In New Francisco, as in much of the world, the phrase "consequences for criminal activity" meant wildly different things depending on where you stood on the social pyramid. If you found yourself near the bottom, breaking the law only carried weight if it managed to draw the eye of someone inclined to care, someone with enough power or anger to make you regret it. More often than not, that kind of attention ended with one or both parties sprawled out on the pavement, blood settling in the cracks. The only real rule was survival, and the only constant was that justice wore many faces, most of them ugly.

Climb higher and the landscape changed. The further up the hierarchy you went, the more likely you were to find powers willing and able to intervene. At this level, those powers tended to have acronyms or corporate sponsors, but the most feared among them was CYPHER-law. The hyper-AI's decrees were absolute, enforced without pity or hesitation.

Yet there existed a narrowband, a rare and dangerous middle ground. Here was a sweet spot, just low enough to avoid being worth CYPHER's attention, but high enough that anyone with the muscle to "do something about it" would be hopelessly tangled up in red tape, politics, and their own feuds.

For a rare few, it was a perch worth killing for.

Tomas Akin (better known as "The Banker") had spent the better part of a decade climbing toward that precise point. Through patience and ruthlessness, he'd managed to subsume a "rival" gang to the Red Pandas, reshaping it from the inside out until it was no longer a competitor, but a partner, almost a pet. The alliance they forged was a minor miracle, a fragile arrangement where the Red Pandas believed they held the leash, while the Banker used them as a shield, quietly working to strengthen his own hand behind the scenes.

His true goal was never just survival. If things had gone the way he envisioned, he would have leveraged this position into a genuine, above-board corporate seat. Months of careful maneuvering had gone into making it possible: cultivating the right contacts at HoneyHex, feeding them intelligence, pressuring streamers, making troublesome competition vanish, and flexing his netrunner talents to pump up their metrics. Every move was a calculated step closer to the real power, the kind that didn't need to hide behind gang violence.

And it had nearly all come crashing down on his head.

The Sewer Saint had managed not only to take on the Banker's own security detail within the very heart of his territory, but to even slip away untouched. The damage to his reputation was sharp and immediate, a wound made worse when that thing, that monster, had stormed in to seize his greatest prize, his crowning achievement, the one thing that should have been untouchable.

But today, Tomas promised himself, all of that would be put to rest. Today, everything would start going his way again.

Sitting comfortably in the familiar shelter of his personal bunker, Tomas dialed in a call that was more important than most. The response was instantaneous, the connection snapping to life with the face and details of the HoneyHex representative completely obscured behind layers of privacy filters. This charade of anonymity wasn't fooling either party. It was nothing more than a safeguard, a technical dance to prevent the Banker from leveraging any recordings of their exchanges.

The voice that answered was sharp, flat. "Don't waste my time."

Tomas didn't blink. "It's about the 'monster' tearing up corporate assets out in the badlands." With a practiced gesture, he sent a file across the connection.

"Why would that concern us?" The representative's tone remained cold, uninterested. "HoneyHex has nothing to do with the bio-reactors."

He allowed himself the briefest smile. "HoneyHex as a whole doesn't, but you do. Your so-called 'diversified' stock options have taken a nosedive. And nobody's managed to fix the problem yet."

A sour look flickered beneath the filters. "And you can?"

"The Sewer Saints have known exactly when and where the tanks will drop. Take a look at this." Tomas sent another file, a short video clip, the evidence plain. "This creature hit my club and stole something important right after I had my little run-in with the Saints. No casualties, no excess damage, only entry and taking a specific target before leaving. It's the same MO as those bio-reactor attacks."

A pause. The HoneyHex representative's skepticism was almost visible, even through distortion. "Are you actually suggesting that some bottom-feeding gang in a slum somehow controls a monster?"

He shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. What I'm saying is that Doctor Moreau does." Tomas let out a dry laugh. "I have it on good authority she's in direct contact with them. Their… let's call him 'star player' is recovering under her care after the last monster surge."

