I stood transfixed, staring at the enigmatic man before me. Beyond the shattered window, the sounds of battle between rival Couriers provided a discordant backdrop to our encounter.

  The middle-aged gentleman—likely in his late fifties—sported a substantial beard that concealed much of his face. Yet his eyes remained vibrant, twinkling with an almost unsettling affability. His face bore the unmistakable patterns of premium cybernetic augmentation, the intricate designs and pristine materials suggesting costs far beyond what most could afford.

  As our eyes met, he offered a gentle, almost fatherly smile. "I gather you must be the victor here."

  I found my voice, still uncertain. "Cleo Hano?" I ventured, invoking the name of my intended target.

  "In a manner of speaking," he replied, the corners of his mouth curling upward. "My name is Noah Cole, and you, my young friend, are on the precipice of altering the very fabric of our world."

  My attention shifted to a peculiar object in his hand—a small, translucent cube that emitted its own soft light. He manipulated it with practiced precision, his fingers dancing across its surface while that enigmatic smile never left his lips.

  "I came for the Gold Tier, but..." My voice trailed off, uncertainty preventing me from articulating the obvious contradiction before me.

  "I am aware," he interjected. With an effortless flick of his fingers, he obliterated the device, transforming it into a cascade of luminescent particles that swirled around his hand before being absorbed directly into his skin.

  He closed his eyes with an air of finality and, as if exhaling his last breath, whispered: "And so it begins."

  I remained immobilized, unable to process the surreal tableau unfolding before me. Was this truly the Gold Tier subscriber? What was the significance of the alias? And most perplexing of all—had this man just taken his own life?

  Before I could formulate any coherent response, the apartment door splintered open. Another Courier stood in the threshold, his left arm mangled beyond recognition, discharging arcs of electricity. Blood streamed from a wound above his eyes as his gaze darted frantically between Noah and me.

  Instinct took over. Without hesitation, I connected my receptacle to the subscriber input embedded in Noah's neck. As consciousness began to waver and the familiar headache took hold, I glimpsed the infuriated Courier. Unable to intervene, he unleashed his rage upon the nearest wall, shattering concrete and plaster with his fist before disappearing from view.

  I had won.

  My vision dissolved into darkness, and my head throbbed with an intensity far beyond the usual discomfort of downloading a Soul. Foreign memories bombarded me in rapid, disjointed flashes. I was plummeting through a void of chaotic imagery, each frame accompanied by searing pain.

  I reached instinctively to touch my head, but my tactile senses betrayed me—I had no physical form. The memories continued their relentless cascade, fragmented and elusive, as I fell through this disorienting vortex for what felt like eternity.

  Panic seized me. I tried to scream, to release the building terror, but no sound emerged. My body had abandoned me entirely. I plunged deeper into the chasm of enigmatic images, the pain intensifying with each moment.

  Then suddenly, the turbulent maelstrom ceased. I found myself floating in an otherworldly expanse, with eerie, distant lights shimmering like stars against absolute darkness. Iridescent tendrils of amorphous color ebbed and flowed around me. I remained disembodied, a mere consciousness adrift in this surreal realm.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Pain shocked me again, violent and all-encompassing, as if my mind were being torn in every direction simultaneously. I struggled against it, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of self.

  A spectral figure coalesced before me, a quasi-ethereal manifestation of Noah himself. He drifted closer, his presence somehow calming despite my terror.

  "Remain calm," his spectral voice urged, "allow it to unfold. I assure you, there is nothing to fear. You'll survive this."

  Compelled by an inexplicable trust, I surrendered my resistance. The tormenting pain vanished instantly, replaced by newfound clarity as my vision began to reconstitute.

  It felt like an eternity spent in that void, watching as my memories dissolved before my eyes:

  Children kicking a soccer ball, their laughter light and carefree, echoing across an undefined space.

  A memory from just days ago—me on a rooftop, staring at the massive freighter that always dominated our sky. The smoke from my cigarette lingered, curling lazily before swirling faster, eventually obscuring and erasing the scene entirely.

  I was letting everything go.

  Eventually, my vision returned along with my heads-up display. My cybernetic system had undergone a complete reboot, similar to the aftermath of intensive NeuroDoc maintenance. I found myself sprawled on the floor, a trail of dried drool marking my prolonged stupor. As I stood unsteadily, the headache returned with renewed intensity. By reflex, I reached for my pocket, fingers finding the familiar shape of the Beta-Blocker bottle. I swallowed one of the pills, a habitual motion to temper the pulsing pain echoing through my skull.

  I scanned the room carefully, turning a complete circle. Noah had inexplicably vanished. I checked behind furniture and even peered into the adjacent bathroom—no sign of him anywhere. Time felt distorted, and I couldn't determine how long I'd been lost in that mysterious state. Questions flooded my mind: What had happened? How much time had passed? And most importantly, where was Noah's body?

  My watch displayed 2:12. Four hours lost to that bewildering experience? Impossible.

  Who was Noah Cole, and why had he used the alias Cleo Hano? Had someone taken his body while I was incapacitated? Whose memories had I glimpsed?

  The pain in my head surged again, forcing me to sit and cradle my throbbing temples. This wasn't like any Soul retrieval I'd ever experienced. Even the Beta-Blocker provided minimal relief.

  Something wet splashed onto the floor. I glanced down to see crimson droplets pooling on the worn, dusty floorboards. It took me a moment to realize the source—my own nose was bleeding profusely. I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand, staring at the bright red smear with growing concern that my receptacle might be damaged.

  I initiated a self-diagnostic, thankful for this built-in MainFrame capability. The progress bar crept forward, culminating in a display of results:

  "Receptacle status: Online/Connected/No Damage detected

  Receptacle Space: 100%"

  One hundred percent? Impossible. I had just extracted a Soul—how could the space be empty? Had it somehow been lost or stolen? I scanned the room for signs of intrusion, though I knew such an occurrence was theoretically impossible. Once a Soul was safely downloaded within a Receptacle, only MainFrame possessed the capability to retrieve it. No Courier would dare tamper with a competitor's Receptacle after Soul capture—doing so would invite MainFrame Security's lethal response.

  This defied all logic. I initiated an advanced diagnostic, which took considerably longer before finally producing:

  "Receptacle status: Online/Connected

  Board Status: 100% - All Clear Mainframe

  Soul Chip Status: 77% - Maintenance Needed

  OS Version: 6.11185b

  Receptacle Space: 0.4%

  Stored Soul ID: N1110VVH11"

  There was a stored Soul after all—but something was wrong. The peculiar configuration of the ID caught my attention. Such a profusion of the numeral '1' was exceedingly uncommon; these codes typically consisted of more randomized sequences. Was this anomaly related to the Gold Tier status?

  The pain intensified, forcing me to take the unprecedented step of swallowing a second Beta-Blocker. Only then did the agony begin to recede.

  I shakily rose to my feet, plotting a course for the nearest MainFrame Depot. Despite feeling as though my head might split open, the reward for securing a Gold Tier—250,000 Credits—provided powerful motivation.

  Checking my heads-up display, I saw the depot was tantalizingly close. I attempted to activate my overdrive legs, only to discover the system remained offline after the final, destructive burst that had brought me here.

  "Damn it!" I cursed to the empty room.

  The overdrive had been damaged beyond repair. I had no choice but to travel the streets on foot for the journey to the depot. I made my way toward the shattered entrance, carefully navigating the damaged wall left by the other Courier, and began the descent to the ground floor via the elevator.