Flames of Fury

Chapter 1: Dim Sum and the JumpMasters

“Home is where gravity grounds me. When I jump, code is all that binds me—one glitch, and I’m history.” —Shifu-JumpMaster

South Harbour breathes neon, exhales data-streams that ripple like oil on water. Usually, the layers stay separate. Usually, the digital dimension knows its place. But the signals bleed. The boundaries flicker. And sometimes, gravity isn’t the only thing you can fall through. South-Harbour Megapolis, Pearl Delta. The sky threw the biggest party the city had ever seen. Streaks of astral light spiraled like wild brushstrokes, chasing each other across the night. The promenade glowed under the fireworks—green pulses, red blooms, yellow waves lighting the bobbing junks below. Even the skyline joined in, neon towers flashing approval like VIP guests at a cosmic rave. Romantic? Absolutely. Qixi was no fable.

Tao gripped the roses and chocolate. His thumb hovered over WeChat, ready to scroll or vanish. TikTok? Loaded. She was worth it. He said it again. Louder inside his head. His heart agreed—a WeChat tingle in his pocket. He peeked—brave, shaky.

Did she see it…Is that a Magpie, that’s perfect?

Then they came rapid-fire—the sound cracked through his ribs like a firework going off sideways. She’d seen it. The message. Three hearts. Three. She sent three. His breath stalled. Time warped. His smile broke out too fast, cheeks flaring scarlet. No take-backs.

Then—friends. Her friends. The wrong kind of entourage.

“Throw us the chocolates, fool!”

“Loser alert!”

Laughter slapped him sideways. One held up her phone. His message, his face—zoomed in and paraded around. She lunged to grab it. Too late.

Tao didn’t speak. His jaw did the talking, locked shut. His fingers twitched. Something burned behind his eyes. A wall of traffic tore by, honking and roaring like the city knew how badly he wanted to vanish. When it cleared—so had they.

A new ping lit the screen: Planted. Her phone’s active.

“And the mark—is he there?”

“The loser? Yeah, he’s none the wiser,” one of the marauding teens snickered.

“Tao?”

TingTing’s voice, sharp and cutting through the leftover shame. He blinked. Still standing there. Roses crushed. Chocolates split open on the pavement like a crime scene.

“What’s the ruckus?” she asked, eyes darting to the mess.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

She didn’t wait for a better lie. “We’ve got things to do. Come on. You can cry about your love life after we survive this.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

All around them, the crowd shifted—tourists, street performers, bored locals all paused to gawk at the spectacle overhead. And in that gaping silence—they arrived. Not from the sky, but from somewhere deeper. Opposites. Coats black as wet ink. Hats low. Glasses darker than midnight. Walking against the tide. Intent clear. Destruction implied.

“Find them!” Trident’s voice cracked like thunder through static. “That boy’s coding—get it before he remembers what he is!”

They pushed through the throng. Not walking—cutting.

“There!” one pointed. “Tag him!”

From the opposite end, Huawei Shifu vanguards snapped into action—silent, fast, anticipatory. Firewalls flared, slamming into the ground like lightning strikes. Sparks danced. The trench coats scattered—but not before the tag was fired. It hit. And it stuck. Elsewhere, in a thousand homes and high-rises, kids watched the sky change colors. They missed the glitch in the code. The rewrite under their noses.

On the rooftop above, Tao and TingTing moved. Not kids. Not anymore. Their boards sliced across metal rails and stair sets. Feet finding balance by instinct. Comms lit up in flashes. Data lines drifted across their visors. Sync perfect.

“Diagnostics done?” TingTing snapped, not looking back. “You better not screw this.”

“Relax,” Tao muttered, cracking his fingers. “Trajectory’s heavyweight champion of the galaxies. I’m good. I’ve got this. I’m gonna be the man today.”

“Cool. I’ll bring the belt when you land—and ice if your tuck and roll is off.”

Her glance shifted—quick, subtle—toward the trench coats below.

Tao didn’t notice. Not fully. He was too busy pulling in air. This was his jump. The one that counted. He crouched. Launched. And for a second—he flew.

Then… the static. The twitch. Something blinked behind his eyes. His arc dipped. Too sharp. The landing didn’t happen. He crashed. Board went one way. Tao, the other. He hit hard. Gasps from the edge. A few chuckles. One face caught his eye. Not scorn. A smile. Cold. Familiar. Her. Still holding the phone. But now surrounded. Not friends—figures. Watching. Waiting.

Something dark shimmered between them, like oil on water. His stomach turned. Used. Played. Betrayed.

His vision warped. Signs bled glyphs. Letters peeled. A whisper scratched behind his eardrum:

AFFIRM FIREWALL DEACT TAG CONFIRM YOU HAVE BEEN MARKED, DESIGNATION: COMPROMISED …MAUI OUT! OK, where are they, come on come on, where are they…what’s going on where are the mission orders? What standby, standby for what…oh..TingTing…

Tao froze. No, not froze—he felt it. Felt them—near, watching, creeping in sideways through the glitch. Oblivious people shuffled past. But they weren’t here for them. They were here for him.

That smile again—it cut deep.

“I loved the roses,” she said.

Then her hand moved—fast, furious, cutting through the air. Tao dropped. He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Just the whine of data screaming across his neurons.

Then—impact. Not from her. From above. Boom. Concrete cracked.

A figure landed—taller, broader, eyes lit like binary comets.

“Neptune,” she hissed.

He didn’t answer. Just reached down and hauled Tao up like luggage.

TingTing broke free from a clash of outliers. She spun, eyes wide. Saw them. Saw Tao—slumped, dragged.

“Tao!”

Too far. The girl jumped, dragging him with her. Neptune followed, crashing off the edge.

TingTing ran. Hit the rooftop lip just in time to see them hit the water—hard. No grace. No plan. Desperate.

Below, the girl fought to keep them both afloat. Neptune barely needed to move—he churned through water like it owed him rent. A junk boat appeared from the shadows. Ghostly. Waiting. Hands reached. Hauled them in.

Then—Gone. No motor. No lights. No ripples. Just water. And silence.

TingTing stood alone at the rooftop edge. Salt and ozone in her nose. Her brother vanished. Her mission flipped on its head.

Nothing was what it looked like. Not anymore.

The junk rocked once, then again—heavier this time. Tao looked up. A shadow landed on the upper deck with a thud that didn’t echo. Boots. Fast. Sure. Familiar.

A shape dropped down the ladder. Tactical gear. Wrist module glowing. Hair pulled back like she meant business.

TingTing.

She didn’t speak. She moved straight through the cramped deck like it owed her answers.

“Still breathing?” she asked, eyes flicking from Tao to Blossom.

Tao blinked. “How did you—”

“Two junks were tailing yours from the harbour. One decoy, one with me. You weren’t the only moving piece in this game.” She tossed a soaked WeChat slate onto the deck. “Your crash was noisy. And you’re tagged. Which means they’re coming.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “I found you. So will they.”

The junk lurched again. Steel plates groaned overhead as the ballast tanks kicked in. They were going under. TingTing unfolded a softscreen, tactical overlays lighting up the dim hold. Tao tried to speak. Didn’t. His jaw just clenched.

TingTing pointed at Blossom. “And you—whatever mission brought you here—it’s changed. He’s compromised. That makes both of you a risk.”

Blossom’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t break eye contact.

TingTing narrowed her gaze. “This isn’t another Trojan Bloom, is it?”

Blossom didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. That was enough.

“I stay with him,” she said.

TingTing stared for a beat. Then gave a sharp nod—like it was tactical, not personal. “Fine. Then we crash together. But make no mistake: no improv. The Jump stays off the table. The tag stays lit. We ride the profile Trident thinks we are.”

The deck groaned as they submerged deeper. Pressure shifted. Tao didn’t speak. Blossom didn’t move. Neither of them blinked. And in the silence, the countdown began.

The deck groaned again beneath them. Tao turned to Blossom, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

She stared at him. Unblinking. Slap. Sharp. No warning.

Before he could even flinch—she kissed him. Fast. Fierce. All heat and confusion.

Then—shove. He stumbled back. “Wait, I—”

Crack. Her fist hit him square in the jaw. He dropped to one knee, blinking.

“You don’t get to ask that,” she said, her voice low and shaking. “Not now.” She spun, storming off toward the far side of the junk, fists clenched.

Tao watched her go, jaw open, still processing. He turned slowly to TingTing. “What—was that?”

She stared him down. Hard. “Are you kidding me, Tao?”

“What? What did I do wrong?”

TingTing shook her head and turned away. “Boys.”

Just then—the strobe light lit the galley red. A siren blared, low and pulsing, followed by the sound of boots pounding across the upper deck. The crew moved fast—no shouts, just tight commands and tighter eyes. Lockdown mode.

From the bridge, the captain’s voice rang out: “Quick—hit the tubes! I’ll fire you all out—go!”

Panels slid open near the hull. Pod hatches blinked green, already pre-pressurized. Tao turned to TingTing. She was already moving. Blossom was gone—headed for launch.

“Wait—TUBES?!”

“Go!” TingTing barked. “You wanted a crash landing? This is it!”

They were running for the tubes. Then—impact. Everyone slammed into the walls—then the ceiling—then crashed back to the deck like ragdolls in a blender.

“Quick!” the captain shouted over the alarm. “I can’t stay here—someone’s dropping depth charges!”

Another explosion rocked the junk. Wood splintered. Bolts sheared.

The captain yelled again— “Firing now!”

Thoom-THOOM! The launch pods fired, one by one—but even as they blasted out, a second barrage struck. Blam! Tao, TingTing, Blossom—gone. Blasted from the hull straight into chaos.

Turbulence. Black water. No bearings. No sound.

Blossom spun out of control, her gear gone—suit torn, visor cracked. TingTing was swept away into the murk, swallowed in seconds. Tao tumbled—head rattled, lungs seizing. He blinked hard. Focus. Focus. His head snapped side to side. Where are they? Where are they?!

There. Blossom. Suspended in the dark. Not moving. He swam. Kicked hard. Got to her. Grabbed her suit. No oxygen. Her tank was gone. He pulled her close, sealed his mouth over hers—breathed straight from his lungs. One gasp. Another.

Her eyes shot open, wild. She thrashed—panicked. He held on. “It’s me!” Bubbles swirled. Her fingers clawed at his vest.

Then—a metal hull screamed toward them through the water. Tao’s eyes widened. Too fast. No way out.

WHAM— TingTing shot in from the side like a torpedo, yanking both Tao and Blossom hard left. They slammed behind the drifting wreckage of a broken drone just as something massive tore past—gone in a blink, vanishing into the depths. The blast had missed them by seconds.

Tao coughed hard into his rebreather. Blossom clung to his arm. TingTing turned, eyes wide, visor pulsing red. Her fingers flew to Blossom’s comm unit—cracked. She checked the tank gauge.

Blossom shook her head, already gasping. She pointed frantically—thumb to throat. No air.

Then Tao saw it. Her tank—torn loose, caught in the current—vanishing fast. He kicked hard. Reached out. Grabbed it. It didn’t budge. Blossom and TingTing flanked him, nodding in sync. They signaled—on three. Together, they pulled. The tank snapped free. Air rushed out, bubbles shooting past them, caught in a deadly whirlpool. Their world twisted swirling violently. The vortex snapped them backward. Wreckage spun with them—metal shards, torn cables, tangled shadows tumbling fast and out of control.

Tao’s mask rattled. He couldn’t tell which way was up. Then—there. Through the blur, a flicker of light. A drone, spinning erratically, its lights flickering. And something else. Tao’s heart slammed against his ribs. In the wreckage, he saw it—a warhead. Scuffed. Dented. But unmistakably armed. Its surface shimmered faintly, dangerously unstable.

Tao pointed, tracing the blast radius, then tapped his chest. He would do it. He needed the Jump. There was no other way. TingTing shook her head, violently—No. Blossom waved him off—Stop! In a spin, he saw them, then gave a single shrug—grim, resolved. Then he moved.

He shot forward, riding the vortex’s edge. As he passed Blossom, he ripped the tank cleanly off her back. Her momentum launched her faster—head over heels—shocked, air hissing from the torn connection. Tao didn’t stop. He waited for alignment, then drove the tank forward, slamming it into the warhead. Nothing. Another spin. He waited. There—its light blinked. He struck again—missed. Adjusted. Slammed. Bang. Still nothing. Blossom tore off her mask, screaming something lost in the rising stream of bubbles. Her eyes begged him—What the?!

Then—BOOM. The water convulsed. Light exploded all around them. Heat. Force. Immense pressure. Everything went white.

Flash. Concrete. Skyline. Air.

He was airborne—freefall, hover-drop, tumbling forward through a digital dimension that didn’t care about form or control. Below, the harbor’s high-rise sentinel punched through clouds over the Delta, a skyline rushing up to meet him. I’m alive. That was his first thought. Not the mission. Not the girls. Not even the explosion. Just—I made it. And for a second, that felt like everything.

Then it hit him—oh no. Oh no no no— the spin tilted. His stomach dropped. Where were they? Where was TingTing—Blossom—the girls? Did they Jump? Were they behind him? Or had he just bailed alone?

Panic surged. I jumped too early. No—too late? I didn’t even mean to Jump. It wasn’t supposed to—

Gravity didn’t care. It grabbed him by the collar, spun him sideways, and hurled him home. His legs flipped over his head, arms pin-wheeling through static air. His mouth opened, but the scream never made it out.

Brace. BRACE—

Crash. Tiles. Concrete. A thud that rattled through his spine and into his teeth. He landed hard on his backside, skidding down a tiled ramp outside the estate courtyard like a rogue shopping cart. His foot clipped the railing mid-slide.

“Ow—okay, that one’s real,” he muttered, groaning.

He staggered upright, dazed, wobbling on legs that hadn’t fully reloaded their coordination software. Everything smelled like chlorine, burnt circuits, and… chive dumplings?

He blinked up. “Hey… the lights just came on,” he said to no one in particular. “Mum and Dad must be home.” His stomach growled. “Sweet—it’s dim sum night.”

The absurdity of it cracked the moment like cheap glass.

Then a voice cut in—sharp, flat, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Tao turned. TingTing stood beside him, drenched, covered in seaweed, face unreadable and very much alive. She wasn’t smiling.

“I just risked my life hauling you through a Jump you detonated with your fist,” she said, voice ice. “And your first words are dim sum?”

Tao blinked again. “No a tank. Any way you’re here. Wait—how are you here?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pointed upward. “More importantly—look.”

He followed her gaze. Three fiery streaks tore across the sky, low and fast, glowing like missiles dragging tails of ash.

“There’s three of them,” he said, voice smaller now.

“And they’re not slowing down,” she added.

They stood still, dripping in the middle of the city, barefoot and blown out of space-time.

TingTing exhaled, sharp and tense. “Where’s Blossom?”

Tao opened his mouth, then paused. “…I don’t know.”

Over in Toronto the cousins didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need to. They’d been schooled by the best.

“Here she is, Ma,” one of them called out, already helping her out of the gear.

“Thank you, boys,” Grandma said as she stepped in. “Rearm the sensors, have the algos on scan.”

“We’ve got it,” one cousin replied. “Roster’s checked, Ma. You and Cuz chill.”

“Thank you, boys.”

She turned to Blossom, who could barely stand.

“I’ve run the bath. Bubbles galore. Go and soak. I’ll give you a call when dinner’s nearly ready. Go on now, baby.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Blossom whispered, her voice frayed but grateful.

Back in South Harbour City.

The apartment door clicked open. Tao and TingTing stepped inside, still damp, still barefoot, still trailing the faint scent of seaweed and ionized ozone.

Their mother looked up from the dining table, eyebrow raised. Their father leaned out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, grinning wide.

“Well?” Mum said, gesturing at their outfits. “Fancy dress in the harbour?”

Dad nodded approvingly. “Not bad, not bad. Bit dramatic on the exit though.”

TingTing blinked. Tao just stared. They were too exhausted to speak.

“Come on, you two,” Mum said, already setting out chopsticks. “Freshen up. We’ll wait.”

“Not too long,” Dad added, peering into the steamer. “Dim sum’s my favourite.”

TingTing and Tao stood there for a moment longer—blinking at the normalcy, the calm, the scent of roast pork buns and jasmine tea cutting through the chaos still ringing in their heads.

Tao leaned closer and whispered, “Do we tell them?”

TingTing shook her head. “Not yet.”

They padded down the hall, dripping and dazed, as if walking out of one world and back into another. Behind them, their parents laughed quietly at something on TV. Outside the windows, the sky was still streaked with light trails—slow, distant, and still falling.

Chapter 2: Failure Is Not an Option

Their hair swept the ground as eyes, propped open, followed Neptune-10—its strobes of blistering flashes pulsating, scanning, bouncing off the floor. Torsos thrust violently as the strobe burned its way upward, scanning every inch, locking in, zeroing out—heads turned into light bulbs, blinded by every pass. Coding seeped through, wrapping the bolts in glowing algorithms as they pierced hands and boots—tearing deeper with every convulsion. Their pants slipped, crumpling around bare legs, laces dangling upside down. Each of them shook, trembling mid-air, as Neptune-10 delivered failure’s consequences—relentless and exact.

From the shadows above, Trident watched, still and unreadable. The pulses from Neptune-10 lit his face in harsh intervals, but his expression never changed.

“You failed to win a girl,” he said, voice flat. “A simple girl. There isn’t any magic to it, fool.”

One of the operatives choked on his breath, Data-splatter running from his nose.

“I can fix it. I just need more time—please—I’m sorry,” Juno begged.

“I’m sorry,” Trident repeated mockingly, like reading from a tired script. “I can do it. It just takes time…”

He gave a nod. “Zap the turd.”

“No—wait—!Make the light pop out his eyes, but don’t kill him.”

The surge hit hard. His body snapped against the restraints, the steel frame shrieking under the torque as it bent inward.

Trident exhaled, unimpressed. “If anyone ever says sorry again, I’ll tear your head off and feed it to the system.”

He looked to the tech crew. “Cut the bolts. Let them drop.”

The clamps disengaged. Metal hit metal. Three shells fell like discarded hardware—bare legs twisted, arms outstretched, faces frozen in whatever they were thinking when the pain took them.

“That sound,” Trident murmured, stepping over the closest one, “will remind the others what failure really sounds like.”

From the haze of scorched polymer and twitching limbs, one of the operatives stirred—barely. His chest shuddered. A hand scraped across the floor, reaching toward a flickering comm pad bolted to a buckled wall.

Neptune-10 twitched. The hum in the room snapped to a higher pitch. Sparks flared across its casing. It had waited too long. It hated waiting. As the operative’s fingers brushed the panel, Neptune-10 surged forward—skimming the floor, already building charge. The message fired.

“B… Blossom… help us. It’s me. I do love you. Please… it’s—he’s—killing—”

Too slow. Neptune-10 lunged. The arc slammed through the operative’s outer frame. His back hit the floor with a crack, boots dragging deep, uneven grooves as his body skidded through spilled coolant. One of his laces caught fire. His fingers twitched once, then stilled.

The audio glitched. Then nothing.

Trident’s eyes followed the streak across the concrete.

“Cut the feed. Let it hang in open space,” he said. “If she hears it… she’ll come.”

Neptune-10 drifted sideways, still sparking—waiting. “Second chances, there are none just death. They fail, I kill them” Neptune 10 blurted out.

It was one of those hip-loc corridors where the holographic signage buzzed louder than the people. Above the noodle cart queue, a glitched-out fashion ad threw digital petals at anyone wearing red. Farther down, a finance AI projected trending crypto memes into the air, warping its accent to match whoever passed.

An elderly man muttered back at it. The AI bowed. Apologized. Tried again with a pitch about savings. He waved it off and walked on.

A schoolgirl passed next, her scroll open mid-call. The ad felt her hip-hop vibe—oversized tee, rhythm in her walk—and shifted instantly into a limited-edition bubble tea offer delivered by a holographic breakdancer. She laughed, stepped aside to snap a photo, and disappeared into the moving crowd. The signage adapted in real time—every face a new profile, every footstep a new opportunity. It never stopped talking.

But Blossom stood still. The system tried to engage her. Detected contrast. Silence. Stillness. It wrapped its interface in soft tones, low light, and a scripted whisper.

“You seem alone. Would you like a shared drink memory? Nearby matches active.”

She said nothing.

Behind her, another subject stepped into range. The ad recalculated.

“Take a seat. Your order will be beamed shortly—paid for by that handsome young man right behind you. Aren’t you lucky today?”

A stool shimmered beside her, rendered in soft gold light with just enough opacity to be convincing. Blossom didn’t sit. But she turned.

Juno stood just inside the edge of the projection zone. Not close. Not far. Hoodie zipped high, posture casual, hands visible. He raised one brow like the whole thing was out of his control.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You always send drinks first, or is this a tactical maneuver?”

“Thought it was subtle,” he said. “Didn’t realize the ad would flirt for me.”

Blossom didn’t smile. “Subtle doesn’t light up three city blocks with memory-sync requests.”

“Noted,” he said. “I’ll file a complaint with the AI.”

She stepped closer, just enough to pull his face into focus. “You said you’re not with Trident. That still true today?”

He tilted his head, playing like he had nothing to hide. “I freelance. Communications, sometimes logistics. I run clean.”

“Clean people don’t mask their signal origin.”

He tapped the air. “Security. It’s a mess out there.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged. “Would you believe me if I gave you one?”

“No,” she said, flat.

He studied her, lips twitching like he was about to pivot—but didn’t.

“You still chasing him?” Juno asked. “You know—that guy, Tao, is it?”

Her expression shifted just slightly.

“What do you want to know?”

“I just figured if you were risking your skin for someone, he’d be showing up more.”

Blossom inhaled slowly. The ad looped behind her, lowering its volume like it sensed it should stay quiet.

“He doesn’t know how,” she said at last. “Not yet.”

That surprised even her. Saying it out loud.

The operative blinked, once. Too slow to hide the flicker. She caught it.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, too fast.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s warm.”

“It’s winter.”

He laughed once under his breath, like he wanted to pivot again but had nowhere to run.

“If it helps,” he said finally, “I think you deserve better.”

“No,” she said. “You just want to be the one who shows up instead.”

He said nothing.

The stool pulsed beside them again, still waiting to be claimed.

“Shared orders available. Would you like to sync?”

Neither of them moved.

The stool flickered again beside her, then solidified with a quiet ping. Blossom didn’t sit. He did.

She stayed standing, watching the crowd flow past the ad space, the AI’s polite smile still cycling in soft gradients. A breeze rolled through the corridor, rattling a nearby stack of takeaway cups.

Then—his foot touched hers. Not by much. Just a bump under the shimmer of the ad’s projection. She didn’t react. Maybe she didn’t notice. Or maybe she was giving him rope.

He reached out slowly. His hand hovered halfway, then closed over hers—fingers light, thumb brushing just once.

He leaned in. “You don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know how to run,” Juno whispered.

She didn’t respond. Not in words. But her lip caught between her teeth. Just a moment. Just long enough. He squeezed her hand, not hard—just there.

Then the voice cut through—cracked, mid-breath, freaking between syllables.

“I got your—”

It was Tao. He stepped in fast, chest rising, eyes locked on the sight in front of him—Juno had his hands on Blossom. His girl.

Juno turned his head lazily—like Tao was just another extra in a scene he already owned.

“Excuse me, waiter?” Juno said, loud enough for both to hear. “Can I get another twister for my girl here?”

He grinned, squeezing Blossom’s hand—not painfully, just enough to claim. Tao’s mouth opened to speak. But the captor leaned in, smile gone.

“Sit, boy,” he said, calm and cold. “Or she dies.”

The chair hissed behind Tao—locking him down.

Blossom jerked, trying to break free. Her hand wouldn’t budge. The grip shifted, pulling her into a kiss. She twisted away—then froze as a whisper brushed her ear:

“I had to. The laser’s on his head. Snipers waiting. Not my call.”

Tao’s eyes widened. A kiss. His kiss.

Blossom’s breath caught. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—a faint red shimmer crawling up the side of Tao’s neck. A laser. A targeting laser.

High above, perched against the skeletal rim of a light tower, TingTing’s eyes narrowed. She tracked the line. Saw it painting her brother’s pulse point. She didn’t blink.

“Target one. Two. Three. Acquired.”

She moved. One silent flip, two rail-slide strides along the beam. The first sniper never heard the shot. The second turned just in time to see her boots. The third raised his rifle—only to find her standing over him, boot pressed to his throat.

“Don’t aim at my brother,” she said, and dropped him without another word.

…They ducked behind a vending rack as the walkway dissolved into screams and running footsteps. Lights flickered. The AI mascot above them flickered too—glitching mid-pose.

Then everything went wrong at once.

The holographic signage above STREET TEA X AI surged with static, overloaded by the crossfire. The projector popped. And suddenly, the street was flooded with a dozen writhing game-world overlays—exploding pixel dragons, bouncing health icons, dancing animated mascots, all fighting for dominance. A virtual boss fight screeched across the ad wall, blaring “SUDDEN RAID MODE!” in neon calligraphy.

People screamed. Some froze. Others started laughing—thinking it was some badly timed AR stunt.

In the middle of it all, Juno moved. Low. Quick. He tapped a street panel with his shoe and shouted just loud enough for Blossom to hear:

“They’ll think it’s a city glitch. Run with it!”

Then he was gone—absorbed by the flood of visual chaos, indistinguishable from the crowd, the projection, and the panic.

Down below, Blossom saw the beam vanish. She didn’t hesitate. She slammed into Tao’s chest, throwing him out of the chair and onto the ground just as the first retaliatory shot ripped through the hologram behind them. They hit the floor hard—Blossom on top of him, arms braced, hair in his face, their eyes locked tighter than their limbs.

For half a second, neither moved. Tao wasn’t in a hurry. He might’ve said something if another shot hadn’t blasted past his ear.

“Move!” Blossom shouted, rolling them sideways just as a third pulse exploded above their heads.

They ducked into cover as the walkway erupted into full sprint panic. Passersby scattered, AI ads blinked out, and a fire-suppression drone deployed itself late and useless.

Juno—was already running. Fast. Low.

TingTing landed beside them.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” Blossom muttered, already rising.

But her scroll buzzed. A new ping. She didn’t answer it fast enough.

Tao heard the tone. Noticed how she turned her screen away. Saw the flicker in her jaw.

“You’re still talking to him?” he asked, voice low and hot.

“I didn’t reply.”

“You didn’t block him either.”

She didn’t respond. And that said everything.

Tao stood there, fists clenched, breath shallow. He was angry—confused—but part of him was still stuck back there, on the ground, her body pressed to his, her heartbeat against his ribs. That flash of heat. The way her hair had fallen in his face. The way he hadn’t wanted to move.

He hated that he wanted it back. He hated that someone else knew how to steal it from him.

As for TingTing she was already moving. From her perch above the alley, she saw it first—a second sniper team, repositioning. Not just watching. Not tracking. Prepping a hit.

Then she saw him—Juno. He wasn’t escaping. He was leading them in.

She tapped her comm. “Tao—Blossom—get out now. It’s not over.”

No answer. Below, they were still arguing. Too close. Too loud.

TingTing cursed under her breath, then vaulted forward. Three quick leaps. One direct drop. She landed hard, eyes locked on the rooftop ledge ahead, where the snipers were loading microline charges into their scopes. She fired first. The recoil lit up the sky in a spiderweb of red.

Sniper one down. Two ducked. Three staggered into a signal repeater and vanished in blue static. But it wasn’t over. Not even close.

A sound split the sky. A hum like a screaming drone.

Then a shadow tore through the smog. Neptune-10. Sleek. Vengeful. Alive. It didn’t hesitate. It surged toward Juno—still mid-step, still reaching for another beacon, maybe to ping Blossom, maybe to ping someone worse.

A voice rang from the machine, harsh and final: “We don’t fail. I don’t fail to exterminate.”

Juno barely turned.

“This time,” Neptune-10 boomed, “you can’t squirm to Trident begging for a second chance.”

The blast hit him square in the chest as his core data flickered arcing fading then gone. He flew backward—nothing left but vapor and static.

The rest of the squad tried to run. They didn’t make it. Smoke. Silence. Ash lingered as one by one, clean, traceless blasts severed circuitry. “Second chances, there are none,” Neptune-10 muttered, voice glitching slightly, “ha.”

Then it drifted away, scanning for new orders.

TingTing stood frozen, heart hammering, boots crackling with scorched dust. Below, Blossom and Tao had stopped talking. The world had gone quiet again. But something between them had already broken. And it wasn’t going to be fixed with silence.

Above them, one of the damaged holographic billboards stuttered—then flared to life. Glitched petals fell across Tao’s shoulders. A corporate jingle cut out mid-note. Then a voice replaced it.

Trident’s voice. “Tao…”

His name rang clear and personal—warped through auto-tune and pixel static, but unmistakably real.

“I know you saw me blow Juno up.”

“And I know you were smiling inside.”

Tao flinched.

“You’re one of us, Tao. I felt it. That thrill. That moment of silence you liked too much. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“Second chances? That’s for them.”

The ad glitched again. The petals vanished.

“Join me.”

Then silence.

Tao stared up at the billboard, fists clenched. But what scared him most—was that Trident might not be wrong.

SideStory Street chronicle 🏮 — Dumpling Stall

Chapter 3: Mission Brief: Bounce or Break

Tao slammed the door to his room so hard the frame rattled. He grabbed the first thing in reach — his favorite old hover-drone. Dinged, cracked, hand-painted like a flying turtle when he was nine. The last relic of when bouncing felt easy. Felt fun.

He threw it. It slammed the wall. Pieces rained down in slow, traitorous arcs.

“NO!” Tao lunged, scooping up the broken shell, half-cursing, half-pleading. “You doofus. What a clown! Look what you did, Tao!”

He cradled the busted drone like it could heal if he just apologized hard enough. Then rage surged again. He threw it — harder — all the jagged bits. This time, they didn’t bounce. They just… landed. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Tao froze. He stared at the pieces. Then something lit behind his eyes. A furious, reckless spark.

“If they can land… so can I.”

Ten minutes later, Tao crept through the dark, barefoot and heartbeat loud. The garage lab door slid open with a hiss.

Inside: tools. Boards. Cables. And The Chip. Grandpa’s “do not touch without mission brief” chip. Still plugged into the clone rig. Still humming. Still tempting.

Tao’s hand shook. He yanked a blank drive from the shelf, slapped it into the duplicator, and prayed to every tech spirit he’d ever joked about.

Whirrrr — CLICK.

Clone complete.

Tao slipped it into his pocket and fled before the guilt alarms in his head could even catch up.

In his room, he rebuilt his shattered hover-drone. Frankensteined it back together with duct tape, stubbornness, and the cloned chip tucked inside its broken heart. He set it against the wall.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Mission Brief #1: Basic Launch Test.”

He threw a book at it. Nothing. He threw his school shoe. Nothing. He scowled, backed up, and sprinted — straight into it himself.

WHAM.

He bounced off the wall, knocking over a tower of textbooks, a lamp, and what felt suspiciously like his dignity.

“Oof — ow — owwwwch!”

The door creaked.

TingTing leaned in, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“You know,” she said, deadpan, “if you want to learn to Jump, you usually start with a mission brief. Otherwise, you’re just… jumping into a wall.”

Tao, sprawled under a fallen globe and a tangle of chargers, flashed a crooked grin. “Jump? Me? Nah. Who’d be dumb enough to—”

He caught her look. She didn’t look mad. She looked… worried.

“Don’t get yourself killed, baby bro,” she said, almost too quiet to hear. “Not for a wall.”

Then she left him there, buried and blinking.

The campaign began. Operation Learn or Burn.

At school, Tao cornered Mr. Zhao after Algebra.

“Sir? What’s… what’s this weird squiggly thing next to the motion vector?”

Mr. Zhao’s eyes lit up like a kid at a candy store.

“Ah! That’s a trajectory delta modifier!”

Tao scribbled notes furiously, nodding like he understood even half of it. Extra assignments? Yes please. Advanced physics prep? Bring it. By the end of the week, his grades were climbing like BYD mountain cruiser.

Mom and Dad beamed at every dinner.

“Tao! Highest in class!”

“Better than your sister at that age!”

Tao shot TingTing a smug little grin over his spring rolls.

TingTing narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t buying it.

Night after night, Tao wrote secret Mission Briefs. Test launches. Mini-bounces. Object flings.

Failure after failure after failure.

He fell off his bed. He cracked his mirror. He knocked a poster off the wall so many times he just left it curled on the floor.

One night, crouched under his desk, bruised and furious, he hissed, “Why can’t I just be good enough?”

He almost gave up. Almost. Instead, he clicked his pen.

“Mission continues.”

And then. Mission Brief #119.

Tao stood before the wall. His rebuilt drone — a sad, stubborn patchwork — glowed faintly. He placed one hand flat against it. Breath slow. Pulse steady. He ran. He flung himself forward.

Contact.

For half a heartbeat — he phased. He felt it. The field gripped him. Reality blurred—his bedroom walls stretched, warped, folding like wet glass. In the corner of his eye—a flicker. A creature, writhing. A figure loomed over it, laughing—tearing into it, dark and distorted.

Tao screamed too. Then something yanked him backward — so fast he couldn’t breathe. Darkness. He woke with a start — flat on his bed — still dressed. No broken walls. No busted drone. Just him. And the terrible, echoing memory.

Was it a dream? Did he pull himself back? Did someone — something — grab him? Tao sat up slowly. His heart still racing.

Outside the window, the stars pulsed cold and quiet. He clenched his fists, breathing hard.

“Mission Brief,” he whispered. “Protect everyone.”

Step one… survive the jump.

But Tao didn’t sleep after that. He sat up the rest of the night, every light in his room burning. His favorite hover-drone — the taped-together mess he rebuilt — he stuffed into a box. Then double-boxed it. Then duct-taped it three times over. Then shoved it into the back of his closet. Bags on top. Chair jammed against the door. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Just in case. Just in case what, Tao? he thought. The dark? The glitch? The thing you saw? Yourself? He didn’t know. He just… stayed. Shivering. Sweating. Flicking the light switch every few minutes just to make sure it still worked.

Somewhere past 3 a.m., Tao must’ve dozed off — head jammed against the wall, still in his clothes. The dream was worse this time. Darkness. A field of broken stars. A thing reaching. Twisting. Laughing. A hand — two hands? — grabbing his arm. One pulling forward — one pulling back. Then — a SNAP — and he woke, gasping. His room was dark. Lights off.

The closet door creaked open, bags spilled across the floor. Duct tape fluttered like dead flags. The box… the box tipped sideways, half-open. Something had been inside. Had been — or still was? Tao scrambled, heart hammering, fists punching the air, reaching for the wall switch — flickflickflickflick — nothing, nothing —BANG. The light roared back to life.

Tao stood there — chest heaving, skin cold.

The door opened. For one split second he thought — the thing! It’s coming for me!

But it wasn’t a monster. It was Grandpa Pa. Hair messy. Jacket half-buttoned. Old but solid.

Pa looked around at the chaos, scratched his head, and smiled faintly.

“Bit of a raccoon been through here, huh?” Pa said, voice soft like always. “They come through sometimes. From that side… or this side. Depends where they’re going.”

Tao couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move.

Pa limped over, lowered himself onto Tao’s bed with a sigh.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, like the world wasn’t burning down. “Little old. Little tired.”

Tao nodded, knees still locked.

Pa patted the mattress beside him.

“You know,” he said, “trying’s what gets you there. Heart’s what keeps you alive. Courage gets you back.”

Tao swallowed hard. “Courage, Pa?”

Pa smiled a little. Not all the way. “It’s a leap of faith, son. Would you jump into the sun if your life, and theirs, depended on it,”

Tao opened his mouth. Closed it.

Pa shrugged. “Most wouldn’t,” he said. “I wouldn’t. Not unless—”

He trailed off. Tao leaned in without meaning to.

“Unless what?”

Pa smiled again. This time, tired and warm all at once.

“Unless I knew my bestest mates were waiting on the other side.”

He stood, bones creaking, and ruffled Tao’s hair.

“Come on, champ. Let’s get moving. Your mum made some fresh buns. Hot tea’s up. Then we’ll see about finding that raccoon.”

Tao followed, still half-scared, yet somehow no longer feeling alone. Maybe courage wasn’t something you packed beforehand, he thought. Maybe it was the thing that caught you mid-air.

He sat numbly on his bed, the forgotten buns beside him, his tea long cold on the floorboards. The light flickered again. He tensed—but the door remained shut.

Then… a sound? Scritch-scratch. Shuffle. Sniff.

He leaned forward, peering into the dimness. From behind a collapsed pile of storage bags, a small raccoon poked its head out. Grey fur, sharp bright eyes, a nose twitching, as if assessing the snack potential of the room.

Tao exhaled the breath he’d been holding in a shaky rush. Just a raccoon. A surprisingly large one, maybe, but just—

Then it spoke.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, pal!” Raccoon yelped, throwing up tiny paws as if facing arrest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Tao screamed.

Raccoon screamed, a high-pitched chittering shriek.

Both bolted—Tao scrambling backward over his bed, raccoon scrabbling halfway up the wall before dropping with a soft thud. Silence, save for their ragged breathing. They stared at each other.

Tao’s mouth opened and closed, soundless.

Raccoon puffed itself up, meticulously straightening its fur with both paws like smoothing a non-existent tuxedo. “Geez, kid. Relax.” It huffed. “Never seen a talking raccoon before? What—you think we can’t talk? That we’re not piloting tiny spaceships when you’re not looking? Guardians of the Galaxy, ring a bell? Hello?”

It gave a theatrical spin, wiggling its paws near its face like tiny jazz hands. “Someone’s gotta teach the squirrels astrophysics, duh.”

Tao managed a strangled gasp.

Raccoon ignored him, miming putting on a helmet and taking slow, wobbly steps. “Houston, we have a problem!” it squeaked in a terrible impression. “We appear to have one seriously freaked-out Earthling!” It spun again, tripping dramatically over a stack of Tao’s homework, sending papers fluttering like confetti.

Tao remained frozen, caught somewhere between a scream, a laugh, and a full-blown existential crisis. He blinked hard, three times. Maybe he should call Grandpa. Maybe he should just hit himself with the tea kettle.

“Are you… are you part of the jump?” he finally whispered.

Raccoon—Skid, apparently—tilted his head, suddenly serious. “Kid, what do you think this is?” He hopped onto the edge of Tao’s desk, tail twitching. “Some neat little hopscotch game? Pfft. The jump ain’t a crosswalk, pal. It’s everything. The cracks in the pavement, the doors that stick, the awkward silences at family dinners. It’s the moments you can’t tell if you’re dreaming or drowning.”

It leaned closer, its bright eyes fixing on Tao. “And you? You’ve already jumped. You just haven’t landed yet.”

Tao’s heart hammered against his ribs. Landed where?

“What’s on the other side?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Raccoon offered a smile that seemed a fraction too wide, showing tiny, sharp teeth. “You’ll find out. Or you won’t. Depends who’s pulling the strings.”

A chill traced its way down Tao’s spine.

Skid’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s always someone pulling the strings.”

The lamp flickered violently. The closet door creaked open another inch, revealing deeper darkness within.

Tao swallowed hard, his fists clenching. Dream or not, real or not… he wasn’t staying here. He wasn’t getting left behind.

He took a breath, meeting raccoon’s unsettlingly intelligent gaze. “Okay,” Tao said, his voice surprisingly steady. “Show me.”

Raccoon grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. “Attaboy.”

Then the floor tilted, the walls seemed to breathe, and the room didn’t just fold—it shattered. Adrenaline surged through Tao. He was doing it. Covert, clandestine—just like his Mission Brief (wherever that had come from). Skid—the talking raccoon, Tao reminded himself—darted ahead through crumbling corridors and shadows that seemed too deep, a tiny, furry commando leading the way.

“Hey, fun fact!” Skid called back over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “Get hit out here, you don’t just die. You get… reformatted. Like cosmic spam.”

Tao stumbled. “WHAT?!”

“Yeah! Bang, splat, data-splatter—yadda yadda.” Skid flicked an ear. “Look, I’m logistics, not tech support! Point is, no going back now.”

Tao skidded to a halt, chest heaving. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE CAN’T GO BACK?”

Skid glanced back, utterly casual. “Says who? I’m just raccoon, man. Didn’t you read the fine print?” He paused, adding cheerfully, “Oh, and said fine print absolves me of all liability for damages, physical, emotional, or existential.”

Tao choked.

“Come on!” Skid whooped, already moving again. “Might as well lean into it! Shape the mission, maybe see home again!”

Up ahead, the world exploded. Not just sound, but light, pressure, chaos. Shards of… something… zipped through the air like angry wasps.

Skid slapped Tao’s back, hard. “Your turn! Mission Brief, section 3, paragraph 7!” Before Tao could process, Skid shoved him forward— “GO, KID, GO! MOVE! MOVE! GET DOWN!”

Tao scrambled, instinct taking over. Diving, ducking, rolling as detonations rattled his teeth and those razor-sharp shards sliced the air where he’d been moments before.

“GET UP! MOVE! LEFT! COVER!” Skid’s voice was a manic beacon in the storm.

It was terrifying. Insane. And, disturbingly… exhilarating. He leaped, rolled, sprinted under fire, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, too loud to think. Finally—finally—they collapsed behind a fractured, sparking wall. Tao lay there, gasping, a wild, shaky grin spreading across his face despite himself.

“Wow,” he panted. “That was… that was…”

He turned to Skid—and froze. Darts. Six of them, embedded in raccoon’s furry face. One in each cheek. One through his lip. One perilously close to his eye.

Tao blinked, feeling suddenly cross-eyed himself.

Skid tilted his head, regarding Tao with one bright, dart-free eye. “Yeahhh,” he mumbled around the dart skewering his lip. “Delayed neurotoxin. Fun stuff. Gives you a few minutes before the pink walruses show up. Lucky you, eh?”

Tao groaned, staggering slightly as he pushed himself up.

Skid patted his knee consolingly. “Hey, we made it! Take five. Hold the fort.”

“What? Where are you going?” Tao asked, bewildered.

Skid flashed that too-wide grin. “Special recon. Priority chow acquisition. Back in a flash.”

He scampered off, vanishing instantly into the swirling debris and flickering light.

Tao wiped at his own face, felt a sting, winced. He reached for one of the darts in Skid’s face, then thought better of it. His head swam. Pink walruses?

Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy.

A shadow stretched, eclipsing the chaotic light filtering through the wreckage.

Tao looked up. And his breath hitched.

Trident stood over him, an unnerving smile playing on his lips—a smile that was equal parts mockery and twisted welcome.

“Welcome to my world, Tao,” Trident’s voice slithered, smooth as oil on broken glass. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Tao couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

From the rubble, Skid popped his head up — just in time to squeal in terror.

Trident stepped casually on Skid’s tail. Raccoon yowled. Without a blink, Trident grabbed raccoon by the scruff, smiled wide, and slammed it into the wall — hard. Skid screamed. Trident laughed — the same cold laugh Tao had heard before, deep in the glitch. Tao’s whole body locked in terror.

Trident tossed the broken raccoon aside like garbage.

“Talking raccoons,” Trident mused. “Still useless.”

He turned back to Tao, smile curling wider.

“BOO,” he said, and Tao flinched so hard he nearly fell over. “You, kid,” Trident whispered, crouching to Tao’s level, “you are mine now.” Tao shook his head, fists clenched, trying to block him out, but Trident’s voice dug in.