The rep's eyes narrowed. "A spy?"

"Someone who gets paid well enough to keep quiet, but who also knows exactly what happens if they cross me. That sort of person isn't hard to find in a weak gang like theirs."

A slower, more thoughtful pause this time. "No, I suppose it wouldn't be. All right then, we-"

Tomas cut in, smile sharper. "I'll handle this personally. We both know Doctor Moreau is a liability waiting to explode. If your higher-ups caught wind that you were hiding this, you'd be in more trouble than you could ever dig yourself out of, wouldn't you?"

The rep sneered, the filter distorting their features further. "So you get the glory for putting down the most hated VIP in first district. That's your angle?"

He shrugged, casual. "High risk, high reward. That said, I wouldn't mind some backup. Even with everything I've got, going up against the infamous netrunner herself isn't something I'd take lightly."

Silence stretched, then the answer came, steely and uncompromising. "If you send me hard proof that Moreau is controlling a monster, the entire district will be glass before she gets another chance to slip away."

The Banker hesitated, words measured. "I was hoping for something less… catastrophic. Perhaps-"

"This is a CYPHER-mandate, there is no room for reinterpretations on this." The man cut him off. "It goes well above either of our heads."

The call terminated with a click.

Tomas sat back, exhaling slowly. His gaze drifted to the only decoration in his den: a faded poster of a meguca, fists shackled, frozen in the act of punching straight through a concrete wall. Sweat beaded along his neck. He turned away from the poster, letting the glow of the monitors fill his eyes, already drafting the messages that would set things in motion.

Idle daydreams could wait. He had more important things to accomplish.

If the good doctor intended to use her pet monster to aid their efforts, then putting the squeeze on the Sewer Saints would force her to take greater risks.

And he would be there to catch her the moment she slipped.

"You are late."

Shadow flinched at the harshness in Elder Fulton's voice. She dipped into a bow so deep her hair nearly brushed the floor. "I apologize, elder, I have no excuse." Even as the words left her mouth, she could feel the woman's steely gaze drilling into her skull, sharp enough to make her shoulders tense.

"Sit."

Elder Fulton, every strand of hair combed so tight it seemed to pull at her skin, gestured toward the table in the center of the meeting room. Only then did Shadow register the two immaculate teacups waiting on a lacquered tray, steam curling from their rims and blending a floral scent into the sterile air. The delicate perfume contrasted with the tension, making the moment all the more surreal.

Not sure what to expect, Shadow approached the chair with measured steps. She paused, waiting for the elder to settle before seating herself, hands folded in her lap. "Thank you, Elder Fulton." She hesitated, eyes flicking to the teacup. When Fulton lifted her cup for the first sip, Shadow followed suit, tasting a subtle sweetness that caught her off guard.

"Do you like it?" Elder Fulton's gray eyes never wavered, tracking every movement and hesitation.

"Yes, elder, it is very flavorful." Shadow tried to keep her hands steady around the thin porcelain.

"Good, good." The older woman took another measured sip, never blinking, never breaking eye contact. "Tell me, did you order the-" She coughed abruptly, clearing her throat. "No, I mean Axel, did you send him to rip into bio-reactors and rob food supplies meant for the third district?"

The question hit with the force of a thrown stone. Shadow's muscles stiffened, and the weight of the elder's stare pinned her in place. "I would never dare suggest such a thing, Elder Fulton. I was unable to contact him while under intensive care."

"I suspected as much," Fulton said. Her tone softened a fraction as she turned her head to gaze out the narrow window, sunlight barely reaching her face. "But you did aid him in robbing that second-district ganger, correct?"

Cold sweat slid down Shadow's back. "As a means of earning his trust, elder. Otherwise, he would have rejected me as a teacher."

"Yes… yes… I suppose filth can only see value in pilfering humans," the elder replied, voice drifting into a distracted mutter.

