Berlin's skyline was filled with glass skyscrapers and neon billboards. Underneath it, the arteries of the city adorned themselves with automated traffic systems and magi-tech drones gliding between buildings.

Corporate logos illuminated the night like constellations, all competing to outshine one another.

To outsiders, it was the image of a utopia built on innovation.

But truth be told, while Germany thrived in its commercial sectors, the same couldn't be said for those belonging to the lower strata of society.

The lower districts were mazes of rusted steel and flickering signage, where the air smelled of mana exhaust and ozone. Old train tunnels had become makeshift shelters. Crumbling apartments relied on the support of reinforced walls covered in graffiti that protested against corporate greed and government control.

In these places, the neon never reached the ground.

The people there survived on scraps from the digital world, such as hacked credits, stolen data, and illegal magi-tech repairs done in back-alley workshops.

The gap between the privileged and the forgotten was astounding and seemed impossible to bridge anymore.

It was in these slums that the Revolutionaries found their recruits. Not the idealists, but the desperate ones who had nothing left to lose. Men and women with replaced limbs, synthetic organs, and robots as accompaniment.

They didn't fight for ideology. They fought because it was the only way to be seen in a world that had erased them.

The higher Berlin rose, the deeper its underbelly rotted. And while the corporations celebrated their golden anniversary in extravagant towers, somewhere below, the forgotten prepared to tear that world down.

"Yuze… Zhang Yuze… Wake up!"

"Ah, shit."

Zhang Yuze jolted awake. An immigrant from China, he had come to Germany more than ten years ago after receiving a promising job offer from Dream Industries. Back then, he'd believed it was his ticket to a better life, maybe even a future worth building.

But five years later, those promises crumbled. Just as his citizenship was approved, Dream dismissed him all of a sudden. His appeal for reinstatement was ignored, and when he tried to return to China, the government denied his reentry.

In the end, he had no country to call home. Neither the one he'd left behind nor the one he had chosen.

Zhang Yuze pushed the thin blanket aside and sat at the edge of the bed, his bare chest illuminated by the neon glow spilling through the blinds.

Beside him, a woman of steel and circuitry lay still with her metallic frame shaped in the likeness of a human.

"Did you forget?" she asked.

He rubbed his face. "No… just slept in. Thanks for reminding me, Rachel."

Rachel was no ordinary companion. She was an artificial intelligence embedded within a synthetic body designed to replicate human intimacy and emotional interaction. But her origins were far less noble.

The project she came from had been meant to develop synthetic soldiers. Rachel had failed those parameters. And for that, she had been discarded as defective, left to rot in a junkyard until Yuze found her.

After a quick shower, Yuze dressed and left the apartment with Rachel in tow. He pulled his hood over his head, blending into the wave of late-night wanderers and factory workers finishing their shifts.

They arrived at a bar hidden deep within Berlin's lower district. Inside, the neon light revealed a few familiar faces waiting in the corner booth.

They were mercenaries whose expertise leaned toward hacking, smuggling, and sometimes, murder.

As he approached, one of them with a cigarette glowing between his fingers.

"About time you showed up," the man said.

Yuze pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "You guys are just early."

A few snickers followed. It was the same kind of teasing that passed for camaraderie in this business. None of them trusted each other completely, but for the right price, they played the part.

The banter continued until a small voice cut through the noise.

"Everyone, shut up!"

It came from the youngest of the group, a girl in layered hoodies, her face half-hidden behind her laptop's screen.

Rachel leaned forward. "Really? What's the job?"

The girl scrolled quickly, scanning the text. "Looks like… a kidnapping."

Yuze frowned. "Who's the target, and how much?"

"It's—Holy shit!"

The others leaned in as she turned the laptop toward them. On the screen, one number burned bright against the dark background.

[€5,000,000]

For a moment, no one spoke.

Even in the underworld, that kind of money didn't appear often.

But when their eyes moved to the next line, to the name of the target, their excitement faded.

No one said a word, but the look they exchanged said everything.

Still, the offer was no scam. The client's record was legitimate, boasting a high credit score on the deep web.

When they conducted a background search, they discovered that the client was already a well-established figure in the black market, operating their own network of trade and contracts.

But still, it was the kind of job that could make you rich enough to disappear afterward, or get you killed before you even started.

* * *

"Oh, you picked out a pretty good dress, Doctor."

"Really? Well, it's thanks to you, Mister Schneider."

"Still, you didn't have to be so modest about the price. I told you I was paying for it."

"I can't just spend your money like that," she said, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. "It didn't feel right."

Julius glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The dress she'd chosen wasn't extravagant, but it suited her perfectly. She'd been hesitant the entire time, even refusing his black card at first, but he'd eventually persuaded her.

"You really have no idea how this works, do you?" Julius raised a brow. "You're my guest, Doctor. You represent our company tonight."

"I suppose that means I have to look the part."

"That's the idea."

Julius offered his arm, and Isolde hesitated only briefly before looping hers through his. Together, they stepped out of the Schneider residence, where a black hovercar waited at the curb.

The event's venue was unlike any ordinary location. Dream Industries' anniversaries were always held on Sky Island, a massive floating commercial district suspended high above Berlin, sustained by magi-tech hover technology.

Even from a distance, the island twinkled like a star in the night sky. Streams of airships and hovercars lined up in orderly flight paths. The entire structure was secured by layered defensive barriers, monitored by hundreds of drones, and guarded by elite security mages and knights.

It was no wonder such gatherings were rarely attacked. To even attempt disruption here meant going against one of the most fortified corporate zones in Europe.

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