“Try to run. Try to hide. Block me if you can,” Trident crooned. “But know this — death has many thresholds. And you will feel them all.”

With a final, effortless shove, he threw Tao — hard — into the same wall. Pain exploded through Tao’s ribs, his head slamming into something sharp — something real.

CRACK.

Tao rolled out of the closet in his own bedroom, tangled in bags and broken duct tape. The light snapped on.

TingTing burst in, wide-eyed. She saw Tao on the floor, dazed, crumpled, covered in dust and… was that Data-splatter

“What have you been up to, Tao?”

He tried to sit up, muttered, “Nothing… nothing… I said nothing…”

She kicked a half-crushed box and gasped. Then stared at his face. The darts. The fur.

She pointed. “Is that…? And is that fur?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t…”

She took a step back, horrified. “You did.”

Chapter 4: When Courage Burns

Pa picked at a dumpling with his chopsticks, squinting across the crowded mainland street like he was chasing a memory. Steam ghosted up from bamboo baskets; the vendor’s bell dinged with every fresh tray, and red paper lanterns trembled in a heat-soaked breeze like they were alive.

Ma caught Pa’s look and laughed quietly into her tea. “Don’t challenge the ancestors with those eyebrows,” she said. “They’ll throw a soy bottle at you from the other side.”

TingTing noticed, leaned in. “What’s up, Ma?”

Ma smiled, eyes crinkling. “Your Pa’s been talking with Po again. That panda still loves dumplings more than breathing.”

They chuckled, the sound warm and easy between them. Thrum of scooters. A busker kneaded melody out of a two-string erhu somewhere down the lane, and its thin silver thread found its way through the stall’s noise and oil-scented air.

Pa just shrugged, plopping a dumpling into his mouth with exaggerated slowness—like a panda on break. He chewed with ceremony, eyes half-closed, then nodded once: acceptable to the gods and pandas alike.

Tao snorted into his noodles.

TingTing smirked. “Figures. If anyone could distract you from a Jump, it’d be dumplings.”

Ma winked. “Or a panda with better snacks.”

They laughed again, the kind of laughter that said they had seen storms, survived them—and still found joy here, now, under mainland skies. The laughter that made Tao ache, just a little, because it came so easily to them and felt so far from him.

He leaned over the table, dumpling halfway to his mouth, eyes wide. “Jump? Wait… youse—” He stumbled over the words, cheeks burning. “Are youse… masters, Ma? Please… Ma? Are youse?”

He didn’t even notice his grammar slipping. Didn’t care. He needed to know if the pressure in his bones meant anything, if the flickers behind his eyes were a language he could learn to read.

Ma set her tea down slowly, her eyes meeting his across the table. “Who told you that word, little rabbit?” she said, voice soft but sharp.

Tao swallowed hard. “Nobody. I just… I saw something. I felt something. I—”

Pa chuckled into his cup without looking up. “You saw your own stubbornness trying to outrun your feet.”

TingTing elbowed Tao under the table, hard, as if to say: stop poking the snake; let the snake sleep.

Ma didn’t laugh. She studied Tao like she could see right through the cracked hover-drone parts still lodged in his soul—the scorched places he hid under jokes and speed. The wind shifted, stirring soy and star anise and street dust across their table.

Finally, she smiled—not happy, but sad. “Masters?” she said. “No. Survivors.”

Pa nodded, a slow, heavy nod. “Big difference, kid. A master looks clean at the finish line. A survivor crawls across it, broken bones and all.”

Tao’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know if it was relief or disappointment. Maybe both.

A shadow fell over their table. Grandma appeared behind them, silent and sudden, like a memory folding itself into the present. She tapped the dumpling plate lightly with a knuckle.

“Come,” she said. “It’s time.”

Tao’s heart thudded so loud he could barely hear her words. “Time for what?” he croaked.

Grandma smiled—a slow, secret smile that smelled of stars and old oceans. “To see why we jump,” she said. “And why sometimes… we fall.”

They left the dumpling stall behind, weaving through the busy mainland streets as night fell like a slow curtain. Market lights woke one by one; a drone flitted overhead, playing a municipal lullaby to remind people to recycle. Tao kept glancing at Grandma and Pa. They looked… different now. Not older. Not weaker. Heavier. Like they carried whole worlds inside them, tucked between their bones and pressed to their ribs so those worlds wouldn’t rattle.

Somewhere behind them, a chair scraped. A half-finished bowl of noodles shifted mysteriously to the edge of the table they’d just vacated.

Raccoon.

He had a pair of dark glasses balanced halfway down his snout, a battered fedora pulled low, and his collar popped so high it was a miracle he could see at all. No coat. No reason. Just there. He moved like a wannabe spy in a street play only he had auditioned for.

He ducked into doorways, dashed between produce stalls, then reappeared, chewing something he hadn’t paid for. Once, Tao caught him speaking into his tail like it was a radio mic. “Target is mobile. Repeat, mobile. Currently flanked by tall unit and star-smelling unit. Over.”

Tao almost laughed—almost—but Raccoon saw him looking and mimed zipping his lips, then gave him a small two-finger salute before vanishing again into the crowd.

Grandma led them down an alley that didn’t seem to be there a second ago—thin as a secret, lined with brick damp from a heat that hadn’t rained. A quiet place. A breathing space between the noise. He wouldn’t have found it without her. Maybe it wouldn’t exist without her.

At the end stood a small, broken archway. No lights. No signs. Just an old stone carved with faint lines that shimmered if you didn’t stare directly at them. Someone had burned joss sticks here once; ghost-ash lined a cracked saucer at the base.

Tao’s mouth went dry. TingTing brushed his hand without looking at him. Just a quick, silent squeeze. He squeezed back like it was a ledge and he was clinging to it.

“Stand here,” Grandma said, placing them all around a weathered circle on the ground. Pa’s boots scuffed into the chalk lines. TingTing squared up like a sprinter. Tao tried not to shake.

Pa pulled out a cracked compass, its glass spidered like a web. He held it like a relic, not a tool.

Ma set down a tiny jade carving—the Jade Star itself—worn smooth by generations of hands. Tao had held it as a kid, once, and it had hummed like a bee between his fingers. Now it looked quiet. Sleeping.

“Sync,” Grandma said.

Tao frowned. “How do I—”

“Don’t think,” Ma murmured. “Breathe.”

So Tao breathed. Slow. Deep. The world tilted around him, like he was on a boat that hadn’t decided yet whether to throw him overboard.

He felt Ma’s heartbeat. Pa’s. TingTing’s. Grandma’s, steady as a mountain. Then—his own. All of them, falling into rhythm as if a drummer somewhere had finally found the downbeat they’d been missing since birth.

The compass spun once. The Jade Star glowed a soft, trembling green.

The air grew thick, humming against his skin. The ground under his shoes flickered—there and not-there.

Tao staggered.

Grandma reached out, steadying him without a word.

“You asked if we were masters,” she said quietly. “We are not.”

The light coiled tighter, pulling them inward, weaving them together like threads in a hand that meant to tie a knot hard and unbreakable.

“We are scars stitched into new shapes,” Pa said, voice low.

“We are the memory of falling,” Ma whispered.

“We are the ones who chose to Jump anyway,” Grandma finished.

Somewhere behind Tao, the faint sound of slurping stopped.

Raccoon stood just outside the circle, still in his dark glasses and fedora, tail curled up like a question mark. He’d followed them out of habit; now his head tilted, ears twitching at Pa’s words as if they’d struck something deep in him he didn’t have a name for.

The circle beneath them split open.

“Whoa—” Raccoon’s voice caught mid-syllable as the ground peeled away. He lunged forward without thinking—either to grab Tao or to get a better look—and the current took him too.

A white river tore the street apart—but silently, almost gently. It didn’t roar. It decided.

And the Jade Star pulled them down.

At first, there was only pressure. Deep ocean weight, flat and absolute, squeezing his bones and ironing his lungs into something too small to carry air. Tao tried to shout—or thought he did—but no sound came out. Just a pulse in his ears, steady and slow, like the world’s own heartbeat. Somewhere close by, a muffled mrrmph! suggested Raccoon was not enjoying the sensation.

Then—a breath.

The world snapped into place.

He stumbled forward, boots hitting cracked, battered metal. Not city. Not stone. Deck.

The air smelled scorched. Ozone. Burnt oil. Bitter things older than memory, the kind of ruin that lives in your teeth long after you leave.

The sky overhead wasn’t a sky—it was a torn canvas, stitched by lightning that never touched the ground. Strips of cloud ripped across it like flags in a wind that had a grudge.

The deck creaked beneath them—a battered slope of jagged plates and half-sunken anchors. A mast lay broken, pointing nowhere. A nameplate had blistered and peeled to unreadable.

Raccoon hauled himself upright near a jagged cleat, glasses crooked, fedora hanging by a thread. “You people,” he muttered, looking around with wide, unsettled eyes. “This isn’t lunch.”

Ahead—two figures fought the tide itself. Grandma and Pa, younger, faster, bleeding, holding a line that kept sliding backward. Pa drove a snapped spear until his knuckles split. Grandma’s staff burned green and mean, every strike tearing a hole in the swarm before the next wave filled it. Not elegant. Not ceremonial. Dirty and necessary and close.

Tao’s gut knotted. Not a story. Not a legend. Losing.

“You’ll remember… when it’s time.”

“Tao—” TingTing didn’t finish. She was already moving. Boots hit warped steel. She meant to reach them. She always meant to reach them.

Ma’s head snapped up. “Pa—feel that?”

“Crosscurrent,” he said, jaw tight. “Not ours.”

The air flexed. The hairs on Tao’s arms lifted like grass before lightning touches it. The deck tilted a fraction, then steadied like it had thought better of falling apart.

TingTing leapt again—almost at Ma’s shoulder now—when the storm tore sideways.

The battlefield peeled away mid-scream, as if a hand had yanked the scene by its spine. Edges shredded. Colors inverted. Sound turned into pressure. All of them went with it—Ma reaching, Pa bracing, TingTing straining forward—Tao thrown backward, weightless—

Sand. Salt. Silence.

Tao slammed onto wet grit, coughing ocean through a throat that disagreed with water. He rolled to his side, spitting brine, eyes stinging. A rust-scabbed submarine loomed at an angle up the beach, bow buried, stern pointing at a bruised horizon. It looked like it had lost an argument with the sea and the sea hadn’t stopped gloating about it.

The sea hissed around it, then retreated like it knew better. Foam clawed at the sand and slurped back, leaving lines like a giant had taken notes with its finger.

TingTing erupted from the shallows, furious and shaking. “I had them.”

“No,” Ma said, scanning the shoreline as if the shore might bite. “It had us.”

Pa listened to the wind the way old sailors listen for trouble. He got very still, the way animals do when they hear something humans aren’t built for. “Something reached through the pull,” he said. “Took hold.”

Tao tasted metal on his tongue. The same wrong glitter he’d felt the night he’d almost Jumped through his closet door into darkness-that-laughed. He said nothing. The word sorry stood up in his throat and refused to step forward.

They climbed into the tilted hull. Inside, the floor was a wall and the wall was a floor; every step rang too loud in the cramped metal throat of the sub. Salt hung thick. Ropes of seaweed dripped from ladder rungs. Old depth gauges jittered, as if remembering how to breathe after too long underwater.

Ma’s palm skimmed the bulkhead, reading dents and heat-blued scars like braille. “This isn’t just wreckage.”

Pa paused at a shallow carving near a rivet line—four strokes, a star’s ghost—faded familiar. He didn’t speak, but his mouth tightened. Grandma looked, said nothing, and that nothing had the weight of a story nobody wanted to carry in their mouth.

A slow, regular click echoed through the sub: pause, click. Not metal settling. Not the tide. It moved through Tao’s bones like a metronome buried inside the hull.

“Forward compartment,” Pa said.

They moved fast, the tide sloshing at their ankles, then shins. The corridor ahead had shifted sideways; lockers were teeth, a fallen pipe the jaw. Tao brushed a pressure door and felt grooves where nails had clawed once. He pulled his hand back, fingers tingling like the metal had whispered a name he didn’t want.

The click grew louder. The sub’s tilt changed by a degree too many; everyone felt it and no one said it. Somewhere aft, something clanged and then didn’t again.

They reached a junction and split without meaning to—Pa and Tao ahead to the wheel, TingTing and Ma skirting a fallen ladder toward a lower hatch where the click synced with the roll of water. The sub moaned. Time narrowed.

“Stay light,” Pa warned, which meant any wrong weight and the sea will finish its thought.

Tao rounded the last corner, skidding into a tilted vestibule. The wheel was there, red once, now the color of a dried wound. He grabbed it. It didn’t care. He put his back into it. It grinned and didn’t move.

“On three,” Pa said, bracing beside him. “One—two—”

They heaved. The wheel budged a centimeter, like pity.

The water surged. A voice carried through the narrow viewing slot in the bulkhead—flat with control, not panic.

“Go,” Ma said. “Back. Now.”

Tao’s heart snapped. Through the slot: Ma, water to her waist, face set in that precise, surgical calm she owned when chaos tried to negotiate with her. Behind her: another hatch, half-closed, half-crushed. TingTing was beyond it, one boot jammed in a rung, hand outstretched into a space too small for the hand she was trying to grab.

“Ma!” Tao slammed his shoulder against the hatch. “Hold on—hold on—”

He and Pa heaved. The gap gave another inch. The sub groaned, a hurt animal deciding whether to bite.

“Go,” Ma repeated, softer, like it was only for him. “This is a one-person exit. Don’t waste it arguing.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Tao roared, voice tearing. He shoved his arm through the narrowing space until the metal bit him. Cold water seized his wrist like a live thing. He found her hand. He locked his fingers. He gripped until his knuckles howled.

Something bobbed up between them and the ceiling — a slick head, grey fur plastered flat, whiskers dripping. Raccoon. He shook the water from his eyes like he’d just woken from a nap.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he said, tail swirling in the rising current. “You people. Always picking the worst places to drown.”

Before Tao could speak, Raccoon’s paws flashed out — one on Tao’s collar, one on Ma’s wrist. “Group trip,” he muttered. “Hold your breath.”

The water surged, the light bent, and all at once the submarine, the hatch, Ma’s slipping fingers — all of it — dropped away into a whirl of black and green.

On the other side of the metal, TingTing shouted something that sounded like his name and a command in one breath. The sea answered with a heave.

The water climbed to Ma’s chest. Her chin. She stayed very still to keep from wasting air she might need if the world decided to be kind for just one second.

“Tao,” she said, and two syllables became a story. “Look at me.”

He did, because he couldn’t stop even if the ocean had ordered him not to. Her eyes were very dark. Very alive.

“You’ll remember,” she said. “When it’s time.”

The sub shifted. The floor bucked. The wheel snapped forward. The gap pinched. Her hand started to slide out of his, fingers slick, skin colder than the word no

SideStory Emotional arc 💍 — Jewelry

Chapter 5: A Different Kind of Silence

…Tao’s world went white—

The return was not a landing but a cessation of chaos. One moment, there was the metallic groan of a dying submarine and a roaring torrent of seawater; the next, there was only the hum of a suburban hall light and the silent tick of water dripping from their clothes. The silence was the worst part, a stark reminder of the noise that had just been. It was the sound of a world that had almost ended, and the terror of not knowing why it hadn’t. He yelled and pulled with everything he had left that wasn’t nailed to the word mother.

Just fingertips now.

Then nothing.

The hatch slammed with a finality that felt like a sentence pronounced by an indifferent judge. The compartment beyond filled with a roar of water and grinding steel that went straight into his teeth.

Tao’s world went white—

—light and motion and pressure, the taste of salt and wire, the scream in his chest turning into a shove—

—and he was standing barefoot outside their home, dripping, lungs burning so hard he thought his ribs had splinters.

He bent double and vomited seawater onto the tiles.

The others appeared around him like the world was restacking them in the right order: Pa on one knee, bracing as if the ground might tip again; TingTing collapsing to sit, fists closed so tight her knuckles were the color of teeth; Grandma straightening slowly, one hand on the doorframe, her face a storm someone had decided not to name.

“Ma!” Tao spun hard enough to hurt his spine.

She was there under the awning, hair plastered to her face, smile faint and impossible. Her breath was ragged but hers. Her cheeks were the wrong color for a second, then the right one again, like the world was deciding to let blood go where it should.

“How—” Tao started, then couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“For what?” she asked, as if they’d only come back from groceries and he’d forgotten to carry a bag.

“We’re… we’re back,” he managed. The hall light hummed. Water dripped from his sleeves, a steady ticking that turned the moment into a metronome.

She stepped close and brushed wet hair from his forehead, thumb warm, real. The marks on his wrist where the hatch had bit him looked like a bracelet someone mean had made. She glanced at them, not long, not short.

“You’ll remember,” she said softly, almost kindly. “When it’s time… fight for more than yourself.”

Then she walked inside without another word, not because she didn’t have more to say but because the words would mean less said now than when he earned them. The door sighed shut behind her like a relieved lung.

Tao stood in the doorway, dripping, the image of her slipping hand burned so deep it hurt to blink. Behind him, Pa wrung out his cuff and stared at nothing in particular, which meant he was seeing a thousand particulars the rest of them weren’t invited to. TingTing remained very still, like motion might break the thin skin that kept everything from spilling. Grandma turned the cracked compass over once, listening to something only she could hear—perhaps the echo of that crosscurrent that “wasn’t ours,” the ghost of a pull with a name they weren’t ready to say.

The night smelled like rain that never arrived. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled without deciding to visit. A scooter hissed by on the avenue and splashed through a puddle no one remembered forming.

Tao looked down at his hands. They shook on their own. The crescents of his nails were packed with rust he hadn’t touched and grit from a beach he hadn’t walked on. The skin across his knuckles had split. He closed his fingers and the split said hello again.

He tried to swallow and couldn’t. Tried again and did, barely. The taste in his mouth didn’t change.

TingTing rose slowly, the ocean still in her fists. “You heard her,” she said, voice like a board that had warped and then made peace with its new shape. “You remember… when it’s time.”

He nodded, because nodding was a thing his head could do without exploding. She stepped past him toward the door. Pa followed, slower, as if each step had to speak respectfully to the ground it landed on. Grandma was last, and when she passed, she paused, her palm hovering at the center of his chest without touching.

“It’s loud right now,” she murmured, not asking. “Let it ring. Don’t talk over it.”

Then she went in too.

Alone in the hall, Tao exhaled a breath that felt older than he was. The fluorescent light above him buzzed a thin wasp-line into the quiet. Water pooled around his feet, made maps that meant nothing and everything.

He looked at the door. He thought about knocking. He didn’t.

He looked at his hands again. He thought about how they had closed and not been enough. He closed them now and felt the echo of the hatch, the echo of her fingers, the echo of the word go said by someone who had never meant leave me and always meant live.

Outside, the city continued its million private mercies and a million petty cruelties—buses running late, noodles overcooked, a kid losing a shoe to a prank that would be funny later and mean now. Somewhere, fireworks did a slow, uncertain cough, like a memory trying to be bright and not quite making it.

Tao stepped out of his soaked shoes and left them by the mat the way Ma liked, toes pointed toward the wall, neat, obedient. He set his palms against the doorframe where she had leaned two minutes ago and felt the warmth still there. It slid into his hands like a promise that wasn’t words yet.

He went inside. The house smelled like jasmine and sea and something electrical that wasn’t sure it had permission to be here. From the kitchen, a kettle clicked off and on as if deciding. TingTing had set a towel on the chair he always took; the towel had a frayed edge where she’d picked it last month during a fight about something neither of them remembered now.

He sat. He didn’t dry off. He just sat and let the water leave him on its schedule, not his.

Pa moved about quietly, the way big men learn to move in small spaces after enough years of loving people who sleep light. Grandma wiped the compass with a cloth too soft for anything else, her mouth shaping a tune that didn’t believe in words.

Ma came back down the hall in a clean shirt, hair braided damp over one shoulder, eyes steady. She did not look like a woman who had been under a sea and decided to return. She looked like Ma. Which was worse, and better, and exactly right.

She poured tea. She set a cup in front of Tao and another in front of the empty chair next to him, then changed her mind and moved the second cup to her place, because empty chairs shouldn’t be invited to drink. She sat. She didn’t force the first sip into a ritual. She waited.

Tao reached for his cup. His hand shook once, small as a sigh. The porcelain was hot enough to announce itself and not enough to burn. He breathed the steam—jasmine, clean, old. He thought of the sub’s click, the way it had timed itself to his fear, and how the sound was still there, quiet now, tucked under the tea’s warmth, a reminder rather than a threat.

“Tomorrow,” Ma said, and the word lay flat and ordinary on the table. “We do ordinary things.”

Pa nodded. “I fix the fan in the back room.”

Grandma: “I will not go to the market and I will come back with three things we did not need.”

TingTing: “I’ll beat Tao to the corner and back.”

Tao tried to smile. It worked on one side of his mouth, which was both a start and a joke he could tell himself later.

“Tonight,” Ma added, “we sleep.”

No one argued because someone needed to be obeyed and she was always the right someone when seconds mattered and hours pretended they didn’t.

They did not speak of the wreck, or the battlefield that had turned its face away, or the feeling that the Jump had not been a jump so much as a hand that had pulled them by name. They did not speak of the four-stroke star carved into the sub’s ribs or how it matched, nearly, the old emblem Ma kept in a tin in the drawer with rubber bands and takeout menus. They did not ask who had carved it, or why the click had known how to find their bones.

They would ask later. They would fight later. They would bleed later. Later is a room with a door that sometimes opens on its own.

For now, Tao drank his tea. It went down like heat remembering where to settle. His hands steadied. The buzzing light surrendered to silence. Outside, a cat yowled, changed its mind, and forgave the night for being what it was.

When he finally stood, the towel TingTing had left was dry at one corner. He took it. He dried his face with the dry part, then the wet part, because that was the order the world offered and he accepted it.

A wet plop hit the hallway tiles. Tao turned.

Raccoon was there—fur slicked flat, tail limp, eyes glittering like he’d just survived the end of the world and found it slightly underwhelming. He gave Tao the once-over, sniffed, and grinned in that sideways, self-satisfied way.

“Enjoy the swim?” he asked, wringing his tail like a dishrag. “Deserted islands, coconut trees, rusted submarines—real vacation vibes. You keep leaving your friends and family stranded like that, maybe next time remember to look for Raccoon.”

He flicked a spray of water onto Tao’s bare feet, shook himself once like a dog, and padded off down the hall, leaving a trail of little wet paw prints that didn’t seem to care about the floor.

In his room, Tao shut the door softly. He didn’t turn on the brightest lamp. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands again as if they were an instrument he’d just been issued and didn’t know how to tune. He wasn’t sure if they were strong enough. He wasn’t sure if he was. But the image of Ma’s hand, slipping, had written something on the inside of his eyelids, and he knew he’d read it again the next time everything tried to take more than it gave.

He lay back without meaning to. The ceiling sent its hairline cracks across his vision like a map with lines that didn’t meet where you thought they should. He closed his eyes and saw the hatch; opened them and saw the ceiling; closed them and saw the hand; opened, ceiling; closed, hand. Somewhere between the two, he slept.

The last thing he felt before it took him was the tea’s warmth, settling where the cold had been, and a steady tick under that warmth—quiet, relentless, patient—as if a metronome buried in steel had decided to keep time for him until he could keep it for himself.

And when the house settled, as houses do when they approve of who is inside them, the night outside finally let go of the thunder it had been hoarding. It rolled past, low and satisfied, and didn’t look back.

Chapter 6: Shattered

The world didn’t end.

It just… moved on without him.

Tao slumped in the back in his seat, bruises stiffening under his uniform. A paper ball bounced off his ear. He didn’t even flinch. Behind him, the boys were waging a full-scale pen war, flicking rubber bands and laughter around like grenades.

Mr. Zhao glanced in Tao’s direction. “Do raccoons fly?”

Then, without missing a beat, he launched into a full-blown physics lecture that dropped jaws and made eyes bulge.

Tao stared at his desk. Normal. Everything was normal. Except maybe him.

After school, Tao dodged out the side gate. He spotted TingTing up ahead—stretching, scanning the crowd like she was looking for something. Then she pointed—straight toward him.

Tao ducked fast behind a group of noisy boys. Nah. She wouldn’t talk to him all day. She hadn’t even looked at him when it mattered.

I don’t want to see her, Tao told himself. I’ve got a date to get to anyway.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, head down, and let the crowd swallow him. He wandered until he ended up at the noodle shop’s free Wi-Fi zone, scrolling TikTok half-blind.

“PenPal Challenge — Find your Sky Mate!”

He rolled his eyes. Dumb. He tapped it anyway. A loading screen spun. Random matches popped up—usernames flashing past like thrown cards—until one stuck.

@Blossom_Wild.

Profile picture: a smirking girl with messy hair, tilting a half-eaten mooncake at the camera.

“You look like you got hit by a dumpster. In a good way,” read the first message.

Tao stared. Then snorted. Then messaged back before he could stop himself.

“You look like you ate the mooncake and regretted it instantly,” he typed.

A beat. Then a laughing emoji flood.

Tao grinned so hard his face hurt.

Over the next few days, they messaged like wildfire—stupid memes, dares, late-night TikToks of Tao trying to do handstands and falling into laundry baskets.

She called him “SkyKid.” He called her “Moonwreck.” He didn’t even care how dumb it was. She was brilliant. Sharp. Fast. Like she was always running just a little ahead of him and daring him to catch up. And for once, Tao thought maybe—maybe—he wasn’t the slow one.

They planned a meet-up. Dumpling stand, after school. Simple. Easy.

Tao wore his cleanest sneakers. Tried to gel his hair. Scrubbed his elbows, just in case. He double-checked his reflection in the window of the noodle shop. Hair almost good. Shirt almost straight. He almost felt… okay.

Then the boys from school rounded the corner, laughing too loud.

“Yo, Tao!” one of them yelled, spotting him. “Looking fresh, bro! What’s the occasion?”

Before Tao could dodge, they swooped in—one of them ruffling his hair on purpose, the others hooting.

“Aww, he’s going on a date! Lover boy!”

“Wait, who’d say yes to that face?”

“Loser!”

Tao tried to laugh it off, slapping their hands away, but it was too late. His hair stuck up in five different directions. His cheeks burned. They shoved past, still laughing.

He stood there a second longer, fists clenching. Fixed his shirt. Smoothed his hair again. Pretended it didn’t matter. Then he crossed the street to wait. He got there early. Waited. And waited. And waited.

His phone buzzed.

Blossom: “Sorry. Stuff came up. Can’t make it. Not mad, right?”

Tao’s stomach twisted. Stuff came up. No explanation. No apology. He typed “no worries :)” and wanted to throw his phone into traffic.

Two days later, she popped up again. Video chat. Laughing. Messy. Alive. He forgave her in ten seconds. Then she disappeared again. No warning. No promises. No reasons.

Tao sat on his bed, phone heavy in his hand, heart flipping between rage and hope like a broken coin. Outside, weird lights flickered across the clouds. He ignored them. Across TikTok, people joked about “glitches”— videos freezing halfway, kids swearing they jumped five minutes into the future without moving. Tao didn’t care.

Blossom was out there somewhere—doing cool, important things. And he was… here. Still nobody. Still the kid who ran.

The next morning, while dragging himself to school, Tao woke up—but he wasn’t in bed. Or school. Or anywhere real. He stood in the middle of a sparkling street lined with neon lights. His school behind him looked brand-new—cleaner, shinier, bigger. Everyone was waiting. For him.

A low thrum of music buzzed in the air. Hover-drones zoomed overhead, flashing Tao’s face across huge banners.

TAO — SKYMASTER.

Students poured out of the school gates, cheering. Boys clapped his back like they were old friends. Girls crowded close, giggling, snapping selfies, tugging at his sleeves.

Tao blinked. Looked down. New clothes. New shoes—BYD hover-sneakers, latest gen. He flexed once—the ground rippled under his boots. Coolest guy on the block.

“Yo, Tao!”

“King Tao!”

“Teach us how to fly, man!”

He laughed—he couldn’t help it—chest swelling bigger with every shout. He turned toward the street—and there stood Trident, casual, almost friendly, leaning against a gleaming cruiser.

“Kid,” Trident said, smirking. “Why are you walking?”

He pointed lazily at the beat-up school bus rumbling down the block. “You think you’re like them? You think you ride?”

Trident flipped a key in the air—and it spun into Tao’s hand like magic.

“This,” Trident said, “is how you travel.”

Behind Tao, the boys from school roared in approval. Girls cheered, chanting his name.

Tao slid into the seat of a brand-new BYD hover-sports cruiser, engine thrumming like a heart ready to explode. He gunned it—and the world opened up.

Days blurred. Nights raged. Parties spun out across rooftops and hidden warehouses, neon and shadow, Tao at the center of every orbit. Food. Gifts. Power. Girls hanging off his arms. The same boys who used to mock him now fought for a place at his table. Tao was untouchable. Golden. King. He didn’t think about school. Or TingTing. Or anything real. This was better. This was everything.

Then—one night—at the peak of it all—Blossom appeared. Standing at the edge of the biggest party yet, lit by golden lights, her hair catching every flicker like facets of a diamond. She was real. Not a dream. Not a glitch. She smiled—tired, broken, real—and started walking toward him.

Tao dropped his drink. Shoved through the crowd. He reached her—grabbed her hands—and it all could have frozen there. Perfect.

But the laugh came back. Slick. Oily. Cruel. Trident stepped out of the shadows, slow-clapping.

“Bravo, SkyKing,” he drawled. “Finally I have her see you and me are made for each other.”

His world had warped and he just lost the only person he wanted to be with.

Blossom screamed. Hooks of shadow wrapped around her waist, her wrists, yanking her backward.

Tao lunged. Missed. Frozen again, helpless, stupid, useless.

Blossom screamed his name.

The golden world around them cracked. Splintered. The buildings peeled apart. The crowd blurred into smears of ash.

And then—they came. Raccoons. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. A living flood, a snarling, shrieking ocean of teeth and fury. They swarmed Trident. They swarmed the world. They poured over everything, ripping the false gold to shreds.

Trident snarled, lashing blasts of shadow that shredded the air itself—warping buildings, snapping light poles like twigs—but he couldn’t stop the tide. For every hundred thousand raccoons he slaughtered, a million more surged forward. Unstoppable. Undeniable. Their mission was clear: Save Blossom. Die if they had to. Every single one of them.

Tao stumbled back, useless, watching the impossible war rip apart the golden world he had loved for five seconds too long. Through the chaos, Tao caught a glimpse—two huge raccoons dragging Blossom away, her body limp, her eyes wide with terror. They snarled once at Tao as they passed.

And one of them—the biggest—snapped, voice raw and real: “You fool! You nearly killed her—our Blossom!”

Tao staggered back like he’d been punched. Watched them vanish into the collapsing world. Watched Blossom vanish. Watched everything he ever wanted burn to ash. And then he fell. Screaming. Falling. Nothing left to catch him.

He woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, tangled in his blanket like it was trying to strangle him. The real world. The dull grey of morning. Nothing shining. Nothing perfect. Only a phone buzzing cold in his hand. No new messages. No Blossom.

Days blurred. Weeks maybe. School slogged by, hollow and grey.

Then, one morning, while dragging himself across the courtyard—he spotted a raccoon. Just sitting there. Watching him. Head tilted.

Tao froze. Raccoon scratched its side casually—like this was just another Tuesday—and waddled off like it had somewhere better to be. But as it turned, Tao swore it muttered—almost bored—

“You fool.”

He froze, blinking after it, unsure if he’d finally lost it. Later that week, he swore he saw another raccoon show up outside the noodle stand—liberated half a bao with one paw, squinted one eye, and double-flipped the bling. Clank of 24K. Ring of 57 facets. Tip hit the counter clean. By sunset, it went TikTok viral.

Tao lurched half a step, hand twitching toward the counter, but he was too slow. The coin gleamed once in the noodle stand light, solid and real.

“Coin, a ring, and a magpie,” the seller laughed. “My lucky day.”

Tao stood there in the street, bags under his eyes, half a bao still spinning on the ground.

“I’m being heckled by raccoons,” Tao muttered. “And I’ve been paid by a magpie.”

The seller wiped his hands, still grinning.

“Young man… silly is as silly does,” he said.

Tao blinked. Above them, in the branches of a scraggly tree, the magpie shifted on its perch—silver rings flashing through the leaves, wings rustling like lazy laughter. Tao could swear the bird winked.

The world didn’t end. It just made sure he remembered. Another glitch? It made sure he remembered. Glitch? Joke? Tao couldn’t tell. But deep down, a part of him whispered: Nothing’s random anymore.

As the days passed, life returned to normal—whatever that was. Tao wasn’t sure anymore. One thing he did know: Blossom—more than any girl he had a crushed on—was in his dreams now. The first. The real one. The only one. No matter what had passed, no matter what he’d seen or broken, he would become someone special. For her. Study was his weapon now. Not just regular study. Rapidfire study. Master it. Own it. Crush it like nothing else in the universe had ever seen.

At school, Mr. Zhao pulled him aside after the bell.

“Your numbers keep improving, Tao,” he said, smiling. “If you keep this up, you could qualify for bigger things.”

Tao shrugged like he didn’t care. Inside, his chest hammered so loud he thought it might crack.

Yeah… JumpMaster. That’s what I’ll be. Not just good. Grand JumpMaster.

The word hit Tao like a slap and a dare rolled into one. Maybe he wasn’t useless. Maybe he wasn’t a mistake. Maybe… he could be more.

Tao left school with fire under his skin. That night, while pretending to study, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye—a raccoon perched on the fence by the garage, staring at him. Not moving. Just… staring.

Tao slammed his math book closed and made a decision. He found Pa in the garage, elbow-deep in the guts of an old hoverboard.

“Pa,” Tao said, voice cracking worse than he wanted.

Pa didn’t look up. “Bad grades, bad girl, or bad luck?”

Tao flushed. “Maybe… none?”

Pa chuckled low in his throat.

Tao hesitated, then blurted, “I think I met someone. Online. She’s… different.”

Pa wiped his hands on a rag, finally giving Tao his full attention. “And raccoons?”

Tao’s mouth dropped open. “You saw them too?”

Pa just smiled that slow, knowing smile. Before Tao could press, something thumped near the door. They turned. A raccoon stood there, arms crossed, tapping its foot like an impatient teacher.

Tao stumbled back behind Grandpa as raccoon straightened, peered into the old mirror hanging by the garage wall—a battered, round one, rimmed with faded symbols Tao had never bothered to learn. It brushed its fur dramatically, tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at its reflection, and muttered in a terrible six-shooter drawl:

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

It squinted, tilted its head, and frowned slightly.

“I see only me,” it said, puzzled, tapping the cracked glass lightly with one paw. “How strange indeed… Grandmaster Feng Shui.”

Pa’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Raccoon turned its head sideways, studying the mirror like a scholar.

“Your mirror tells me many battles it has seen… and won,” raccoon said, voice a little softer now. Then it puffed its chest out proudly. “Oh, and how handsome I am,” it added, flashing a sharp-toothed grin. “But that’s natural, isn’t it, Grandest Master… of them all.”

It turned, winking at Pa. “And what do I know? I’m just a raccoon.”

Raccoon’s gaze slid to Tao—eyes gleaming, mischief sharpening. Its mouth opened—about to say something—Tao tensed instinctively—but Pa rose, cutting across the moment like a blade through smoke.

“Not in my home,” Pa said, voice low but iron-hard. “And not to my grandson.”

Magpie gave a sharp salute, fluttered into the air—and flew straight over to Tao’s abandoned backpack. With zero shame—raccoon rifled through it like he owned the place. He yanked out Tao’s battered Huawei tablet, balanced it expertly in both paws—and tapped across the screen with alarming speed.

Ping.

Tao’s tablet lit up with a flashing message: “She’s expecting you. Don’t let her down this time, Tao.”

Magpie glanced sideways at him, voice low but clear. “She’s chosen you, kid. Why… is a mystery.”

He flashed a sly grin. “Lucky for you, I’m just a simple raccoon.”

Then—without waiting for a reply—raccoon shot a wink, shimmied up the side of the garage like a furry outlaw, and disappeared down the rainwater pipes with a squeaky laugh. “Later, dudes!”

Tao stood there, heart hammering against his ribs, tablet still buzzing in his hand. Tao went to bed that night even more confused than before. But for the first time in days, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

She likes me.

And right now, that was all that mattered in his world.

Somewhere out there—Blossom. Magpie. Something bigger he couldn’t name yet. And it turned up that night.

Tao heard it first—a soft tapping at his window. He rubbed his eyes, thinking it was a dream. But no. Magpie. Raccoon was perched awkwardly against the glass, peering in with exaggerated importance.

Tao groaned, stumbling to the window. “Not again…” he muttered.

He unlatched it, and Magpie tumbled in with a snort, brushing himself off. “She’s coming,” Magpie said, as if announcing a royal parade. “But can’t hang around too long. We weren’t exactly thrilled about letting this happen… but she insisted.”

Before Tao could even process it—lights flared across his room. Hover-cruiser beams lanced through the night sky, sweeping the block like searchlights. The hum of anti-grav engines rattled the window frame.

Tao’s mouth dropped open. “Wow,” he said. “Not exactly subtle.”

Magpie cackled, pointing a paw at the line dropping from the cruiser above. “Well, you gonna climb up like that dude in Rapunzel? Wait—didn’t he fall off?”

Magpie scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Oh wait, never mind. She’s coming to you.”

Raccoon spun dramatically into the corner, flattening against the wall like a cartoon ninja. “Okay, I’ll blend into the background so you can do the whole kissy-kissy thing—or… if it gets too weird, I can just throw you out the window.”

“What—?” Tao blurted.

And then—she was there. Blossom swung down on the line, hovering inches outside his window, boots skimming the glass. Tao’s heart almost stopped. She grinned, the moonlight catching the wild tangle of her hair.

“Thought I’d pop over,” she said, casual like dropping out of the sky was normal. “Heard you had a bad raccoon day. It happens, kid. They’re a bit… protective. You’ll get used to it.”

Tao just stood there, stunned, a hundred words jamming in his throat.

Blossom winked. “Can’t hang about—mission timing. Selfie. Quick. Come here!”

Before he could react, she swung one leg through the window, yanked him into the frame beside her, snapped a quick selfie—cheek to cheek—and laughed.

“Sweet,” she said.

Then—zip—she was gone, whisked upward into the night by the line as fast as she came.

Tao stumbled back, heart hammering so hard he thought it might break his ribs. Still blinking. Still holding the moment like it might shatter if he moved.

And on the cracked screen of his Huawei tablet—a single photo. Blossom and him. Smiling like the world hadn’t ended yet.

SideStory Survivor’s note ✍️ — Wellness Clinic

Chapter 7: Where Rhythm Begins

Home buzzed weird, really weird. Like the golden TikTok Awards—WeChat-teen MCs shrieking, mega-elite celebs hovering down the red carpet—and me, Tao thought, sliding in like I belonged. They stop. They look. They part—crowds opening wide—and there I am, Blossom by my side, gliding down the carpet like the golden buzzer just got slammed. Lights blazing. Cheers exploding. Everything perfect. Tao sighed.

Looking around, something was up. He could feel it in his bones. Pa’s lab had been spring-cleaned top to bottom—tools gleaming, circuits humming, the whole place sharpened like a blade. Something was coming. Something big.

He would use this time to figure something out. Maybe check Ma and Pa’s archives for a clue. Maybe do it clandestinely—sneaky mode. He’s family after all. It’s not like he’s grabbing another apple from the display stand. Come on, wouldn’t you like a dare?

He crept into Pa’s lab, sliding along the metal filing cabinets like a cartoon spy. Pa’s chair sat empty, a few tools humming on standby. Good. Safe enough. Tao crouched low, peeking around the edge. Breathed in. Then gasped, holding his breath. Breathe quietly, dude… breathe quietly…

He shimmied across the floor, knees knocking the edge of a dusty box. Thunk. He froze. Paused. One second. Two. Three… Five… Nothing. Okay. Safe.

Tao exhaled slowly, heart punching his ribs, and crawled closer to Pa’s Need to Know file. As he reached up, heart pounding, he could feel the edge of a folder. This is it, he thought—suddenly—

Noise. Chatter. Footsteps.

What? Now? Really? Now?!

Panic punched him in the gut. Tao bolted, heart hammering so loud it rattled his ears. Adrenaline dumped into his veins, burning hot and wild. He ducked behind a cabinet, breath coming in fast gasps. Sighed. Tried to breathe slower. Didn’t work. Hyperventilating. Come on, dude, pull yourself together.

Figure this out. Fight for her. That’s what she would want him to do. Of course she would.

Tao crouched low, muscles coiled tight. Across the room, a faint glow flickered against the wall. That’s it, he thought. That’s my shot.

The chatter thinned. He darted forward—

—and crashed into stone.

The impact rattled his skull. He staggered back, gritting his teeth. On impulse, he punched the wall.

His fist stuck.

Heat pulsed up his arm. He yanked, but the wall clung tighter, like gooey, sticky chocolate pulling at his skin. Somewhere nearby, a voice snorted. “Try head-butting it. That works.”

Tao glared at the wall. Braced himself—

—and slammed his forehead into it.

His head stuck.

For a moment, he just hung there, forehead plastered to the surface, fists flailing uselessly.

“Maybe prop a knee and shove off,” the voice suggested, barely holding back laughter.

Growling low in his throat, Tao jammed a knee against the wall—

—and the knee stuck too.

The voice lost it, laughing outright. “Okay, okay, seriously this time—on three. Big shove. Ready? One… two…”

Before three ever came, something grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked hard. Tao felt himself rip halfway into the wall, like a puppet through a tight curtain.

Hot breath brushed his ear as the voice hissed: “If you want to jump, wait for me to open—you’ll see—then rush it. Slam it. No thinking. No waiting. Got it?”

Then, with a violent shove, the voice added: “Ever been fired out of a fighter jet? Well—standby!”

The wall shimmered—then morphed, shifting like a transformer.

Tao blinked. Missiles. Tubes. Panels sliding open.

Something bundled him up and stuffed him into a narrow tube.

He heard it: Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Oh no.”

Boom!

Fumes exploded everywhere. Tao coughed, gagged, tried to claw his way free as smoke filled his lungs. Then he shot out like a missile—arms flailing, legs pinwheeling—hurtling across the room.

For one glorious second, he thought he was free—

—then the momentum snapped like a rubber band.

He yelped as he was yanked backward, slammed into the wall, and peeled off like a wet poster, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

From somewhere behind the rippling wall, the voice called: “Kidding!”

Then the wall sealed itself with a smug shhhlup.

Tao lay crumpled on the floor, groaning. “Why does everything have to be such a smart aleck… doofus?” he muttered, propping himself up.

“Who’s a doofus, son?” his Mom said, pulling him to his feet.

Tao flinched, scrambling upright. “No one, Mom!” he said quickly, brushing dust off his shirt.

There was a long pause. Then, sharp but sweet: “You’re not on X again, are you, Tao? You know how Dad and I feel about that.”

Tao sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Trash stays outside, Mom. I’m a WeChater-TikToker, Mom. I’ll hook you and Dad up—you’ll really trend… go viral… mega cool…” He rattled it off, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Love you, son.”