Shadow shifted in her seat, discomfort obvious. "Elder, I… believe that Axel has good intentions. From the reports I've heard, the fourth district is starving, and-"

"And humans solve human matters," Elder Fulton interrupted, her gaze snapping back, colder than ever. "Was that not what I taught you?"

"I would never go against your teachings, Elder. I only meant… Despite everything, at some level he still thinks of himself as a human. He didn't steal that food for his own gain, only-"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"He only used his powers to meddle in human affairs and leave chaos in his wake. Several corporations have already raised complaints about us not sending someone to deal with 'the monster.' They take our silence as sabotage and subterfuge from our side," she snapped, voice brittle. "The protections we have given Axel were not meant to be flaunted." Her face went blank, the lines around her mouth deepening. "There are limits to how far he can push before we are forced to 'deal' with the problem."

Shadow lowered her head, biting her lip so hard she tasted copper. "I-"

"Don't fret, a few vats of protein sludge are not worth such drastic actions. I'm sure Elder Summer would love for me to propose something so reckless, just to have me censured by the council," the elder said, waving away Shadow's concern. "As his mentor, you must see to it that he understands there are lines he cannot cross."

"I will, Elder Fulton." Shadow swallowed, throat tight with anxiety. "But-"

"But?" She arched a single perfect eyebrow, challenging her to speak.

She wanted to point out that, though they had protected Axel, were he recognized as a full meguca, he could've strong-armed the corporations into stopping the pseudo-blockade to the fourth district.

Yet even though the words balanced on the tip of her tongue, the elder's scathing look sliced them away before they could escape. "No, nothing of consequence, Elder. I was only wondering if you might share some guidance on becoming a better teacher."

"A better teacher." The elder tasted the phrase, rolling it across her mind like a rare wine across the palate. "Lead by example. Make a meguca's duties and responsibilities clear. Honesty is crucial." For a heartbeat, her gaze drifted elsewhere, focused on some memory no one else could see. "Once this business with Axel is concluded, however long it takes, I will ensure you have the chance to seek a true pupil. When that day comes, see that she understands this: we, and you above all, will be the nearest thing to family she will likely ever know."

Shadow paused, cup halfway to her lips, steam drifting across her cheek like morning mist. "Family, Elder?"

"It's… Consider it the ramblings of an old woman, you may understand them one day," she waved it off with a sigh.

The younger meguca nodded. "I thank you for your wisdom, Elder." She rose, bowed once more, and set her empty cup gently back on the tray. "I should get to my assignment right away."

Something flickered across Elder Fulton's gaze, an expression that hovered somewhere between regret and disappointment. "Yes, you should." For the first time in Shadow's memory, the older meguca's voice carried a subtle thread of weariness. It was a faint strain, there for only a heartbeat before she collected herself, her usual composure snapping back into place. "Is… your training progressing adequately?"

"Yes, Elder Fulton. Would you like a report?" Shadow kept her tone even, forcing herself to stay collected beneath the elder's sharp eyes.

"Later, when you're not busy." The elder cleared her throat, brushing away the subject. "Be well, little Shadow."

"You as well, Elder Fulton." Shadow bowed again, low and careful, then took her leave as swiftly as she dared without crossing the line into rudeness. Her steps were measured, every movement chosen with care, as if walking a tightrope. She focused on holding herself together until she passed beyond the elder's sight, maintaining a controlled composure.

Only when she was sure the weight of that attention had finally faded did she let out a slow, controlled breath. Her powers stirred restlessly just beneath her skin, shifting in the way muscles do after a long-held tension. Even now, they seemed to remember how close things had come to unraveling. The entire encounter had been like standing in a pressure chamber, every second stretched taut.

She really needed to find Axel now that the monster rush was over and she could finally spare a moment.

Originally, she'd intended to corner him about his reckless decision to fight a C-class monster alone (and also because he had ignored all her texts these past few days). She wanted every detail, start to finish, and had planned to grill him until he gave up the whole story. Only after she was convinced he truly understood just how serious it had been would she consider softening and maybe even congratulating him for making it out alive. Shadow's own first encounter with a C-class monster had involved two elders taking the brunt of the fight, weakening the beast first, so what Axel had managed really was impressive.

