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Rain slicked the neon-drenched streets of Neo-Asora, turning advertisements into bleeding watercolor smears. Kael sat in the gloom of his corner noodle bar, watching data streams flicker across his corneal display. Most saw the city as a marvel of progress. He saw the wiring—and the rot beneath.
The anonymous packet had arrived at 03:17 AM. No source trace, no encryption signature. Just a raw data burst containing two seconds of audio: a woman's voice, distorted by panic and digital decay, repeating a geo-coordinate and a single word—"Echo."
It was a ghost in the machine, a signal where no signal should be. The coordinate led to the abandoned Seiren Tower, a relic from the last corporate war, now a skeletal monument in the warehouse district.
Kael powered up his deck, the familiar ache of old cyberware flaring in his temples. Firewalls were meant to keep things out. But the most dangerous ghosts, he knew, were already inside.
He jacked in. The static welcomed him like an old friend.
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