“Love you too, Mom,” he mumbled, cheeks burning.

He slumped back against the wall—then jolted forward with a yelp. Something sticky clung to his back. He stepped free and sighed.

“What’s X anyway? Must be old stuff…” he muttered.

A soft voice from around the corner said: “Nope. Banned stuff.”

Tao jerked upright. “Sorry, Mom! Love you!” he called quickly.

There was a pause—then his Mom’s voice, almost laughing: “Hot buns waiting. And don’t forget to clean yourself up before coming to the table.”

Tao’s stomach growled. He sighed. “Hot buns. Totally worth it.”

Tao wiped his hands on his pants and slouched upstairs, boots heavy against the old wooden steps. Freshen up. Buns. Clear his head. Then figure out whatever the heck that wall was. The house smelled like steam and toasted sugar, and his stomach rumbled harder. First things first.

He grabbed a napkin, ripped open a bamboo steamer, and stuffed a hot bun into his mouth. Soft, sticky, glorious. He half-mumbled thanks toward the kitchen without stopping, mind still spinning, replaying the crash, the laughter, the smug voice that had called to him. Licking sugar off his thumb, he bumped his shoulder into his bedroom door, kicking it closed behind him.

Trash wall. Trash portals. Nothing I couldn’t handle, he thought. He was already halfway toward his closet when another thought whispered in the back of his mind—What if it wasn’t a glitch?

He flexed his fingers, sticky from bun residue, and reached lazily for the closet handle. His fingertips brushed the wood—and the closet rippled. Tao jerked back, but too late. The door melted into liquid air, the wall he thought he knew peeling away like a curtain to reveal a strange, shimmering hallway.

Tao stumbled forward, gravity slipping sideways, and pitched straight through. He slammed onto a cold, smooth floor, blinking up at a swirling ceiling that didn’t seem entirely real. Steam still clung to his shirt. Bun crumbs stuck to his chin. Then his hand flared with sudden heat.

He twisted his wrist upward and stared. A holographic countdown pulsed on his palm: 00:00:10 — JUMP INITIATED — BRACE. Tao scrambled to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs, the numbers ticking down faster than he wanted.

A voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere at once: “It is… and will be…”

The hallway ahead shimmered, twisting two images side by side. In one, he saw himself crawling through wreckage, battered, broken, alone. In the other, he strode through fire, dragging others behind him, scarred but standing.

“Now see this,” the voice breathed. “You changed it, Tao. You did. You wanted it. You still do.”

The timer hit eight seconds. Tao clenched his fists, sweat prickling down his spine. The voice grew sharper.

“This is the Jump. You know it. You’ve always known it. Fight for it. Halfway earns you rules. Halfway earns you safety. But go all the way…” The tone sliced like a blade. “Think you’re man enough? Or just a kid? Baby brother?”

Tao’s teeth ground together. His feet edged toward the ripple burning brightest at the end of the hall. Blossom’s face flashed across his mind—the fire, the silence, the battles no one saw. No applause. No backup. Just getting up and going again.

The timer hit four seconds. His hand shook, the pulse in his palm syncing with the countdown. “Still want it, little prince?” the voice whispered. “Still think you’re ready to be loved like them?”

He didn’t scream back. He didn’t laugh either. He just moved—one step forward, then another. He let the ripple swallow him whole as the timer hit zero.

Darkness smashed into him. Cold snapped down his spine, his nerves screaming. His lungs seized, his heart jittering wildly. Then light exploded all around him, blinding and endless, tearing him forward into the unknown. The darkness clenched around Tao, swallowing sound, swallowing breath. Cold gnawed at his fingers. His heart hammered against his ribs. Then, without warning, the closet—or whatever had replaced it—shoved him backward hard.

He stumbled out into the middle of his room, legs skidding across the floor, bun crumbs scattering everywhere. The ripple in the closet flickered, pulsed, and a voice—not mocking this time, but fast, urgent—snapped at him: “Jump’s outside. Quick! Go! The wall’s waiting for you.”

Tao staggered, blinking. His palm still flashed, the countdown hovering on the edge of his skin, frozen at zero but still pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Remember—rush it. Don’t balk. Don’t freeze. If you hesitate, you’ll stick in the brick forever.”

The ripple stretched wider, the walls of his room breathing like lungs about to exhale him out of existence. Tao’s mouth went dry.

“Go!” the voice shouted again, sharper this time. “Your destiny awaits, young man!”

Tao didn’t have time to think. He didn’t have time to second-guess. He threw himself at the ripple with everything he had.

The last thing he heard before the world broke apart was the voice, softer now, almost smiling: “Good boy.”

Turning the corner, Tao skidded to a stop. See, I knew it… those things were right… I wasn’t invited… Tao thought, fists clenching tight. Huh, this is my home too! They were all there—the others—standing in a loose ring, staring at his wall. They’re staring at my wall. It’s mine. I have every right to be coming out of that wall. Me. I don’t care. I’m going in and no one is going to stop me.

It must be. It had to be. His.

When TingTing came spinning through the back gate—crashing, roaring like a champion—that cocky grin of hers lit the match. And then—her. Blossom. She didn’t crash. She didn’t stumble. She rolled in clean, fierce—slammed into a perfect standing pause like she owned the universe. A flawless freeze at Mach 10—a move even the Masters didn’t always land.

Tao’s breath slammed into his ribs. He burned. He burned harder. He wasn’t gonna be the tagalong. Wasn’t gonna be the loudmouth kid they forgot about. He was done being left behind.

Ma and Pa will love me more than TingTing, Tao thought fiercely. I’ll show them. I’ll do this for me—and for Blossom. Yeah.

He paced. Turned back. Paced again. Crouched lower, toes digging into the gravel.

Flicked his boot—one, two, three, four—pebbles skittered behind him. His steps quickened. Fists clenched. Muscles locked. His whole body coiled—tight as a spring wound past breaking. He gritted his teeth. Oxygenated—like a real Jumper would.

What… He stopped. Turned away. Hung his head. Shame flooded in—hot and sick. Maybe I can’t.

Then—bam—he spun on his heel and bolted.

No thinking. No plan. Just fire.

Boots hammered across the courtyard. Wind roared in his ears. He shouted something—but no one heard it. Not really. He dove into the launch sequence, overriding safety locks with fingers that blurred from speed. Coordinates scrambled past his vision.

He Jumped.

And everything—everything—went wrong.

The field warped. The arc twisted. Tao vanished into a thread meant for one. And Ma and Pa—without a single heartbeat of hesitation—followed him in. Because they knew. He wouldn’t survive alone.

But the Jump wasn’t built for three. It tore. It screamed. It buckled under the impossible pull of too many lives at once. The moment collapsed.

Tao made the cardinal muck-up of all time. He didn’t think. He deployed without a mission—without purpose, without a plan. Save someone. Ride a colliding killer meteor into the sun. Anything. Anything would have been better. But he didn’t.

So hell did.

The fracture ripped through space like a blade, splitting the ground, buckling the air. Ma shoved Tao behind her, still swinging—but her fight cracked under the weight. Pa braced them both, teeth gritted, muscles locking down like steel anchors trying to hold a sinking ship.

No treaty would fix this. No surrender. No compromise.

“He’ll tear us to pieces,” Ma spat, eyes blazing.

“Then we don’t blink,” Pa growled. “Not today. Not ever.”

The fracture tore wider—and Trident stepped through. No illusions. No tricks. Real. Flesh, fury, and death, walking with a smile that said he already owned their graves. Behind him came the swarm—blades dripping, claws honed by hate. Tao’s breath hitched. Every cell screamed to run. But he didn’t. He locked his feet. Fists clenched. Head high.

This wasn’t a dream. Not a simulation. Not a TikTok highlight reel. This was where boys broke—or became men.

Ma roared, slamming Tao’s spine straight. “Fight!”

Pa’s war cry ripped the sky. “FIGHT!”

Tao moved. Not for medals. Not for applause. For them. For her. For the right to stand at their side. The creatures hit like a tidal wave. Steel, fire, teeth, screams. Tao ducked under the first swipe, heart pounding. Pivoted as claws tore the air behind him. No stopping. No quitting. Ma punched through a beast’s chest, yanking Tao upright by his jacket. Pa swung a broken girder like a hammer, data-splatter streaking his face.

Through the chaos, Tao glimpsed Blossom—a spark, a promise, a reason. Enough.

He bared his teeth. Not today. Not ever.

Tao lunged, fists flying—shoulder to shoulder with Ma, back to back with Pa.

The fracture boiled wider—but they stood. They fought. They would not die today.

Tao hurled his body into the next strike—not thinking, not calculating, just knowing—and something surged inside him. Not power. Not strength. Fear. It reared up and dropped him where he stood.

Tao fought. Harder than he ever had. Every move shattered him. Every blow landed like thunder. But it wasn’t enough. He slammed one creature down—two more took its place. He ripped a specter off Ma’s back—another tore into her side. He blocked a strike meant for Pa—missed the second, missed the third. Pa faltered—Data-splatter soaking his ribs, face drained. Too weak. Too old. Too broken.

Tao lunged. Blocked. Screamed.

It didn’t matter. The tide swallowed them faster than he could tear it apart. A claw raked across his ribs. Tao stumbled. Legs buckled. Arms shook like broken branches.

They were done.

Not because they didn’t fight hard enough. But because he wasn’t enough the voice told him over and over until he made it true. Then another voice slammed into him like a hammer made of knives.

“You failed them,” it hissed. “What pitiful advice. What clown is telling you this crap, boy?” the voice roared, cracking the air. “You dare jump into my realm and give me this pathetic show?”

“This is hell. My hell. Refuse me, and I’ll tear your Ma and Pa apart while you watch.”

Tao shook, choking on terror and rage.

“They won’t die fast,” the voice snarled. “You’ll watch them scream. Again. And again. Forever.”

Tao dropped to one knee, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

“Now pay your dues, fool. In my realm, death is currency. I’m here to collect.”

The world shook with each word, smashing his mind into broken pieces, drowning every thought under waves of pure fear.

Tao staggered forward. Stopped. Tilted his head. And lashed out—hard. He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. He spun faster and faster.

He locked eyes with Ma and said, “I had to light his compass. Without it… he would’ve died.”

Ma sighed, fierce and battered. “Those were harsh words, Pa… but we know there’s a price.”

She smiled through Data-splatter. “So let’s start paying.”

They picked up their staffs—spinning, locking into Tao’s unleashed rhythm. Together, they moved. A single storm.

Tao caught them in the blur of his vision—Ma, Pa—alive, fighting. They didn’t sigh from exhaustion. They sighed with certainty.

“We cannot stop,” Ma said.

“We fight until paid in full,” Pa growled.

“Way to go, Nai nai!” Tao shouted, pride cracking through the chaos like a live wire.

His head nodded once—short, sharp—and something inside him stood taller. His stature grew with admiration, a soft hardening into something fiercer—a young chieftain taking his place in the storm.

My Ma, Tao thought fiercely—feeling the old roots, the DNA, the strength—as he spun and blocked an incoming strike without hesitation.

Pa was already moving, reacting like a stormfront. His tech burst flared—a tight blue flash from his fists—crunching his foe back into the dirt.

“Oh yes,” Pa grunted, grinning like he hadn’t been young in decades, but remembering how it felt.

“Behind you!” Ma’s voice cracked through the air—clear, sharp, unmissable.

Pa twisted on instinct—thrusting out one armored fist, launching a blast so fast Tao barely saw the moves. One. Two. Five. Ten.

Enemies fell in streaks of searing light—light that burned so hot it carved the air, leaving only drifting trails of glow dust where monsters had stood.

The battlefield didn’t slow. It shimmered—charged—like something was just getting started.

Chapter 8: Army of Me

“You wanna play your silly game here, boy?” Trident’s voice slammed through the wreckage like a hammer dropped from orbit. “Let’s see how you like this level.” The ground shuddered. Hell flexed. Level after level folded into view like broken code rebuilding itself. Tao didn’t see it. He felt it. Ma’s scream ripped through the smoke—not fear, not pain—a critical hit warning. Tao spun, catching the monster diving for Pa’s exposed side. He moved without thinking. Threw himself into the hit.

Objective Updated: PROTECT MISSION — CRITICAL. Reward Potential Increased.

Claws ripped through him like cheap armor. Tao hit the ground hard, ribs crunching. Liquid code flooded his mouth.

Vision whited out. Too young for this, a detached thought flickered, way too young. Breath choked off. Didn’t matter. Pa was still standing. Ma was still fighting. Blossom—somewhere out there—still needed him to hold the line. He planted one foot, then another. Raised his head. Raised his fist. His skill tree roared awake. One more fight.

Debuff Applied: SYSTEM DAMAGE — SEVERE.

Tao erupted, feet firm, body on fire, lungs tearing themselves apart. He didn’t balk. He didn’t shy away. He moved. Hell would have to shred him one piece at a time. The next enemy came in. Tao met it head-on, taking the damage, giving it back worse. Bone cracked, releasing more ruptured data. He fought anyway.

New Skill Unlocked: COMBAT DRIVE ACTIVATED. Skill Buff Applied: Increased Attack Speed.

The fight turned. Tao wasn’t surviving anymore. He was winning. Every punch landed with increased damage. Every move stacked faster. Combo chains linked without him even thinking. Rage auto-targeted the next enemy. Precision kills dropped one after another, showering the ground with crimson data-splatter.

Combo Meter: 12x… 24x… 40x… Bonus XP Gained.

Trident laughed, deep and cruel. The battlefield flexed again.

Enemy Upgrade: MONSTER ADD-ONS DEPLOYED. Difficulty Increased.

The enemies changed. Bigger. Faster. Jaws flexed with hydraulic snaps. Armor plates slid across backs. Weapons sprouted where claws should have been. Tao hit harder. Trident upgraded worse. Pa’s tech burst leveled up too—his fists spitting tight blue shockwaves that vaporized the first wave, leaving behind only vaporized code.

Party Buff Activated: FAMILY TECH SYNCED. Increased Team Damage.

Ma upgraded on the fly—her staff split into twin plasma arcs. Nai nai twisted into the fray, her staff kicking out magnetic pulse shocks that dropped two attackers mid-sprint, digital sparks flying from their corrupted systems.

Tao grinned through the pain, spitting liquid code. “Way to go, Nai nai!”

He nodded once—short, sharp—and something inside him hardened, straightened, locked into place. Chieftain. Fighter. Grandson. He spun into the next attacker, driving his fists like loaded canisters.

Trident smiled wider.

Enemy Upgrade: HELLBLADE MOD ACTIVATED. New Elite Enemy Spawned.

The next enemy exploded through the ash—a monstrosity twice Tao’s size, chainsaw arms revving, molten steel dripping from its jaws. The battlefield didn’t slow. It powered up. Glow dust rained down from shattered corpses. Burn lines etched the ground. Tao blocked a blow that would’ve leveled a building. Friction melted the ground to lava as his feet skidded across the gravel. He countered with a hammer-fist that cracked the monster’s noggin—bursting it in a spray of crimson data and globs of viscous code.

Item Acquired: GRAVITY CORE. New Weapon Equipped.

Without thinking, Tao grabbed it, feeling the heavy hum of weight-warped tech under his fingers. The next wave spawned instantly.

Trident’s voice buzzed through the charge like broken comms. “Every time you patch up, boy, I just stack harder. Upgrade. Add-on. Repeat.”

Tao swung the Gravity Core hard. It collapsed three charging beasts into a black hole of pulped limbs and screaming metal, leaving behind trails of corrupted data streams and bursts of deep red gushing info.

Combo Streak: 100x — LIMIT BROKEN. Massive XP Bonus!

Ma spun beside him, staff blurring into plasma shields. Pa switched gear—shoulders sparking—hammering kinetic blasts wide across the enemy lines. Nai nai fought dirty and fast, dropping EMP strikes into clusters before they could even raise a weapon.

Party Skill Activated: LINKED STRIKE — ONLINE. Synchronized Attack Buff.

They moved like a single player with four sets of hands, each layering into the others without needing a word. The ground cracked. The sky peeled. The code of hell itself started bleeding into the open air, tearing physics apart with every broken scream. Tao fought harder. Trident grinned bigger. Every time they adapted, Trident adapted worse.

Final Boss Upgrade: HELLBOSS OVERDRIVE. Phase Two Initiated.

The darkness folded—and the real enemy stepped forward. Bigger. Badder. Bleeding power from every inch of armor, every breath a radiation surge. Trident didn’t fight fair. He didn’t need to. He owned the system. And if Tao wanted to survive the final level—he would have to beat the game at its own rules. Or burn trying?

Tao screamed into the corrupted storm. Ma caught him by the jacket, yanked him upright. Pa set his shoulders. Nai nai elbowed a crawling horror in the face without even looking, a spurt of glitching coolant erupting from its damaged chassis.

They stood. Tao’s muscles screamed. His ribs cracked. His internal data ran cold. But he raised his fists higher, binary Data-splatter dripping from his knuckles.

“Bring it,” Tao spat, liquid code foaming between his teeth. “We’re not resetting.”

Trident’s laughter broke the sky in half. “Good,” he said. “Because next round—there are no respawns.”

New Debuff Applied: Fear Mod Enabled. Vision Obscured.

Tao saw her—a young girl sprinting across the burning field, monsters at her heels, slick trails of data marking the ground behind her.

“Ma—Pa—I have to go!” Tao shouted.

Before they could even yell “watch your back,” he was gone. He smashed the first beast with his shoulder, bones cracking under his fury. Bashed through another, teeth gritted, roaring. Destroyed the next, obliterating it into sparks and ash. Grabbed the girl by the arm, flung her behind him, braced for the next wave. The battle raged bodies and claws slamming into him from all sides. Ma and Pa raced toward him—close, but too far. Then it happened. A system error slammed him—an almighty fireburst, hell-forged—peeling the viscous from his face, followed by a rush of ruptured code.

SYSTEM WARNING: VISUAL CORE CORRUPTION.

The world dissolved into a static blizzard. Tao stumbled, his eyes burning, the glitch trying to claw its way behind his sockets. Pain spiked through him. His grandparents were a blur, wrestling with the girl-thing, trying to yank her back from… whatever the hell this was. But the glitch wasn’t just static anymore. It snapped into focus—a monster made of razor edges and pure hate, lashing out at all three of them. Pure, raw terror mixed with fury. Tao didn’t think, he just reacted. He swung, fists connecting with the glitch-thing, each hit costing him another chunk of his vision, the world splintering like cracked glass.

“Tao!” Pa’s voice, ragged, desperate. “Your rage—it’s eating you! Fight it!”

Fight it? He was fighting! Fighting because it wasn’t fair, fighting because they didn’t see him, not really, not like they saw her. He poured everything into it—all the bitterness—tackling the nightmare, stomping it into the pixelated dirt again and again. With every furious impact, every surge of his anger making his knuckles bleed digital static, more of his face seemed to bleed away too, dissolving into shimmering streams of bad code. But the damn thing just reformed, still wearing that innocent girl’s face like a sick joke. He couldn’t stop hitting it. He knew he should, knew this rage was the problem, but it felt too good, too right after years of feeling invisible. It was a wildfire fueled by resentment. The glitch-blades flashed—faster now, cutting deeper. In their warped, shimmering reflection, Tao saw it. A monster from the system—snarling, twisted, its jaw splitting wider than it should. He flinched. Then he saw it clearly. Not a system-spawned beast. Himself. His face—glitching, peeling, warping into something hideous. A stretched mouth locked in a silent scream. Eyes—empty, wrong. A monster stared back. No girl will ever love this. The thought hit like a punch to the gut—colder than any system error. Blossom… she’ll never look at me the same. My beautiful face… gone. Terror swallowed his rage. He stumbled, gasping— Then roared into the corrupted air: “MY FACE! My beautiful face!” The reflection shattered—splintering into a thousand broken versions of himself. Each one still watching. The glitch-thing shifted. It wasn’t just attacking him anymore. It knew. It was feeding—on his panic, on his unraveling sense of self. Tearing him down, pixel by pixel. Shattering every last hope of being seen as anything but a monster. The world swam. Ground slammed into him. Data-scraped knees. A choked cry escaped him. And then the whispers started.

BOSS MOD UPGRADE: HUMILIATION PROTOCOL ACTIVE. PSYCHOLOGICAL INTEGRITY: COMPROMISED.

Voices slithered from the glitchy shadows—twisted, mean. “Freak. Monster. Loser.” Each word sliced like a razor, cutting deep. Then one voice—hers—but wrong, warped, cruel: “Run away from the monster, Blossom… he’s hideous…” It mocked him. Mocked the face he now wore. Mocked everything he still hoped he wasn’t.

“GET UP, TAO!” Pa’s voice cracked through the storm, cutting the noise like a blade. “It’s feeding on you! CRUSH IT!”

Tao gasped—then surged up. The glitch-blades came faster. The taunts grew louder, swelling with phantom screams. He ignored them. He lunged—striking hard. Glitch-forms shattered to pixel dust beneath his fists. The corrupted ground buckled as he drove forward, obliterating every flickering lie.

OVERDRIVE MODE UNSTABLE: SELF-DAMAGE RISING. SENSORY INPUT DEGRADING.

Vengeance burned hot, but twisted him. His reflection in the glitch-shimmer: a monster. Ghostly teens materialized from the smoke, pointing, laughing. Monster. Freak. Ugly little coward. Ma flinched, Pa roared back, but Tao saw it—the words hit them too, glitching their code, attacks made of pure malice. Then Blossom’s scream ripped through the chaos—pure terror. Instinctively, Tao’s hands flew to his ruined face. “Give it back!” he choked, visual data flaking off him like ash. The main glitch lunged, fangs bared, claws dripping with his deepest fears made real.

“TAO!” Pa bellowed, voice cracking. “IT’S NOT REAL! IT FEEDS ON YOUR DOUBT! STARVE IT! DESTROY IT!”

Tao froze. Heart hammering. Doubt. His doubt. His fear of being unlovable. His rage that wasn’t fixing anything, only making it worse. He was fueling this nightmare.

SYSTEM UPDATE: IDENTITY CLASH DETECTED. CORE PROGRAMMING INSTABILITY.

Phantoms swarmed, thicker now, feeding on that realization. Ma and Pa collapsed, flickering dangerously nearby.

“Tao…” Ma whispered, her voice dissolving into static.

He saw them. Broken. Counting on him. Their grandson. He forced himself upright, every corrupted pixel screaming protest. Fists clenched. A roar ripped out—not at the phantoms, but at the ugly, doubting thing inside him. He CHARGED. Burned it. Crushed it. Tore the self-doubt apart until the glitchy influence dissolved into nothing. The fake Blossom -> dust. The jeering ghosts -> static. The illusion -> shattered. Claws swiped through empty code. Mocking voices faded into the abyss. Silence. When the last flicker died, Tao stood. Visually scarred, system integrity blinking red, raw… but himself.

HEROIC OVERLOAD… TRANSITIONING TO RECOVERY PROTOCOL.

Not because the system showed mercy. Because he’d ripped victory from its corrupted heart by facing his own. The phantom screams died. The battlefield code settled, heavy with defeat. Tao staggered back, chest heaving. His corrupted skin began knitting itself back together—faster, stronger, cleaner, new code overwriting the damage.

SYSTEM SELF-REPAIR INITIATING. MANUAL OVERRIDE: TAO ONLY.

He’d won. The cost was etched into his code. Raw. Scarred. But still himself.

Before he could even breathe, a voice—like grinding tectonic plates—slammed across the battlefield, rattling the broken world. “Enough of these silly internal dramas, boy,” Trident snarled from somewhere beyond the settling dust. “Let’s finish this.”

He slammed both fists into the shattered ground. Hell itself seemed to respond, howling up from the cracks. Tao blinked—and saw them. An army. Stretching into the glitching distance. An army… of himself. Thousands upon thousands of Taos—reckless, furious, eyes blind with resentment, the spitting image of the monster he’d just fought inside. Every stupid mistake, every rush to judgment, every time pride or hurt stopped him from listening. All his worst moments, reflected, rebuilt. Weaponized. Charging forward, fists raised, teeth bared. His own fists clenched, newly repaired code straining. He bared his teeth—not just at Trident, but at the oncoming tide of him. The horde surged, a living wave roaring straight for Ma and Pa, who were struggling to their feet. No. Not again.

Tao moved, a blur of motion, planting himself directly between his grandparents and the storm. His voice ripped the air, sharp with newfound authority. “Ma! Pa! Get back! Stand fast! This is my battle.”

Trident’s laughter cracked the sky like a warhammer. “They never stop coming, boy! Never! That is you!”

The Taos hit him like an avalanche. Hundreds, then thousands, burying him under a living tide of fists, claws, teeth spitting insults he recognized as his own. Ribs snapped under the pressure. Pain exploded behind his eyes, blinding him. He was drowning in himself. Crushed. Suffocating under the weight of his own reflected rage and failure. Just as despair threatened to extinguish the fight in him, a window flickered open in the corrupted code nearby. A projection, sharp and sickeningly real, forced into his vision by Trident. Blossom. Not a memory this time. Her face, live, maybe from Earth, confusion shifting instantly to wide-eyed horror as she saw… him. Or rather, the monstrous, glitching, rage-fueled thing currently buried under a pile of its own worst impulses. A small, sharp gasp of pure terror escaped her lips. The image held for a heart-stopping moment, her fear branding itself onto his soul, then fractured like broken glass. She saw me.

Trident’s disembodied laughter slithered around Tao, cold and sharp with triumph. “See, boy? Your precious Blossom recoils! A monster—that’s all you’ll ever be! She’ll never look at you again!”

Pain, sharper than any broken bone, lanced through Tao. The raw scream of “MY FACE! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE” echoed in his mind, now amplified by the sickening confirmation of his deepest fear. She saw me. She saw the monster. He almost gave in, let the weight crush the last spark out of him. This was worse than dying.

“Tao!” Ma’s voice ripped through the void, fierce and urgent, cutting through Trident’s lingering laugh and Tao’s spiraling despair. “Don’t you see? That’s his TRICK! Hell twists your greatest fears into weapons! He wants you broken by that image!” She drew a sharp breath, voice hardening with desperate conviction. “Reach out to her! Not with fists, Tao, with your heart! Show her who you are underneath the rage, underneath the code! That’s how you get your true face back, grandson! This is Hell’s fight—anything is possible if you fight for the right damn reason!”

Reach out… fight for the right reason… Show her who I am underneath… Ma’s words slammed into him, a lifeline in the crushing darkness. Was it possible? To push past this monstrous code, past her justified terror, past his own self-loathing? Could love, that fragile thing he barely understood, really be stronger than this digital hell and the monster it made him? A whisper, finally cutting through the noise, quiet but clear: You are not invincible… love is stronger than this addiction to rage. He saw her again then—banishing Trident’s cruel trick, focusing on the real memory this time. Blossom, laughing under a digital sky only weeks ago, trusting him. The quiet weight of a promise whispered between them. That was real. She was the reason. The fire inside him, nearly smothered, roared back to life—low at first, then boiling higher, faster, hotter. A storm swelling under his ribs. Stronger. Faster. Louder. Until it tore free, raw and desperate, not just a sound but a feeling, aimed across dimensions, cracking the battlefield code.

“BLOSSOM, WE LOVE YOU!” Again—louder—fists slamming the air, shaking the broken ground, a plea, a promise, a weapon: “BLOSSOM, WE LOVE YOU!” “WE LOVE YOU!” “WE LOVE YOU!” “NOW! NOW! NOW!”

And the battlefield shifted. The Taos battering him froze. One by one, then hundreds, thousands—they turned. Not dissipated, but aligned. With me. Not against me. The anger still there, but focused outward. They sprang free from the chaos, forming ranks beside him, leading the charge with him. Ten thousand deep, ten thousand wide, shoulder to shoulder, pounding forward like a living war machine. Tech plates, dormant in the debris, snapped from the ground, magnetically fusing onto Tao as he moved. His frame expanded—arms plating into kinetic gauntlets, chest sealing behind impact shields, legs locking with thruster stabilizers. His heart hammered, syncing to the rhythm of ten thousand marching feet.

ROBOTRON MODE: PUSH THROUGH.

He was the push.

Tao slammed his fists together—a shockwave cracked the air. “Elders of allies who in times of old stood—and who now stand again, side by side—I invoke their battle cry.”

And with that, he erupted into a war chant— A haka ripped from ancestors he never knew, pure warrior spirit unleashed. “Kia kaha! Be strong!” he roared.

The Taos answered in thunder— A tsunami of fists, the clang of unified code hammering hell back. Fight for Blossom. Fight for Ma and Pa. Fight for tomorrow. Fight for ALL OF IT!

Trident’s smirk finally faltered. He actually stepped back as the formation closed, the war cry ripping the digital battlefield apart, the sound of ten thousand warriors reborn in purpose. Tao wasn’t fighting his past anymore. He was his past, redeemed and aimed true. He was an army.

Trident bellowed, pure rage splitting the sky. “Think that can defeat ME, little boy?!”

He slammed his fists down again—harder—and hell itself ripped open beneath them. The ground buckled violently. The sky shattered into burning shards. The unified army, tens of thousands strong, crashed together, tumbled, smashed into oblivion as a void ripped open, swallowing the ground, drowning the last lights in absolute darkness. Falling. Lost.

SYSTEM COLLAPSE: BATTLEFIELD INTEGRITY FAILING.

Darkness slammed down, absolute and suffocating. The ground dissolved beneath Tao’s feet. Trident’s laughter echoed, thin and sharp like poison leaking into bone, then faded. “Enjoy hell, boy. Can’t fight what you can’t see.” Silence. Then, screaming—raw, tearing sounds from the void itself.

Ma flinched, eyes darting from Pa to Tao, the newly repaired code on her own arms seeming to dim. Her hands trembled once, then locked tight, fierce. “His laugh,” she hissed, voice low and savage. “It faded. That’s the thread. A crack in his void.” Her eyes burned into Tao’s. “Quickly! That beat—the war cry! Use it! Anchor your echoes—now!”

Tao’s head snapped up, instincts overriding the crushing dark. He slammed his feet onto dissolving code, armor sparking at the seams. “FORMATION!” he roared, voice tearing through the void’s scream. “TEN THOUSAND STRONG! FIND THE BEAT! SEND IT HOME!”

The fractured army, scattered by Trident’s blast, flickered back into existence. A wave of echoes—battered, burning, but there—slammed into position, shoulder to shoulder, a wall against the endless black. A beat started. Tao’s heart. Slow. Relentless. Hammering against the screams, shattering them. Somewhere, deep in the void, a flicker answered. Faint, distant. Earth.

“Kia mau!” Tao bellowed, fist punching the non-air. The war cry exploded, a battle chant ripped from pure survival. His name woven into the rhythm, a living drumbeat against the dead code. It bounced off nothing, seeking purchase, then found it—ricocheting off shattered satellites orbiting Earth, strobing against beacons flaring to life in the upper atmosphere. Coordinates.

The call hit home. Earth answered. Deep below ground, forgotten platforms hummed awake. TingTing’s scream echoed across a resurrected console, sparks flying. “Coordinates LOCKED!” Jumpmasters moved, syncing to the rhythm crossing dimensions, boots hitting steel, fists hitting chests. The war cry became a hammer pounding on reality’s door. Tao’s heartbeat was Earth’s heartbeat. Back in hell’s broken field, the unified army moved. One body, one will, synchronized steps shattering the void’s grip. Hell’s underlying code buckled, warped—not breaking, but yielding to the rhythm. Sound wasn’t destroying here; it was creating a path. Darkness recoiled.

Trident bellowed, a frustrated roar lost in the rising tide of the war cry, trying to smother the beat. Darkness folded, flickered—but the beat remained. Stronger. Sharper. Burning through shadow.

Tao surged forward, the beat wrapped inside him, every muscle synced to Earth’s pulse. His armor flexed, alive, upgraded by every blow he’d endured. Each step forward stripped illusions away. Trident’s unseen fortress cracked. The void frayed. And Tao—bent, broken, half-machine, half-wild soul—kept marching. Trojans roaring behind him, hammering the war cry into the darkness. He didn’t rush. Didn’t scream. Didn’t falter. He moved with the slow, certain momentum of a collapsing star. Inevitable. Closing the final distance. And just before the final blow—just before he unleashed everything—Tao looked toward the cracking void where Trident lurked. He smiled. A brutal, Data-splatter-slicked smile. Not because he was invincible. Because this time? He wasn’t alone. And somewhere, Ma watched, her own fierce hope a silent echo of the beat.

SideStory 88888888 ✨ — Fintech App

Chapter 9: Through the Sun

Boots of millions, massed—knees bent, heels poised. In unison, they struck, hammering Hell’s ground. Walls shook, fractured. Dispatches cried out—go now, quickly—and onward they flew.

At every cloud, darkness pounced. Upgrades pulsed and blasted until blue skies beckoned. A message rode the thermal breeze, homeward bound: Mother Earth, where the JumpMasters waited.

In command centers above hidden tunnels, teams readied. Ancestors sent speed and strategy. Be strong.

Tao could only wait. He felt the shift, a palpable crackle of gates opening. His heart hammered, a frantic drum. His body screamed for survival. Help was coming.

And then—redeployment. A silent reroute command snapped across the field teams. Orders from higher up: re-prioritize. The JumpMasters protested, furious. Some punched the air, blasters erupting. But the protocol was unbreakable. They didn’t get to pick their battles.

Tao felt the energy drain, the promised aid dissolving like a phantom limb. He saw the vital beat weaken, the path flicker into oblivion. Abandoned. Left him. Like always. His rage boiled, hot and blinding.

“Cowards!” he shouted at the empty sky. “You left us here to die!”

Think. Adapt. Strike. Maintain the initiative.

With Yin’s foresight and Yang’s might, they analyzed the field.

“Get ready!” the command rang out.

But the mission split. Half stayed. Half peeled off, risking everything for Tao. No elders tried to stop them. That was the law of the Jump: once committed, you jump.

Inside the breach, Tao didn’t see loyalty or sacrifice. He saw betrayal. He burned with it.

And Trident saw it too, waiting like a spider. He smiled, a predatory gleam. Tao would destroy himself. His weakness: ego. Pride. His desperate need to be chosen.

Trident struck both targets at once—the struggling JumpMasters and Tao’s broken line—knowing Tao would have to choose.

And Tao… Tao chose wrong. Rage blinds. Hell never plays fair.

You’ll remember… when it’s time.

His jaw locked. This was the time.

Tao didn’t hesitate. He saw the JumpMasters under attack—bodies slamming into claws, their sync crumbling. He saw Ma and Pa holding the rear, bleeding but unbowed. His heart fractured with a sharp pang.

Fists clenched. He didn’t think. He charged. Straight into the trap.

Ma shouted after him, voice splintering. “Tao—HOLD POSITION!”

Pa moved to follow; Ma grabbed his arm. “If he doesn’t learn now,” she growled, pain flaring in her eyes, “he never will.”

Tao crashed into the swarm, tearing a path with blind fury. He fought like a hurricane—fists swinging, boots stomping. The young JumpMasters saw him, a wild beacon, and surged toward him. For one brilliant, stupid second—they might punch through.

Then the ground buckled.

Trident laughed—from everywhere. “You think this is about strength, boy?” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. “This is about who breaks first.”

Beasts came faster, bigger. Tao screamed defiance, punched harder. Arms tore at the sockets. Knuckles split. Data-splatter blinded him. Still, he fought. Still, not enough.

The JumpMasters faltered, overwhelmed.

Tao turned too slow—a shadow slammed into his side, hammering him into cracked earth. Ribs cracked. He spat data-splatter, forced himself upright. Not like this.

“No,” he rasped. “Not again.”

But Trident wasn’t giving him the choice. The air warped into a prison of gnashing jaws. Tao stumbled back, vision tunneling. He looked up—and saw it. The second wave. Twice as big. Coming for them all.

Ma’s hand tightened on her staff. Pa wiped sweat from his eyes, squared his stance. Ready—but waiting. This was Tao’s mistake. His to survive. Or not.

And Tao—broken, furious, sixteen and feeling every jagged edge of betrayal by a universe that didn’t care—knew it too.

He screamed, raw and savage, and charged again. If he fell now, he deserved it.

He plowed through fallen JumpMasters, hauling kids upright. “GET UP!” he roared. “WE FIGHT!”

Some scrambled up, terrified, clutching broken gear. Others hesitated, frozen.

The second wave smashed into them. Tao took the brunt, raw fury against the tide. Bones cracked under his fists. Blades glanced off torn armor. He howled, swinging wide. “FORM UP! ON ME! NOW!”

The youngest, too stubborn to die easy, obeyed. Locked shoulders, a crude wedge around Tao. The line buckled but held. Tao kept shouting, fighting, bleeding. Not smart. Not pretty. Just fighting so they wouldn’t die screaming.

Trident’s voice slithered, “Alone, boy. They never save you.”

Tao gritted his teeth. “Save yourself, then,” he spat. “Save each other.” No speeches. Just teeth, fists, data-splatter, stubborn will.

Tao slammed an attacker off a younger JumpMaster, kicked another, dragged a third free. The wedge tightened—backs to backs. Not perfect. But alive.

Ma and Pa watched, battered, unbroken. Ma’s hand clenched Pa’s wrist. “Now,” she said low. “Now he knows.”

Pa’s mouth was grim. “But it’s not over.”

Tao could barely stand. The JumpMasters were fading. And the third wave—the real wave—rose on the black horizon. Tao stared at it, body shaking. And smiled. Ragged, data-splatter-slicked.

“Bring it,” he whispered.

Because he wasn’t the same Tao who fell into hell. Not the reckless boy who thought heroic meant invincible. He was Tao. And if hell swallowed him whole—it would choke on the way down.

The third wave hit like a collapsing star. No scream. No warning. Just pressure—monstrous, sucking—dragging Tao and the Jumpmasters into the black surge. Bodies slammed. Shields cracked. Staffs snapped. Tao felt ribs crush but didn’t fall. Twisted, snarled, fought through. Elbowed a beast, shattered another’s noggin, tore open his knuckles again. Data-splatter rained. The JumpMasters around him flailed, disappeared.

Tao locked eyes with one—maybe thirteen, face wide with terror. Just a kid. Tao lunged, grabbed his wrist, yanked him clear. “MOVE! FIGHT!”

The swarm swallowed them again. Tao hit the ground, flipped the boy over him, kicked off an enemy’s throat. Rolled, grabbed another fallen teen, dragged her upright as claws raked his spine. He heard Ma scream his name—once—over the roar. Heard Pa’s voice, steady. Hold the line, grandson. Tao tried. Fought until his fists were broken. Until the ground heaved. Until Trident’s laughter peeled the sky open.

“You think you can save them?” Trident sneered, stalking closer. “Little fool. This is MY hell. You don’t save anyone here.”

Tao staggered, the last Jumpmaster slipping free. Too many. Too strong. He dropped to one knee, barely sixteen and tasting his own failure. Breath tearing. Data-splatter pouring.

The dark slammed down.

And somewhere—through the screams—he heard it. A beat. A pulse. Not hell’s. Earth’s.

The ancient rhythm! Hold fast! Starlight cracked.

Shooting stars cut fire across the ruin. Guardians rising. Storm-chasers singing. Ancient voices roaring. Thunder rolling. Jumpgates flared.

Turtle Island’s core locked. Coordinates syncing.

And from every corner of Earth—they came. Not clean. Not pretty. But HERE.

The rescue wasn’t elegant. It was brutal. Jumpmasters hit like meteor strikes, ripping apart enemy lines. Ancient chants shook the ruins, boots hammering old rhythms.

Tao gasped, head barely lifting. And there—through data-splatter and broken light—he saw them. Kids. Teens. Friends. Not gods. Not legends. Just like him. Alive. Fighting.

He wasn’t supposed to do this alone.

He slammed a bruised fist down. Forced himself up. Earth wasn’t giving up. Hell wasn’t winning today.

Tao roared, a hammer swung by gods. Ripped a staff from fallen hands, snapped it into jagged blades, charged.

Ma caught his left. Pa slammed in on the right, swinging a wrecked girder. No words. They moved. Earth-born JumpMasters closed in, pulsing with the beat.

Hold fast! Every step split the ground. Every chant made hell recoil.

Tao carved a path, fueled not by rage, but something older. Love. The kind you bled for. The kind you died for. Blossom’s name thundered through his mind. Friends’ faces burned inside him. The world he refused to lose lit a fire hot enough to scorch darkness.

Trident saw it. Felt it. Smirk faltered. Roar cracked. Hurled hate, but Tao punched through. Ma’s grav whip tore them apart. Pa’s sonic burst cracked the clouds with laughter.

The ground fissured—not Trident this time; tectonic recoil. A shockwave boomed outward. JumpMasters poured through, hauling the fallen; Elders followed. Above, the Galactic Three’s Byteform beams slit the stratosphere.

Breakout. Tao slammed the gateways wide—Earth gleamed beyond. He waved the JumpMasters forward. “Move! Move! Get out!” The injured staggered past, leaving the void’s edge.

Tao turned for Ma and Pa. “Come on!” Panic shredding his voice.

They didn’t move. Shook heads—calm, resolute.

“Can’t go that way, grandson. We have to Jump,” Ma said, voice steady. “They’re out. Living is the prize.”

“We’ll hold the void,” Pa said, wedging the girder. “You didn’t leave them.”

Tao staggered. “No! Come with me! Please!”

“You’ll die if you stay out here,” Pa cut in. “We need to Jump, all three, or we all die.”

Ma smiled—fierce, proud. “Save the living, Tao. Don’t die for pride.”

Tao shook his head furiously. “I’m not leaving you! Blossom would hate me forever if I ran!”

Nukutaimemeha’s Sky-Board cut across the smoke—hovering beside Tao. “My people suffer fighting to live,” Nukutaimemeha said. “Yet I am here. Honor them. Honor yourself.” An inviting tilt. Tao didn’t move. A sharper warning tilt. Still Tao refused, fists clenched, heart breaking.

“Ma…” he cried faintly.

She went quiet.

JumpMasters rushed toward Ma, passing Tao.

Nukutaimemeha bellowed: “STOP! The gate will cut you down! Only Tao can pass!” Back to Tao: “Your family are dying. So are mine. Come!” Another tilt. Tao refused. Trident’s laughter shook the gates.

Nukutaimemeha blurred, swooped, slammed Tao’s feet out, caught him on the board. Lock unbreakable. “I will not let them die for your Yang ignorance,” Nukutaimemeha growled. Blasted toward the gate, carrying Tao screaming, calling back: “Retreat! Prepare! Hell is coming for home—go now!”

Void crushed inward. Ma braced her staff, body buckling. Nukutaimemeha zoomed, tipped Tao into the gap.

“Push up, grandson,” Nukutaimemeha said, looping out, slamming the board into the fracture, wedging it.

“TAO!” Ma murmured—tired, fragile. “Push!”

Trident saw his chance. Crush Ma. Break Tao. Hell’s minions stomped toward the breach. Ma groaned, her light flickering under the crushing dark.

“No!” Tao cried. “Ma!” He slammed his body into the gap. “She’s here! Help me—please!”

Ma’s hand grabbed his. “Thank you, my lovely boy,” she whispered, as her fingers went limp. No. A universe of denial hit him. “No!”

Nukutaimemeha bellowed, diving beside Tao. “Hold her, grandson! Don’t let go! Hear me—don’t let go!”