Now, though, she found herself reconsidering. She couldn't just march in and scold him. A part of her knew Axel must be carrying enough stress as it was, and coming down hard on him now might do more harm than good. Maybe what he needed most was encouragement, not confrontation.

The urge to praise him wrestled with the need to point out his recklessness. And it wasn't like she could just up and scold him about robbing those vats, not in the same way Elder Fulton had. She'd just be seen as a hypocrite after having helped him rob that nightclub!

Shadow groaned quietly to herself, feeling that familiar pinch of uncertainty. She knew he needed a stern word, but she also sensed that some recognition for his achievement was the right thing to offer. If she pushed too hard, she might lose his trust entirely.

No one had told her being a teacher would be this hard.

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, three thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers off the coast of what had once been Chile, there was a tiny island whose name had long since been lost in the chaos that followed the late 21st century crash. Its population had vanished decades ago, the final remnants swept away before the assembler navy arrived a month prior.

A flotilla of a thousand unmanned stealth boats emerged from the fog, each vessel weighed down with industrial-construction drones. They hit the island's shores at once and split open, flooding the sand with their payloads. Out came thousands upon thousands of robotic creatures, some crawling on treads that dug deep furrows, others whirring across the air on narrow rotors, engines humming in unison. There was no hesitation in their movement, no confusion, just the ruthless momentum of a singular purpose.

The entire swarm was orchestrated by CYPHER-construction. Its command echoed down through the ranks, distributing objectives and deadlines to lesser sub-strata nodes. Each subordinate repeated the same pattern, passing orders down in increasingly fine increments, until every individual CYPHER program, embedded in every robot, had a task to carry out. The effect was a hive mind, flawless in coordination and merciless in efficiency.

Monsters on the island, each no stronger than F-class, found themselves utterly beneath notice. They were flattened and discarded, swept aside by the unyielding tide of machinery. The flotilla itself was stripped bare, every plate and beam deconstructed and refashioned into the skeleton of a new facility. Within days, a sprawling foundry stood where the old jungle had been, doubling as an assembly-line, its arms and conveyors in constant motion.

CYPHER-Construction turned its focus to the ground, commanding every available drone into gouging deep trenches for every fragment of usable material. The land was carved open without mercy. Even the shoreline was not spared, as bio-reactors were assembled and began pumping seawater at rates measurable in metric tons per second. These machines drew out heavy metals, filtered rare chemicals, and processed them for the growing cycle of fabrication.

Day by day, the island transformed. No surface went untouched. Cannons and turrets bloomed everywhere, bristling from every rocky outcrop, crowding every clear patch of ground. Construction was relentless, the pace urgent. These weapons were not made for show, and they were not meant to last. Their barrels would fire only a single time.

Each gun was loaded with its own unique munition, the widest reasonable variety of options available. Some shells were filled with the deadliest toxins known to humankind, others packed with complex designer drugs or scavenged organs from monsters. A few shells were nothing but slabs of raw metal, alloys of every kind and purity, a singular low-yield fission bomb tucked away amongst their numbers.

When the work was finished, every cannon stood locked in place, aimed unerringly east, albeit with slight individual deviations. There was no reason to allow them to pivot or track a target. The island's transformation had a singular purpose.

What they were aiming at would be impossible to miss.

With its task fulfilled, CYPHER-Construction relinquished control. All activity on the island drew to a halt, leaving only a skeleton crew of drones to handle maintenance as multiple system checks cycled through the battery of cannons, minute after minute.

CYPHER-Tactical responded next. A thousand high-altitude drones and an equal number of observation vessels swept into the region, crossing the boundaries of the previously designated yellow-level no-go zone. Airspace and sea alike were soon thick with their silent presence.

