeding data back to whoever paid the highest.
I kept my hood low. Avoided open streets. I'd grown up in places like this. But back then I was just a kid. A runner. A ghost among ghosts.
Now… now I was something else.
Something they wanted dead.
---
I was three blocks from a food market when I heard the scream.
It came from the side alley—cut short, sharp, and real. Most people ignored that sort of sound in the Verge. You learned not to get involved.
But something in me turned before I even *decided* to.
I ran toward it.
---
The alley was narrow, flanked by dumpsters and rusted vents. Three figures stood over a kid—maybe twelve—who was curled in a ball, blood trailing from his mouth.
The tallest one wore a gray bandana and held a baton. He raised it again.
I didn't think.
I just *moved*.
---
The baton never landed.
I grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing and twisted. Hard. The bone snapped like dry wood. He screamed, staggered, and went down.
The other two backed up fast, reaching for knives.
I dropped one with a quick knee to the gut and elbow to the jaw. He slumped unconscious.
The third turned to run.
"*Stop,*" I said.
My voice sounded wrong. Low. Electric.
The man froze.
Then he ran anyway.
I let him go.
---
The kid stared at me from the ground, wide-eyed.
"You okay?" I asked, kneeling beside him.
He nodded, wiping blood from his nose. "They took my sister. Said she owed them."
"Who were they?"
"Skin Dwellers. Verge gang. They run block 12 and part of the lower tunnels."
"You know where they took her?"
His eyes met mine. "Yeah."
---
That was how I met *Rye*.
Twelve years old. Fast mouth. Faster feet. And a back alley instinct for reading people. He stuck to me like a shadow after that. Said I "owed him."
I told him I didn't do attachments.
He just laughed and said, "Too late, ghost-boy."
---
The place they took his sister was deeper in the Verge.
A substation-turned-hideout, hidden beneath an old skybridge with faded graffiti that read: **THE CITY FORGOT US.**
The Skin Dwellers had maybe ten guys posted. Guard rotations. Traps in the halls. Smart gear for dumb muscle.
I watched them from the roof for half an hour.
Then I climbed down and walked straight in.
---
The first guard spotted me in the entry tunnel.
He raised his weapon—some kind of shock launcher—but I was already moving.
I disarmed him before the trigger clicked. Slammed him into the wall. Took his weapon. And moved on.
By the time I reached the main room, five more were down behind me.
The last three stood around a girl tied to a radiator—bloodied, bruised, but conscious.
"Walk away," I said.
They laughed.
One tried to rush me.
Bad call.
---
It was over in minutes.
The girl—Lani—stared at me like I wasn't human.
I wasn't sure I was anymore.
---
When we got out, Rye hugged her so tight he nearly knocked her over. She cried into his shoulder.
"You could've gotten killed," she whispered.
He grinned. "Nah. I had him."
He pointed at me.
The girl turned. "Who *are* you?"
I didn't answer.
But Rye did.
"He's a ghost."
---
Word spreads fast in the Verge.
By nightfall, people were whispering about the boy with glowing eyes. About the way he moved. About the Trace Units chasing ghosts.
And just like that… I had a name again.
**The Street Ghost.**
---
I should've stayed hidden.
Should've kept moving.
But something about Rye and Lani… it reminded me of who I used to be. Before the code. Before Specter.
Before the bracelet started whispering to me in dreams.
---
We camped in the old data vault that night—an abandoned server facility now roamed by rats and flickering sparks. Rye insisted on building a fire with scrap wire and gel packs.
"Used to think the Verge was cursed," he said, biting into a protein brick. "But maybe we just needed someone cursed enough to fight back."
I stared at the flames.
I didn't feel like a hero.
I felt like a time bomb.
---
Later, when they were asleep, I opened the old data file Celeste gave me.
Buried beneath the encrypted logs, I found a name:
> **DR. KESHA VANE.**
Next to it: **Last known location – District 7: Subsector Bastion.**
I didn't know who she was.
But I had a feeling she knew *me*.
And if I wanted answers… I'd have to leave the Verge.
---
The next morning, I left without saying goodbye.
Didn't leave a note. Didn't want to see Rye's face when I told him the truth—that I wasn't here to help anyone. That I was the reason fire followed me.
But five blocks out, I heard footsteps.
Rye.
"I know you're trying to be dramatic," he said. "But you forgot your bag."
He tossed it at me. Then crossed his arms.
"You're not gonna ditch me that easy, Ghost."
---
I sighed. "This isn't a game."
"Yeah, I know. It's *your life*. Which means bullets and weird bracelets and psycho cops. I'm in."
"And Lani?"
"She's safer with the hacker crew in South Verge. I made sure of it."
"You're a kid."
"Yeah. So were you once."
He started walking ahead of me.
I looked at the city beyond.
District 7. Bastion. The next lead.
Another secret buried in concrete and steel.
Another ghost I'd have to chase.
---
And I followed.
Because some ghosts don't stay dead.
And neither would I.
----