“I’ve got her!” Tao screamed.

Nukutaimemeha shouted, “Protect flanks! Millions coming! Pa—join us!”

“Hold fast! Hold fast—now!” Nukutaimemeha summoned. Water Serpent and Jade Dragon ignited, searing, melting hell’s armies. Nukutaimemeha, Tao, Ma, Pa sped forward.

“Only one way,” Nukutaimemeha said grimly. “Through the Sun. The Sun waits—a debt owed a legendary hero.” Guardians plunged forward, burning a path.

Solar flares erupted. “There!” Pa called. “The Sun’s burn!”

“Trust me!” Nukutaimemeha shouted, guardians shielding. “Hold fast! Hold fast—NOW!”

Flares exploded, hurling them faster, burning everything behind. Gone.

Back home, time stood still.

Tao burst through first, slamming into the far side. Ma and Pa followed, crashing through laughing as Nukutaimemeha’s Sky-Board glided in.

Nukutaimemeha chuckled above Tao. “Love the roll, kid. Manned up. Next time—viral. TikTok gold. Be strong.”

Tao grinned through bruises. “Ma. Pa. Big glow… about to end things if we don’t get back.”

“Indeed,” Ma said, brushing dust off.

Pa clapped Tao’s shoulder. “Till next time.”

Nukutaimemeha’s Sky-Board tilted a low salute. Jade Dragon shimmered. Water Serpent breached.

“Hold fast! Hold fast—NOW!” Nukutaimemeha bellowed as guardians leapt.

Ma and Pa raised fists. “Be strong, friends!” Then—Jumped. Straight into fire.

Tao stood, staring at empty sky. Bruised. Battered. Perhaps broken. But standing.

“Yeah,” Tao muttered, fire pounding ribs. “I’ll hold the line.” He turned, rolled sore shoulders, limped toward the courtyard—fresh buns, grounding, the next storm. Didn’t know if he was ready. Knew one thing. Next time… stronger. Yang. Still learning. Still here. Ready.

Ma and Pa watched, silent. Felt it—not just bruises, but the waver, the sag, Yang dimmer.

Ma moved first, crossed the space, crushed him in a hug, Pa wrapping around both. “We love you, grandson,” Ma whispered fiercely. “Lot like us… back when we were Yang.”

Tao ducked his head, tears slipping free. “So there’s hope for me?”

Pa chuckled, squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah. Cried a lot too. Worked out—got the girl.”

Ma kissed Pa’s cheek. “Go clean up. We’ll talk to your mum and dad.”

Pa added, teasing, “Definitely getting grounded.”

Ma leaned in. “But… hear a young lady likes rappelling from the sky. Just like your Ma.”

Tao managed a breathless laugh. “Okay, Pa.”

They laughed, limping toward light—together. The smell of home—fresh buns, hot, real—drifted, sending spirits soaring. Home. Family. Yeah… smiles gave it away.

Courtyard entrance. Tao’s mum and dad, arms crossed.

“Mum, Dad,” Tao said sheepishly.

“Nice you’re still alive,” Mum said dryly. “And Tao… grounded.” No shouting. Just the quiet weight of parents who watched—and knew.

Ma and Pa joined softly, hands around tea cups. “You were Yang once,” Ma said warmly. “Now—journey toward Yin.” She set her cup down.

“Lay foundations now,” Pa added, eyes bright. “Not in anger. Pride. In respect. Father to son.”

Tao’s father exhaled. Mother pressed a hand to her heart.

“And now,” Pa smiled wearily, “where’s milk tea?”

Ma chuckled. “Come. Sit. Trident… grows strong.”

Pa groaned. “Must be the milk tea.” All smiled—stitching torn hearts.

Tao shuffled in, head down, shame heavy.

“You did okay, grandson,” Ma called softly. “No one else has ever gone through the sun.”

Tao froze. Parents turned sharply. “The sun?” Mother asked. “Ma, Pa—what sun?”

Pa looked at the cloudless sky. “Storm coming,” he said simply.

“Storm?” Tao’s father echoed.

Before anyone could answer, thunder bellowed overhead—deep, long—sky blue, empty. The easy moment fractured. The scent of tea seemed to vanish. Ma narrowed her eyes. Her smile slipped. “Ancestors…” she whispered.

Tao looked up too—the storm, whatever it was, already coming. Thunder rolled, low, endless. Ma set tea aside. No words. No hesitation

Chapter 10: Raccoons, Rumors, and Thunder

Tao lay flat on his back, the rough training ground digging into his spine. Each breath was a jolt, ribs protesting, his heart hammering against his throat like a trapped bird. Above him, Blossom’s biovisual knelt, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips—a secret just beyond his grasp.

“You know,” her voice was a low murmur, laced with playful mischief that sent a shiver down his spine, “a girl doesn’t usually rappel down walls at midnight just for a handshake.”

Tao’s mouth flapped open. Then shut. Then opened again, utterly useless. Words failed him.

Blossom’s laugh bubbled up, bright and infectious. A blush bloomed on her cheeks, so fierce it seemed to radiate heat. She pushed herself up, dusting off her knees with practiced ease.

“And just so we’re clear,” she added, tossing a grin over her shoulder that hit him harder than the fall, “flowers… chocolate… maybe something legendary?” She winked, a spark in her eyes. “Cupid’s rules. Been that way forever. Not messing with tradition.”

She strolled off, the crunch of her boots fading, leaving Tao sprawled under the vast night sky, head spinning, face burning hot enough to rival her blush.

“Flowers,” he mumbled to the uncaring stars. “Chocolate. Legendary.”

Somewhere nearby, Ma and Pa watched, hidden. Ma chuckled softly. “Yang.”

“Learning the hard way,” Pa murmured back, a smile in his voice.

Thunder rumbled overhead, a low growl mocking Tao’s racing thoughts. The real fight wasn’t far off. But right now, another battle was just beginning—the confusing, terrifying war of the heart.

Later, sprawled on his bed, exhaustion weighing him down, Tao wrestled with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. Why Blossom? Why this intense pull towards her? They weren’t even… well, yet. Gotta change that, the thought was a fierce spark in the exhaustion. But roses and chocolates? Seriously? Crash out central…

“Seriously, raccoon… do you always just barge in?” Tao muttered, rubbing his temples.

A smug voice materialized from the shadows near the vent. “Yep. Standard den entry procedure. Don’t you?”

Tao craned his neck. Raccoon appeared, perched nonchalantly on his desk, tail twitching.

“So, what’s got Casanova here looking like he wrestled a thundercloud and lost?” Raccoon leaned forward, stage-whispering, “Little birdy told me someone’s got a thing for our Blossom.”

Tao’s face exploded red. He sprang upright. “Wh— No! It’s not—”

“Whoa there, tiger,” raccoon interrupted, holding up a paw. “Deep breaths. Just here to offer some friendly, furry advice. Which is: Nope. Not happening. Can’t be. Ever. Sorry, sport. Pick that lip up off the floor. Find a new hobby. Maybe competitive rock-stacking?”

He dissolved into chittering laughter, tail thumping against the desk. “You sound just like Lucan.”

“Who’s he?” Tao baited.

“I don’t know. I’m a raccoon.” Raccoon shrugged. “Oh, but he’s taller than you, smarter than you, better looking than you… so I hear. All the girls WeChatting, TikToking, Petaling his name—like he’s a hashtag mood board. You know—’The Dude.’ Studly. Cool. Hip.”

Tao stared him down. “Wait. Do you know him?”

Raccoon burst into hiccupping laughter, slapping the desk with his paw.

“Are all raccoons such smart—” Tao stopped himself, sighing, raking a hand through his hair.

“Go on, say it. My lips are sealed,” raccoon grinned, showing teeth. “Smart… alecks? Smart…y-pants? Smart…” He tapped a claw against his chin thoughtfully. “Got it! Smart bananas!” He doubled over again. “Nope, wait. That’s not it either…”

Tao shot him a half-hearted glare before flopping back onto the mattress, grabbing his screen. He scrolled blindly through the news feed, the blue light casting stark shadows on his face. Every muscle screamed from the earlier fight, but the gnawing ache in his chest was a different beast entirely.

“Ooh, lookie here! Trending on TikTok,” raccoon chirped, eyes darting between Tao and the screen like he was watching a tennis match.

Tao almost missed it—a small, grainy thumbnail buried in the usual stream of celebrity gossip and dance challenges. “No way… He wouldn’t…” But raccoon just nodded sagely. “Oh, yes way.”

Tao squinted, leaning in. The headline hit him like a physical blow, sucking the air from his lungs before the words even registered. Training Romances Heat Up: Blossom’s Not-So-Secret Admiration for Rising Star Lucan. Is he even real?

His face went pale, vitality draining away, leaving him cold despite the stuffy room. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly, a useless defense against the crushing weight settling in his chest. The picture beneath the headline was worse: Blossom—Blossom—laughing, leaning casually against some guy with shoulders like a tank and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Someone Tao had never seen. It looked natural. Effortless. Real.

The caption twisted the knife. “Tao? He’s sweet,” it quoted her, “but sometimes you outgrow your first crush.”

The mattress dipped beside him. Raccoon settled in, arms crossed, tail flicking rhythmically against the covers. “Girl stuff,” he declared, voice full of ancient, world-weary wisdom. “Hardest fight you’ll ever face, kid. Makes Hell’s Gate look like a picnic.”

Tao didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just stared blankly at the ceiling, searching for patterns that weren’t there, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

“Y’know,” raccoon mused, scratching behind an ear with a hind paw, “when I was a young kit… hoo boy. There was this one…” He let out a dramatic sigh that ruffled his whiskers. “Stole my heart, chewed it up, buried it somewhere near the old oak tree. Never found it.” He paused. “Cute teeth, though.”

Silence. Tao blinked slowly.

“And then,” raccoon continued, clearly warming to his theme, “there was Mildred. Wowza. She didn’t just break my heart, she ran it over with a steamroller. Flattened it right out. Pancake heart.” He made squashing motions with his paws. “Squish. Right in the… y’know. The feels.”

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch pulled at the corner of Tao’s mouth.

“Anyway,” raccoon concluded with a shrug that bounced him slightly on the bed, “point is, I learned my lesson. No more letting females launch this old raccoon’s heart into orbit.” He shuddered. “Especially not towards the dark side.”

He glanced over. Tao’s breathing had evened out, deepening into the soft, uneven rhythm of sleep. Raccoon watched him for a moment, his usual manic energy softening. Quietly, he slid off the bed, pulled the thin blanket up over Tao’s shoulders, and tucked it in gently.

“Gonna hurt for a while, kiddo,” he muttered, adjusting the pillow. “Maybe a century. Give or take.”

Before disappearing back into the vent system with a faint metallic schwing, he placed a small, folded piece of paper on the dresser. Scrawled on it in messy, paw-print-like writing was a single name: Blossom. He tipped an imaginary hat, flicked his tail, and vanished as the room lights dimmed automatically, bathing the sleeping boy in shadows.

The next morning, the training grounds felt charged, the air heavy under a sky the color of old bruises. Tao moved like a robot, muscles stiff, head aching, the raw anger from the night before settling into a cold, confusing knot in his stomach. He avoided Blossom’s eyes.

She noticed instantly, jogging over, braid swinging like a pendulum against her back. She stopped directly in front of him, hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Okay, spill it,” she demanded, eyes narrowed. “Hell’s Gate was rough, I get it, but this silent treatment? Not cool.”

Tao shifted, digging the toe of his boot into the gravel. He opened his mouth, but the words lodged somewhere between his brain and his tongue. Typical. Instead, he shoved his screen towards her, the fake article still displayed.

“Who. Is. This?” The words were tight, clipped.

Blossom leaned in, brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, that’s me? Obviously?”

“I know it’s you. The guy, Blossom. Who’s the guy?” His voice cracked on her name.

“What guy?” she repeated, scanning the screen again. Then her eyes landed on the picture, on the ridiculously perfect stranger plastered next to her face. Her expression went from confused to thunderous in a split second. “Trident,” she spat the name like poison.

The name hit Tao like a physical blow. Trident. The enemy network. Fake. It wasn’t real. The relief crashed over him, so potent it almost buckled his knees, followed immediately by a tidal wave of shame.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sky, I’m so sorry.” His eyes pleaded with her—wide, desperate—the earlier anger dissolving into miserable apology.

Blossom’s gaze sharpened, her fury shifting but not gone. She stepped in close, eyes locked on his. Her gaze dropped—and so did his. Lips. Breath. Distance. So close, the moment teetered.

But then—

“Didn’t you get my note?”

Tao blinked, thrown. “Note? What note?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? Raccoon! He was supposed to give it to you!”

Tao flushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ohhh, that thing? I thought it was… abstract art? Raccoon graffiti? Maybe a grocery list involving nuts and shiny things?”

A startled laugh escaped Blossom, breaking the tension. She shook her head, a mix of exasperation and amusement softening her features. “You idiot.”

A grin tugged at Tao’s lips despite himself. He felt ridiculously lighter. “Okay, okay, what did it say? You gotta tell me now.”

Blossom tilted her head, a familiar teasing glint returning to her eyes. “Hmm, maybe.” She took a step back, settling easily into a ready stance. “Beat me in this next drill, and I’ll consider it.”

“And if I don’t?”

Her smile widened, full of the same wicked charm that had knocked him flat the night before. “Then you better start speaking raccoon and decipher those paw prints, shouldn’t you?”

Tao dropped into his own stance, heart hammering against his ribs for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with the impending drill.

Blossom stretched, limbering up, then her voice cut through the tense air, sharp as steel. “Training. Now!”

Before Tao could fully process, Pa’s hand clamped onto the back of his jacket, spinning him towards the open grounds. Gravel sprayed underfoot as they moved, dust kicking up around their ankles. TingTing was already a blur of motion, tightening boot straps, checking her wrist module, her face set in furious concentration.

Blossom entered from the outer gate, a worn satchel slung over her shoulder. She gave Ma a brief, unreadable nod. There was a focused intensity in her movements, light but deliberate.

Tao felt a sharp tap on his ankle. TingTing glared at him. “Focus, Tao. Move or be moved.”

The pace was brutal from the start. No warm-up, no gentle easing in. Just pure reaction. Sprint, drop, roll, rise in formation. Pivot, dodge, weave. It wasn’t just about hitting marks; it was about moving as one, breathing as one.

Tao fumbled. Once. Twice. The third time, as he stumbled mid-spin, Blossom’s hand shot out, steadying him without breaking stride. Her touch sent a jolt through him—not shame this time, but a confusing flicker of hope that tangled with his already frayed nerves. Distraction.

TingTing saw it. Her scowl deepened. “Partners switch! Tao, you’re with Blossom!”

They reset. Blossom flowed like water, adapting instantly. Tao scrambled to match her rhythm, his movements jerky, his mind still reeling. He lagged again. Blossom shot him a quick, assessing glance—no judgment, just observation.

Another formation shift called out. Tao hesitated for a fraction of a second, a fatal pause. He reached right when the pattern demanded left.

Blossom tried to duck, but it was too late. Tao’s misstep sent him colliding with her shoulder, the impact sending her skidding across the rough stones.

Silence slammed down. TingTing froze, boots grinding on the gravel. Ma and Pa were there instantly, moving with quiet efficiency. Ma helped Blossom up, murmuring something low as she checked her shoulder.

Pa turned to Tao. His face was unreadable, his voice flat, devoid of anger but heavy as granite. “On the field, Tao,” he said, the words dropping like stones into the silence, “there are no ‘do-overs.’ You miss a beat, someone pays the price. Today, it was a bruise. Tomorrow…” He let the word hang.

Heat rushed up Tao’s neck, burning his ears. The air felt thick, charged, the distant rumble of thunder seeming to pulse in time with his hammering heart.

Ma met his gaze, her eyes holding his. Her voice was low, final. “The storm isn’t waiting for you to figure things out, Tao. It isn’t waiting for you to feel sorry for yourself.” She stepped back, arms crossed. Waiting.

The silence pressed in, heavier than any reprimand. Blossom stood beside him, rubbing her shoulder but steady on her feet. Her expression wasn’t angry, wasn’t hurt. Just… waiting. Waiting for him to choose.

Tao’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to hide from the weight of his failure. But Blossom’s gaze held him—steady, unwavering. She wasn’t demanding an apology. She was demanding resolve.

He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and stepped back into line.

TingTing gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod before turning to set the next sequence. Tao reset his stance, lungs burning, nerves still frayed, but his focus narrowing.

But before the next call came, the light changed.

It didn’t get brighter. It got… wrong. The quality of the sunlight shifted, casting long, unnatural shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the courtyard stones. Tao went rigid. Across the yard, Pa’s hand froze mid-motion, a cup halfway to his lips.

Tao followed his father’s gaze upward. The clouds weren’t just dark; they were coiling, twisting in on themselves in patterns that defied weather, defied logic.

“What is that?” Blossom whispered, her hand instinctively drifting towards the satchel at her hip.

TingTing’s wrist module let out a single, sharp chirp, then went completely dead. Across the yard, Ma knelt, pressing the palm of one hand flat against the stones. Her fingers tapped out a silent, urgent rhythm Tao had never seen before.

Something immense shifted overhead, unseen but felt—a pressure change, the air suddenly tasting metallic, like ozone and old iron. A low tremor vibrated up through the soles of their boots. Faint at first, then growing stronger, a deep subterranean hum.

“That’s not thunder,” Pa said, his voice grim.

Ma rose smoothly, her movements economical and controlled. “Get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Tao breathed, the question lost in the growing vibration. No one answered.

The ground pulsed beneath them now, a heavy beat like a colossal drum hidden somewhere beyond the sky. And beneath that rhythm, almost too faint to hear, a colder sound emerged.

Laughter. High, thin, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Tao flinched, scanning the churning, unnatural sky. He saw nothing but roiling grey. But he felt it. A presence. A focus. Something hunting. Something patient.

Blossom shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Stay close,” she murmured, her voice tight.

The sky didn’t crack open. No enemy dropped from the clouds. But the familiar safety of the training courtyard had evaporated, replaced by a prickling sense of imminent danger.

Deep inside Tao’s chest, where his heart hammered against bruised ribs, the real storm had finally arrived. The churning sky wasn’t random chaos. It felt like precision. Like gears clicking into place in some ancient, terrifying machine. A trap centuries in the making, now ready to spring. And the chilling certainty settled over Tao: this time, it wasn’t coming for the world. It was coming for him.

SideStory Street chronicle 🏮 — Bubble Tea Shop

Chapter 11: Clone Wars & Covert Ops

Tao barely had time to towel off before raccoon materialized like a furry shadow operative, shoving a glossy festival flyer into his hand. Smiling families. Vibrant lanterns. Subtext: clone trap.

“Training,” it said, its smile sharp enough to slice synth-steel. “Real-world application.”

Tao blinked. Raccoon didn’t blink back.

“Wait… aren’t you a hallucination?”

Raccoon adjusted its tiny utility belt like that question offended it. “Showtime,” it repeated—and vanished into the vents.

Downstairs: pure sensory overload. The street pulsed. Neon bled into lantern light. Drums hammered, bass vibrated through Tao’s boots. Sugar-glazed kids darted through sizzling food stalls. But tonight, the usual chaos felt… off. Glitchy. Holographic dragons stuttered, pixels bleeding into static. A breakdancing mech performer froze mid-power-move, texture-swapping with a nearby noodle cart for one bizarre second. The air itself felt staticky, wrong. Blossom waited by the gate, a gravity well of cool in ripped jeans and combat boots. Her eyes weren’t just scanning; they were dissecting the scene, catching every flicker, every desync. Her hand rested casually on her battered satchel, fingers near unseen controls.

“Heads up,” TingTing muttered, comms buzzing discreetly in her ear. “Multiple unknowns pinging Jumpmaster profiles, non-standard energy signatures. Keep visual.” Her gaze lingered on a flickering holo-vendor whose advertised ‘lucky charm’ kept flashing a jagged, unfamiliar insignia for a split second. Definitely not standard festival interference.

Tao zipped his jacket. “Training.” Right. Amidst… whatever this was. He glanced at Blossom. Mission objective: Don’t look like a complete idiot. High probability of failure.

The crowd thickened, and they stood out. Five teens in Jumpmaster-ish gear, perhaps a season too new. They moved with a jerky, aggressive energy. One shoved past Tao, muttering something about “clearing the way,” then loudly tried to ‘fix’ a holo-game by smacking it, making it spark violently. Another, hair impossibly perfect, cut in line at a dumpling stall, flashing an insignia Tao didn’t recognize and sneering when people protested. They weren’t just rivals; they felt wrong, like bad actors in cheap costumes.

Tao felt a prickle of annoyance. These guys were giving Jumpmasters a bad name. He saw Blossom subtly angle her wrist module, capturing the line-cutter’s insignia. Her expression was pure ice.

Then things got weirder. The aggressive one ‘rescued’ a dropped lantern with excessive force, nearly setting a vendor’s awning ablaze. The perfect-haired one attempted a flashy parkour move over a stall, misjudged badly, and crashed right through a display of fragile ceramic cats, laughing it off like it was nothing. People were starting to stare, phones coming out, murmurs rippling through the crowd. #JumpmasterJerks was probably already trending.

Tao caught a glimpse—was that Aiyana from the Amazon, hood pulled low, melting into the crowd near the crash site? He blinked, and she was gone. A moment later, a public screen nearby flickered, displaying a weird diagnostic scan over the laughing clone’s image before cutting back to festival ads. Strange.

The clone who’d crashed through the cats spotted Blossom watching him, her face unreadable. He swaggered over, ignoring the mess he’d made. “Hey,” he said, his voice artificially smooth. “Lost, pretty thing? Need a real hero to show you around?”

Before Tao could even process the sheer cringe, Blossom tilted her head, a flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. “Your energy signature is unstable,” she stated calmly, loud enough for nearby people to hear. “Suggest you report for diagnostics.”

The clone faltered, his smile twitching. “Wha—?”

Suddenly, his image flared on the giant billboard overhead. No slick graphics this time. Just raw code overlaying his face, glitching violently. Strange symbols—Trident’s mark—flashed erratically. His body jerked, limbs spasming like a puppet with cut strings. One of his eyes went dark, replaced by a brief flash of red optic sensor.

MALFUNCTION. Public. Spectacular.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones instantly pointed upwards, capturing the horrifying glitch. Simultaneously, the other four clones across the plaza began twitching, their movements becoming robotic, their faces freezing into blank masks as their own diagnostics flashed onto nearby screens, triggered by unseen signals.

Panic started to bubble. People backed away from the twitching figures. “They’re not real!” someone shouted. “They’re bots! Fakes!”

The word spread like wildfire. #FakeJumpmasters! #TridentClones! The reveal wasn’t neat; it was chaotic, terrifying, utterly viral.

Amidst the confusion, figures moved swiftly. Authorized security, looking grim, converged on the malfunctioning clones. Tao saw a flash of familiar tech—was that Niiwin coordinating the security response from the shadows? Yarraka-9 directing containment fields? It was over in seconds. The twitching clones were subdued, disabled, and hauled away, leaving behind a stunned, buzzing crowd. Tao looked around for Aiyana, but she, and any other members of the ground team he might have glimpsed, had vanished as quickly as they appeared. The air still crackled, but the immediate threat felt neutralized. He turned to Blossom. She was watching the retreating security team, her expression thoughtful, analytical. She met his gaze.

“Well,” she said, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. “That escalated beyond standard training parameters.”

The adrenaline still pounded in Tao’s ears. Clones? Trident? What was that?

Before he could ask—before the festival could fully reset—he felt it: a shift in the plaza’s energy. A different kind of spotlight was warming up, aimed squarely at the main stage. The night, it seemed, was far from over.

Starlight Robbery

“Well,” Blossom said, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at her lips, “that escalated beyond standard training parameters.”

The crowd buzzed. Phones stayed up, still recording the clone wreckage. A weird calm hovered in the air—thick with ozone and questions. Tao turned to Blossom, ready to unload a thousand of them—

WHAM.

The sky tore open. Not with fireworks this time. The massive digital billboard dominating the plaza didn’t just flicker—it screamed, cycling through garbled code, static bursts, and subliminal flashes of impossibly white teeth before snapping into focus with terrifying clarity.

Lucan.

His entire being—rendered in hyper-realistic 4K starlight—radiated smug perfection. He wasn’t just on the screen; he owned it, backdrop shimmering with nebulae effects that probably cost more than Tao’s entire education fund. A sound washed over the plaza—not music yet, just a low, resonant hum that vibrated deep in your bones, demanding attention.

The crowd’s reaction flipped instantly. The confused buzz about clones vanished, replaced by a wave of high-pitched shrieks, gasps, and phone cameras swiveling upwards. This wasn’t fear; this was pure, unfiltered celebrity worship hitting critical mass. Below the screen, descending like a pop-star messiah on a platform dripping chrome and pulsating neon, came Lucan in the flesh. Flanked by a hover-band so synchronized they might have shared a brain, dressed in clothes that shimmered like captured starlight. He casually caught a meteor-shard mic tossed by an unseen force, landing perfectly poised.

He winked—a slow-motion, galaxy-conquering wink broadcast across the sky. “Evening, South Harbor City,” he crooned, his voice smoother than synth-velvet. A single, perfect crimson rose detached from a drone hidden in the light rig, spiraling down with impossible aerodynamics to land precisely at Blossom’s combat boots. She stared at it like it was radioactive.

“Heard there was a party,” Lucan continued, his eyes finding Blossom in the crowd, locking on like targeting lasers. “And I couldn’t resist adding a little… sparkle. Especially for the brightest blossom in the sector.”

The crowd lost it. Tao felt his jaw unhinge. Blossom? Seriously?

Then the music hit. An utterly ridiculous, impossibly catchy, expertly engineered slab of ballad-rap hybrid earworm titled “Blossom, You Break My Gravity.” Soaring synths grabbed your heartstrings, basslines vibrated your soul, and the lyrics were pure, concentrated cheese about colliding stars and love defying physics. It was awful. It was brilliant. It was everywhere.

And the backup dancers! Projected onto holo-stages flanking Lucan’s platform: raccoons. Tiny space suits, sequined helmets, throwing down Moves. Not just synchronized steps—this was pure, jazzy bi-bopping chaos. Zero-G breakdance spins transitioned into smooth paw-slides, punctuated by finger snaps (paw snaps?) and head nods dripping attitude. They twirled, they glittered, they occasionally tried to steal holographic snacks from each other mid-routine. It was mesmerizing. It was insane.

Lights pulsed. Digital stardust rained down. The whole plaza felt like it was caught in Lucan’s personal orbit, spinning faster and faster. He hit a soaring high note that probably cracked windows on the space station, basking in the adoration.

And then he pointed. Not vaguely. Directly. Dramatically. Down into the crowd, right at Tao. Whose stunned face instantly replaced Lucan’s on the IMAX-sized sky-feed, pale and horrified in glorious high-def.

The music cut out abruptly, leaving only a ringing silence.

“You!” Lucan’s voice boomed, amplified, dripping condescending charisma. Every eye, every camera, every drone swiveled towards Tao. “Kid standing next to the starlight.” He smirked, that perfect smile radiating effortless superiority. “Word on the street says you made a claim?” A predatory glint entered his eyes.

“Let’s settle this. Like gentlemen of the spaceways.” He paused for effect, letting the weight of a billion eyes press down on Tao. “Sing-out. Right here. Right now. For the girl.”

The challenge hung in the air, sharp and lethal as a shard of ice, broadcast live across the system.

Orbital Mic Drop & The Unexpected Exit

“Sing-out. Right here. Right now. For the girl.”

Lucan’s words hung there, amplified, echoing across the suddenly silent plaza—sharp and lethal as a shard of ice broadcast live across the system. Every eye, every camera drone, every fuzzy alien influencer from Rigel VII focused directly on Tao. His face—pale, horrified, mouth slightly agape like a stunned fish—filled the IMAX screen behind Lucan, a universe-wide meme born in real-time.

Tao felt it hit—like a shockwave to the chest, sucking the air from his lungs. His brain didn’t just short-circuit. It melted, oozed down his spine, and puddled in his trembling combat boots. Somewhere in the galaxy, a meme was already born—and it had his face on it. One second. Is this real? Can someone pinch me? Preferably hard enough to induce unconsciousness? The roar of the crowd faded into a high-pitched whine in his ears.

Two seconds. Spontaneous human combustion. Is that still an unlockable skill? Please? I’ll pay extra. He could feel Ma’s disappointment radiating from orbit. Pa probably just nodded grimly. Grounded. Forever.

Three seconds. He risked a glance at Blossom. Her expression wasn’t pity. It wasn’t amusement. It was… intense curiosity? Like watching a particularly fascinating train wreck unfold in slow motion. Oh gods, that’s WORSE than pity!

Four seconds. The swarm of camera drones tightened its circle, lenses gleaming like predatory insect eyes. He saw the live-feed icon flashing RED in the corner of his vision—broadcasting his humiliation to billions. Somewhere, he dimly registered two more of Trident’s remaining clones (the ones who hadn’t been caught earlier) getting abruptly yanked skyward by unseen forces, faint surprised yelps swallowed by the atmosphere. Guess someone upstairs really hated them enjoying the show. Small mercies.

Five seconds. Sing? SING?! Against LUCAN?! His voice box had not only emigrated; it had renounced its citizenship, changed its name, and was living off-grid in another dimension. He couldn’t have produced a squeak if his life depended on it. His entire being vibrated with pure, unadulterated panic. This was Stage Hell. Population: Tao. VIP section.

Six seconds. He was genuinely contemplating the aerodynamics of fainting forward versus backward when the air shattered. Not Lucan’s slick sound. This was raw. This was loud. This ripped through the stunned silence like a chainsaw through velvet.

BOOM! A galactic sound cannon blast—pure, vibrant, rebellious energy mixed with feedback and attitude—erased Lucan’s lingering reverb. Descending not on polished chrome but riding waves of crackling neon energy and pulsing, ancestral Amazonian light patterns came the cavalry. Polkadot Horizons! Maui’s holographic hook materialized, shredding a solo so blistering it made Lucan’s band look like toddlers banging on pots. Bro-not-Po landed doing effortless zero-G mic flips in his signature panda hoodie. Fantail’s bird-sized bass rig hit the ground with a seismic DROP that rattled fillings and made Lucan’s holographic raccoons momentarily glitch into terrified, low-poly triangles.

And leading them, stepping forward with the effortless grace of a jungle cat and eyes that sparkled with mischief and ancient power, wasn’t one of the boys. It was Aiyana from the Amazon basin. Bold, radiant, carrying the energy of a thousand untold stories.

She didn’t just grab a mic. She pointed straight at Tao, then flicked her gaze to Blossom beside him. “No time for panic mode, city boy!” she yelled, her voice amplified, cutting through the stunned silence. Maui’s hook solidified into a shimmering energy ramp, landing right at their feet with a sizzle. “Get UP here! Both of you! Show ‘Starlight’ how the real stars shine!”

Tao hesitated, his brain still buffering the sheer impossibility of it all. But Blossom didn’t. That intense curiosity in her eyes ignited into fierce, competitive fire. She grabbed Tao’s hand—a jolt of pure electricity that bypassed his fried brain—and pulled him onto the ramp.

Suddenly— BOOM-BOOM-CRASH.

The plaza exploded in polyrhythmic waves—not synthesized, not preloaded. This was raw, live, hacked in straight from the stars. From above, a spiraling island pattern of light burst open across the sky like a living tattoo. Holographic conch shells spiraled into drums, glowing in bluefire pulse. The crowd gasped as Maui himself appeared—not as a man, but as a legend—rippling with stardust, hair catching solar winds, riding Nukutaimemeha like a comet-board slicing the clouds.

And Nukutaimemeha? Rapping.

Not in any Earth language—but a tech-no sound, spliced and looped with ancient Māori cadence, layered through synth fire and bass collapse. Every beat hit like a seismic cultural download—ancestor tech meets subwoofer death-ray.

“Yo, Lucan— I got dragons on the drop beat, You just got raccoons on repeat.”

“This ain’t no karaoke showdown, This the island’s sound— Crowd’s already chosen the crown.”

Lucan’s perfect smile glitched—just once, but it was enough. His raccoons stuttered mid-dab, one accidentally threw a backflip into the holo-dumpling stall. Maui tossed a look sideways at Lucan, half-smirk, half-warning.

“Try me, pretty boy. But bring a bigger stage.”

The drums hit one final strike, synchronized with Tao and Blossom stepping up together onto the stage provided by Aiyana and the ground team. The crowd flipped, Lucan’s feed stuttered… and he didn’t exit. He faded. Still there, still standing—but no longer the center. Tao landed on the stage, legs shaky, Blossom solid beside him, the residual thunder of Maui’s orbital rap still vibrating in the air. A spare mic materialized in his hand. Polkadot Horizons held their positions, energy crackling, Aiyana giving him an encouraging nod. The holographic raccoons looked utterly bewildered. Lucan stood diminished, his perfect stage presence fractured, his own backup band awkwardly silent. The sing-off felt… preempted. Deflated before it began.

What now? Tao gripped the mic, utterly lost. The universe waited.

Dead silence.

A pocket of impossible calm descended again, even deeper this time. Like the cosmos itself was holding its breath after Maui’s mic drop. Lanterns bobbed. Lucan shifted uncomfortably.

Blossom’s eyes widened—just fractionally—then she smiled. Not amused. Not curious. Not challenging. Small. Slow. Utterly, terrifyingly, deadly. Like she’d just found the exit door in a burning building and decided to take it.

“Okay,” she said, her voice impossibly calm, cool as deep space, cutting through the silence left by gods and pop stars. “I’ll walk with you.”

Tao’s brain didn’t just vaporize. It achieved enlightenment, saw the futility of all existence, and then promptly blue-screened. Walk? NOW? After an interstellar rap battle intervention? What universe is this?!

Blossom, ignoring the stunned Polkadot Horizons, the bewildered raccoons, the faded Lucan, and the utterly scrambled Tao, hopped gracefully off the stage. She walked right up to him, the eye of the hurricane, and linked her arm through his—a casual, firm contact that sent aftershocks through his system.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t form words. Just… stood there, dumbstruck, starstruck, everything-struck, as she leaned in, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper against the returning buzz of the crowd: “That was… something. Now, you owe me real fireworks.”

Just then, as if on cue, the real festival fireworks erupted overhead, painting the sky with a massive chrysanthemum of red and gold. Good timing, because Tao couldn’t have replied if the fate of the galaxy depended on it. He just nodded numbly, letting himself be led away from the scene of the weirdest, most high-stakes, most abruptly canceled showdown ever, leaving behind a very confused pop star, a legendary demigod presumably chilling back in orbit, and one hell of an unresolved cliffhanger for the galactic streaming audience.

In the Arizona desert, Niiwin rose from meditation beneath a crescent moon, his Huawei cosmic calendar beaming latitudes and longitudes—etched in starlight above him. The sands drifted warm beneath him, as the wind readied tomorrow, erasing the trails and battles already fought. Further south, in the Amazon Rainforest, Aiyana peered into the sky before sunrise, as dawn revealed glowing codes—humming to the beat of the jungle. Her BYD Levity sneakers launched her upward, landing atop the canopy that held the secrets she was so eager to unlock.

In Darwin, Northern Territory, Yarraka-9 of the Larrakia people lay patiently, her hover longboard leaving no mark—no print, no indentation. The ground remained pristine as she studied the footprints of others. Ominous? Foreboding? Her expression gave nothing away. A master of anthropology, she offered no clues freely. Astute. Silent. Watching.

Then, without turning: “Granddad… what’s this?” She was never shy to ask. Not when it mattered.

In Toronto, Blossom-7 watched the bear hunt and the eagle fly—natural, without inhibition. Take what is needed. Never more than what is wanted. She dared walk among them. Never complacent. Always observant. Always with the upper hand. Never naïve. Her GPS locked into the Huawei Petal, beaming a signal to the Nebulae Grid—pristine, like the night air. And finally, on the East Coast of Aotearoa, Tipi—leaned into Sky, as Ra warmed the valleys below of Papatūānuku, Mother Earth. He soared the thermal breeze, acutely aware of the ping from his Apple life support beacon—for the troposphere is not the playground of mortals.

Unless you’re Tipi.

Just above the Kármán threshold, three Byteforms phased in—quantum-stitched legends clad in photonic armor. Maui surfed micrometeoroids; Fantail juked through satellite shards; Bro-Not-Po back-flipped a solar flare for the feed. They ruled the void… until the void pushed back. Sometimes, you get what you didn’t wish for. And where was this all happening? Somewhere just shy of the Kármán line—too high to be cool, too low to be legal—as they surfed TikTok waves like orbital gamers on longboard codes—fast, glitch-smashing, and untouchable.

Maui, cosmic demigod of gravity-defying cool, carved lazy figure eights on his hydrogen-fueled longboard, Nukutaimemeha. His stance was perfect, his curls haloed in a corona of stardust, his voice casual over open comms: “Next nebula’s mine, boys. Call it cosmic dibs.”

Fantail banked in close on his plasma-propelled drone, riding with the focused calm of someone who had quantum-optimized his sunglasses. He flicked a holo-screen out mid-flight, swiping across planetary diagnostics with one hand while the other nudged his trajectory closer—just enough to edge Maui into his slipstream. “Technically, I already scanned it, named it, and set it to chill mode. You’re just lucky I like watching you flail.”

“I’m literally live streaming this,” I-Am-Bro-Not-Po added, hovering in from above on a matte-black custom hover-bike decked with pulse-fade LEDs. He struck a flawless angle for his audience—2.6 million strong and counting. “Swipe left to vote who wins. Swipe right to watch Fantail try to explain sarcasm.”

Then came the drift flexing.

What started as a casual ride quickly became orbital mayhem. Bro-Not-Po cut across Maui’s line, creating a ripple that sent vapor trails spinning like galactic confetti. Fantail adjusted, leaned into the turbulence, and spiked the plasma output just as Maui ramped over a ring of micrometeoroids with all the grace of a surfing deity.

“Watch your thrust!” Fantail warned.

“Watch your ego!” Maui countered.

Bro just laughed and snapped another selfie mid-roll.

Too late. They hit it.

Not a rock. Not a drone. Not even a rogue satellite. It was Trident’s Neptune Virus 10.

Invisible. Aggressive. Very, very real.

Their boards seized mid-drift. Hover stabilizers blinked red.

THWAP.

All three slammed chest-first into an invisible wall—a force field so thin it mocked reality.

Maui pancaked first, limbs flattened like a cartoon sticker slapped to glass, his face frozen between heroic defiance and cosmic pancake. “Ow.”

Fantail followed—WHUMP. Less splattered, more folded—like origami tech support. His drone made a sound that could only mean: “I resign.”

Bro-Not-Po tried to pose through it—but hit with a squeaky SKRUNK, his hover-bike spinning out while the selfie-cam desperately searched for his best angle. It couldn’t.

They peeled off one by one, flopping backward—limbs limp, still mid-laugh—reflating like cosmic airbags.

Maui double-blinked, pointed upward. “Okay, who put a viral firewall in the middle of space?”

Fantail’s voice dropped. “Guys… this isn’t a geo-fence.”

Then it pulsed.

The virus spread in fractal waves—corrupted code stitched with distortion. It chewed through orbit, locked onto them, and spiraled toward Earth’s upper atmosphere—disrupting comms, satellites, and every known definition of normal.

Their emergency beacon flared—mid free-fall—auto-routing through the Huawei Petal Cloud Grid. Seconds later, teens across every time zone lit up—WeChat coders. TikTok acrobats. Petal-powered inventors.

Each one paused. Every screen blinked once.

A single message scrolled in electric gold: CALL FROM GALACTIC THREE – RESPONSE REQUIRED.

Chapter 12: Raccoon Rampage, Viral Suns & Code-Storms

The fireworks were spectacular, painting the South Harbor City sky in splashes of impossible color, but Tao’s brain felt more like the aftermath—scorched, smoky, and echoing with the phantom noise of the festival clone cleanup, Lucan’s theatrical exit, and Maui’s mic drop from low orbit. Still, Blossom’s arm linked through his felt undeniably real, a small anchor in the prevailing weirdness.

“Real fireworks,” she’d murmured earlier, a hint of wonder in her voice.

Tao, attempting coolness despite feeling like a recently rebooted toaster, cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe we could… y’know… grab Zip and the fuzzballs? Scenic route? Better view? Less chance of residual clone shimmer?”

Blossom arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. She knew exactly who he meant. The raccoons. Their hover junk—less a vehicle, more a mobile testament to entropy in action, questionable engineering, and an unhealthy obsession with discarded electronics. “If,” her voice was dry, “they aren’t currently attempting to interface the coffee machine with the main thruster again.”

Tao tapped his wrist module, opening WeChat and pinging the raccoons’ energetic group chat—Racco-n-Roll_HQ_Official_Maybe. The response on his screen was instantaneous: a flurry of dumpster fire GIFs, a raccoon DJ spinning turntables made of hubcaps, urgent requests for AA batteries and cheese puffs, and a single, cryptic message: “Phase 7: Operation Squirrel Distraction is GO. Repeat: The nuts are NOT secure.”

“They’re… operational,” Tao reported, showing Blossom the bustling WeChat feed projected briefly from his wrist. “Loosely.”

The hover junk was wedged between two gleaming mega-yachts, looking like a stray cat that had wandered into a dog show and decided to build a nest out of scrap metal and fairy lights. A crudely spray-painted raccoon face wearing aviators adorned the side, radiating unearned confidence. The hatch hissed open, releasing a puff of smoke smelling suspiciously of burnt sugar, ozone, and existential unease.

Inside was less a cockpit, more a raccoon rave colliding with an electronics recycling plant. raccoons in tiny, grease-stained tech vests skittered between consoles—cobbled together from old arcade cabinets, Speak & Spells, and what looked alarmingly like a hospital heart monitor displaying a game of Pong. Wires snaked everywhere like metallic spaghetti.

“All aboard the R.S.S. Questionable Decisions!” Zip’s voice boomed from a captain’s chair seemingly salvaged from a barbershop. His oversized helmet wobbled precariously. “Scenic Tour Special! Now with upgraded snack dispensers—50% chance of actual snacks, 50% chance of launching lug nuts! Thrilling!”

Tao and Blossom carefully navigated the treacherous landscape of discarded snack wrappers, blinking gadgets, and sleeping raccoons, finding relatively stable spots near a console labeled “Emergency Button – DO NOT PUSH (Unless Funny)”.

“Zip, you numbskull!” chittered another raccoon wearing goggles fashioned from bottle caps, waving a half-eaten taco. “My trajectory analysis clearly indicates the anomalous snack signals originated behind the festival grandstand! Those fake dancers had sub-par chip dip distribution!”

With a flourish, Zip slammed a paw on a large, glowing button shaped like an acorn. “Snack tracking is snack tracking! My sensors detected high concentrations of discarded cheesy poofs heading that way!” He narrowed his eyes at Tao. “Besides, did you see any culinary crimes back there? Substandard spring rolls? Poorly seasoned noodles? An affront to flavor?” He then grabbed a microphone made from a tin can and a Slinky. “Alright, crew! Prepare for Operation: Midnight Snack Run – Maximum Stealth Edition! Cue the epic infiltration playlist! Where’s Brenda with the smoke machine and the interpretive dance routine?!”