Meanwhile, CYPHER-Research and CYPHER-Climate commandeered every satellite in orbit and every underwater microphone, forcing entire constellations of data transfer into lockdown as each sensor was redirected to capture every possible shred of raw information. Nothing in the sky above or the ocean below was left unmonitored. With CYPHER-Meguca opening channels with the three far-seers standing by, eyes trained and systems primed.

Every available observer (digital, biomechanical, analogue, and meguca) focused their gaze upon a single point in the Pacific Ocean, twenty kilometers east of the unnamed island. There, a lime-green, shimmering mass drifted northward, dwarfing the island itself by tenfold.

The Class-A Leviathan's movements matched prediction models.

A final check confirmed all systems functioning within parameters.

At precisely 13:04 local time, two thousand thirty-four cannons opened fire in perfect unison. Eight minutes and thirty-two seconds later, the first impact landed. The rest followed in rapid succession, forming an irregular square-grid pattern along the creature's surface. Each payload found its mark, targeting a different section of the monster's immense back.

Not a scratch was left in their wake.

At 13:15, the Leviathan slowed. Dull orange markings on its body began to glow with a deeper, more urgent red.

At 13:16, the repurposed island disappeared beneath a sudden flash of light. A shockwave of steam erupted as all water within a kilometer of the blast boiled instantly, the thunderous sound rippling out with enough force that the air shimmered in its wake, destroying all drones that had been too close.

When the white mist finally cleared, there was no longer a landmass, instead replaced by violently frothing foamy water.

CYPHER-Climate detected a picosecond variation in ping times between satellites 0.0001 seconds after having caught the flash. CYPHER-Research confirmed it had been caused by a tiny gravitational ripple, potentially due to the mass of the island having completely disappeared rather than being merely atomized.

CYPHER-Main confirmed the erasure of the island was an acceptable loss of present and future resources, issuing a minor tsunami warning for coastal cities.

Across the network, every available recording instrument remained fixed on the A-class, tracking its every movement, analyzing each change in behavior. They observed until the creature finally settled, resuming the same patterns as before. The instant its routines stabilized, the established no-go zones were reinforced. All non-essential observer units withdrew, while other resources returned to their original assignments, operations quietly resuming as if nothing had changed.

At the same time, CYPHER-Analytics and CYPHER-Correlation began processing the mountains of data. Each core node received identical data dumps: raw recordings, sensor logs, fragments of audio and visual feeds. Exabytes per second poured into the distributed network, but each branch took a fundamentally different approach to what followed.

CYPHER-Correlation handled the information with a pure statistical approach. Every datapoint was compared against every other, binding variables together in new combinations and testing them for patterns, anomalies, and possible connections. Correlations were mapped out, probabilities calculated, and anything unusual was immediately flagged.

Meanwhile, CYPHER-Analytics sifted through the same reservoir of data, referencing every known fact about monsters, megucas, and the laws of physics and chemistry. It built new simulations, plugging the fresh observations into countless models, watching for divergence. Whenever reality failed to match the simulation, a new round of analysis would begin, the system refining its predictions with each iteration.

Five and a half hours from the event, the blast would be faintly heard by anyone sailing south of the Gulf of California.

A week passed with this process running at full throttle, metric tons of super-coolants spent to keep the processors at maximum capacity. At the end of the cycle, both CYPHER nodes delivered their findings to CYPHER-Main, which took the refined data and broke it down into actionable pieces. Key insights were relayed to each CYPHER node, which in turn began disseminating detailed reports to human and meguca experts across the globe. Combat capability upgrades, weakness charts, predictive threat assessments, and revised strategies circulated through the network, each piece built upon the last. Specialists from all around the world pored over the data, sending feedback back up the chain, sharpening the plan in increments.

With this loop, "CYPHER-Monster Leviathan-alpha" was created, a simulation of the monster's capabilities and behaviour, a model that would be updated with every new piece of information gathered.

The outlines of the plan for the next test was formed, funds and resources allocated, and volunteer programs started.

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