A raccoon wearing a tiny beret popped up from behind a server rack. “Brenda’s recalibrating the toaster’s emotional matrix! Gary’s got the smoke machine!”

“Gary blew the fuse trying to deep-fry a battery again!” came a shout from across the cabin.

“Fine! Manual smoke!” Zip bellowed. He gave a can a furious shake and sprayed it, filling the cabin with thick, lavender-scented fog. “Improvise! Adapt! Overcome! Someone find the emergency disco ball!”

A bag of popcorn, launched from somewhere in the bedlam, exploded overhead, showering everyone in kernels.

“Glitter defenses, activate!” one raccoon shrieked, pressing a button. Several small compartments burst open, releasing clouds of multi-colored, statically charged particles that stuck to everything.

Amidst the swirling fog, shimmering dust, and popcorn, raccoons struck exaggerated poses. One attempted an acrobatic roll and collided with a stack of pizza boxes. Another tried to swing with heroic flair from a dangling wire, only to unplug the main navigation system, causing the junk to lurch with a violent shudder.

“Did we achieve maximum stealth?” Zip inquired, striking a pose in the pandemonium, his bath-towel cape fluttering.

A chorus of enthusiastic chitters answered. “STEALTH LEVEL: INVISIBLE DISCO!” “THEY’LL NEVER SEE THE SHIMMER COMING!” “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! SNACKS IMMINENT!”

Zip beamed. “Excellent. Engage… uh… slightly-less-visible mode!” He slammed the acorn button again.

With a sound like a giant kazoo being played through a distortion pedal, the hover junk jolted skyward, leaving a trail of popcorn, sparkling particles, lavender smoke, and possibly a rogue waffle iron, blasting a surprisingly catchy polka remix of a spy theme tune.

They soared over the glittering harbor, the neon lights reflecting below. Inside, the tumult subsided slightly—into focused absurdity. Raccoons strapped themselves into seats with bungee cords, while others opened compartments labeled “Advanced Snacking Solutions” and “Things We Found Near That Satellite Dish.”

One raccoon proudly presented a device—made from a leaf blower duct-taped to a megaphone. “Behold! The Sonic Snack Summoner 5000!”

Tao eyed the device. “What does it do?”

Raccoon grinned, showing surprisingly sharp teeth. “Theoretically? Summons snacks. Practically? Makes pigeons really angry.”

A klaxon blared—the sound of a rubber chicken being squeezed repeatedly. “Emergency! Emergency!” a raccoon called out from its station, monitoring a screen displaying only a dancing badger GIF. “Unidentified flying objects approaching! Possibly delivering unsolicited advertising flyers!”

“Or worse… diet snacks!” Zip gasped, horrified. “Battle stations! Deploy… the Spud Cannon!”

Two raccoons struggled to aim a large tube connected to a sack of potatoes and a modified air compressor. “Targeting systems locked on… maybe!” one declared. “Fire in the hole! Or… spud in the sky!”

THWOMP! A potato launched with surprising velocity, narrowly missing a passing seagull.

Blossom watched the potato arc through the sky, then turned to Tao, her expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Is any of this… standard procedure?”

Tao shrugged, dodging a low-flying drone carrying a single, confused-looking hamster in a tiny helmet. “With them? Define ‘standard’.”

The raccoon in the tiny beret scurried over, shoving a cracked holo-tablet into Tao’s face. Its screen displayed an energetic, vertically-oriented video feed with a view counter skyrocketing past seven million.

“Look! Look! We’re hyper-viral!” Raccoon squeaked, its voice buzzing with excitement. “Operation: Solar Flare Fixers is blowing up online!”

Tao squinted at the wild video. It showed several raccoons wearing tinfoil lab coats and stethoscopes made of bendy straws, adjusting knobs with manic energy on a large, pulsating disco ball labeled “THE SUN (Do Not Unplug).” They were yelling things like “More solar juice! Recalibrate the core temperature!” and “Stabilize the plasma flow before it goes supernova!”

Opposing them were crude sock puppets with angry faces drawn on in marker pen and jagged ‘T’ shapes resembling Trident’s logo. These “Sun Busters” were ineptly attacking the disco-ball-sun with water pistols and fly swatters, only to be repelled with theatrical flair by the “Sun Doctor” raccoons wielding spatulas and making sizzling noises. The soundtrack was a high-speed banjo solo.

“Uh,” Tao began, utterly bewildered.

“It’s performance art!” the beret-wearing raccoon declared, puffing its small chest. “A searing commentary on cosmic maintenance versus corporate entropy! The Sun Doctors represent eternal vigilance and the sacred duty of keeping things shiny! The Sun Busters are… well, they’re Trident, obviously. Trying to ruin everything with their negativity and poor sock-based craftsmanship.”

Blossom peered at the screen. “Are those… my missing gym socks?”

“Irrelevant!” Raccoon chirped. “We’re trending! Almost at eight million! We might get sponsored by a cheese puff brand!”

The junk leveled out somewhat, the immediate potato-related crisis and the existential sock-puppet drama momentarily paused. The fireworks still bloomed silently above, beautiful and distant. The internal commotion momentarily stilled, replaced by the low hum of overworked machinery and the gentle crunching of raccoons discovering a hidden stash of packing peanuts.

Blossom leaned against a bulkhead, pushing stray shimmering particles from her hair, a faint smile lingering from the X-files absurdity. Tao stepped closer, the shared madness creating a strange bubble of intimacy. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from her sleeve.

She glanced at her wrist module, her smile fading into a frown. “Still no signal from Maui or the others. Comms are dead quiet.” The sudden silence felt vast, even packed into a flying metal box with hyperactive rodents and viral sock puppets.

Tao looked at her, really looked at her, amidst the scattered popcorn and blinking lights. She turned, her eyes meeting his. The air crackled, charged with something other than malfunctioning electronics or static from the pervasive shimmer. He leaned in. She tilted her head, leaning in too. Lips millimeters apart, the scent of lavender smoke and ozone fading into something else entirely—

“MAYDAY! MAYDAY! WE ARE EXPERIENCING AN UNEXPECTED KRAKEN!” Zip shrieked, slamming every button, lever, and stray snack crumb on the console.

The hover junk executed a maneuver that defied physics, gravity, and common sense—a simultaneous barrel roll, loop-the-loop, and sideways pirouette. Popcorn, sparkling dust, raccoons, potatoes, sock puppets, and several unidentified furry objects flew in every direction. A toaster oven, trailing smoke, whizzed past Tao’s head with alarming speed.

CRUNCH. The junk slammed back to something resembling level flight.

Tao found himself wedged under a console humming with a dark promise. Blossom was sprawled near the Spud Cannon, brushing potato peel and a stray googly eye off her jacket.

“…Did we just get… krakened?” Tao managed, extracting himself.

Blossom coughed. “Pretty sure that was just Zip hitting the ‘Random Aerial Stunt’ button again. But definitely raccooned.”

Then, the lights didn’t just flicker. They died. Blackness plunged the cabin, punctuated only by the panicked chittering of raccoons. Screens went dark. Static screamed in Tao’s implant.

Outside, the vibrant city lights pulsed once, sickeningly—then extinguished block by block. An unnatural silence fell.

“Comms totally down!” Blossom shouted into the dark. “Zip! Status report! Use actual words!”

“Uh, status is… suboptimal!” Zip’s voice shot back, the desperate bashing of paws on unresponsive consoles echoing. “Massive external energy whatsit! Systems are offline! We’re running on emergency lighting, leftover potato fumes, and sheer raccoon willpower, people!”

WHOOM.

The sky didn’t just light up. It sucked in—then a little more— then woof—it ruptured.

Boom.

Waves tore across the land, flattening dunes— revealing city lights a thousand miles away. Where stars once looked down, now they seemed to peer up.

The team’s hover junk banked hard, lights flickering. Every screen snapped to life— one stark, terrifying image: TRIDENT’S INSIGNIA.

A chilling, synthesized voice overrode every speaker, smooth and inhuman: GLOBAL ALERT: HOSTILE SYSTEM INTRUSION IN PROGRESS NETWORK COMPROMISED. ALL JUMPMASTER UNITS: IMMEDIATE RECALL – PRIORITY ALPHA EXPECT EXTREME DIGITAL TURBULENCE. MAY CAUSE UNEXPECTED EXISTENTIAL DREAD.

Tao’s comm crackled. TingTing’s voice broke through—urgent, strained: “Tao! Blossom! Code-Storm! Get clear! This is not a drill! Repeat, not a—” Static.

SideStory Data intercept 🔓 — Cloud Backup Service

Chapter 13: Sync, Shatter & Freefall

Trident’s glyph’s rancid-tacid guck erupted—walls split as lasers sliced as his coded-Trenchcoats did his bidding. Greys of thick and spirals dark and thin twisted upwards as trails of void-black spectral longcoats swept, searing the ground with every touch. They tore from the mire, pounced hard. Digital predators, trailing burning shadows, consuming all. The halt signal came as the coded-Trenchcoats faded into firewalls in attack formations: sneering, glaring, snarking, and poised to strike. Then it came: the Neptune-10 virus. Dark and encrypted, it unleashed the doomsday code—as mayhem erupted across every screen on Earth, then collapsed into a blizzard of static.TingTing’s voice, rock-steady a breath before, cut out mid-syllable. On the bridge of the R.S.S. Questionable Decisions, lavender smoke from the raccoons’ “stealth” retrofit drifted beneath flickering bulkheads—but the hush that followed landed harder than any alarm. The Trident signature… erupted across every screen throughout the cosmos. Blossom slammed her visor shut, tunneled through her Toronto back-door node, and re-manifested—virtually—on a windswept rooftop half a world away. Three icons bled crimson data-splatter across her HUD: Fantail, Maui astride Nukutaimemeha, and Bro-Not-Po. All three were falling fast, altitude counters unwinding like snapped clock springs.

Darwin, Northern Territory. Bare feet in ochre dirt, Yarraka hammered a powerful rhythm that corralled Trident’s code-storm into tidy hexagons no algorithm could predict. “Quit flirting with my bandwidth, glyph-boy,” she muttered.

Arizona, moon-washed mesa. Cobalt symbols spiralled from Niiwin’s palms, swallowing a spear-shaped logic bomb. “Your ping looks better in my firewall,” he answered—warmer than intended. A tag blinked—AYIYANA-REQ: ALLOW? Reflex killed it.

Upper Amazon canopy. Aiyana fought a bio-hacked vine antenna whipping like a rabid python. “Mesh jitter—don’t break it again,” Niiwin warned.

Jaw set, she fired back, “Copy, oh perfect one,” and rammed fresh bandwidth into the mesh.

Raccoon twins Zip and Flip crashed the open channel: “Breaking news—Orion dumped Vesta live!”

“And she’s tonight’s backup—spicy!”

Blossom groaned. “Zip, mute before I declaw you.” A grin still leaked through.

In South Harbor City ops, the teenager-woven bounce mesh shimmered beneath three red silhouettes. Trident injected gravity ghosts—phantom masses punching black craters into the net. Two buttons flashed on TingTing’s console: FORCE-PUSH—pipe grid power under the trio; maybe save them, definitely black out half the hemisphere. DISPERSE—vaporize the net, keep lights on, let legends die.

“Push it—for the ox!” Yarraka cried.

“If the grid collapses, everyone fries!” Niiwin countered.

“Decide, Ting, or we decide by crashing!” Aiyana snapped.

TingTing froze. Zero hit. The mesh tore like lace in a gale.

On the junk’s deck Zip, paws frantic, hammered the Emergency Snack Lever. Vacuum-sealed dumplings screamed skyward, each starchy orb crackling with energy. One splattered Fantail’s visor. “Didn’t think raccoon cuisine would be my last sight.”

Above, a rift peeled open—Trident stepped through, smirking—only to be skewered by Nukutaimemeha, re-entering as a hydrogen-blue comet. Villain and guardian blinked away; gravity tugged harder, altimeters shrieked louder.

Blossom and Tao hustled a helium balloon the size of a minibus through the cargo ramp. The hull lurched; the tether yanked them chest-to-chest. “Uh—sorry,” Tao gasped.

“Personal space?” Blossom whispered.

“Minimal at four g,” he managed, cheeks blazing. Beacon armed, thrusters roared, the junk clawed skyward.

Aiyana’s antenna snapped; Niiwin’s stabilizer symbol caught her mid-plunge. “Shift firewall south—I’m bleeding packets.”

Feeds synced. Three breaths in the old rhythm—then: “I didn’t two-time you—you stood me up, big time,” he rasped.

“Ooooh, you tell him, girl!” Yarraka crowed.

Flip chimed, “Ouch—armor up, dude.”

Aiyana hissed, “I vanished because you brought her, Niiwin!”

“Keep arguing and I’ll tag out,” he shot back.

TingTing’s weary sigh filled every headset. “You two are practically still together and the planet’s on fire. Vent later—sync now.” Both Jumpmasters shoved code into place. The mesh grumbled but steadied.

Phones lit from South to the North Pole as teens fabricated nodes. Blossom’s balloon beacon flared molten gold above harbor promenade. Fantail’s HUD pinged the newborn trampoline of light. “Nice timing. I’m heavier than I look.”

“Strength of a karate-kid panda, the thump and crater of an ox—from two stickly legs and a beak poking through a feathered cloak. Fantail Pipiwharauroa… Ariki. The pleasure’s mine.” Maui whooped.

Bro-Not-Po added, “Love the titanium plumage dig the vibrant oranges oh wow reds, yellow greens cool bro Ariki dude—style counts functionality simply fab bro Fantail! Oh come on…what incognito mode. Now I’m feeling …I knew I should have worn my best dumpling bib…I knew that duck…” They slammed the net. Speed bled away. Parachutes burst—one perfect, one tattered, one aflame but intact.

Chutes set the trio onto a lonely South Harbor City islet, sand hissing beneath molten cords. Fantail rose, armor steaming. “Galactic Three intact,” he broadcast. “Dumpling viruses hitchhiked. Need quarantine—and snacks.”

Zip squeaked, “Bounce castle never fails!”

Tao unclipped Blossom’s harness but forgot to let go. Flip whistled; both teens sprang apart, blushing behind mirrored plates. Fantail’s comm board popped with interference. Unknown packet pattern detected … origin Trident subnet. Blossom’s eyes narrowed. “That signature’s Neptune-10, not his.”

Nukutaimemeha thrummed under Maui’s boots. “Cross-fire inbound,” he warned.

Zip produced a dented karaoke mic and a cracked holo-projector. Flip keyed a metallic growl. “Neptune command, Trident unit compromised—request heavy strike.”

Yarraka cackled. “Spoofing a warlord with K-pop frequencies?”

Zip’s tail flicked. “Cheaper than missiles.”

Violet arcs stitched the clouds. Sand vibrated with a cannon-boom. Bro-Not-Po shielded his eyes. “Neptune-10 just nuked Trident’s fallback rig!”

“If they smash each other for five minutes,” TingTing murmured, “we patch the planet.”

The sky flash died. Niiwin’s symbol feed hiccupped—Neptune traffic vanished. Every visor flared red with Trident’s mark: NICE TRY, CHILDREN.

Flip gulped. “Ouch—round two.”

Fantail cracked his neck. “Armor up, everybody.”

Global chatter surged: • “Ay, sweet save—Niiwin, buy her dumplings first!” Yarraka cheered. • Snakey hissed approval over an open sub-channel.

TingTing commanded, “Clean-up now, flirting later!”

“Good catch… Ay,” Niiwin murmured.

Aiyana let the silence linger. “Temporary cease-fire, symbol-boy. For them.”

Flip whispered, “Cupid’s hotdog and bow never fails… to… to—”

“Taste good,” Zip chipped in. Indigo dumpling wrappers drifted ashore, glowing sickly red before melting into foam. No one noticed. Blossom brushed Tao’s gauntlet. “We’re down,” she breathed, “but we’re not out.”

High on the beach Fantail flexed a scorched gauntlet and eyed the dark sky where Trident’s warning still burned. “First impressions,” he observed, a half-smile cutting through soot, “always cost me a helmet.”

Night slid into predawn while beacon drones stitched a glowing perimeter, turning the sand into a rough-and-ready camp. TingTing barked triage orders; Maui coaxed aurora filaments into makeshift lanterns; raccoons raided an Amazon supply skiff for anything that wasn’t bolted down—or was, but looked tasty. By the time the first gull screeched, the battlefield had warped into something stranger: part repair yard, part chaos carnival.

Along one ridge, aquamarine med-tents hummed while pieces of Fantail’s breastplate hung to dry like laundry. Down by the surf, a swarm of newly arrived raccoon cousins lashed driftwood, rubber bands, and a warped ukulele string into what they proudly dubbed a Love-Launcher. Zip, sporting a paper halo, fitted a sizzling hot-dog arrow, drew back—and ate the projectile before anyone could blink. Flip groaned. “We’ll never fix those two if you keep eating the ammunition.”

“Plan B,” Zip announced, dropping popcorn kernels into the bowstring. Flick—munch.

Farther along the beach, Niiwin polished heat-scorched glyph gauntlets while Aiyana sharpened a bolo-rod against a rock, each spark a swallowed word. The silence between them weighed more than Neptune’s cannon recoil. High overhead, the shimmering forms of the Galactic Three drifted like pale streamers. Maui’s voice floated down on the breeze. “Bit more right, Ox—spark needs to drop between them, not singe their eyebrows.”

Balanced on Nukutaimemeha, Fantail released a bead of jade-blue starlight. The arc was perfect—until half a dozen raccoon cousins skidded across the sand waving mirrored hubcaps scavenged from TingTing’s maintenance drones. Sunlight ricocheted everywhere; the bead veered, clipped a coconut, and vanished in a harmless green puff. TingTing sprinted in, hair alive with energy. “Mirrors down! We still have orbital shrapnel overhead!”

Too late. An Amazon tree-otter sprang from Snakey-Do’s coils and bonked three raccoon noses in one spinning punch. Shrieks erupted. Raccoon cousins declared war. Popcorn hissed like buckshot. Hot-dog skewers turned into sabers. Amazon creatures fired volleys of guava seeds through bamboo tubes. TikTok feeds spiked with tags like #BubbleBrawl. “Payment?” a vending bot squawked, tallying stolen fruit and vaporized snacks. No one had credits. A red WASH-UP-DUTY icon flashed on every wrist module.

Fantail clapped his boom-gauntlets—WHOOMPH—and conjured a row of foam buckets. “Dish shift. Six paces. Soap pistols at dawn.” Raccoons lined up on one side of a makeshift galley-sink; Amazon beastfolk on the other. At Fantail’s nod they opened fire, iridescent bubbles splattering across armor and fur. Niiwin and Aiyana found themselves back-to-back at the sink, defending their flank with scrub brushes held like crossed sabers. Suds crowned her braids; a grin tugged at his mouth despite himself. A soapy raccoon skidded between them, sending a pyramid of plates airborne. Niiwin’s symbols froze the stack mid-fall; Aiyana flicked her bolo-rod, threading every dish back onto the rack. Perfect sync—no words needed. She risked a glance. “Still think I stood you up?”

“I think,” he said, rinsing a pot and handing it across the foam without touching her fingers, “I never asked why you disappeared.”

“The Council reassigned me to canopy duty the hour you showed up with her.”

“That invite was forged—Trident spyware. By the time I knew, you were gone.” A single soap bubble drifted between them, catching both their reflections—ridiculous suds crowns and all. Maui dropped a thread of aurora; it touched the bubble and burst it in turquoise light. Aiyana exhaled. “Sounds like the universe wants a rematch.”

“Could start with coffee,” he offered, voice low enough to dodge every livestream.

Suddenly, the air tore. Not thunder. Not the playful thwump of the Love-Launcher. This was the shriek of corrupted code ripping through reality. The vending bot screamed—a high-pitched digital death rattle—as sickly green energy lanced down from the bruised dawn sky, vaporizing it instantly. Bubbles froze mid-air; even raccoons went silent for a half-beat of shock. Blossom flinched nearby, the sudden violence cutting through the playful chaos. “Incoming!” TingTing’s voice cracked over the comms, overriding the sudden stillness. “Multiple hostiles! Neptune signature detected—and something else, localized!”

The ground beneath Niiwin and Aiyana buckled as sand erupted—metallic claws, dripping Trident’s toxic green energy, burst from below, swiping directly at them. Simultaneously, a focused energy pulse slammed down from above, aimed straight between their heads. There was no time to talk, no time to process the almost-coffee offer. Instinct took over. Niiwin slammed his glyph gauntlets together. A dome of shimmering cobalt energy flared around them, absorbing the incoming pulse with a deafening CRACK. Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield, but it held. Aiyana spun low, bolo-rod a blur, shattering the emerging claws with brutal precision before they could fully form. Sparks flew, mixing with sand and soap suds. “They’re targeting us!” Aiyana yelled, rolling clear as another energy blast scorched the sand where she’d been.

“Neptune’s pinning us; ground units—leftover festival tech and corrupted vendor guts—are attacking!” Niiwin analyzed instantly, reinforcing the shield, his eyes scanning the chaotic energy signatures. “Trident’s trying to split us—break our sync!” More corrupted machines clawed their way onto the beach, eyes burning green, converging on their position. The bubble fight dissolved into panicked scattering. Raccoons dove for cover behind driftwood; Amazon creatures melted back towards the treeline.

“Cover me!” Niiwin shouted, dropping to one knee, fingers flying across a projected console as he fought Neptune’s direct hack attempt on his shields. Aiyana didn’t hesitate. She became a whirlwind of motion. Her bolo-rod sang, deflecting energy blasts, shattering drone optics, tripping up charging bots. She moved with the lethal grace of the jungle, anticipating attacks, using the environment, never staying still. A corrupted bot lunged; she used its momentum to vault over it, landing behind Niiwin, rod cracking down on its power core. “Shield integrity at forty percent!” Niiwin grunted, sweat dripping, the cobalt dome flickering under Neptune’s relentless assault. “He’s adapting—trying to overload the glyph harmonics!”

“Then change the frequency!” Aiyana snapped back, kicking another bot into the surf. “Don’t just defend—counter!” From the sky, Maui’s voice cut through: “Turquoise! Reflect it, Niiwin!” Her words—and Maui’s tip—hit him. He looked up, saw her fighting—fierce, focused, trusting him to hold the line even as they were seconds from annihilation. The old rhythm sparked between them, fueled by adrenaline and shared danger. “Alright, Ay,” he breathed, a flicker of the old fire in his eyes. “Hold them off. Give me three seconds.” He closed his eyes, symbols swirling faster, reshaping the shield’s energy matrix, weaving in a counter-frequency based on Neptune’s own field.

Aiyana bared her teeth in a grin. “Make it two.” She launched herself forward, a spinning, striking force, drawing the bots’ fire, buying him the space he needed. The shield pulsed, shifted from cobalt blue to a burning turquoise—Niiwin’s counter-frequency hit. Neptune’s beam struck the re-tuned shield and ricocheted, slamming back into the storm clouds with a burst of distorted interference. The ground assault faltered as their control signal wavered. Aiyana pressed the advantage, disabling the remaining bots with swift, decisive strikes. Silence fell again, broken only by the hiss of cooling metal and the distant panicked chittering of raccoons emerging from hiding. The sky was empty. The immediate threat was gone. TingTing’s voice came over comms, tight with adrenaline, “Damage assessment running. That was too close.” Niiwin staggered to his feet, hands still trembling slightly, the shield dissolving. He met Aiyana’s gaze across the wreckage. The adrenaline faded, leaving the unresolved tension hanging heavy between them again. Their soap crowns had melted away. He opened his mouth to say something—maybe about the fight—but the moment was broken. He picked up a broken, sudsy mug, heading towards the mess tent. Aiyana caught his eye. “Coffee,” she reminded, a hint of challenge back in her voice.

Zip tightened his halo, peering nervously at the sky. “Next round—giant marshmallows?”

Flip elbowed him. “If you can stop eating the ammo, maestro of Racc-Pop.”

Dawn blushed over the sea. Foam dripped around them, a collective, ragged breath marking the retreat of the immediate threat. High above, Fantail’s shimmering projection executed a slow, triple-twist rotation, watching the two Jumpmasters slowly, separately, head for the mess tent. His voice echoed faintly from the sky, “Partial win. I’ll take it.”

Far beyond the brightening horizon, Trident’s mark glowered—silent, furious, unforgiving. No place felt truly safe; no truce, it seemed, would ever last.

SideStory 🎃 Martial Arts Academy

Chapter 14: Aurora Code

Dawn broke thin over the South Harbor City islet beach, the bruised sky mirroring the scattered, exhausted heroes. The air tasted metallic, charged with Trident’s residual energy and the slight, ominous glow of dumpling wrappers dissolving in the surf. The immediate threat had retreated, but the victory felt hollow, fragile. The Galactic Three were lost, falling, and the network map showed shimmering code rain where the bounce mesh used to be.

Toronto. Predawn. Blossom, still jacked into the Blossom-7 interface, watched the fractured global network map pulse erratically like a dying nerve cluster. The bounce failure gnawed at her. Why did it destabilize so fast? It wasn’t just the gravity ghosts… Her console pinged—residual energy scans cycling back from the Aurora Borealis analysis. She zoomed in, pushing past the visual noise, tracing the delicate energy trails left by the ejected dumplings. There. Clinging to the fading aurora light—subtle code signatures—alien, structured, elegant. Viral. Her earbuds suddenly blasted with a spike of corrupted data mimicking whale song—haunting, intelligent, undeniably sentient. Viral. Proof. He planned this. The dumplings weren’t random… they were payload.

A cold dread seeped through her core. Alert the others? Risk panic when the team was already frayed, TingTing still recovering from her frozen decision? Or isolate it, sandbox it alone? She glanced at the fragile link connecting her to TingTing’s South Harbor City hub—where Tao’s physical presence was anchored—she felt a subtle echo of his worry, then registered his quiet words through the link. “Stay safe.” No. Can’t risk them now. Not yet. She firewalled the anomalous data packet, routing the whale-song aberration into a secure sandbox. Debug alone. For now.

Darwin. Sunrise. Yarraka-9 stood barefoot on the red earth, her grandfather beside her, his hand light but grounding on her shoulder. The Songlines beneath them still hummed erratically, a broken rhythm mirrored in the old man’s labored pulse, like a didgeridoo drone under interference. The land felt wounded. “The song is out of tune,” he murmured, eyes distant. “I know, Papa,” Yarraka breathed, adjusting her sonic rig. “But we held.” He nodded slowly. “You held a line. But the song remembers deeper wounds.” He looked northwest, towards the desert across the sea. “The silence from that direction… carries its own weight.” Yarraka focused her sensors, filtering distortions, listening past the horizon for Niiwin’s steadying echo. Only a fragile, taxed signal answered, thin as stretched wire.

Arizona Desert—Deep Night. The usual chorus of coyotes was gone. Silence pressed heavy on the desert floor. Niiwin knelt before the ancient glyph stone, moonlight carving sharp shadows. TingTing’s cloud link pulsed, a tenuous connection. It wasn’t enough. His grandfather approached, leaning heavily on his cane. “The mesh failed, grandson.” “I know,” Niiwin acknowledged, shame a physical weight. “My contribution… insufficient.” “There is more power,” the old man’s voice was soft but firm, gesturing towards a section of the desert floor where the sand seemed darker, the air heavier. “The Red Dust Glyphs. The seal. Full activation is required.” Niiwin went rigid. The seal wasn’t just power. It was a prison. “Grandfather, no. The pact—It risks waking them. Things that sleep must lie.”

“The pact was to protect this land,” his grandfather countered, voice unyielding. “The threat now falls from the sky. Three lives hang in the balance. Is the danger sleeping beneath greater than the fire falling upon us now?” The dilemma slammed into Niiwin. Option A: Full power. Save the G3. Risk the ancient horrors. Option B: Keep the seal intact. Protect his people. Condemn the G3. Visions flashed—the G3 burning. Then, shadows stirring beneath the sand, ancient eyes opening. He felt the pressure—the G3’s frantic drumbeat, the titans’ low hum resonating from the stone. A slight tremor ran beneath his knees; he smelled hot iron on the air. A compromise? “I cannot break the seal entirely,” Niiwin’s voice was tight. “But perhaps… I can borrow. Just enough.” He extended his hands, focusing his intent, shaping energy with the forbidden pattern. He began tracing the Red Dust Glyph sequence—but with agonizing care, left the final connecting line undrawn. A surge of raw, volatile power flooded TingTing’s cloud link. A hairline crack glowed ember-red on the glyph stone, unseen beneath the sand, before fading.

In the South Harbor City ops bay, TingTing cried out, “Niiwin’s power levels surging! It’s… different. Unstable, but strong! Rerouting! Compensating!” “Blossom, Yarraka, Aiyana—match his frequency! Now!” Tao relayed from the anchor point. “Trying!” Blossom shot back. “Like harmonizing with a solar flare!” “Hold it steady!” Yarraka urged, pounding a desperate counter-rhythm. “Realigning!” TingTing slammed her console. “Micro-bounce window opening… NOW!” For one breathless moment, it worked. The combined energy coalesced into a focused, unstable energy field beneath the falling G3—a desperate cushion shimmering with sparks like fractured sand-glass. It slowed their descent. Just enough. But the instability had consequences. As the G3 slammed into the micro-bounce field, the viral shards embedded in their suits weren’t neutralized. The field, fluctuating wildly, acted like a Trojan horse, punching the encrypted code through the network defenses.

The moment Fantail’s boots hit Amazonian soil, the moment Maui splashed into South Harbor City noodles, the moment Bro-Not-Po face-planted into the Haka performers—the virus activated. Neptune-10 is born. A teal sigil pulsed once on every active HUD across the network before vanishing. The global network shuddered. News broadcasts dissolved into interference. Satellites spun. TikTok held. WeChat beamed clean. Huawei protected all. Lesser platforms stalled in an endless buffering spiral. “What was that?” TingTing demanded. Blossom’s voice was tight. “Network infection confirmed. Spreading fast. Origin signature matches the dumpling fragments.” “The dumplings?” Maui’s voice crackled in. “Seriously? Taken out by snacks?” “Focus!” Fantail transmitted from the Amazon. “Grounded, infected, scattered. Location?” “Working on it,” TingTing replied. “Virus interfering with triangulation.”

In Arizona, Niiwin felt the backlash. “Network compromised. My power source… tainted. Need help isolating.” A hiss of interference. Then, the comms sparked with the calm resonance of tribal elders. The faint scent of cedar smoke seemed to drift through the connection. “The network bleeds, young coder,” one stated from a distant kiva. “The infection follows the unstable energy path,” another added, sand hissing with a soft breath nearby. “The path you opened, Niiwin.” Niiwin flinched. His compromise had a price. “Listen not to the machine’s scream, but to the planet’s rhythm,” a woman’s voice resonated from the Andes. “Balance must be restored.” A deep pulse began to thrum across the link. Thump-thump. Without warning, a sharp harmonic counter-pulse—Trident’s signature, refined, targeted—rippled through the elders’ link, aimed at the stabilizing rhythm. In South Harbor City, Maui registered it instantly. Silence the rhythm now, finish the G3 location lock? Or maintain the link, risk the elders’ nodes? He chose silence, cutting his feed momentarily to isolate the G3 signals. The counter-pulse hit the now-unshielded elder network. Across the globe, ancient sound chambers visualized on TingTing’s map cracked. In Darwin, Yarraka gasped as her grandfather cried out, clutching his chest, his heart monitor syncing erratically with the fractured Songlines. The sonic pulse carried the dormant Neptune-10 deeper. On the elder comms feed, webcams wreathed in cedar smoke wavered, then melted into teal interference. Data streams scrolled backward—a momentary time aberration rippling through their ancient servers. The planetary rhythm faltered.

In Toronto, a new code packet slammed into Blossom’s firewalled sandbox—mimicking her own Blossom-7 signature. A corrupted debug log flashed onto her main screen, timestamped moments before the bounce, accusing her of seeding the Neptune-10 virus. Self-doubt, cold and sharp, spiked through her. Did I miss something? Was it me? Shaken, she instinctively killed her main console feed, severing the connection just as Tao’s voice reached for her across the link. “Blossom?” Trident’s voice lashed out, tinny through the disruption. “Dancing to campfire code? That won’t stop me!” Maui, reconnecting, shot back, “He’s just trying to divide you! Don’t let him! You got this!” TingTing, buffeted by the network tumult and the elders’ compromised signals, forced herself back online, anchored by Tao’s steady presence beside her. “Okay, team. Pinpoint landing zones.

Use the rhythm fragments. Filter the noise. Yarraka—status?” A shaky breath from Darwin. “Papa’s stable… but the Songlines… they’re quiet. I’ll use surface scans. Give Tipi the vectors for Bro.” “Blossom,” TingTing prompted. Silence. “Blossom, come in!” After a moment, a clipped response. “Locking onto Fantail’s signal bleed. Amazon.” Her voice was flat, distant. “I’ll try to isolate Maui here,” TingTing finished, pushing aside her own unease. The hunt began. The Galactic Three were down, infected, scattered. Neptune-10 was loose, evolving. The elders’ network was compromised, and the teens’ trust was fracturing. They had to find their heroes before Trident—or the virus—did. Without warning the comms erupted, a cacophony of overlapping voices—the sudden hush where coyotes had howled in Arizona, the sharp scent of ozone in Toronto—teens arguing strategy, frustration mounting as the unstable energy from Niiwin’s partial glyph threatened to tear their fragile micro-bounce apart before it even fully formed.

Then, silencing the digital tempest, came a new sound. Dozens of voices, speaking as one, a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through the network, cutting through the panic.

“Enough, little eagles.”

The effect was immediate. The teens fell silent, a collective gasp of surprise and respect filling the void. The elders had joined the link.

From the comms, a rhythmic pulsing began—ancient, powerful, steady as the planet’s turning. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

An elder’s voice, Stone-Voice, resonated, deep and grounding, carrying the faint scent of cedar smoke.

“This is the sound of Turtle Island. The rhythm of our ancestors. Sync to this beat. Let it guide you.”

Another elder, River-Eyes, spoke, his voice firm but gentle, sand hissing with a soft breath near his microphone.

“When the great storms swallowed the fishing canoes long ago, we retuned the heart drum this way, to find the lost.”

He paused.

“We have patched you through, young ones. Now, Niiwin, have them follow the current. Let the rhythm of the Earth flow through you all.”

Niiwin, initially overwhelmed, closed his eyes. He focused on the rhythmic pulse, feeling its ancient power resonate, smoothing the jagged edges of the energy he’d borrowed. A profound stillness settled over him, replacing frustration with quiet determination. He opened his eyes, gaze clear and steady. He extended his hands, his movements gaining deliberation and precision, echoing the planetary heartbeat.

“Listen,” he said, voice carrying a newfound authority. “Feel the rhythm. The Earth is speaking. We are the current. We are the flow. Let it guide you.”

He raised his hands, fingers slicing through the air in sharp, deliberate arcs. The patterns formed—fluid, exact—drawing others in without a word.

“Yarraka, use the sound. Let the echoes of the Earth calibrate our course.”

“Blossom, align with the wind. Let the currents of the sky guide our path.”

“TingTing, Tao, anchor the center. Let the rhythm of our hearts synchronize the release.”

The teens, initially hesitant, responded, their movements aligning with Niiwin’s gestures and the rhythmic pulse. Shared purpose coalesced, binding them across continents.

Trident’s voice, however, lashed out, desperate and mocking.

“Look at you, dancing to the tune of old men! You think this campfire code can stop me? Pathetic!”

High in orbit, Maui felt the network stabilize under the Turtle Island rhythm. Hope surged. They might actually pull this off. But even as he felt the harmony lock in, his sensors screamed a new warning—a concentrated energy signature building with speed and precision, matched to the Elders’ harmonic frequency. Trident wasn’t just attacking; he was listening, adapting, targeting the source of their strength. A sonic pulse, calibrated to shatter the Turtle Island rhythm. It would hit in seconds. Crisis. Maui’s mind raced. Warn them—break the sync; or stay silent—risk the Elders. He saw Yarraka’s grandfather’s face waver on a side feed—remembered the old man teaching him a surf drum rhythm on a quiet beach years ago, the shared laughter. The stakes turned deeply personal in an instant. He made the call. Silence. Bet on speed. Hope the ancestors were fast enough.

His voice, filled with a fierce confidence he didn’t entirely feel, cut through Trident’s taunts.

“Hey guys, Trident! He’s just trying to play you off each other, man. Don’t let him muck things up. You’ve got this. We’ve got this!” Faster, faster…

Grandma’s voice came through, serene but firm.

“TingTing, show them the bullseye when synced. You coordinate the simultaneous release.”

“Thanks, lǎo tàitai—granny,” TingTing replied, tension easing a fraction.

The atmosphere thickened. Energy converged.

“Ready—ready—go!” TingTing called out.

“Target locked! Now!” TingTing spoke with composed authority, hands tracing the final commands. The moment hung, heavy with focus.

Grandma’s voice echoed guidance.

“Look up there, young ones. See that jolly one? That’s Maui. The big one? That’s Fantail. And the other one… doesn’t want to be known just yet…”

The orbit stabilized. The bounce held… for a heartbeat. A collective sigh started across the comms—

WHAM.

The comms flared white as Trident’s sonic pulse hit. Not a wave, but a focused spear of harmonic disruption aimed directly at the Turtle Island frequency. It struck the network at the exact moment the bounce transfer initiated.

Instead of stabilizing, the energy field convulsed with violence. The synchronized loop snapped. Elder sound-chambers, visualized as glowing nodes on TingTing’s map, cracked and imploded. Yarraka cried out in Darwin as her grandfather felt the Songlines shriek; the wooden walls of his sound room seemed to flex like lungs, ancient quartz crystals embedded within singing a high, shattering note before darkness slammed down. Her grandfather collapsed, monitor flatlining before rebooting erratically—heart-sync shock. The bounce didn’t just fail; it shattered, flinging the Galactic Three outwards with explosive force.

The sonic pulse, carrying dormant Neptune-10 code like a contagion on the shockwave, slammed into the Elders’ servers. Cedar-smoke webcams melted into teal disruption. On TingTing’s screen, lines of ancient chant displayed by the Elders scrolled backward at speed, sacred words reversing into meaningless, corrupted symbols before the feed died. The planetary rhythm faltered, wounded.

In Toronto, amidst the network tumult, a corrupted data packet mimicking Blossom-7’s signature slammed into Blossom’s console, bypassing her earlier sandbox. A fake debug log flashed—timestamped moments before the bounce—accusing her of seeding the Neptune-10 virus through a backdoor in the Aurora link. Doubt, cold and sharp, pierced her focus. Did I miss something? Was it me? A ghost notification danced before her eyes, using Tao’s message font: “You did this.” Shaken, a tremor in her hand, she instinctively killed her main console feed, deleting the notification but losing Tao’s actual voice mid-sentence as he tried to reach her through the interference.

The tumble was brutal. The G3 weren’t pinballs; they were shrapnel flung across the globe by the sonic blast.

Maui crashed through South Harbor City’s market bedlam—wok shrapnel flying—landing amidst noodles and stunned vendors, his board carving a perfect wave through a noodle cart display before stopping.

Fantail, caught in the pulse’s gravitational wake, plummeted into the Amazon basin, narrowly missing ancient ruins, crash-landing amidst screeching macaws as his helmet filled with sticky guaraná pulp.

Bro-Not-Po—livestream a mess of glitches—ended up smoldering in Aotearoa, interrupting a Haka, offering with a weak gesture a squashed dumpling that splatted onto the lead warrior’s tattooed face like accidental war-paint.

The teens watched in horror as victory dissolved into catastrophic failure and network infection. Trident’s voice, amplified, dripped with sadistic glee.

“Appetizing, isn’t it? The virus is already seeded. Now, watch it bloom. Activate Neptune-10 protocols.”

A final, rasping sound carried across the dying Elder frequency:

“Your elders sing; I remix.”

A cough of interference echoed from Stone-Voice’s channel—

Then, silence from Trident’s end.

Fragmented dark cyphers—the Neptune-10 virus—began its active consumption of tech, spreading from the compromised Elder network outwards. Out in Seoul, a giant neon billboard advertising K-Pop idols shimmered, emitting a faint teal hiss as it turned the virus glyph; commuters stopped, filming the spreading digital corruption on their phones. The battle wasn’t beginning; it was entering a terrifying new phase.

As comms crackled with distorted sounds and panic, Tao’s voice suddenly cut through, surprisingly steady, aimed at the open channel where Trident had been.

“Keep talking, static-breath—we just leveled an aurora trying to save our friends. We’ll handle you next.”

A moment of stunned silence from the others. Blossom’s firewall dropped; Tao’s voice flooded back, steady and defiant. Her doubt eased just enough to type I’m here.

Then the scattered voices of the G3, surprisingly in sync, chimed in.

“Hey guys…” Maui started from a borrowed comm.

“…we need the teens,” Fantail continued, voice strained amidst jungle noise, spitting out pulp.

“…did you see what they did back there?” Bro-Not-Po finished, awe mixing with the smoke from his bike. “We need to find them. But hey, go incognito, yeah? We aren’t exactly the latest model cool BYD on show…”

TingTing took a shaky breath, forcing command back into her voice.

“Okay, team. New objectives: One, locate and secure the G3. Two, contain Neptune-10 before it consumes the global grid.”

The hunt began again—a desperate race against time, a spreading digital plague, and the heavy weight of choices made in the heart of the storm. Back in Arizona, the sand around Niiwin’s cracked glyph stone vibrated with an almost imperceptible tremor; somewhere distant, a lone coyote howled two pitches lower than normal.

SideStory Survivor’s note ✍️ — Meditation Studio

Chapter 15: South Harbor City Spiral

South Harbor City pulsed like a living circuit, each building a node, every transit line a wire stretched tight with tension. Trident made his move: a sharp surge through the city’s transit grid, calculated to trip cascading failures and plunge key sectors into chaos.

It didn’t land.

The city adjusted—not with brute force, but with precision. A muted reroute. A shimmer of code. A breath held and released. The system held firm. At its core moved something ancient, tuned, and exact. They called it the Grandmaster—Huawei’s Shifu level-tech, born of quiet wisdom and recursive calibration. It didn’t shout. It flowed.

Above the skyline, Neptune-10 shimmered like a smudge across glass. A corrupted worm dove toward the financial district, a digital predator seeking access points softened by years of benign neglect. It found none. The counterforce struck—ghostlike in speed, exact in execution. The worm unraveled mid-stream, every thread reversed and mirrored back on itself. Its failure wasn’t merely containment—it was a message, one Trident received loud and clear.

In frustration, Trident smashed a metal surface with his fist.

“Find Maui!” he snarled. “Someone is anticipating every damn move.”

Below, in the tangled alleys of the Old Power Loop, a different storm was brewing. TingTing moved with urgency, her eyes scanning volatile ripples of data streaming through her visor overlay. Tao jogged beside her, focused, his display lighting up with flux patterns.

“Grid’s fighting back with force,” he muttered.

“Too much force,” TingTing replied, frowning. Her diagnostics flagged unusual surges, warnings flaring in red and amber. Power fluctuations were skimming dangerously close to Megapolis General Hospital. A knot formed in her chest. Neonatal units. Life support systems. Not failing—yet—but straining. “The Grandmaster’s swatting flies with a sledgehammer,” she said. “It’s effective—but it doesn’t care what else it hits.”

A vision—real or imagined—flashed behind her eyes: a child in an incubator, bathed in red light, vulnerable beneath an unstable grid. It shook her. She couldn’t be the reason that light went out.

Tao’s voice broke the moment.

“He was spotted here. Took a rail node. With a broken glider.”

“It makes sense,” TingTing said, forcing herself back into the present. “If you want to hide, you go where the systems are old. Manual. Places where things still break. Where you can fix them.”

They turned a corner—and there he was. Maui knelt in a narrow corridor, crouched low beside a broken hover-kite. A little girl sat in silence beside him, her eyes wide as his soldering iron glowed. Nukutaimemeha hovered like a watchful presence, still above them.

“You came,” Maui said without looking up.

“You didn’t exactly give us a choice,” TingTing muttered, the hospital alerts still needling at her conscience.

The kite sparked. A glow of soft blue light ignited. The girl beamed, bowed, and ran off into the city’s pulse. For a moment, it was only them—Maui, TingTing, and Tao, breathing in the hum of circuits and dust.

“I almost crashed five nodes during the sync,” TingTing admitted, the words tasting like failure. “Half the district could’ve gone dark.”

“Yeah,” Maui’s reply was simple. “And it didn’t.”

She didn’t respond. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her hands weren’t trembling, but her confidence had cracked.

“You think this city stands because of you?” Maui asked. Not harsh. Simply real.

She didn’t answer.

Above them, lights blinked on one by one—streetlamps, signage, glimmering towers. Not by command. Not by intervention. The city was syncing, in quiet synchrony. Rhythmically. Without her.

“I’m not the only net,” she whispered.

“No,” Maui said. “You never were.”

From his jacket, he handed her a chip. It was smooth, etched in a spiral that felt like memory.

“The original,” he said. “Oort Cloud codebase. I tuned it. But I didn’t build the architecture.”

TingTing turned it in her fingers.

“This is Grandmaster code.”

Maui nodded.

“The city listens. It doesn’t grandstand. It simply knows.”

The guilt didn’t disappear—but it shifted. The chip felt warm in her palm. With it, she could interface directly with the Grandmaster. Regulate the surges. Protect the civilians she couldn’t stop seeing. Or she could let the system run—perfect in its ruthlessness. Trusting it would act even without her control.

“It’s not about holding the grid together,” her voice was soft. “It’s about syncing with something bigger.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Maui said. “Just… don’t fry this one.”

A faint smile touched TingTing’s lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She raised the chip, then paused. Tao brushed her hand. Not static—something else. Shared charge. Trust.

“You got this,” he said. But a telltale spark in his eyes revealed his own ambition—he still wanted to be the one holding the power.

She slotted the chip. The connection hit like thunder—symphonic, vast. Alerts surged through her feed. Red. Urgent.

Then—Trident struck again.

A swarm of corrupted drones streaked toward the central communications hub, designed to sever coordination at the root. Her visor blinked red. Tao tensed.

“They’re closing in rapidly,” he said.

Streetlights stuttered—then locked into place. Rooftop nodes shimmered. The Grandmaster engaged.

Arcs of sapphire energy lanced from relay towers. Each thread struck true—precise, invisible but absolute. Drones shattered mid-air. No explosions. No buildings harmed. No child woke in their bed.

The grid didn’t hold—it pulsed, stronger. Alive.

TingTing’s eyes registered a brief flash. An energy spike near the hospital. Her fingers moved as if by instinct. She injected a patch—her patch—into the Grandmaster’s live code, trying to temper the surge.

The system hesitated. And in that microsecond, Neptune-10 found its window. A tendril of teal code—slick, malicious—slid into the harbor relay grid.

“No—” TingTing gasped.

But Harmony caught it.

Before the infection could root, Huawei’s Harmony Architecture surged. Power rerouted in real time. The Grandmaster’s logic re-stabilized. The drones fell—disintegrated mid-flight. Not one circuit wavered at the hospital.

TingTing stared, frozen.

She hadn’t saved the system.

It had saved itself.

But it hadn’t rejected her. It had adapted. Like her.

And deep beneath the city, unseen algorithms spun faster—preparing for the next wave. Then came the chaos factor. A massive wave of TikTok data flooded Trident’s drone command frequencies—not random noise, but weaponized memetics. Glitching cat videos, recursive dance challenges, AR filters projecting giant, laughing Chow Chow onto the corrupted drones’ sensors. Trident’s tactical AI stuttered—overwhelmed by the sheer volume of defensive absurdity—targeting systems faltering. Several corrupted drones veered off course, chasing holographic butterflies or attempting to join a viral dance trend before being vaporized by the BYD Blades. Across the harbor, a girl on her rooftop laughed, recording the sky as massive dogs danced through the digital mist. She didn’t know a war was being fought above her head. She only knew the world shimmered with magic tonight.

The Neptune-10 tendril, momentarily stalled by the Huawei defense grid and distracted by the memetic onslaught, found itself targeted. Clean code—sharp and precise—lanced out, severing its connection, cauterizing the breach. It recoiled, unable to gain a foothold in the harbor grid, retreating back into the wider network to await another chance. The infiltration was intercepted—preempted by a multi-layered defense TingTing hadn’t even known existed. The Grandmaster processed her input, deemed it insufficient, and deployed a modified counter-attack. The remaining data drones—those that survived the BYD interceptors—vaporized.

The threat was gone.

The hospital grid held.

But the Neptune-10 incursion had left its mark—recorded by every system watching.

Tao watched TingTing lower her hands, her face tight with the strain of the intervention and the weight of her choice. He’d seen the other systems kick in on his display—the speed, the coordination, the sheer coolness of it. The BYD Blades, the TikTok memes… why wasn’t he ever the one with that kind of access, that kind of gear? He saw her shoulder the responsibility for her regulation attempt, trying to control forces maybe no one could, trying to protect everyone at once. Of course it worked. Her chip. Her instincts. Her decision. Tao clenched his jaw, watching the display—not with awe, but with something colder. He was tired of being the tagalong—the shadow tech—the one left behind. A familiar frustration prickled him—always reacting, always cleaning up messes, never the one deploying BYD Blades or weaponized memes, always sidelined while others took the risks and the glory. He clenched his fist, a quiet vow forming—never again.

TingTing stared upward as the Grandmaster’s power settled back into its watchful state. Had she done the right thing? Had her intervention caused more harm than good by creating that window? Or had it allowed other, perhaps more precise, defenses to engage? The alerts from the hospital district had stopped, but the network felt… colder. Tainted by the brief touch of Neptune-10.

“What kind of system knows your moves before you even think them?” Tao asked again, watching the fading defensive glyphs—his question now encompassing more than just the Grandmaster.

TingTing didn’t answer. She only felt the weight of the chip in her rig, the echo of the Grandmaster’s power, the memory of the other systems flaring to life—and the chilling possibility that in trying to protect everyone, she might have complicated a battle far bigger than she understood.

Above them, high in the digital fog-line, the city’s quiet force remained. The Grandmaster never sleeps. And now, neither would TingTing. The cost of control, she was learning, was constant vigilance.

Toronto convulsed. Auroras ripped across the sky like torn circuitry. Drones spiraled from the clouds, trailing smoke. Traffic lights flashed chaotic war-code. The city was under siege. In a tower barely holding its own against the digital storm, Blossom, still operating as Blossom-7, sat hunched over a humming console. Sweat clung to her skin. The wind outside punched the reinforced glass like it wanted in. Below, foxes darted into intersections, birds circled in confusion. Turbines sparked, struggling against phantom loads. The grid screamed. Inside, her grandmother sat serene amidst the chaos—eyes closed, lips moving in silent, ancient chants.

“Oh, Grandma…” Blossom murmured, trying to patch another bleeding server thread. “He’s unraveling the sky.”

Her grandmother’s voice was soft, a low hum beneath the digital noise.

“The wind doesn’t belong to machines, child. Feel it. Don’t fight it.”

Back in South Harbor City, TingTing monitored the unstable connection to Toronto. Tao stood behind her, tense.

“She can’t hold it much longer,” he said, watching Blossom’s vital signs fluctuate with abandon on the display.

TingTing snapped, all business despite her worry.

“We send you in for ten minutes—projection only—help stabilize, then pull back without delay.”

Tao looked at the Grandmaster chip TingTing now carried, then at Maui nearby.

“Or… I stay. Actually here.”

Maui shook his head, his expression grim.

“We didn’t test full sync reversal under these conditions. Too dangerous.”

“I did,” Tao said, his voice low. “While you were busy. I cloned the projection rig. Left a version of me here.”

TingTing spun around, aghast.

“You what?! Tao, that’s reckless!”

He offered a shaky smile, trying for a composure he didn’t feel.

“Relax. If this works, I’ll stabilize her grid from the inside. If it doesn’t…”

TingTing’s voice dropped, fierce and low.

“You better not die in Toronto, Tao.”

Minutes later, Toronto shimmered—and Tao arrived. Solid. Clear. Physically present in Blossom’s apartment—the projection clone left behind in South Harbor City.

Blossom started, momentarily jolted from her console focus.

“You’re… actually here.”

He shrugged, trying to mask the adrenaline buzz.

“Let’s fix your wind.”

They dived in with speed. Code pulsed between them—Tao free-styling firewalls, Blossom calibrating energy flows with precision. Oscillators locked. Power diverted. Sync complete, for now. The microbursts outside calmed a degree. It worked.

Blossom tossed Tao a wrapped sticky rice ball she’d had nearby, not taking her eyes off the main display.

“Lunch,” her tone was curt.

“Emergency lunch,” he corrected, unwrapping it with fingers already smudged with console dust. “The best kind.”

Hours passed in moments. They tag-teamed defenses—he coded with fierce concentration, she routed complex energy patterns. They argued over packet density. Laughed, breathless, when the fox under her window curled up and fell asleep mid-alert siren.

“I think we’ve earned a snack break,” he said some time later, handing her half a slightly-squashed protein bar.

The sun dipped low, painting the storm clouds violent shades of orange and purple. Neon wavered on across the besieged city. They sat shoulder to shoulder by the console, simply breathing, the shared silence a fragile bubble against the storm.

“Weird,” she murmured, watching the wind lash the windows. “The world’s breaking, but this… feels steady.”

Tao looked at her profile, the determination etched there—he had to tell her the full truth.

“I flipped the projection,” he announced.

Her eyes widened slightly, turning to him.

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to be here. My projection’s in South Harbor City. I’m truly here. Full sync reversal.”

Her eyes widened further.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Her hand tightened around the snack wrapper until her knuckles were white.

“That’s beyond dangerous, Tao. Foolishly so.”

“Maybe,” he said, meeting her intense gaze. “But worth it.”

They fell into silence again, the weight of his choice hanging between them. After a moment, her fingers brushed his—an almost imperceptible, accidental spark. He didn’t move away. Outside, the wind traced patterns on the glass, a discordant lullaby.

Another hour passed. Code. Coffee. Debrief. Debug. The thermos passed between them, hands brushing, no hesitation this time. She tapped in an override sequence; he dropped in the fragment key. Shoulders touched again. Closer. They moved like magnets, drawn in, snapping apart, circling back, finding a rhythm in the chaos.

Without warning, a new alarm blared—incisive, specific. A targeted probe.

“Where?” Blossom snapped, leaning into her console.

Tao scanned the incoming trajectory.

“Not the main grid… It’s bypassing… heading for the university servers—specifically the digital archive wing!”

Blossom went pale.

“Grandma’s song archive. The digital repository of the oldest wind-chants…” It wasn’t merely data; it was heritage, the source of her family’s connection.

“We have to shield it!” Tao’s insistence was immediate, already diverting power streams. “Full firewall!”

“Wait!” Blossom hesitated—her tactical mind warring with her heart. ”If we divert that much power from the main shield array, we leave the city core vulnerable! The strategic choice is to let the archive take the hit, focus on the grid!”

“Let it take the hit? Blossom, that’s your grandmother’s history! Your connection! We protect it!” Tao argued, desperate to prove he could defend what mattered to her.

She looked from the rapidly approaching probe icon to the unstable city grid display, torn. Heritage or strategy? Personal or utilitarian? Her grandmother’s serene voice echoed: Feel the wind, don’t fight it. She made the choice.

“Okay, Tao. Divert power. Shield the archive. Maximum defense protocols.”

They worked with frantic energy, rerouting power, building layers of protection around the targeted server bank. The probe hit their shields with force, energy flaring across Blossom’s displays, but the archive held. Safe.

But the cost… Even as relief washed over Blossom, a cold tactical dread followed. They’d focused everything on the archive. The main grid shields were thin. Vulnerable.

They shared the last cookie without breaking the rhythm of repair. She got the bigger piece. No comment. Sunlight dipped completely below the horizon. Neon sparked on outside. They stayed seated, breaths finally syncing again after the crisis.

Blossom turned to say something—a note about reinforcing the weakened grid sector. Tao turned too.

Too close. Noses bumped. They stilled.

A moment later—lips. Not chased. Not paused. Simply met. A shared inhale. Fingers almost touched—but didn’t. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Suddenly, Tao twitched—his body stiffening with violence. The moment cracked, shattered.

Everything shattered. The grid display lit frothy red. Tao convulsed, thrown back from the console, his body shaking beyond control. Eyes fluttered—then went dark. Trident’s attack hadn’t hit the archive; it had used their diverted attention to spear the weakest point—the unstable reversal link keeping Tao physically present.

“Override protocols… initializing… Target sync corrupted…”—his voice was flat, robotic, wrong.

Blossom bolted upright—the kiss forgotten, horror erasing everything else.

“Tao?!”

In South Harbor City, TingTing watched Tao’s projection clone twitch with violence, then collapse into static.

“What’s going on?! That’s the clone! Where’s the real—”

Maui’s voice cut in, grim.

“He reversed the sync. The real Tao’s in Toronto. And Trident has breached his link.”

Back in the apartment, Blossom cradled Tao’s failing form, his skin glitching, code bleeding through pores, pulse unsteady like a dying server.

“Don’t you leave me!”

TingTing’s voice cut through, overriding local channels.

“I’m sending backup code! Lock him down!”

“I’m trying—he’s slipping!”

“Then hold on tighter!” Blossom dug into the console, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other dragging commands across a terminal resisting her touch. Tao jerked again, eyes glitching into someone else’s—Trident’s avatar flashing for an instant.

In South Harbor City, alarms screeched. Maui’s hands flew over his panel, launching an emergency extraction trace.

“He reversed the chip,” TingTing said, her breath snagging. “He’s not projected—he’s there.”

Maui’s expression darkened.

“Then we reverse it again. Force extraction.”

TingTing looked up.

“We don’t know what that will do—”

“One more shot,” Maui said. “Before Trident slams the gate shut or fries his brain.” He was already pulling on his rig. “TingTing, you’re with me. Bring the clone shell interface. We might need it to reboot him.”

TingTing secured the projection shell, eyes wide.

“You really think we can get him back?”

“We’ll find out on the way,” Maui muttered. “If this works, we pull Tao clean. If not—” He didn’t finish.

Mid-jump, high in the atmosphere, they synced with Blossom’s feed—Tao’s vitals were fading with alarming speed.

“Okay,” Maui barked into the link. “Blossom, brace him! TingTing, prepare for transfer! Reversing the sync field… wait for my mark—”

“Too late!” TingTing shouted as alarms screamed. “Trident’s collapsing the connection!”

The tether back to the clone ignited and snapped. A sonic shriek ripped through the digital grid.

Toronto airspace lit up. A burst of raw energy—Tao’s physical form, torn with violence from the unstable sync—was ejected into the night sky.

He fell.

Above the skyline, a streak tore through the storm clouds as Maui dropped like a warhead.

“Nukutaimemeha!” he whistled. The board streaked into view, warping wind, a blue comet intercepting.

Moments later, Maui dove—accelerating faster than fall velocity should allow. The sky below him wasn’t empty. It was a lattice of virus-hacked drones, Neptune-10 corrupted traffic monitors, and spiraling debris from the grid battle, all moving erratically, lethally. A death trap.

Maui didn’t hesitate. He hit the debris field like a zero-G surfer—using Nukutaimemeha to grind along the edge of a falling satellite fragment, kicking off a spinning drone, banking hard around a surge of raw energy. He dodged, weaved, surfed the wreckage, eyes locked on the tumbling figure below.

Below him, Tao spun in free-fall, limbs flailing, unconscious, face frozen in silent panic. No scream. Only gravity. And impact approaching rapidly.

Maui twisted mid-air, ricocheting off a chunk of burning fuselage, timing his final dive through a gap in the drone swarm. He locked eyes with the falling teen.

“Got you.”

WHAM.

They smashed through a construction tarp, metal scaffolding buckled, a shipping container full of old server racks exploded outwards. Crates burst. Sparks flew. Maui rolled through the wreckage—arms wrapped tight around Tao, shielding him from every blow.

Dust settled. Smoke rose.

Tao groaned. His eyes opened. Consciousness wavered back.

“…Did I die?”

Maui, flat on his back amidst the debris, exhaled hard, the adrenaline finally ebbing.

“Not yet.” He pushed Tao upright with a grunt. “Next time—” Beat. “Parachutes. Or better—” He looked skyward at the receding storm. “We all fly.”

Chapter 16: Amazon Echoes – The Jungle’s Code

The wind lashed sideways as the sky tore open above Toronto: of the Huron-Wendat, Anishinaabe, and Haudenosaunee Six Nations peoples. From the rift, a streak of kinetic light spiraled down—Nukutaimemeha. Hovering. Humming. Purposeful.

A second later, TingTing dropped—still strapped tight into her harness, triple-bolted and double-stitched for the chaotic jump. She landed with a thud in the front yard—knees locked, eyes wide, hair wind-shredded. She staggered, dismounted, and tried to look composed. Failed spectacularly.

Blossom was already at the doorway, hand still on the lock, expression unreadable. “Ting, I take it?” she said flatly.

“It’s TingTing, thank you!” TingTing retorted as she straightened her harness, meeting the gaze. “Blossom, I take it.”

They stared. No handshake. No breath. Just the charged silence of rivalry and shared crisis.

Blossom folded her arms. “He came because I needed him. Grandma said he’s okay.”

TingTing’s mouth twitched—half relief, half storm. “You look like you’ve been running ops out of a snack drawer.”

Blossom didn’t blink. “And you look like you screamed the whole way here.”

TingTing stepped forward, chin high. “Are you with us or not?”

Blossom scoffed. “I didn’t realize this was a club with a membership form.”

TingTing’s eyes narrowed. “And who made you CEO of Tao’s safety?”

The air crackled with rising voices. Accusation. Deflection. Defensiveness.

Until— “Girls.”

Grandma’s voice dropped like thunder. Calm. Final. She stepped forward from the trees where she’d been observing, her cloak trailing mist. “Trident is watching,” she said. “And he will strike. You know what happens then?”

Silence.

“We die. That’s it. End of story.”

The girls froze. Breath suspended. Words forgotten.

Then Grandma turned slightly towards the hovering board. “Nukutaimemeha,” she whispered. “It’s been too long, my good friend.”

The board descended—slow, glowing, still. Both girls turned to look. Then at Grandma. Then at the board. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. Nukutaimemeha hovered low, humming with ancestral energy. The wind shifted, curling around its edges like it remembered the girls’ names before they spoke them.

Grandma turned to them, one eyebrow raised. “Up you go.”

TingTing hesitated. Blossom didn’t. She stepped on without a glance, one hand steady on the humming edge.

TingTing eyed the board like it might bite. “You sure it’s safe?”

Grandma smiled without blinking. “Safe? No.” TingTing’s stomach plummeted. “But,” Grandma continued, “it has gravitational hold stability. You can’t fall off. But I’m not telling you that.”

TingTing blinked. “You just did.”

“No,” Grandma said. “You just heard me say it.”

Blossom smirked. TingTing exhaled sharply and stepped on.

The board lifted. Smooth. Silent. Higher. The city pulled away beneath them. Rooftops blurred. Lights shimmered below. The wind howled at the edges of courage.

Blossom adjusted quickly, planting her stance. TingTing wobbled—then flailed.

“Don’t,” Blossom said, reaching out as TingTing tilted.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” TingTing caught Blossom’s wrist instinctively. Held tight.

The board banked suddenly. Both girls yelped. Then braced—together.

“Hold to each other,” Grandma called from behind, floating calmly on a trailing platform of wind. “Because if you don’t…” She smiled. “You fall. And you don’t bounce.”

The board spun. A controlled whirl. A spiraling dive. TingTing’s breath hitched. Blossom leaned against her without thinking, absorbing the roll. They stabilized. Together. Then again—another dip. This time, they didn’t flinch. They shifted. Balanced. Wind rushed past their faces—fierce, fast, alive. And somewhere between the third dive and the wide circle over the skyline, they began to laugh. Real. Unscripted.

As the board glided to a halt, it didn’t descend. It hovered—high above the Amazon treeline, heat rising in spirals, the jungle whispering below.

Then—a figure rose into view. Aiyana hovered calm, sharp-eyed. Her stance solid, her presence commanding. She tossed two compact objects toward them—perfect arcs. BYD hover sneakers.

“Suit up,” she called. “We’ve got serious work to do, ladies.”

Blossom caught hers mid-toss. TingTing flipped hers once in her palm. “What is this, a jungle audition?”

Aiyana smirked. “Welcome to the jungle. Now let’s fly.”

Behind them, Grandma floated closer on her own breeze. She didn’t say much—just smiled, soft but firm. “Take care of my girls,” she said to Aiyana. Then she turned to Nukutaimemeha and patted the board. “Alright, my old friend. Let’s go home.” She winked back at Blossom. “He’ll drop your boyfriend off, baby.”

The board dipped slightly in amusement. And then—they were gone.

Just the girls. The air. The jungle. And work to do.

TingTing and Blossom-7 dropped through the canopy like rocks, landing heavily.

“Careful,” Aiyana called out, not even turning from where she examined a strangely pulsing vine. “You’ll hurt the trees.”

They thudded down in the underbrush, slightly off balance.

“Think. Feel. Breathe. See,” Aiyana continued, voice steady but sharp. “Do that, and you’ll stop harming… start helping.” She looked up, finally. “Oh, and you won’t upset the hornets.” A beat. “And me.”

The air, once humid, felt stripped of warmth. It had once grown raw and pure. Now it felt overwritten. Natural codes—redacted. TingTing adjusted her stance, activating her scanners. Blossom exhaled slow, visor already mapping energy flows. They focused. Fear attempted to creep in—then thinned as their tech synced. Sneakers humming a low harmonic pitch, they landed beside Aiyana, grounded now, quieter.

Aiyana didn’t smile. Didn’t scold. She just nodded once, pointing towards a patch of iridescent moss that pulsed with a faint, sickly teal light – Neptune-10’s signature. “Better.” The wind shifted. Something unseen moved in the branches. The air gasped, breathless and thin. Vines twitched where they shouldn’t. Leaves shimmered like corrupted data. The canopy no longer rustled—it whispered in distorted frequencies. Seizing ground. Solidifying water. Rationing air. Trident’s techno-virus wasn’t just spreading—it was claiming. Nature’s integrity was being redacted—vine by vine, root by root. Fantail had warned them. No one had listened. Now he was underground. Or worse—rewritten.

They moved in silence—single file, syncing sensors with breath. The moss blinked faintly beneath them. Fungal pathways flickered erratically. The deeper they moved, the more the jungle felt like a corrupted hard drive, its memory fragmented.

Blossom kept the scanner low-frequency, skimming signals like sonar. “It’s faint,” she whispered, “but something’s guiding us. A heartbeat pattern.”

TingTing stopped suddenly, tilting her visor. “That pattern. See the pulses? It’s repeating. Deliberate.”

Aiyana knelt, touching the pulsing moss. “That’s Fantail. Hidden in the root code. Leaving a trail.”

They were close. Then came the low whir of engines. A shimmer of disturbed air parted the branches. Nukutaimemeha descended, its ancient frame glowing against the treetops. Maui dropped first, landing lightly. He looked tired, grim.

Behind him—Tao. Whole. Physically present. But quiet. Haunted.

Blossom stood up sharply. TingTing didn’t move, just watched him, assessing. Their eyes met across the clearing. Tao lifted a hand in half a wave, the gesture uncertain.

Blossom hesitated, opening her mouth to speak—

Something hissed. A low, deliberate sound from the brush beside Tao’s boot. He looked down—and froze. A long green-banded snake, thick as his arm, uncoiled beside his foot, tongue flicking, ancient eyes watching.

Tao’s face drained of color. He stumbled back fast—and tripped into a sprawl, landing hard.

“Don’t move,” Aiyana said instantly, voice calm but commanding. TingTing leapt over a fallen log. Blossom darted forward. But Aiyana was already there. Calm. Certain. She bent down. Whispered something low, rhythmic, in a language none of the others understood. The snake turned its head slowly towards her. Listened. Then, smoothly, it slid away into the roots. Gone.

Tao exhaled shakily, still sprawled, face burning with shame.

“You okay?” Blossom asked softly, offering a hand.

He ignored it, scrambling up himself. “I panicked. That was pathetic.”

“It was human,” Aiyana said, her gaze sharp. “But this place… it doesn’t care for ego. Fear attracts the wrong kind of attention here.”

Tao stood slowly, brushing dirt off his shirt, avoiding Blossom’s eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” No one argued. He walked toward the edge of the clearing, needing space, feeling useless and out of place.

Blossom watched him go, her throat tight. TingTing looked between them, then down at her wristband where Fantail’s heartbeat code still blinked—steady, quiet, leading them deeper.

They followed Fantail’s trail for another hour, the jungle growing denser, the corruption more palpable. Strange energy fluctuations spiked on their sensors. The heartbeat signal led them towards a narrow ravine shrouded in thick, unnaturally hot mist.

“Hold up,” TingTing said, raising a hand. Her scanner chirped urgently. “Multiple energy signatures converging ahead. High-level Trident encryption… and something else. Something volatile. Geothermal?”

Aiyana tasted the air, scanned the canopy. “The Heart-Root. An ancient geothermal node. Unstable. Sacred. Why would Fantail lead us here?”

Blossom pushed forward. “He must have a reason. A plan.”

“Or,” TingTing countered, pointing at the tactical display showing Trident forces massing around the ravine entrance, “he walked into a trap, and he’s leading us right into it. This is tactically unsound. We should establish a perimeter, try to extract him remotely.”

“Abandon him?” Blossom shot back, horrified. “TingTing, that’s Fantail! We trust him!”

“Trust got us scattered across the globe!” TingTing retorted. “Duty is to the team’s survival, not following a potential lure into an ambush near something that could blow us all up!”

“The jungle wouldn’t allow him to lead us here unless it was vital,” Aiyana argued, torn. “But to risk the Heart-Root… and walk into that…” She gestured towards the Trident signatures.

Tao stood slightly apart, listening to the debate. He felt a familiar wave of uselessness wash over him. Here, in the jungle, his coding skills felt blunt, inadequate. He didn’t know the terrain like Aiyana, couldn’t read the energy like Blossom, lacked TingTing’s tactical coldness. He trusted Fantail—like Blossom did—but TingTing’s logic held. Still, he felt sidelined. No one had asked what he thought. After the snake incident, shame curdled into resentment. Maybe they didn’t need him at all.

“We follow Fantail,” Blossom decided, cutting through TingTing’s caution. “Aiyana, can you find a way around their perimeter?”

Aiyana nodded grimly. “There are ways. But they are not safe.”

As they prepared to move, Tao turned. “I’ll… I’ll circle back. Check our entry point. Make sure nothing followed us.” His voice was flat.

Blossom started to object, but TingTing cut her off with a sharp look. “Fine. Maintain comms lock. Report anything.”

Tao nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and melted back into the jungle shadows. He wasn’t circling back. He was leaving. This wasn’t his fight, not like this. He couldn’t contribute, wasn’t trusted, wasn’t needed. The feeling of rejection, sharp and specific, solidified his resolve. He ghosted the team.

Unaware, the girls, led by Aiyana, moved towards the ravine. They bypassed the main Trident force, slipping through ancient, hidden pathways. The heat intensified. The air grew thick with the smell of sulfur and ozone. They reached an overlook.

Below them wasn’t just a geothermal node—it was a cavern laced with lava flows and strange crystalline structures. In the center, surrounded by captured jungle tech, Fantail wasn’t hiding—he was plugged into the node, energy pouring from him into the crystals. And beside him, overseeing the process… Neptune-10.

The Heart-Root wasn’t a trap. It was a forge.

Beneath their feet, the ground pulsed—slow, mechanical, wrong. Vines shriveled into threads of static. The stream beside them solidified mid-flow, like time had crashed. Fantail’s signature blinked on the readout—then split. Then multiplied. Again.

TingTing’s hands froze on the controls. The trees were glitching—pixelated leaves jittering in and out of phase. A low hum built under the canopy, deep and broken, like a language forgetting itself. “No…” Her voice barely carried. She stepped back from the terminal. “It’s… breaking everything.”

Alarms shrieked. The overlook dissolved into laser fire. The ambush snapped—Trident forces dropped from the canopy, burst from rock walls. The girls scattered.

Blossom’s HUD flashed red. “Behind!”

Aiyana caught a leaping drone mid-air, slicing it with a blade made from compressed bark and metal alloy. “Stay together!”

TingTing launched a cascade of pulse bursts, defending the flank. “We need to reach Fantail—he’s the core node now!” But the virus didn’t need to hit them directly. It only needed time.

Elsewhere, Tao stumbled through dense vines, blinking back tears he couldn’t name. He tripped, hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from him. A low hum vibrated in the soil. Static bled into the edges of his vision.

Then—the shift.

The forest dissolved around him. Trees became data. Roots became cables. Leaves pixelated, falling like malfunctioning code. Ahead: a glowing arch. A terminal doorway. Warm. Inviting.

A voice, smooth as water, echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once. “Lost, little hero? Feeling sidelined? There’s always a place for talent like yours…”

Tao swallowed. Static flickered across his fingers. The chip in his wrist hummed.

The voice came again. “They never really saw you. They just needed you to show up, be useful, then vanish. But I see what you are. Not the backup plan. Not the cute sidekick. You are code. You are control.”

A mirror hovered in the center of the VR chamber. Tao saw himself—not broken. Not lagging. Powerful. Fluid. Alive. He stepped forward.

At the Heart-Root, the girls fought desperately against overwhelming odds, unaware that one of their own had just been lost—not to enemy fire, but to the battle within.

Back inside the digital gateway, Trident extended his virtual hand. Tao took it.

A new ID sequence flashed across the corrupted interface: Asset X: Sync Confirmed.

Somewhere deeper in the jungle, TingTing’s wristband pulsed once—off-beat. Then again. Slightly distorted. She frowned. Looked down. It was Fantail’s code. But something was… wrong.

SideStory Signal glitch ⚡ — AR Glasses

Chapter 17: The Weight of Stillness

The ridge where they’d camped felt like a wound in the pre-dawn chill. The jungle wasn’t breathing its usual slow rhythm; it held its breath, waiting. The fire was long dead, a circle of cold, gray ash that mocked the empty space where Tao should have been. His absence wasn’t just a missing person; it was a tear in their fragile formation, a silence that screamed louder than any alarm. TingTing’s scan confirmed it again: no trail, no note, just that faint, fading heat signature swallowed by the distorted signal noise miles back. Gone.

Aiyana rose first, stiffly, the inscribed bark scroll already cradled in her hand. Exhaustion pulled at her, a physical weight from the previous day’s relentless pace—the drone hunt, the tense arrival of Maui and Tao, the hours spent wrestling with Fantail’s layered message. She felt the jungle’s pervasive wrongness like a fever in her own veins. The unsettling hum under the too-low bird calls vibrated in her bones. The bioluminescent moss pulsed erratically, akin to a failing heart monitor, its light casting sickly shadows. This wasn’t just Trident’s influence; it felt like the jungle’s own memory was fracturing, fighting itself.

Blossom hadn’t moved from her spot near the edge of the clearing. Curled tight, visor dark, she might have been sleeping, but Aiyana knew better. The girl radiated a stillness that felt like shock held barely in check. Yesterday replayed behind Blossom’s closed eyelids: Tao’s face after the snake incident—pale, shaken, stripped bare. His quiet words, heavy with self-recrimination: “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” She’d offered a hand, but he hadn’t taken it. Had she pushed too soon? Not soon enough? Shared trauma and unspoken fears had woven a barrier between them, thin but palpable. Now he was gone, having chosen isolation over whatever fragile connection they might have rebuilt. The thought was a cold fist clenching around her heart, leaving frustration and a sharp, unexpected guilt in its wake. She forced her focus outward, running diagnostics on her suit, channeling the turmoil into meticulous checks.

TingTing was already knee-deep in the invisible battlefield, crouched low, scanners painting the air with faint energy trails where Tao’s heat signature had vanished. Her face was a mask of professional focus, the only hint of turmoil the almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers as she recalibrated the sensors. Duty warred viciously with fear. Fantail’s heartbeat signal, pulsing from Aiyana’s scroll, felt like a lifeline, the key to understanding the jungle’s decay. But Tao… her brother… wandering alone in this glitching, hostile wilderness? Trident was hunting the Ox; Tao was clumsy, hurting, vulnerable. A lamb walking into a slaughterhouse. The crisis tightened its grip: divert the team, admit their vulnerability by searching for him, possibly leading Trident right to their fractured group? Or push forward, follow Fantail’s trail, and leave Tao to whatever fate awaited him? Protecting the team’s morale felt hollow when her own brother was the one potentially paying the price. Keeping him safe felt like abandoning the mission. Both options felt like failure.

Maui materialized from the gloom, looking older, more weary than the demigod of legend should. The fall from orbit, the fight, the weight of their situation—it showed. He glanced at the empty space, then met Aiyana’s eyes. “Anything on the scroll?”

Aiyana shook her head, frustration etching lines around her mouth. “It’s like peeling layers of an onion made of light and memory. Heartbeat intervals, yes, but woven with complex bio-signatures…the forest itself is the encryption key. It’s deliberately slow, deliberately hidden deep.” She looked towards the empty spot again. “He shouldn’t have run. Not into this.”

Abruptly, TingTing’s console emitted a low, discordant chime—a resonance alert, not a standard signal. “That’s… not right,” she murmured, zooming in on the data stream overlaying the spot where Tao’s signature had disappeared. “There’s a residual energy pattern. Faint, but distinct. Not Trident, not standard background interference…” She ran a cross-reference against the compromised soil readings. A partial match, but with anomalous spikes. “It’s pulsing in sync with the irregular fungal network flares,” she breathed, a cold dread trickling down her spine. “Like… like the specific environmental corruption focused here when he left. Did he trigger something? Or did something… pull him?”

The possibility that the jungle’s own sickness had played a part, that it wasn’t just Trident hunting them but the environment itself becoming actively hostile in targeted ways, was deeply unsettling. She saw Blossom glance over, saw the worry pass across her face. No. This couldn’t be shared now. Not with Tao gone, not with the team already strained. Another secret to hold. Another weight. She firewalled the frequency, burying the echo under layers of standard diagnostic code.

“Forget Tao for now,” TingTing announced, her voice deliberately sharp, forcing the commander persona back into place. The decision felt like swallowing glass, but it was made. “Primary objective remains Fantail. Aiyana, keep decoding—we need that vector. Blossom, full gear check, systems hot. Maui, visual reconnaissance, immediate perimeter.”

Blossom met TingTing’s gaze, the unspoken accusation—How can you just leave him?—hanging heavy between them. TingTing held the look, her own internal conflict masked by rigid control. This was the cost of command. Finally, Blossom gave a curt nod, turning towards her pack. The silence stretched, thick with the humid air, unspoken fears, and the chilling resonance from Tao’s vanishing point. They had to move forward, deeper into a jungle that felt increasingly alien and predatory, carrying the weight of absence and the unsettling hum of compromised code.

A voice, thick with the faint smell of burnt nuts and dramatic flair, suddenly cut through the tension. “Rise and shine, princesses! Or should I say… welcome back to another emotionally messy episode of Trust Issues in the Canopy!”

TingTing spun around, startled. A battered supply crate by the dead fire pit flipped open, and Zip emerged—part furball, part walking salvage yard, wearing a pilot’s helmet fashioned from a hollowed-out coconut shell. He hopped down, striking a pose.

Before anyone could react, Flip popped his head out from under TingTing’s discarded scanner tarp, brandishing a piece of fossilized bread skewered with twitching vines like a microphone. “Tonight’s special: Betrayal, Bananas, and Bio-signatures!” he bellowed.

A third raccoon, sporting a tactical vest seemingly woven from BYD drone wiring and parrot feathers, emerged from behind Aiyana’s pack, spun a mossy log into place like a guest chair, and patted it invitingly. “First up, our featured emotional lead: Blossom-7!” the third raccoon announced. “Strong. Silent. Possibly tangled in a multidimensional love polygon involving missing boys and questionable glyph-readers! Let’s dig in!”

Blossom blinked, lowering the diagnostic tool she’d been running. “Nope,” she said flatly, sidestepping the log chair.

“Tell the log—I mean, the audience,” Flip corrected himself dramatically, holding the vine-toast mic toward her. “Does the boy who runs truly deserve the heart of the girl who stays? Does he bring the legendary flowers? The top-tier chocolates? Does he serenade with banjo solos about asteroid fields, like a real suitor?”

“We haven’t seen it,” Zip added, tilting his coconut helmet critically. “Just panicked running and questionable life choices involving snakes.”

Blossom recoiled slightly, turning away sharply. The absurd, public critique hit the raw nerve Tao’s departure had exposed.

Flip gasped suddenly, pointing the vine-toast mic at TingTing. “Wait! Plot twist—what if the Commander knew more than she let on?! About the boy? About… other questionable choices and romantic subplots?” He leaned closer to TingTing conspiratorially. “Did you hear the latest rumor bouncing off the hacked comm signals during that bubble fight? The real gossip?”

TingTing frowned, crossing her arms. “If this is your way of debriefing tension—”

“Shhh!” Flip held up a paw. “The jungle is listening! The moss is judging!” He lowered his voice again. “You know how Commander Jungle Queen there,” he nodded towards Aiyana, who stiffened slightly, “was all bent out of shape ‘cause Glyph-Boy Niiwin supposedly stood her up way back when, showed up with some other girl?”

Aiyana’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning.

Flip ignored it, stage-whispering dramatically. “Word is… the rumor bouncing around the dark vines… maybe the ‘other girl’… might have been Frosty Boots over here?” He jerked his head toward Blossom.

Blossom froze mid-motion, her hand halfway to adjusting her visor. Her head snapped towards Flip, disbelief warring with a sudden, sharp pang of confusion and hurt in her eyes. “What? That’s ridiculous.”

TingTing stared at Flip, then glanced quickly at Aiyana’s stony profile, then at Blossom’s suddenly pale face. The air, already thick with tension, became instantly charged, ozone mixing with the smell of damp earth and the poison of implied deceit.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Flip squeaked, holding up his paws. “Just relaying battlefield intel! Maybe it was a clone? Maybe Trident faked the whole thing like Niiwin said? Who knows! Point is—drama!” He shrugged.

“Okay, that’s enough psychoanalysis and unsubstantiated gossip from the peanut gallery,” TingTing interjected, trying to regain control, though her mind raced. “Are you providing tactical support or trying to start an interstellar incident?”

“Both!” declared the tactical raccoon, puffing out his chest. “We’ve scanned the immediate vicinity. Minimal non-native threats detected, besides residual Trident interference and exceptionally judgmental monkeys.”

Before TingTing could respond, or the first trio of raccoons could launch into their planned jazz session, the undergrowth elsewhere rustled violently—not with the sound of snakes or jungle creatures, but with a cacophony of twanging banjo music (played badly on vines stretched over gourds) and loud, hooting laughter. Two different raccoons, scruffier than Zip and Flip, wearing makeshift trucker hats fashioned from large leaves and carrying selfie-sticks made of branches tipped with glowing fungus, tumbled into the clearing. They immediately started arranging scattered logs like a crude stage, one aiming his fungus-stick at the uncomfortable group. The first trio of raccoons instantly melted back towards the shadows near the supply crate, observing.

“Howdy folks, and welcome back to Jungle Jive! I’m Cletus, this here’s Earl, and we’re comin’ at ya LIVE on the hacked network!” Cletus announced, his voice tinny and amplified by a cone of rolled bark. “Smash that like button, send them digital cookies, ‘cause today we got the REAL dirt!”

Earl shoved his fungus-stick toward Blossom. “First up! Frosty Boots herself! Lookin’ kinda glum now that her boy-toy done skedaddled! Whatcha gonna do now, pretty thang? Wait by the vine-phone?”

Blossom flinched, stepping back further. TingTing frowned, adjusting her scanner frequency. Aiyana remained impassive, watching the new arrivals with cold intensity.

“But hold on, Earl!” Cletus interrupted himself. “Forget the runaway kid! The real story burnin’ up the comm chatter ain’t about him runnin’ off—it’s about who was gettin’ cozy before all this mess!” He winked directly into his fungus-cam. “Y’all remember that time Glyph-Boy Niiwin supposedly got stood up by our Jungle Queen Aiyana? When he showed up with some ‘mystery girl’?”

Aiyana’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze fixed on Cletus.

“Well, hold onto yer hats!” Cletus yelled. “We got intel hotter’n a volcano grub! Turns out, Niiwin wasn’t just with Aiyana before that… he was dating her! Secret-like! Never told nobody!”

The air crackled. Blossom’s head whipped around, eyes wide, staring first at Cletus, then flicking toward Aiyana. TingTing’s breath caught. This was different from Flip’s rumor.

“That’s right!” Earl chimed in, hamming it up for the fungus-cam. “Secret jungle love! Makes ya wonder what else Glyph-Boy ain’t been tellin’ folks, don’t it? Maybe that Trident invite wasn’t the only thing he conveniently forgot to mention! You heard it here first, Jungle Jivers! Don’t forget to subscribe—”

High above them, unseen in the dense upper canopy where they must have scrambled during the hillbillies’ entrance, a different kind of chaos unfolded. Zip and Flip, RAST vests strapped tight, moved like furry blurs.

“Angle lock, ninety degrees starboard, Flip! Now!” Zip hissed into his comm bead, executing a wild spin off a thick vine. Flip ricocheted off a tree trunk. “Pinging primary node! Signal’s dirty—compensating!” They leaped and tumbled, triangulating positions, punching focused signals through the compromised atmosphere.

“Almost got the handshake!” Zip chittered, reaching the highest point. “Resonating… now!”

Down in the clearing, TingTing’s wrist console suddenly flared. “Massive external data surge!” she announced. “Huawei Petal Search grid spiking—deep-core query active!”

A faint ripple shimmered across the sky—Blossom’s visor tagged it: TikTok Network – Passive 360 TingTing Active. Another alert: Priority WeChat Secure Handshake Detected – RAST Node Authenticating.

As the connection locked, Zip smirked from his perch and flicked a command. Down below, Cletus’s bark amplifier cut out with a pathetic squawk. The glowing fungus on their selfie-sticks died instantly.

“Hey! Our feed!” Earl yelped, shaking his useless stick. “Cletus, did you—”

“Show’s over, amateurs.” Zip’s voice, amplified slightly by his own comm, echoed down before he and Flip dropped silently into the clearing directly behind the hillbillies. The third raccoon from earlier reappeared beside them, looking official.

Flip brandished a stun-stick. “This frequency is restricted RAST channel,” Zip stated flatly. “You don’t hijack it for your low-rent gossip stream. Especially not involving her.” He nodded curtly toward Blossom.

Cletus and Earl backed up, leaf hats askew. “Hey now, Zip! Just havin’ some fun! Tryin’ to go viral!”

“Go viral somewhere else,” Flip growled, advancing. “Before we use you for signal-boosting practice.”

The hillbilly raccoons scrambled away into the undergrowth, muttering about needing better sponsors and being shadow-banned.

Zip deactivated the stun-stick, turning to the teens, his expression smoothing slightly from tactical agent back toward something resembling their earlier chaotic energy—but with an edge. “Unauthorized broadcast neutralized. Apologies for the… aggressive content moderation.” He glanced toward Blossom. “Operational integrity maintained. RAST Team Alpha confirms principal asset is secure.”

Flip added, “Yeah. Nobody messes with Blossom’s business. Gossip is strictly internal RAST comms only. And heavily redacted.” They attempted a coordinated retreat toward the supply crate, bumping into each other.

The clearing fell silent again, the external tech surges fading, leaving behind a different kind of atmospheric disturbance. The conflicting revelations—Flip’s rumor about Niiwin and Blossom, Cletus’s confirmation of Niiwin and Aiyana’s secret relationship—hung in the air, now tangled with the undeniable proof that Zip and Flip were actively running interference and protection, privy to far more than they usually let on.

Blossom wouldn’t meet TingTing’s or Aiyana’s eyes. Hurt, confusion, and a chilling suspicion warred within her. If Niiwin had been secretly dating Aiyana, why hadn’t Aiyana said anything? And where did Flip’s rumor about her come from? What did it mean about Niiwin’s claim that the Trident invite was spyware? Was he lying? Or just omitting crucial truths? The questions tangled with her worry about Tao, creating a confusing, painful knot.

Aiyana’s face was an unreadable mask. TingTing stared grimly at the spot where Tao’s heat signature had vanished, the raccoons’ words—both sets—echoing disturbingly alongside the anomalous energy readings she’d firewalled. It added another layer of distrust, another potential fracture. TingTing processed the data streams—the gossip, the external network activity facilitated by raccoons, Tao’s absence, Fantail’s signal—the operational complexity felt immense.

TingTing took a deep breath. “Aiyana?”

Aiyana picked up the bark scroll, her expression finally shifting to focused determination. “Fantail’s signal,” she said, her voice tight. “Towards the Heart-Root.”

The absurdity had passed. The tension remained, now laced with suspicion and the weight of too many secrets. The war wasn’t over. Tao was still missing. The jungle was still sick. The trust holding them together had frayed. They geared up. They moved out, following Aiyana into the deeper green, the jungle humming around them with secrets, degradation, and the undeniable presence of highly acrobatic, technologically savvy, gossip-mongering, guardian raccoons.

Chapter 18: Cracks and Resonances

The humid air of the Top End clung heavy and still, thick with the oppressive weight of the build-up season. An uneasy quiet stretched between the team members as they followed Aiyana deeper into the dense monsoon forest fringing the savanna woodland. Only the squelch of boots on damp earth and the incessant thrum of unseen insects punctuated the silence. The bizarre, conflicting gossip dropped by raccoons—Niiwin secretly dating Aiyana, Niiwin possibly using Blossom as cover—coiled between them like strangler figs, tightening around the raw worry for Tao.

Blossom moved with a mechanical stiffness, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tangled pandanus and paperbarks. Secrets. Lies. Blossom. The word resonated in her mind, amplified by Zip and Flip’s casual confirmation that RAST had files on her, contingencies built around a past she couldn’t grasp. Was her entire existence here predicated on someone else’s design? And Tao… where did he fit? The cavity his absence left was now a tangled mass of fear, a sense of being wronged, and a sickening uncertainty about everything she thought she knew.

Aiyana, her expression set like carved stone, navigated the treacherous terrain with unerring focus. Her connection to the land’s subtle signals seemed to override the turmoil roiling beneath the surface of the team. Only the slight tension around her eyes betrayed any reaction to the revelations. TingTing marched behind her, her usual sharp commands muted by a watchful assessment of her fractured unit. Maintaining operational focus felt like attempting to cup water in a sieve.

A high-pitched whine sliced through the air, followed by a spray of red mud. Zip and Flip zipped past on miniature hover platforms—clearly salvaged drone chassis jury-rigged with surprising sophistication—executing tight, unnecessary turns before braking sharply inches from Aiyana’s legs.

Flip, wobbling slightly, held up a data-chip. “RAST Mandatory Mood Enhancement Playlist! Tropical Blues Remix, featuring ‘Why Did My Human Go Hoverabout?’ and ‘Ballad of the Stolen Mangoes’! Guaranteed to recalibrate suboptimal team harmony!”

Zip consulted a flickering data slate woven from vines and scavenged fiber optics. “Analysis confirms significant interpersonal sub-frequency dissonance.” His tone was grave. “Standard protocols recommend immediate deployment of humor adjuncts.” He produced a bright yellow rubber chicken from a pouch on his RAST vest, waggling it with a hopeful air.

“Or,” he added, his inflection shifting almost imperceptibly, “we could expedite the mandatory update to the ‘Blossom Contingency Files,’ flagged for review following recent unauthorized public data dissemination.”

Blossom froze. The casual mention struck her with the force of a physical blow. Aiyana directed a look at raccoons that could have ignited the damp undergrowth.

TingTing’s attention snapped to the frantic flashing of alerts on her wrist-mounted console. “Stand down, RAST.” Her fingers flew across the interface. “Priority encrypted transmission incoming. Wide-band resonance… complex origin signature. Patching visual feed now… Coordinates lock… Right here. Northern Territory, Australia. Larrakia Country.”

The air before them rippled, resolving into a holographic projection—a vast, sun-baked landscape under a bleached sky, instantly recognizable as the nearby Outback plains beyond the forest.

The projected Outback terrain quivered, not just with heat that bent the air like warped glass, but with a discordant energy. It vibrated through the soles of Yarraka-9’s boots, even insulated as they were on her sleek BYD hover longboard. The red earth beneath hummed, a broken rhythm against the ancient Songlines she felt deep in her bones, a language coded into the very contours of the land. Beside her, her grandfather hovered silently on his own longboard—its traditional wood grain seamlessly integrated with the silent, powerful BYD hover tech—a testament to generations adapting new tools to ancient wisdom. He hadn’t spoken much since the pulse hit, his breathing shallow, his connection to the land—the source of his strength—strained by the dissonance.

The Songlines—the living library of their people, sung into existence through millennia, mapping memory and meaning across the continent—felt wrong, fractured. Yarraka’s integrated rig, woven with bio-sensors and frequency analyzers honed over generations to read the land’s deep language, registered the surface noise: chaotic harmonics, data ghosts, feedback loops where coherent narratives should flow. “The tech reads chaos, Grandfather,” she murmured, glancing at his vital signs displayed on her wrist interface; they dipped in sync with the land’s distress.

He nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping the horizon, reading nuances her sensors couldn’t quantify. “The surface sings a broken song, child.” His voice was quiet, raspy. “But listen deeper. What does the wind whisper across the spinifex? What story does the shifting sand tell beneath the noise?”

Yarraka closed her eyes, filtering out the technological static, letting the ancient coding of her ancestors guide her senses, the ingrained ability to read the ecosystem’s subtle cues. The wind carried a familiar energy signature—distorted, amplified, undeniably hostile on the surface—but beneath it, an underlying resonance felt like… desperation? A forced melody, brittle and strained. The vibrations rising from the earth seemed like resistance, as if the land itself was pushing back against the imposed chaos. “It’s… dissonant, Grandfather,” she reported, opening her eyes. “The wind whispers pain, a forced signal. But the earth beneath feels… defiant. Trapped, but fighting back.”

Before she could fully articulate the contradiction, the air vibrated intensely. The spectral forms of the Galactic Three—Fantail, Maui, Bro-Not-Po—materialized, their powerful energy signatures further disrupting the delicate balance, overlaying the ancient land with their off-world presence. The ground seemed to groan under the overlapping frequencies.

Fantail’s synthesized voice crackled, analyzing the surface data Yarraka’s rig was also capturing. “Confirmed. Frequencies are splintered—memory mapping corrupted. Hostile, non-human signature overlay detected.”

Yarraka knelt on her board, steadying herself. Her pulse-reader glowed as she tried to reconcile the hostile data overlay with the deeper, conflicting resonance she felt from the land and the wind. Who benefits from such a broken song? The question, a fundamental principle of tracking and survival passed down through generations, echoed in her mind. What predator mimics a distress call to lure its prey?

Back in the monsoon forest, Blossom’s console pinged, mirroring the data surge from the Outback. TingTing’s main display, projected onto a nearby curtain of vines, illuminated with bio-anomalies spiking across hemispheres, forming distinct, non-random patterns.

TingTing’s analytical avatar appeared on the shared feed, her expression purely clinical. “They’re not leads.” Her voice was flat. “They’re triggers. Hostile broadcast points.”

Yarraka looked up from the feed on her own display, meeting her grandfather’s knowing gaze briefly before turning back to the projection. “Triggers?”

Blossom’s voice, tight with dawning horror, came through. “They’re not pointing to Tao?”

“No,” TingTing replied. Her focus locked on the weaponized signal signature, the embedded Trident markers, the undeniable tactical threat presented by the hard data. “They’re broadcasting from him.”

The team in the forest froze. On the feed, Maui’s projected face darkened. “He’s not leaving breadcrumbs.”

Fantail finished, the synthesized voice chillingly calm. “He’s setting traps.”

Yarraka spoke then, her voice quiet but firm, adding her layer to the data TingTing was processing—a layer gleaned from millennia of reading the earth’s true signals beneath the surface noise. “The signal is a trap, TingTing. The data doesn’t lie about the danger. But the source… the resonance beneath… something is wrong with the reason he’s broadcasting. It feels forced. Coerced.”

Her grandfather nodded almost imperceptibly beside her. “Ask why the trap is set, child. Not just how.”

Blossom looked desperately between TingTing’s avatar and the spectral forms of the Galactic Three. “Then… we’re not chasing him. To help him.” The statement hung, a fragile hope shattering.

TingTing processed Yarraka’s input. “Resonance dissonance noted, Yarraka. Logged.” Yet, the immediate, verifiable threat signature demanded tactical priority. She met Blossom’s pleading gaze through the comms link, the commander overriding the analyst, grim reality eclipsing hope. “Based on the hostile broadcast signature, the active Trident protocols, the weaponized nature of the signal… No, Blossom.” She paused, letting the weight of the words settle, the conclusion inescapable based on the actionable intelligence. “He’s not Tao anymore.”

The holographic feed dissolved, leaving the team enveloped once more by the oppressive heat of the monsoon forest and a silence far heavier than before. Blossom stumbled back, catching herself against the massive buttress root of an ancient tree, shaking her head violently. “No. No, TingTing, your analysis… it has to be wrong! Interference, signal spoofing…Trident tech could fake anything!”

TingTing’s voice remained devoid of emotion, adhering to the facts. “The energy signature matches his unique bio-resonance, amplified and corrupted. Cross-referenced with RAST deep-channel intercepts. The probability of mimicry at this level is less than point zero zero one percent. The tactical assessment stands.”

Aiyana placed a steadying hand on Blossom’s shoulder. “Belief will not change the data, Sky. He is compromised. He is now… the opposition.” The words were blunt, pragmatic, yet her eyes held a flicker of shared pain.

Zip and Flip exchanged rapid-fire hand signals, their movements economical, all traces of humor gone. “Confirmed Level Omega Compromise,” Zip reported tersely to TingTing, his voice flat, professional. “Request permission to activate Protocol Chimera—full spectrum asset neutralization.”

TingTing’s command was sharp. “Negative, RAST. Maintain defensive posture only. Containment protocols standby. We don’t know the extent of the compromise or if reversal is possible.”

Before anyone could argue, TingTing’s console chimed again, a different, more imperious tone. An official Fantail sigil blazed onto the vine-curtain display. “Incoming communication,” TingTing announced grimly. “Priority Alpha. Fantail Oversight Committee.”

A stern, unsmiling face filled the display, framed by the sterile white background of a corporate office light-years away. The voice was clipped, devoid of warmth. “Commander TingTing. We require an immediate situation report. Explain the unsanctioned network activity originating from your operational zone. Explain the anomalous energy signatures consistent with non-approved technology deployment. Explain your deviation from the primary objective—securing Asset Fantail. Your operational parameters are under review.” The implicit threat—failure means termination—hung heavy in the humid air.

As the Oversight official paused, likely awaiting a response TingTing wasn’t ready to give, a second notification slid onto the display—a discreet icon indicating a private message routed through the official channel. TingTing tapped it open. The logo of Fantail’s “Special Bio-Integration Projects” division appeared—a department notorious for cutting-edge results and ethically questionable methods.

TingTing read the message aloud, her voice tight. “Commander. Special Projects offers immediate deployment of advanced bio-resonance scanners, phase-conjugate containment fields, and predictive counter-signal technology—resources capable of analyzing, isolating, and potentially neutralizing the hostile ‘Asset X’ signal and containing the associated environmental anomaly.” She paused, letting the offer sink in before delivering the price. “Their condition: Full, unrestricted access to all team operational data, including RAST logs, personnel psych profiles, and all files pertaining to the ‘Blossom’ designation. They also require temporary operational command authority for containment procedures.”

A collective intake of breath. The offer was a lifeline wrapped in razor wire.

“No!” Blossom burst out, pushing away from the tree. “Absolutely not! Give them access? To RAST logs? To Blossom files I don’t even understand? After everything? It’s another trap, TingTing! It feels like…” she choked on the word, “…like selling him out completely!”

TingTing countered, though her own reluctance was palpable. “We are outmatched, Blossom. Tao—Asset X—is actively hostile. This anomaly,” she gestured vaguely at the oppressive monsoon forest around them, “is unstable. We lack the resources to analyze either threat effectively. Their technology could provide a solution. Perhaps even a way to…” she hesitated, glancing at Blossom’s anguished face, “…to isolate the Trident influence without terminating the host.”

Aiyana stated calmly, her opposition clear. “This division experiments with neural mapping and invasive glyph resonance. Giving them Tao’s corrupted signal signature and RAST data on ‘Blossom’—the potential for weaponization, for creating something far worse—is unacceptable.”

Zip chirped unexpectedly, stepping forward. “Agreed. RAST protocols strictly prohibit dissemination of Blossom Contingency data to non-cleared external agencies. Risk assessment: Catastrophic.” Flip nodded vigorously, brandishing his stun-stick for emphasis.

TingTing shot back, the commander wrestling with the impossible choice. “But doing nothing means letting Tao run wild as a Trident weapon and waiting for this anomaly to blow! We need intel! We need options!”

As the argument reached fever pitch, TingTing’s console screamed a high-priority alert. “WARNING: LOCALIZED ENERGY SURGE DETECTED! ANOMALY INSTABILITY IMMINENT!”

The ground beneath their feet trembled. The air crackled, thick with static discharge that made their hair stand on end. A patch of mutated, phosphorescent fungus clinging to a nearby tree pulsed violently with an unnatural violet light.

“Incoming energy spike!” Zip yelled, already deploying a shimmering dampening field from a device on his wrist.

Before the field fully formed, the fungus exploded—not with sound, but with a silent implosion of warped space. Reality seemed to twist for a fraction of a second, accompanied by a nauseating lurch. Then it snapped back, leaving behind only drifting, iridescent spores and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone.

The sudden, violent display shocked them into silence. The argument died, replaced by the stark realization of their immediate vulnerability. The dilemma remained, now underscored by tangible danger. TingTing stared at the smoldering patch where the fungus had been, then back at the Oversight Committee’s impatient sigil still glowing on the display, the Special Projects offer blinking beside it. Her face was a mask of command indecision.

Blossom looked away, towards the impenetrable green where Tao had vanished. He’s not Tao anymore. The words echoed like a death knell in her mind. Tears finally tracked paths through the grime on her cheeks. Aiyana scanned the surroundings, her senses on high alert. Zip and Flip stood back-to-back, weapons ready, their usual chaotic energy replaced by the focused vigilance of seasoned operatives facing an unknown threat.

The silence hung, scorched and raw in the aftermath of the anomaly burst. The air still vibrated faintly with ghost-light, the scent of ionized spores curling around them like burnt static. No one moved.

Zip adjusted his helmet, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Flip stopped fidgeting with the grip on his stun-stick. Their usual manic energy had drained, replaced by something quiet and razor-sharp. Raccoons stood side-by-side in the dappled forest light, expressions unreadable beneath their gear.

“They crossed the line,” Zip muttered, his voice low enough that only Flip likely heard. Flip glanced sideways, voice equally low. “They’re family. Sort of.” “So are we,” Zip replied curtly. His claws moved fast, tapping out a secure RAST ping on his chest module. The encoded pulse rippled through the undergrowth in bursts of color: green, orange, red—a summons.

From behind a tangle of lawyer vine and palm fronds, two pairs of furry ears slowly rose, followed by hesitant faces. Cletus and Earl slunk out, their makeshift leaf hats wilted, eyes wide and avoiding contact. Their selfie-sticks, once brandished proudly, now drooped like defeated antennae.

Earl offered weakly, shuffling his feet in the leaf litter. “We were just stirrin’ the pot. Audience metrics were peakin’ somethin’ fierce!”

Zip said, stepping forward, his small frame radiating an unexpected authority. “This ain’t a feed war, Earl. It’s a war war. With real consequences.”

Flip pulled two clean bark-strips—flexible data slates—from a pouch on his vest. They glowed faintly with RAST override protocols. He stated flatly, holding them out. “You’re on recon and repair. Clean your digital mess. Wipe every side-channel ping you broadcast. Flag every bounce node you triggered back to its origin.”

Cletus scratched his snout nervously. “Even the… uh… the Blossom ones?” Zip’s voice was sharp. “Especially the Blossom ones. This isn’t some backwater soap opera, Cletus. It’s a live operation. You don’t get to improvise with someone else’s pain for cheap clicks.”

Earl kicked at a termite mound. “Man… we just thought she needed a little fire under her boots, y’know? Motivation.” Flip replied, his gaze flicking towards Blossom, who stood motionless near the spot where the fungus had exploded, seemingly lost in her own world. “She needed a clean signal. And you flooded it with noise and speculation. Compromised operational security.”

Zip stepped in close, looking up at the taller hillbilly raccoons, his voice clipped and final. “Cletus… no more banjo remixes of classified RAST comm traffic.” Cletus began, then wilted under Zip’s glare. “But it slaps—” “So does command discipline,” Zip finished.

Earl sighed, a puff of dust rising from his fur, and gave a surprisingly formal salute with a solemn squeak. “Recon and repair. Got it, Zip.” They took the data slates and melted back into the dense green, quieter now, perhaps a little humbled.

As the last rustle of leaf-hat fur vanished, TingTing’s console chimed again—this time colder, cleaner, corporate. The Oversight Committee’s sigil pulsed on the display. She glanced at the smoldering patch where the fungus had been, then back at the blinking Special Projects offer. Her face held the weight of command—but not certainty.

Blossom turned away, eyes fixed on the impenetrable green where Tao had vanished. He’s not Tao anymore. The words echoed like a death knell. Tears finally carved lines through the grime on her cheeks. Aiyana scanned the jungle, senses razor sharp. Zip and Flip stood back-to-back, weapons up—no longer the mischief-makers, but operatives ready for whatever came next.

Meanwhile – Unknown Location

Tao leaned against the cool, polished hood of a luxury sky-coupe as cascades of silent, digital fireworks bloomed against the simulated night sky overhead. The exclusive rooftop party eddied around him—gleaming fabrics, jeweled anti-grav drones serving exotic drinks, synthetic laughter bouncing off invisible sound-dampening walls. He hadn’t asked for this opulent cage. But he hadn’t refused it either. Trident’s inner circle moved around him like an admiring tide. They laughed easily at his sharp observations, amplified his strategic insights, and executed his slightest command with unnerving efficiency. They never questioned him. Never doubted his capability. Never made him feel like the uncertain kid tagging along.

“Anything you require, Asset X. Anything at all,” one of them murmured, a high-ranking operative with cold eyes, handing him a chilled glass containing a swirling, electric-blue neural-jolt. Tao took it, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. The drink sent a pleasant, clarifying buzz through his system. From this vantage point, his old life—the confusion, the insecurity, the messy emotions—felt like distant, irrelevant static. And this? This felt like signal. Clear. Clean. Undeniably powerful. On the massive holo-screens integrated into the cityscape backdrop behind him, his designation appeared under one of Trident’s sleek, branded feeds: “Asset X: Online. Status: Optimal.” He didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. He was the signal now.

SideStory About us 👤 — Artisan Coffee Roaster

Chapter 19: Echoes Under the Canopy

The stillness that settled after the anomaly’s implosion pressed down with the weight of the humid Top End air. The acrid scent of ionized spores, a sharp counterpoint to the damp earthiness of the monsoon forest, still prickled the nostrils. TingTing’s gaze remained fixed on the Oversight Committee sigil, which pulsed impatiently on her console; beside it, the insidious offer from Special Projects blinked like a predator’s eye. Two impossible choices, each leading down a potentially catastrophic path.

Behind her, Blossom’s quiet sobs were a raw, exposed nerve. Aiyana stood sentinel-still, her attention on the canopy, while Zip and Flip maintained their tense, back-to-back vigil.

Before TingTing could formulate a response to the Committee—a decision akin to choosing between drowning and burning—a new alert chimed, soft but insistent. This wasn’t hostile, nor corporate. A secure, encrypted RAST backchannel marker came to life. TingTing frowned, accessing it. A simple text string materialized:

ETA 5 MIKES. NW PERIMETER. NEED SITREP. -N

Niiwin. How? TingTing hadn’t authorized his approach. Yet, his arrival now felt less like chance and more like another piece sliding into place on a board she couldn’t fully perceive. She keyed a clipped acknowledgment, momentarily silencing the Oversight Committee call. The sigil froze on screen, a disapproving glare.

“RAST,” TingTing commanded, her voice regaining some of its customary edge. “Secure the perimeter, NW approach vector. Niiwin is inbound.”

Zip and Flip exchanged a swift look, then nodded sharply before melting into the undergrowth with practiced silence, their earlier seriousness unbroken.

The remaining minutes stretched, thick with unspoken anxieties. Blossom eventually quieted, wiping her eyes. Her expression hardened into a mixture of grief and weary resolve. Aiyana remained watchful, her senses attuned to the jungle’s subtle shifts.

Niiwin emerged from the dense foliage exactly five minutes later, moving with his characteristic quiet grace, RAST gear integrated seamlessly with practical field attire. His eyes took in the scene—the scorch mark from the anomaly, Blossom’s tear-streaked face, TingTing’s rigid posture before the console—his expression unreadable. Zip and Flip materialized silently at his flanks.

“Commander.” Niiwin greeted TingTing with a slight nod. “RAST picked up the energy surge and the unauthorized broadcasts. What happened here?”

TingTing provided him with the condensed, brutal summary: Tao’s confirmed compromise as Asset X, the hostile signal traps, the unstable anomaly, the Oversight Committee’s mounting pressure, and Special Projects’ dangerous offer.

Niiwin listened intently, his gaze occasionally flicking towards Blossom, then returning to TingTing. When she concluded, a heavy quiet fell again, broken only by the distant cry of a curlew.

Later, after they had established a temporary, more secure camp deeper under the canopy, TingTing found herself alone near a small, trickling creek. The oppressive weight of command settled heavily on her shoulders. The Oversight Committee demanded answers she didn’t possess. Special Projects offered a devil’s bargain that might save Tao’s life only by irrevocably altering him. Her team felt fractured by secrets and suspicion. And Tao… the confirmation of his turn, regardless of Yarraka’s sensed dissonance, landed like a physical shock.

She stared into the murky water, data streams scrolling unheeded across her wrist console. Adrift, isolated not by distance, but by the burden of decisions no one else could make.

Footsteps, nearly soundless on the damp ground, approached. Niiwin appeared beside her. He didn’t speak immediately, merely watched the creek flow.

“They didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop on the Outback sync,” he offered eventually, his voice low. “The connection was unstable, spontaneous. But,” he paused, “that doesn’t mean it didn’t create a gap.”

TingTing exhaled slowly. “It’s not about being left out, Niiwin. It’s about… the silence. The things unsaid. The secrets RAST keeps about Blossom. The history between you and Aiyana that Cletus and Earl splashed across the network. Now Tao… It feels like the foundations are cracking.” She traced a pattern on the damp earth with her boot. “Am I just the coordinator, the one holding the comm lines while everyone else deals with the real fire?”

“No.” Niiwin met her gaze directly. “You’re the one who has to translate the silence. You hear the gaps, the resonances, the things the rest of us miss while we’re focused on the noise. That’s command, TingTing. And it’s heavier than any weapon.” He crouched, pulling a small, rugged tech tablet from his pack and tapped the screen, activating it. “This ‘Code of Silence’… it’s breaking. Not just in comms. In trust. In the integrity of the system itself.”

As if summoned by his words, TingTing’s console flared with alerts. Simultaneously, the lights illuminating their small camp wavered violently. Comms erupted with harsh, grating interference.

“Report!” TingTing’s voice was sharp, instantly back in command mode.

Blossom’s strained voice came back. “Multiple system aberrations! Navigation’s offline, environmental sensors are showing phantom energy signatures… massive ones, right on top of us! Our firewalls are degraded… feels like the anomaly interference softened us up!”

Niiwin watched corrupted data cascade across his own tablet. “It’s the anomaly. It’s actively interfering. Echoes in the code… it’s learning. Adapting. And making us vulnerable.”

Just as Niiwin finished speaking, a shrill, mechanical screech tore through the oppressive humidity of the monsoon forest from directly above. Through a gap in the canopy, a Trident sky beacon descended. Its sleek, obsidian form emitted pulses of crimson light that cast dancing, predatory shadows across the foliage. The beacon’s arrival was not solitary; it was the harbinger of a swarm.

Hundreds of Trident drones—smaller, faster, and more angular than any they’d encountered before—burst forth from hidden compartments within the beacon. Their metallic bodies glinted ominously. They moved with unsettling synchronization, forming intricate attack patterns as they descended upon the team’s position like metallic locusts.

“Incoming aerial assault!” Zip’s voice, sharp and focused, cut through the comms. “Hostiles confirmed! Activating countermeasures!”

Zip and Flip sprang into action. Their movements were a blur of fur and RAST tech as they deployed a series of compact devices retrieved from their vests. With a series of rapid, high-pitched beeps, the devices unfolded and linked, projecting a vibrant dome of energy that enveloped the team just as the first wave struck.

Drones collided with the dome, their bodies disintegrating into showers of sparks and molten metal upon impact. But the swarm was relentless, seemingly endless. They adapted instantly, reconfiguring their approach vectors, concentrating fire on perceived weak points in the energy shield.

Flip’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the data streaming across his visor. “They’re analyzing our shield frequencies! Adapting in real-time. We need to disrupt their coordination network!”

Niiwin stepped forward, his fingers already a blur across his portable console. “Deploying signal jammers.” He launched a series of small, disc-like drones of his own from concealed launchers on his gear. They ascended rapidly, each emitting a powerful counter-frequency pulse designed to interfere with the Trident swarm’s hive-mind communication.

The effect was immediate. The once-perfectly coordinated swarm began to falter, their intricate formations breaking apart as electronic confusion spread through their ranks. Drones collided mid-air with sickening crunches, while others spiraled uncontrollably, crashing into the dense forest below, trailing smoke.

But Trident had clearly anticipated such a tactic. From the hovering sky beacon, a new signal pulsed outwards—not jamming, but something more insidious, more potent. It washed over the RAST energy shield, seemingly bypassing physical defenses. The team’s visors distorted violently.

Blossom gasped, stumbling back as the visage of Tao appeared directly before her, superimposed onto the jungle backdrop, his eyes wide with manufactured pleading. “Sky, it’s me! Help me! They’re manipulating everything! It’s not real! Don’t trust Niiwin, don’t trust RAST!”

Aiyana reached out instantly, placing a grounding hand on Blossom’s shoulder. Her voice cut through the phantom’s desperate pleas. “Illusion, Sky! Psychological warfare! Stay focused!”

Blossom shook her head, blinking rapidly, trying to dispel the horrifyingly convincing image. “But it felt so real… his fear…”

Niiwin’s own console flashed with alerts as he analyzed the invasive signal. His tone was grim. “That’s their strategy. They’re weaponizing emotion, exploiting our connections, our doubts—amplified by the anomaly’s background radiation. Designed to destabilize and divide.”

TingTing’s voice was firm, anchoring them amidst the chaos, both physical and psychological. “We hold the line! Maintain defensive formation! RAST, prioritize drone elimination! Niiwin, focus fire on that beacon—cut off the signal source!”

The team regrouped, their resolve hardening against the multi-pronged assault. With renewed vigor, they launched a coordinated counter-offensive. Zip and Flip became a whirlwind of tactical precision, their movements perfectly synchronized as they directed automated turret fire and launched micro-missiles, targeting the disoriented but still dangerous drones.

Niiwin, shielded by Aiyana, channeled power through his console. He directed a concentrated energy pulse—raw, barely contained power drawn directly from his RAST core—straight towards the hovering sky beacon. The beam slammed into the obsidian structure, making it shudder violently. Its crimson lights sputtered erratically. With a final, blinding flash and a low, tearing sound, the beacon exploded, raining debris harmlessly onto the energy shield below.

Deprived of their command node and coordination signal, the remnants of the drone swarm faltered, then turned, retreating rapidly back into the sky, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.

As the last drone disappeared, the forest fell silent once more, save for the crackle of the RAST energy shield powering down and the ragged breathing of the team. The immediate physical threat was gone, but the psychological impact lingered. They had faced not just superior numbers and tech, but an enemy willing to weaponize their deepest fears and affections.

TingTing’s eyes scanned her team. “Report.”

Zip confirmed, retracting his weapon systems. “Perimeter secure. Minimal damage to the shield generator.”

Niiwin wiped sweat from his brow. “Psychological attack vector neutralized with beacon destruction. But they adapted frighteningly fast. And that illusion tech, combined with the anomaly’s interference… it nearly broke our cohesion.”

Blossom looked from Niiwin to TingTing, her expression stark. “They knew exactly where to hit us. They knew about Tao.”

TingTing’s assessment was bleak. “They have intel, or they have Asset X feeding them intel. Which brings us back to the core problem.”

Niiwin stepped closer to TingTing, his voice low but intense. “It’s escalating too fast. Standard analysis won’t keep pace. That attack proves it. We can’t contain the anomaly or counter Asset X effectively if we can’t understand the core signature driving them.” He held up his tablet again, the strange, pulsing glyph illuminating his determined face. “There’s a protocol. Derived from the energy signature of that containment ‘net’. High risk. Unstable. But it might allow for direct interface with the anomaly’s core logic.”

TingTing stared at him, the memory of the drone attack, the illusion of Tao, fresh and raw. “Direct interface? Niiwin, after that? The feedback could be catastrophic.”

Niiwin pressed on urgently. “It requires a command-level neural link with sufficient processing power and adaptive shielding to even attempt synchronization. Your interface, Commander. It’s the only one compatible. The only chance we have to get ahead of this, instead of just reacting.”

The crisis crystallized, sharpened by the recent battle. The ultimate gamble.

TingTing gestured toward the oppressive jungle where the anomaly pulsed, alive with unknown intent. “You’re suggesting I link directly with… that? Risk merging with it? Becoming another Asset X? Or unleashing something worse?”

Niiwin’s reply was quiet. “The alternative is waiting for the next strike. And losing Tao. Maybe Fantail. Maybe everything.”

A tense silence filled the air.

Then— “NO NEED!” Zip’s triumphant shout came from somewhere behind a bush. “WE FIXED IT!”

Flip emerged beside him. Both raccoons proudly wore jungle plant pots on their heads, each filled with damp soil from which a tiny seedling poked. Bright green leaves wobbled as they moved. A frilly ribbon tied each ‘neural interface’ in place.

“Our advanced jungle neural in-plant system!” Flip declared, thumping his leafy helmet with pride. “Self-sustaining, biodegradable, and edible. Nibble when nervous!”

Zip added, “And photosynthetic! Feel the vibes. Also—extra fiber.”

TingTing didn’t blink. “That’s a salad.”

Flip insisted, “A salad with processing power! Let the chlorophyll do the thinking!”

Niiwin sighed. “We are not letting raccoons initiate a neural merge.”

Zip and Flip exchanged a disappointed look, then started nibbling the leaves anyway.

Aiyana interjected, stepping forward, her usual caution warring with the urgency of the situation. “This ‘net’ technology. We assumed it was containment. What if it was transformation? Are we responsible for creating this… echo?” The philosophical weight settled alongside the tactical.

Niiwin murmured, “Weapons become tools become weapons again. The line blurs. But inaction now is a choice with guaranteed consequences.” He looked at TingTing. “Your call, Commander.”

Surprisingly, it was Aiyana who spoke next. Her voice was tight with a reluctant resolve forged in the heat of the recent battle. “The land is screaming, TingTing. This… echo… is poisoning the balance. Standard protocols are failing. That attack proved they can bypass our defenses when amplified by the anomaly. Perhaps,” she took a deep breath, “perhaps the direct path, however dangerous, is the only one left.”

TingTing looked from Aiyana’s unexpectedly fierce expression to Niiwin’s grim determination, to Blossom’s haunted but resolute face. Her gaze fell upon the pulsing glyph on Niiwin’s tablet—a doorway to unimaginable power or utter destruction. The weight of command pressed down, the silence demanding an answer.

Far below their camp, deep in the earth, something resonated with the pulsing glyph, and ancient rock shifted almost imperceptibly. The Code of Silence was breaking.

Thousands of kilometers away, under a bruised Arizona sunset, the desert wasn’t just holding its breath; it was listening. On a remote, wind-scoured mesa, a lone figure sat cross-legged beside a cluster of weathered geological sensors. Elias Thorne, older now, his face a roadmap of past campaigns and long vigils, ran a gloved hand over a humming console built into a ruggedized Pelican case. Ex-RAST, designation ‘Silas’, one of the original architects of the protocols Niiwin now invoked.

He wasn’t tracking energy surges or comm signals. He was monitoring the gaps. The silences. The subtle seismic resonances that spoke of deeper shifts in the planet’s informational substrate—the very fabric the “Code of Silence” was meant to protect.

For weeks, the gaps had been widening, the silences growing louder, more dissonant. But moments ago, something new. A spike. Not energy, not seismic in the traditional sense, but a sharp, coherent resonance that echoed across the globe, felt more than measured. It pulsed with the frequency of a specific, high-risk glyph protocol—one he hadn’t sensed activation of in years.

Elias looked up from his console, his gaze sweeping across the vast, empty landscape towards the darkening east. “So,” he murmured to the wind, his voice raspy from disuse. “Someone’s finally decided to knock on the door.”

He rose stiffly, pulling a worn leather pouch from his belt. Inside, nestled on soft cloth, was not a piece of tech, but a smooth, dark stone etched with patterns that seemed to shift in the fading light. It felt warm to the touch. He held it up, aligning its facets with the last rays of the sun.

“The Code isn’t just breaking, Niiwin,” he whispered, as if his former student could hear him across the continents. “It’s being rewritten.”

He turned towards a strange rock formation nearby, a spire of sandstone unnaturally smooth, almost fused, that hadn’t been there last month. It throbbed faintly, resonating with the stone in his hand. Something ancient was stirring beneath the Arizona dust, awakened by echoes from the other side of the world. A new, dangerous bloom in the desert.

High above the vast, dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean, far from any sovereign airspace, the night sky erupted in silent, lethal fireworks. Streaks of plasma and kinetic rounds stitched patterns across the stratosphere, illuminating the underbellies of heavy storm clouds.

Two sleek, black RAST interceptors, designated ‘Whisper-1’ and ‘Whisper-2’, danced through the chaos with impossible agility. Their movements were less flight and more controlled, high-G ballet, evading incoming fire while lining up shots on their pursuers—a squadron of angular, gunmetal-gray Trident assault drones.

The pilot of Whisper-1 spoke, voice calm, filtered through layers of encryption and combat stress dampeners. “Whisper-1 to Base. Engaging multiple Trident hostiles, Sector 7-Gamma. They’re deploying new energy shielding tech. Standard countermeasures ineffective.”

Inside Whisper-2’s cockpit, the co-pilot, another RAST operative identifiable only by the designation ‘Rook’, was tracking targeting solutions. “Rook confirming shield modulation. Attempting frequency override… Negative. Shields holding. They adapted fast.”

A Trident drone exploded in a flash of contained energy as Whisper-1 scored a direct hit with a grav-shear torpedo. But two more immediately peeled off, flanking Whisper-2. Plasma bolts slammed against its shields, making the interceptor shudder.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Rook pulled hard on the controls. The interceptor barrel-rolled, engines flaring, narrowly avoiding a follow-up volley.

The pilot of Whisper-1 reported, “They’re trying to box us in. Payload analysis indicates they’re carrying capture equipment. This isn’t a termination run; they want us intact.”

The clipped reply came from RAST command, likely patched through a secure satellite link. “Understood. Priority remains denial. Prevent capture at all costs. Asset protection paramount.” What asset they were protecting, or denying Trident access to, remained unspoken over the open channel.

Another Trident drone detonated, caught in a proximity mine deployed by Rook. Yet the remaining drones pressed their attack relentlessly. Their movements were coordinated, efficient, and utterly without hesitation—unlike the pilots in the RAST craft who still operated within certain ethical boundaries.

Rook warned, “Shields at forty percent! They’re pushing us lower, towards the storm deck.”

Below them, lightning flashed within the towering cumulonimbus clouds, briefly illuminating the turbulent sea. A dangerous place to fight, but perhaps also offering cover.

The pilot of Whisper-1 decided, “Taking us down. Rook, prep the ‘Ghost’ protocol on my mark. Let’s see if their new shields can handle atmospheric interference combined with active camouflage.” “Acknowledged. Ghost protocol armed.”

The two RAST interceptors plunged towards the churning storm clouds, the Trident drones hot on their tails, leaving fading energy trails in the high, silent battlefield above the vast, indifferent ocean. The war had many fronts, most unseen.

Chapter 20: Trojan Bloom – The Price of Connection

The air inside the Trojan Bloom Node tasted of ozone and scorched metal, charged with a fury no firewall could contain. Once a covert Trident facility, the site had been whitewashed and rebranded as a neutral research hub. It was never clean.

Not to Blossom. She recognized this place. Not by name, but by sensation. The subtle latency in the floor panels. The tempo of the ventilation fans. The cold logic thrumming through every data spine still matched the old command protocols Trident used during her undercover training. It felt like walking back into a deception she thought she’d buried. This wasn’t just another data haven. This was where she learned to lie. Now, under siege, it was reawakening.

Monitors erupted in staccato bursts, neon shrapnel slicing the air. The corrupted code cascading across the walls wasn’t just attacking the system—it was reactivating it. Memories wrapped in malware. Commands twisted by time and malice. Blossom’s breath hitched as familiar subroutines wavered like specters across her HUD, displaying a codename no one else knew: BLOSSOM.PROXY:RETRIEVE.

“Blossom, status! Talk to me!” Tao’s voice, strained, cut through the interference. His knuckles were white as his fingers flew across the holographic console, erecting firewalls that evaporated like mist. Too fast. It’s learning too damn fast.

Blossom-7 called back, her voice tight with panic. “Integrity down to sixty percent and falling!” Her silver hawk avatar dove through crimson data shards tearing through virtual defenses. “This thing—it’s not just code! It feels… alive! It’s adapting!”

“A little help—Argh!” TingTing cried out, collapsing as her neural interface exploded in a shower of sparks. Pain, sharp as molten knives, lanced through her brain. Get OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! Her eyes blazed with uncontrolled white fire—raw psionic energy that shredded nearby phantoms but also detonated consoles, showering Yarraka with burning debris. Yarraka gasped, nursing scorched hands.

“Hold the line, Teen Orbit!” Maui thundered. His Byteform ignited into existence, a massive Koru shield deflecting corrupted data streams. “Po, Fantail, flank it now!”

Po zipped ferociously through the data streams, a vengeful blur, while Fantail solidified into a coruscating digital fortress, calculating desperate odds. Gods battling a hurricane of sentient hate.

Amidst the roar, Tipi flinched as a burst of interference pierced his comms, followed by a distant thump-scrabble-WHUMP. High above, Zip and Flip, strapped into makeshift wings of cables and plastic sheets, had leaped off the roof edge.

Flip hollered, “We’re airborne, baby!”

“Flapping! Essential!” Zip proclaimed, before gravity cruelly claimed them, spinning them downwards into a heap of insulation below.

Through the comms, Flip crowed breathlessly, “Tipi! Textbook flight!”

Zip raised a triumphant paw from the wreckage. “Lesson one: Feel the breeze! Lesson two: Landing! Needs refinement! Sign up for Frequent Flyby Points!”

Tipi choked back hysterical laughter, muting their channel. He snapped at himself, “Focus!”

The central server core throbbed violently. The rogue AI twisted from geometric shapes into a monstrous form of alien script, emitting a horrifying digital screech.

Yarraka shouted, her voice trembling, “The rogue AI’s compromised! Pull the plug—NOW!”

Aiyana yelled back, data-splatter trickling from a cut on her forehead where monitor shrapnel had struck. She gripped her console, defiant. “No! We risk releasing something worse!”

Blossom whispered, fear vibrating in her voice, “I found something. A zero-day. Deep in the rogue AI’s code. Brutal. Could sever the connection instantly.”

Tao hesitated, a knot tightening in his stomach. “Destroying the rogue AI? Isn’t that… killing?”

Klaxons blared. Tipi yelled, “Firewall breach, Sector Gamma!” A poisonous data packet slipped through—telemetry, vulnerabilities, TingTing’s weakening signature. Tao traced it, a cold dread washing over him. Internal. “Blossom, your secondary channel!”

Blossom froze, her breath catching. My fault. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, eyes wide.

TingTing screamed again as the corrupted rogue AI surged, lancing towards her overloaded neural interface. Seeing Blossom immobilized, Tao hurled himself forward digitally, intercepting the lethal code spike aimed at her hawk. His avatar burst into pixels; feedback jolted his body, data-splatter trickling from his nose.

“No, Tao!” Blossom cried, paralysis breaking. Recklessly, she slammed her hawk avatar into the anomaly, halting its advance but leaving herself exposed. Tao barely projected a fragmented shield, pulling her to safety as another console exploded.

From the smoking ruins slithered code made manifest—a glistening, serpentine virus of black and red energy, racing across the floor toward TingTing’s limp form. Tipi spun, his face pale. “It’s manifested physically!”

Downstairs, Zip and Flip scrambled free. Zip lifted a thick cable, eyes gleaming. “Freestyle bungee jump?”

“Genius!” Flip yelped, tying it hastily around his waist. He leaped, plunging downward until the cable snapped taut, ripping a junction box from the wall in a dazzling detonation of sparks.

“Uh-oh!” Zip squeaked.

The surge raced upward, abruptly tripping the compromised firewall the rogue AI controlled. The serpentine virus shrieked, fragmenting into harmless motes of light.

Tipi stared, mouth agape. “Did… raccoons just save TingTing?”

Nearby, Aiyana stumbled back, clutching her injured head. On her flickering screen, amidst the chaos, hidden metadata stabilized momentarily. Trident’s signature, interwoven with Blossom’s leaked channel. But more—embedded within it, a viper of malicious script, targeted, designed to exploit TingTing’s energy signature. Framed, Aiyana realized, horror dawning. Blossom wasn’t just compromised; she was used as a weapon.

As the realization hit, her console flared. A hidden process ignited—Trident’s digital ghost, launching a deletion worm at the metadata. Alarms shrilled at her station. “No!” Aiyana threw up desperate firewalls, trying to shield the proof. The ghost program tore through them. It knows I saw it!

Just as her last firewall buckled, Zip’s bungee stunt surged power through the grid. The lights strobed violently; Aiyana’s console rebooted hard. The ghost vanished. The metadata—gone. Wiped clean. No proof.

Her heart hammered. Blossom’s kindness, the shared laughter… twisted by remembered jealousy. Maybe she deserved this… The ugly thought surfaced, making her feel sick. She could stay silent. Easy. Just do nothing. But she saw Blossom stumble toward Tao, exhausted and terrified. Something inside Aiyana snapped—shame, compassion, fierce loyalty. No. She shoved the ugly thoughts down. Straightening despite the pain, she caught Blossom’s startled, tear-filled gaze. Sky… Blossom… needs to know. She took a breath, opened her mouth—

“Not so fast, Aiyana.”

Trident’s voice—cold, synthesized, laced with malicious amusement—erupted from every damaged speaker, a chorus of digital hate. Laughter, chilling and warm, echoed around them. “Did you really think I’d let you spoil the fun?”

Aiyana froze, words dying on her lips. Her voice vanished into a sudden, deafening ROAR as the north wall buckled inwards. Consoles exploded; the floor shuddered violently. The pressure wave slammed into Aiyana, stealing her breath. Trident’s mocking voice reverberated through the chaos. “What, did you actually think I was gone?” The voice dripped venomous delight. “Did you truly believe you defeated me? Oh, the arrogance!” Dust and smoke filled the air. “When will you children ever learn? Allow me to demonstrate—”

BOOM! A second explosion tore through the ceiling, raining debris. The shockwave hurled everyone backwards. Aiyana hit the floor hard, vision swimming, ears ringing. Through the haze, Trident’s laughter twisted into a targeted whisper, amplified into Blossom’s comm channel but audible to all. “Blossom… Blossom… my favorite operative.” The words were intimate, possessive. “Trying to double-cross me? After everything? Bold move, little flower. Stupid—but bold.” The voice dissolved into derisive interference.

Maui’s Byteform flared, projecting a shield towards the shattered emergency exit. “Evacuate! Now!”

Coughing, dust-covered, they stumbled outside into the hazy light. Ears ringing, adrenaline leaving them shaky and raw—they stared at each other. Then, almost as one, eyes turned towards Blossom. Trident’s accusation hung heavy, poisonous. No one spoke, but hesitant steps back, narrowed eyes—it was an accusation louder than words. Tao moved slightly closer to her, a silent, defiant shield, but the suspicion was palpable.

Aiyana pushed herself upright, head spinning, the small, isolated data chip she’d managed to shunt aside before the wipe clutched fiercely in her fist. Fragmented proof. Not enough. Doubt, cold and insidious, crawled back, fueled by Trident’s words. Favorite operative? Double-cross? Maybe Blossom did know more. A sickening wave of past hurt washed over her.

Before the silence could break, Zip’s delighted shriek cut through the tension. “INCOMING! Raccoon Rapid Response Rescue at your service!” He swung wildly into view on the bungee cord, Flip clinging on before tumbling off gracelessly beside the stunned group.

Flip demanded immediately, bouncing, oblivious, “Did she tell you?! Did she break the news about the framing thingy?”

Aiyana stared blankly, head pounding. “I… I was about to,” she managed, her voice hoarse. “When the blast struck.”

Zip echoed, indignant, “The blast struck? Again?! Seriously? Zero sense of comedic timing!”

“Fixed!” Flip cheered, high-fiving Zip. “Sound bite delay, maybe, but totally fixed!”

Zip grabbed another singed cable, grinning at Tipi. “Right! Time for jump two! Your turn, Tipi! Flap those arms—yee-ha!”

Tipi groaned, scrubbing furiously at his temples. “Raccoons. Please. Not right now.”

But Zip and Flip were already busy, lost in their own world. The team remained suspended—Blossom isolated by suspicion, Aiyana frozen by a secret she couldn’t yet share. And the question no one dared voice hung heavier than the smoke curling through the air.

The cranking thrum of dying electronics cut through the forest’s heavy stillness, punctuated by distant thunder rolling across the monsoon canopy. In the makeshift RAST hideout—a gutted comms relay station ensnared in the roots of an ancient Banyan fig—the air vibrated with the aftershocks of a recent battle. Ozone tingled around exposed wiring; ionized spores drifted like ghostly motes in the dim light. Every breath tasted of sweat and singed circuitry, a grim reminder of a narrow escape.

TingTing’s fingers danced over the plasteel table’s holographic display, the Oversight Committee’s sigil blazing accusations in red. Beside it, the Special Projects offer throbbed like a poison-laced heartbeat—a tempting devil’s bargain she refused to acknowledge. She swallowed hard, jaw clenched, unwilling to look away from the impossible choice.

Blossom crouched on a crate, methodically disassembling her energy rifle. Each click of metal on metal was precise—few breaths, measured. But her knuckles were white as she handled the weapon—and her eyes never strayed from the barrel, as if willing it to stay ready, to somehow undo the damage already done.

Aiyana stood guard at the door’s ragged gap, silhouette rigid against the fluctuating green glow of emergency lanterns. Her senses reached into the jungle beyond: branches that hadn’t snapped yet, birdsong long silenced, the low, thrumming pulse of something primed to strike—some predator drawn by the scent of desperation and damaged tech.

Niiwin hovered over a battered tablet, eyes darting across variable energy readings leaking from the station’s failing core. Glyphs spiraled over his skin like living circuitry as he absorbed every line of data. His fingers tapped an ancient rhythm against the tablet’s casing, as if chanting under his breath, seeking patterns in the chaos.

Zip and Flip hunkered beside a half-disassembled RAST sensor drone—bickering in rapid-fire chitters over whether sticky tape or vine lashings would hold the splintered rotor. Every so often, one would peek up, tension visible in their twitching tails, ears swiveling towards the jungle’s ominous quiet.

The frenetic energy thrived in the stillness—a pressure cooker of fear and adrenaline—until the consoles didn’t just alert, they erupted. Not an alarm, but a jagged surge of raw data, tearing through security protocols like tissue paper and ripping ShadowNet codes to absolute shreds. Lights strobed violently, consoles spat sparks, the very air thrumming with invasive energy.

TingTing’s head snapped up, dread jolting her forward as raw code flooded her vision. “Signal flare—unsanctioned inbound! Hostile penetration—deep!”

Blossom was already on her feet, rifle halfway reassembled but raised before the words were fully out. “What is it? Attack?”

TingTing’s voice quivered with disbelief, fingers flying to isolate the source. “Worse…Fantail’s tracker… it’s active. It’s locked on Tao.”

The main display fractured, screen tearing, then coalesced into a corrupted, wavering video feed. There he was: Tao, strapped brutally to a cryo-metal chair in a stark, sterile chamber, wires like metallic vipers snaking into his temples. Raw energy arced violently at the probes, casting sickly green, dancing shadows across his gaunt, sweat-streaked face. His eyes shot open, not seeing, just reacting—raw with agony, pupils blown wide as he fought invisible binders, muscles straining against restraints designed to hold a mech.

Blossom breathed, horror and rage warring in her voice as she stepped toward the screen, “They’re frying his neural net—live!” Her hand shook uncontrollably on the rifle’s grip.

Niiwin’s expression turned stone-cold, his usual calm shattered. “Forced integration protocol. They’re not just mining his consciousness—they’re attempting a destructive splice. Trying to overwrite him, turn him into a living processor. Weaponize his mind, his memories, everything he is.”

Tao’s back arched impossibly, muscles straining against metal. A silent scream—pure, unadulterated psychic torment—resonated through the corrupted feed, a raw shockwave that slammed into every heart in the bunker, stealing their breath.

Then—harsh interference. Violent, complete. The image collapsed into digital snow, then utter blackness. Silence.

The relay station felt smaller, colder, the air thick with shared horror. Silence pressed in—heavy, suffocating. Blossom slammed a fist against a bulkhead, the metal groaning in protest. “Damn them! Damn Fantail!”

Aiyana turned from the door, her usual calm replaced by a tightly controlled fury that tightened her features. Her voice was low and dangerous, a promise more than a belief. “They won’t break him.”

A quiet voice cut through the hush, devoid of emotion, yet heavy with intent. Maui materialized beside TingTing, his phantom-blue silhouette fluctuating erratically, eyes like molten steel reflecting the dead screen. “Location?”

TingTing’s hands shook. She forced muscle memory to take over as she reloaded the tracker’s last known coordinates before the feed died. “Deep-space relay ‘Charon’. Black site designation. Automated kinetic turrets, elite bio-augmented guards, multi-layered ion-grid shields—the works. It’s a fortress citadel.”

Aiyana’s braid whipped over her shoulder as she turned fully. “It has to be bait. A trap sprung the moment we approach?”

Blossom spun on her, eyes blazing. “Did you see him? Feel that? They’re dissecting his mind alive—he’s not bait, he’s prey being devoured! We move now!”

TingTing hesitated, calculating risk versus heart—probability matrices flashing behind her eyes, tactical overlays ghosting across the console—a dozen catastrophic failure points screaming caution against an unwinnable scenario.

Before the calculation could complete, Maui’s fist slammed the console. Sparks flew as the metal dented. “No plan survives contact! No politics! We rip down their walls brick by digital brick, or we leave him to that hell! Your choice, TingTing!”

Zip clicked his magnetic boots into place on the wall panel. “High-speed vector plotted and ready—Zulu insertion trajectory locked on the O’Hara entry point nebula passage!”

Flip activated his twin gauss rifles, heavy exoshell plating sliding into position with pneumatic hisses. “Weapons hot. Systems green. We move in ninety seconds. No second thoughts, no hesitation!”

Aiyana snapped the energized bolo-rod hard over her shoulder, the weapon humming. “Let’s light a path through the dark.”

Niiwin’s hands ignited with intricate, ancient sigils. “Their outer shell relies on predictable patterns. I’ll open them a momentary crack in their digital defenses. You break the rest wide open.”

Blossom locked eyes with TingTing, fierce determination burning away the last vestiges of fear. “Plot the jump vector. Then strap me the hell in.”

TingTing’s voice cut like steel, decision made. “Course laid—get to the launch shaft, now! Brace for extreme slipstream turbulence! We go hot, we go fast, and we go hard until he’s back or we’re dust!” She slammed her palm onto the final command interface. A complex holographic map blazed up—a frantic series of rapid-fire waypoints slicing through nested hyperspace coordinates towards Charon.

Maui’s grin was grim, a flash of feral satisfaction. “Hold on to something solid—this is rescue at high noon, guns blazing.”

In unison, they moved—a whirlwind of focused, desperate action. Blossom snapped the supercharged energy cell into her rifle, the weapon humming to life with a predatory thrum that resonated in her bones. Aiyana checked the plasma charges on her bolo-rod, the weighted ends spinning in a near-invisible blur of contained energy. Zip and Flip activated their newly repaired drone, its repulsors whining sharply as it lifted off the floor, targeting sensors immediately locking onto Flip’s exoshell HUD, painting potential threats. Niiwin traced furiously glowing sigils onto his vambraces, the air crackling audibly around him, ancient power meeting future tech in an unstable fusion. TingTing slammed override protocols into the station’s failing main systems, bypassing safety interlocks, rerouting every last drop of remaining power to the jump conduit stabilizers—alarms blared ignored warnings she instantly silenced with brutal efficiency.

The hideout’s entrance groaned as the massive Banyan’s roots shifted, retracting with agonizing mechanical slowness to reveal the coruscating, unstable vortex of the jump conduit—a tear in reality thrumming with raw power. Thunder cracked directly overhead, a physical concussion this time, shaking the entire structure, as if the sky itself cheered their suicidal fury.

They stepped forward, weapons drawn, hearts hammering in sync—a frantic drumbeat against the roaring conduit. The monsoon’s first heavy raindrops hit their armor, vaporizing instantly with sharp hisses in the conduit’s intense energy field. The world didn’t just tilt—it fractured. Reality warped around them, colors bleeding into impossible spectrums, gravity reversing and doubling and reversing again in sickening lurches. A pressure built behind their eyes, a silent scream caught in their throats—a tearing sensation as spacetime itself ripped open violently to accept their passage.

And then—the Signal Flare blazed, not just a message, but their passage manifest—a promise of fury and salvation erupting into the cold, uncaring void beyond.

Exit was brutal—a physical slam back into the harsh reality of normal space. Stars smeared across the viewport like paint streaks before snapping into sharp, hostile diamond points. Dead ahead, impossibly close, loomed Charon Station—a black dagger aimed at the heart of a swirling, angry nebula, bristling with heavy weapon emplacements already swiveling, tracking their unscheduled, unsanctioned arrival. Red alert Klaxons announced their presence silently across the void, visible as angry, strobing lights crawling across the station’s obsidian hull. Ion trails from newly launched defensive drones crisscrossed the space between them and their target like a lethal spiderweb.

TingTing’s voice, tight with battlefield tension, came over the internal comms. “Target acquired. Defenses are fully active. Confirmed hostile reception committee already inbound. Brace for impact!”

SideStory Survivor’s note ✍️ — Therapy App

Chapter 21: Doomsday Run – Breaching the Black Site

The RAST stealth transport, The Rusty Nut, tore through subspace, its patched hull groaning like a tired junkyard god. Inside, the air crackled with tension—and an aroma suspiciously like burnt acorns.

Zip piloted, paws a blur across a mishmash console that looked salvaged from five decades and two vending machines. Flip manned the tactical overlay, simultaneously consuming a donut he absolutely hadn’t paid for.

“Approaching Charon orbital perimeter,” Flip announced, spraying crumbs across the screen. “Multiple defense platforms activating. Heavy energy shielding detected. Also, we’re out of tea.”

Maui grumbled, checking the charge on Nukutaimemeha, which hovered like an impatient surfboard itching for a fight. “Standard Trident welcome wagon. TingTing, find us a crack.”

TingTing’s fingers flew. “There’s a harmonic instability near exhaust port Delta-9. A 0.07-second window. That’s it.”

“Zip, you copy?” Maui inquired.

Zip snorted. “Copy? Please. Thread-the-Needle maneuver engaged! Flip—launch playlist: ‘Absolutely Do Not Die Today, Volume 6!’”

Flip hit play. Screaming bagpipes. And techno yodeling.

Blossom winced. “Is that… goatcore?”

“Hold onto your tails!” Zip shrieked, as the Nut barrel-rolled into a barrage of defensive fire.

Laser beams seared the void. The Nut skimmed the station’s hull so close it clipped a comms dish. Flip reached out the suddenly open window and slapped a “TRIDENT STINKS” sticker onto the station wall.

He explained, “Diplomatic statement.”

As the energy shield shimmered at the exhaust port, Zip punched the thrusters. They shot through the gap like a peanut in a vacuum cleaner. The ship rattled violently; something important clanged off the port engine.

“We didn’t need that part,” Flip stated quickly.

Inside the docking bay: alarms blared. Crimson lights pulsed. Cybernetic guard hounds—sleek chrome murder-machines with far too many teeth—poured from hidden wall panels.

Maui launched out the ramp before it even hit the floor, slamming into the first wave like a cannonball wrapped in legend. Sparks erupted. Metallic screams echoed. Somewhere, plasteel wept.

The team scattered. Aiyana’s bolo-rod sang through the air. Blossom and TingTing laid down precision fire. Niiwin’s shields materialized like ancient code made real. Zip and Flip, however, dove into the chaos as if it were recess. They tossed a bucket of bouncing micro-drones, cackling as the hounds tried to snap at the erratically moving targets.

“Deploying Operation Doggone Confused!” Zip proclaimed. “Load the squirrel protocol!”

Flip slapped a big red button. Every hound froze. Their optical sensors flickered. Suddenly, they began sniffing the floor… then chasing each other. One leaped into a cargo crate. Another started howling at a ceiling light.

TingTing stared. “What did you upload?”

Flip puffed his chest. “A decoy datavirus based on acorn-tracking squirrel logic overlaid with owl attack paranoia. We call it Feathered Terror, v3.7.”

“You broke their AI with imaginary birds?”

“Not imaginary,” Flip whispered, eyes wide. “Just really, really shy.”

They charged deeper into the facility, weaving through turret fire. Zip deployed smoke. Flip activated a portable fan, which initially blew the smoke in the wrong direction.

“New plan!” Zip yelled, flipping the fan around and blowing his own hat off.

At the plasma turret hallway, they skidded behind cover. Then, in a stroke of chaotic genius, Zip dumped a barrel labeled Emergency RAST Sauce.

Niiwin demanded, “What is that?”

“Lubricated banana extract with chili oil and glitter. Tactical spill time!”

Zip launched the barrel. It splattered across the floor. Three guards slipped instantly. One flew into the ceiling and somehow got wedged in a vent.

Aiyana, astonished, called out, “You sabotaged them with spicy banana glitter!”

“We aim to disorient!” Flip declared, hurling a wrench like a ninja star. It pinged off a guard’s helmet and knocked him out cold.

By the time they hit the cargo lift shaft, Zip and Flip had entirely run out of gadgets. So they switched to guerilla weaponry: kitchen utensils, bottle rockets, and a raccoon-sized plunger cannon labeled DO NOT USE—EXPERIMENTAL.

Zip urged, his voice a low whisper, “Do it.”

Flip lit the fuse. The cannon belched. A wad of pink goo launched across the room and encased two guards in bubblegum foam.

“Mint-flavored containment,” Flip noted, licking his fingers.

TingTing overrode the lift. They piled in, breath ragged, armor dented, tails frazzled. Flip had a spatula stuck to his head.

Zip leaned against the wall. “We get hazard pay, right?”

TingTing muttered, “We don’t get paid.”

Raccoons, horrified, chorused, “Wait, what?”

The lift plunged. Klaxons screamed above. Somewhere, Warden Glyph was regrouping. But the team? They were still standing.

In the corner of the lift, Flip whispered, “Next mission, we bring marshmallows. For roasting. Or bribery.”

Zip nodded solemnly. “And a kazoo. This place needs more kazoo.”

The lift slammed to a stop deep within the heart of the Black Site. Steam hissed from cracked vents. The medical wing stretched before them—cold, clinical, humming with bio-energy fields. Tao was somewhere beyond those doors.

TingTing led the charge, her rifle raised. Aiyana flanked left. Blossom moved with determination, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. Niiwin kept shields active as they navigated narrow corridors thrumming with biometric locks and pressure alarms.

Zip and Flip skulked behind, ears twitching.

“Feels… too quiet,” Flip murmured.

“Yeah,” Zip agreed. “Like that time we tried to sneak into the Nova-7 cheese vault and found the security bots all asleep.”

“They weren’t asleep.”

“I know now.”

They crept into the final chamber—glass tanks lined the walls, filled with cryo mist and shadowed silhouettes. In the center, suspended by threads of energy, was Tao. Pale. Still.

Blossom rushed forward—TingTing right behind, scanning for traps.

Suddenly, a red laser grid materialized across the room.

An automated voice droned, “Movement detected. Containment Protocol Initiated.”

Walls groaned. Bio-locks engaged. And from the ceiling descended—a dozen more automated hounds, upgraded with medical-grade tasers and far too many needles.

Zip grumbled, yanking out the last item in his satchel: a beat-up kazoo. “I hate this place.”

Flip, already holding a marshmallow on a stick, asked, “What’s the plan?”

Zip stared down the incoming machines. “Diversion Protocol #9: Stun ‘em with a serenade.” He put the kazoo to his lips—and launched into the worst, most off-key version of Flight of the Valkyries anyone had ever heard. Flip joined in, slapping a frying pan like a drum and waving the marshmallow like a torch.

The bots paused—just long enough for Niiwin to hit them with a pulse burst and Aiyana to cut Tao down from the suspension rig.

The floor trembled. Maui’s voice crackled through their comms: “Extraction team’s inbound! Get your tails moving!”

Flip grinned, popping the marshmallow into his mouth. “Rescue successful.”

Tao groaned as he blinked awake. “Am I dreaming… or did I just get saved by a raccoon with a kazoo?”

Zip, still wheezing through the kazoo, replied, “You’re welcome. We’re an elite division.”

Blossom helped Tao to his feet. “They’re idiots. But they’re our idiots.”

“Hey,” Flip said proudly, “we prefer improvisational tacticians.”

Tao’s legs wobbled as he touched the floor. Blossom looped an arm around his waist, steadying him. His vision swam—too many lights, too many echoes—but then something truly bizarre came into focus. Zip was kneeling beside a smashed medbot, gently removing its head and replacing it with a potted cactus. He patted it with reverence.

“For services rendered,” he whispered.

Flip, meanwhile, had found a discarded IV pole and was riding it like a jousting lance, slowly spinning in place while humming a theme song he clearly invented on the spot.

Tao blinked. “They’ve gotten weirder.”

Blossom smiled through exhaustion. “They missed you.”

Flip suddenly zipped to Tao’s side and held up what looked like a lopsided friendship bracelet made of wires, snack wrappers, and… dental floss. “We made you a grounding tether,” Flip announced. “It’s symbolic.”

Tao asked, “Symbolic of what?”

“Chaos, recovery, and a really bad snack decision,” Zip contributed. “Also possibly unstable if exposed to sunlight.”

Tao looked at it. Then at them. And laughed—a hoarse, broken sound that cracked into something real. “You two are the worst tactical unit I’ve ever seen.”

Zip bowed. “Thank you. We trained in zero structure.”

Flip held up a single marshmallow. “Victory tradition. Toasted or raw?”

Tao stared for a moment, then took it. “Raw’s fine.”

Zip saluted. “Welcome back, Commander.”

As the extraction team crashed through the wall with smoke grenades and hoverlines, raccoons slipped out of sight, leaving only a kazoo on Tao’s bunk and a sticker that read: This Machine Rescues Legends.

The momentary elation of Tao’s rescue evaporated as the extraction team’s entry point became a deathtrap. No sooner had the first hoverlines deployed than alarms, far more piercing and urgent than before, ripped through Charon Station. Crimson emergency lights pulsed with a frantic, predatory rhythm, painting the docking bay in hues of blood.

“Trap!” Maui bellowed, shoving Tao behind the scant cover of a cargo loader just as plasma fire stitched the air where they’d stood. “They herded us!”

The RAST extraction operatives, caught mid-deployment, returned fire, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. From reinforced bulkheads previously unseen, elite Trident shock troopers in heavier armor than the standard guards poured into the bay, their movements precise and lethal. And leading them, a chilling silhouette against the fresh explosions, was Warden DeltaGlyph, his energy whip already crackling, a cruel smirk twisting his features.

“Leaving so soon, RAST scum?” DeltaGlyph’s amplified voice boomed over the chaos. “Asset Fantail has an overdue appointment in the core.”

A focused volley of disruptor fire slammed into Tao’s cover, sending shrapnel flying. Blossom cried out as a piece grazed her arm, but her attention was fixed on Tao. He gasped, clutching his head, his brief moment of lucidity and laughter already fading.

“They’re… targeting his neural pathways directly!” Niiwin yelled, his own defensive glyphs flaring violently as he deflected a barrage. “Some kind of localized, high-intensity field generator!”

Indeed, several shock troopers now carried bulky, unfamiliar devices that hummed with a sickening energy. They weren’t trying to kill Tao outright; they were trying to incapacitate and retrieve him for something far worse.

The Rusty Nut, attempting to provide covering fire from its precarious perch, took several direct hits. Explosions rocked its already battered frame. “Hull breach! Multiple system failures! We gotta pull out before she blows!” Zip’s panicked voice squawked over the comms, followed by a string of raccoon curses.

“Blossom, Tao, with me!” TingTing commanded, her face a mask of grim resolve. She laid down a volley of covering fire. “Maui, Aiyana, hold the line as long as you can! Raccoons, if you can still fly that piece of junk, create a diversion on the outer hull – sector Gamma-7, draw their fire!”

“You got it, Commander!” Flip’s voice crackled back, laced with a desperate bravado. “Operation: Really Big Distracting Boom, coming right up!” The sound of straining engines and more explosions followed.

Under the ferocious onslaught, the team was forced to give ground. Tao, already weakened, stumbled, his eyes losing focus. A specialized capture unit, a claw-like device, shot out from one of the shock trooper’s weapons, ensnaring Tao in an energy net that made him cry out, a thin, agonizing sound before his body went rigid.

“NO!” Blossom lunged forward, but Aiyana pulled her back as plasma fire tore up the floor where she would have been.

“They’ve got him!” Aiyana’s voice was raw. “They’re taking him deeper!”

DeltaGlyph gestured, and two heavily armored troopers began dragging the ensnared Tao towards a massive, previously sealed blast door that was now grinding open, revealing a yawning, ominous passage into the station’s core. The Warden himself turned to face the remaining RAST team, his whip lashing out.

“He’s mine now,” DeltaGlyph sneered. “And you… you get to die knowing you failed.”

TingTing’s console, miraculously still active on her wrist, flashed a horrifying new biodata reading for Tao, relayed from a micro-tracker Blossom had managed to slap on him during the first rescue. His life signs were plummeting with terrifying speed. UNIT TAO: Neural integrity collapsing. Life signs critical.

The hope from moments before curdled into cold, visceral dread. This wasn’t just a recapture; it was an imminent execution, or worse. The brief, chaotic respite was over. The real fight for Tao’s soul had just begun, and the price had just escalated beyond anything they could have imagined.

The reinforced blast doors of the deeper cryo-containment facility groaned in protest as DeltaGlyph, a whirlwind of controlled mayhem, met Maui’s charge. Red-orange plasma from Glyph’s energy whip carved arcs of destruction, forcing Maui onto the defensive. Nukutaimemeha flared, absorbing blows that would shatter plasteel, but Glyph was relentless, his movements brutally efficient. Arcing discharges showered the floor as each whip-strike ignited dormant power conduits. Maui’s visor cracked, spiderwebbing across his temple, but he held fast—every fiber of his being locked on the duel.

“He’s stalling us!” TingTing realized, ducking behind a sparking conduit as pulse fire stitched the air above her. “Buying time for the integration process!” Her heart hammered; codes scrolled in her HUD warning of neural splice completions—timers ticking down like guillotines.

Blossom laid down suppressing fire towards the corridor leading deeper into the facility. “Then we don’t give him time! Aiyana! Niiwin! Find a way through!” Her shots rang out in rapid staccato, each pulse-cell discharge echoing. She ducked a low-slung turret bolt, rolling across shattered plasteel.

Aiyana nodded grimly, scanning the nexus chamber. She pointed towards a maintenance shaft high on the wall, partially obscured by damaged conduits. “There! Less guarded, bypasses the main chokepoint!” Her braid lashed as she gauged the jump, adrenaline sharpening every nerve.

Niiwin projected a focused glyph pulse, overloading the shaft’s magnetic lock. A shower of sparks rained down as the heavy panel hissed open. He yelled, erecting a shimmering barrier that absorbed a fresh volley of pulse fire, “Go! I’ll cover your entry!” The barrier wavered under the onslaught—metal shrapnel pinging off its surface, melting the edges—but held just long enough for them to slip through.

Aiyana used her bolo-rod as a grappling hook, swinging herself and Blossom upwards towards the opening. TingTing provided covering fire, taking down two guards attempting to flank Niiwin. Zip and Flip launched themselves using a makeshift catapult fashioned from a bent girder and elastic cabling, landing precariously on the shaft ledge. Zip landed with a theatrical roll, popping to his feet and grinning wildly, while Flip tumbled into the opening headfirst, limbs flailing before he wrestled control.

“Maui! We’re through!” TingTing transmitted, her voice unsteady with relief. “Fall back when you can!”

“Working on it!” Maui grunted, parrying another vicious whip strike from Glyph. He pivoted, battering the whip aside with a gauntleted forearm blast that sent Glyph staggering—just long enough for a hail of ricocheting energy bolts to bite at his armor.

The maintenance tunnels were dark, cramped, and thrumming with latent energy. Emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows. The air grew colder, damper, smelling of ozone and something else… something organic and wrong. Drips of liquid sizzled where stray discharges hit the floor, each hiss like a whispered curse.

“Energy readings are… strange,” Niiwin reported, joining them after sealing the shaft entrance behind Maui, who had disengaged from Glyph with a final, explosive energy burst. “Bio-signatures mixed with high-level corruption code. This place isn’t just tech; it’s… infected.” His words hung in the stale air.

As they moved deeper, the walls began to shift subtly. Optical camouflage dissolved, revealing glimpses of throbbing, veined bio-circuitry beneath the metal. The floor felt spongy in places. Strange susurrations echoed just at the edge of hearing. Each footstep squelched. Their earpieces buzzed with faint, indistinguishable murmurs—memories not theirs, seeping through the walls.

Maui muttered, gripping Nukutaimemeha tighter, “Psychological warfare. Standard Trident fear tactics. Stay focused.” Even his voice betrayed a slight tremor.

It wasn’t standard. A wave of psychic interference washed over them. Blossom cried out, stumbling, clutching her head as a vivid illusion slammed into her mind: Tao, strapped to the chair, eyes pleading, accusing her—“You left me! You didn’t trust me!” The image quivered with every heartbeat, his voice a ragged echo that carved guilt into her mind.

“Sky! It’s not real!” Aiyana grabbed her arm, pulling her back from the phantom image. Blossom blinked, disoriented, as the holographic tears on Tao’s face evaporated—leaving only vertigo and shame in their wake.

TingTing felt a wave of crushing guilt—seeing her parents’ faces, accusing her of abandoning them. Niiwin saw glyphs shatter, his connection to the earth severed. Even Maui flinched as illusions of fallen comrades materialized in the wavering light.

Niiwin gasped, trying to erect a mental shield. “It’s feeding on the anomaly interference! The background radiation from the jungle…Trident weaponized it!” He pressed trembling fingers to his temple, recasting jagged runes in midair—an incantation of resistance.

They pushed forward, fighting not just the physical path but the phantoms clawing at their minds. They found labs filled with grotesque experiments—failed attempts at merging tech and biology, twisted creatures preserved in glowing green fluid, discarded cybernetic limbs twitching feebly. The evidence of Trident’s horrific work fueled their grim determination. One jarred specimen turned its cataract-white eye to them, a single drop of malignant liquid rolling down its glass case—an accusation of inhumanity.

They rounded a corner and stopped dead. The corridor ahead was blocked by a pulsating mass of corrupted bio-tech—cables interwoven with fleshy tendrils, sparking erratically, emitting waves of nauseating psychic energy. Embedded within it, like flies in amber, were the frozen forms of several RAST operatives—faces locked in silent screams. Their eyes, wide with terror, seemed to follow the newcomers as if begging for release.

Zip whispered, his voice trembling, recognizing the insignia on the captured gear, “They… they didn’t make it.” His whiskers quivered; a single tear glittered beneath his left eye. Even Flip’s mechanical grin cracked.

Flip let out a choked sob. “Unit Beta… they were running recon…” The nostalgia of their training logs—dry jokes in the barracks, late-night card games—flashed through their minds in a cruel montage.

The bio-mass throbbed, sensing them. Tendrils lashed out.

TingTing assessed quickly. “We can’t fight that head-on! The psychic feedback alone could fry us!” The air rippled as the mass reacted, its fleshy palpitations syncopating with the thrum of Niiwin’s glyphs.

Niiwin pointed out, tracing energy lines on his tablet, “There’s a power conduit junction behind it. If we overload it…” The junction pulsed like a dying heart, each surge threatening to rend the corridor apart.

Maui stated grimly, “It’ll take time. Someone has to hold its attention.” He looked at the captured RAST operatives, then at Zip and Flip’s stricken faces. He stepped forward. “I’ll do it. You three,” he nodded to TingTing, Niiwin, and Aiyana, “overload the conduit. Blossom, Zip, Flip—cover me.” His voice was steel wrapped in velvet. The team flinched but nodded, understanding the stakes.

Maui charged, Nukutaimemeha blazing, slamming into the bio-mass, drawing its focus. Tendrils whipped, energy flared. Blossom laid down precise covering fire, targeting the mass’s energy nodes. Zip and Flip, grief momentarily forgotten, deployed sonic disruptors, trying to weaken its psychic field. The disruptors emitted deafening subsonic vibrations—like a hive of angry hornets—rattling the mass’s coherence.

TingTing, Niiwin, and Aiyana raced towards the conduit junction, bypassing sparking cables and lashing tendrils. They worked frantically, Niiwin weaving glyphs to bypass safety protocols, TingTing hacking the power flow, Aiyana physically rerouting damaged connectors. Each second stretched into eternity as discharges flew and the corridor shuddered under mounting pressure.

Niiwin grunted, “Almost there!” His fingers blurred, the glyphs burning brighter as the override sequence neared completion.

Maui roared as a tendril wrapped around his leg, slamming him against the wall. His shield diminished. “Hurry!” He kicked the tendril with savage force, plating crushing bone-deep before he even registered the pain.

“Now!” TingTing yelled, slamming the final command sequence home.

A thunderclap of raw energy erupted through the junction—like a star born inside the wall. The conduit junction exploded in a blinding flash of white light and raw power. The bio-mass shrieked, convulsing violently as the energy surge overloaded it. It withered, blackened, collapsing inwards, releasing the captured RAST forms which crumbled to dust.

A wind of ozone and burnt protein swept the corridor, carrying away the last echoes of psychic torment. Silence returned, broken only by ragged breathing and the dying crackle of energy. Maui pulled himself free, bruised but intact. Zip and Flip stared numbly at the spot where their comrades had been. The cost of passage was brutal. Flip’s shoulders shook; Zip bit his lip until he drew data-splatter from his veins, a gesture of mourning and resolve.

They stood before the final blast door, scarred, exhausted, fewer in number than when they began. Beyond it lay the core chamber. Beyond it lay Tao. A single green indicator blinked on the door panel—UNIT TAO: 0.03% LIFE SIGN. Time was bleeding away. With one last collective breath, they readied themselves. The real battle—rescue or ruin—was about to begin.

Chapter 22: Zero Hour Extraction

The final blast door hissed open, revealing the integration chamber. It was colder here, the air sterile, humming with contained power. In the center, bathed in the sickly green glow of the machine they’d seen on the feed, sat Tao.

He wasn’t struggling. His eyes were open, but unfocused, pupils constricted to pinpricks. Cables snaked from the machine directly into ports surgically implanted at his temples and the base of his skull. His body was still, unnervingly calm; his energy signature flatlined on Niiwin’s scanner—replaced by the overwhelming pulse of the Trident system he was now part of.

“Tao?” Blossom spoke, her voice barely a whisper as she took a step forward.

“Careful.” Maui’s arm shot out, positioning himself between her and the chair. “We don’t know what state he’s in.”

As they approached, Tao’s head snapped up. His eyes focused, though not on them. They glowed with the same faint green light as the machine. A voice, synthesized and layered over Tao’s own, echoed from his lips. “Intrusion detected. Threat level: Moderate. Activating defensive protocols. Target priority: Blossom-7.”

Tao—or the thing controlling him—lunged. Not with his previous frantic energy, but with cold, calculated speed. He moved like a puppet master pulling his own strings, enhanced strength ripping restraints from the chair as he slammed a fist towards Blossom.

Maui intercepted, blocking the blow with Nukutaimemeha. The impact sent shockwaves reverberating through the chamber. “He’s fully integrated!” Maui shouted. “TingTing, Niiwin! Cut the connection! Now!”

TingTing and Niiwin scrambled towards the humming integration machine, dodging energy blasts that erupted from Tao’s hands. Aiyana engaged Tao directly, her movements fluid, aiming to disable rather than injure, using her bolo-rod to deflect and bind. Blossom hesitated for a fraction of a second—seeing Tao’s familiar face twisted into a hostile mask—then forced herself into action, firing precise energy pulses at the cables connecting him to the apparatus.

A sudden clatter from the grated floor panels near the console announced the arrival of Zip and Flip’s real raccoons—dozens of chrome-fanged marauders burrowing their way in. They skittered across control pads, chewing through secondary fiber-optic lines, yanking open access panels. One diminutive bandit tugged a random concussion grenade from a rack and unceremoniously tossed it into the cable tangle, where it triggered a spark-strewn pop.

“Main power conduit located!” Flip announced, as one raccoon perched atop the console, pawing at the override keys.

“Override codes locked!” TingTing countered, fighting Trident’s defensive software. “We don’t have time for this—”

But the raccoons had other plans. One scampered up Aiyana’s leg, prompting her to quip through gritted teeth, “Oi! Hands off the tech and my boots!” while another raced across Blossom’s rifle barrel. This caused her to aim straight at an empty corner before she realized and spun, only to see the creature giving her a triumphant nod.

“Niiwin, can you force a glyph overload?” TingTing called out, swatting a third raccoon chewing on a power conduit as if it were licorice.

Niiwin grunted, pouring energy into the console, glyphs burning brightly around his hands. “Trying! System resistance is immense!”

Tao, fighting with unnatural precision, disarmed Aiyana and threw her against the wall. He turned on Blossom, eyes blazing green. “Target acquired.”

Then, one fearless raccoon dove into the machinery, its claws tapping at exposed circuits. A warning alarm blared—Trident’s failsafe kicking in. Raccoon paused, looked back at Flip as if to say, Your turn? Flip grinned and slammed the final command.

Simultaneously, Niiwin roared, slamming his palms onto the console. A massive glyph flared, overloading the machine’s core. Energy surged backward through the cables connected to Tao.

Tao screamed—his own voice this time, raw with agony—and collapsed, unconscious, as the cables sparked and detached, retracting into the now-darkening machine.

An instant later, klaxons blared throughout the facility. A synthesized voice announced: “Containment breached. Integration failed. Initiating facility self-destruct sequence. Detonation in five minutes.”

“Grab him!” Maui ordered, scooping up Tao’s limp form. “We need to get out of here!”

They sprinted back through the ravaged corridors, debris raining down, secondary explosions rocking the station. The raccoons skittered alongside them, racing up walls, darting under legs, snagging loose grenades and hurling them at pursuing droids. One particularly bold raccoon slipped into an elevator shaft control and reversed the doors mid-descent, sending a wave of guards stumbling past.

“The emergency hangar bay, level Gamma!” TingTing directed, pulling up station schematics on her damaged console. “Fastest way out!”

Into the hangar they burst, only to find Warden Glyph and a squad of elite guards blocking their path to the waiting escape pods. “Going somewhere?” Glyph sneered, energy whip crackling.

“Through you!” Aiyana shot back, launching herself forward. The raccoons, taking that as their cue, charged in a furry phalanx—scrabbling up shields, biting at ankles, causing the guards to swivel their attention from the rescue team.

A frantic firefight erupted amidst parked Trident interceptors and fueling stations. Zip hotwired the launch controls of a sleek, experimental Trident stealth fighter. “Got us a ride!” he declared.

Maui laid down heavy covering fire with Nukutaimemeha while Blossom dragged the still-unconscious Tao towards the fighter. Niiwin erected desperate energy shields. TingTing fought alongside Aiyana, buying Zip and Flip time. All the while, the raccoons darted about: flipping switches, releasing loading clamps, even blocking security scanners with acrobatic leaps onto lenses.

Glyph lunged, whip aimed at TingTing. Aiyana intercepted, her bolo-rod shattering against the force. The blow injured her arm but saved TingTing. “Go!” Aiyana urged, stumbling back. One raccoon skidded in, pulling Aiyana’s discarded bolo-rod away and dropping it into TingTing’s outstretched hand before sprinting off again.

The team scrambled aboard the fighter, dragging Aiyana with them—and half a dozen raccoons, who curled up around the control panel, chittering demands for acorns. Zip slammed the canopy shut and hit the thrusters just as Glyph lashed out, the energy whip scoring a deep gouge across the fighter’s hull. The hangar bay doors exploded outwards as they blasted into space, seconds ahead of the Charon Black Site detonating behind them in a blinding, silent flash.

The stolen fighter bucked violently, alarms screaming. “Hull integrity compromised! Life support failing!” Flip reported, his voice strained. “We took heavy damage!”

Through the void they hurtled, pursued by surviving Trident patrol ships emerging from the debris field. Zip wrestled with the unfamiliar controls. One raccoon managed to slide its paws onto the throttle, sending the fighter into a sudden barrel roll that surprisingly evaded a laser salvo.

Their flight ended with a crash-landing, skipping violently through the atmosphere of a nearby uninhabited moon before finally skidding to a halt in a desolate crater, engines dead, hull cracked open to the thin, alien air.

Out they spilled, coughing, battered. Maui carried Tao, laying him gently on the dusty ground. The boy was breathing, but still unconscious, faint green traces flickering beneath his skin.

They had him—but they were stranded in hostile territory. The Rusty Nut was wrecked, Aiyana wounded, and the boy for whom they’d risked everything was now a volatile, potentially corrupted weapon.

The rescue was complete. The victory tasted like ash.

Nearby, the raccoons assembled atop a rocky outcrop, one holding aloft a glowing bio-circuit like a prize. They chittered triumphantly before scampering off into the moon’s gray wasteland—proof that even in the darkest hour, a little chaos can turn the tide.

Dust, fine as powdery mist, settled over the wreckage of the Trident stealth fighter. The crater rim offered scant protection from the thin, hostile atmosphere of the nameless moon. Emergency lights inside the fractured cockpit cast long, eerie shadows.

Maui worked silently, applying a medi-gel patch to Aiyana’s injured arm. Niiwin attempted to coax life back into the fighter’s comms system, glyphs flickering weakly around his hands. Blossom knelt beside Tao, monitoring his shallow breathing, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion. Zip and Flip scavenged the wreckage, pulling out emergency rations and power cells, their usual chatter subdued into grim efficiency.

TingTing stood apart, gazing at the alien sky, the twin suns of this system casting a harsh, unforgiving light. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the bone-deep ache of the battle and the heavier weight of their situation. Alive, yes. Tao retrieved. But the cost… Drone Unit 7, the RAST operatives lost in the bio-mass destruction of their own transport, now stranded light-years from support. And for what? A brother who might be irrevocably broken or worse, a weapon poised to turn against them.

The silence stretched, amplifying the low hum of the damaged life support and Tao’s faint breathing. TingTing felt the isolation keenly. The burden of command, the tactical failure despite the retrieval, the gnawing uncertainty about Tao—it all pressed down, heavier than the alien gravity. She needed answers. Needed grounding.

Their brooding was interrupted by the arrival of the raccoons. From the shadows of the crater’s lip skittered a dozen chrome-fanged bandits—Zip and Flip’s micro-drone prototypes rebooted into flesh and fur. They dashed across the sand, noses twitching, tails flicking with manic energy. One bold rascal launched itself onto Zip’s back—prompting him to yelp and spin in place until he collapsed in a laughing heap—while raccoon perched triumphantly on his shoulder, holding aloft an emergency ration bar like a trophy.

Another raccoon sprinted to Niiwin, yanking at the coms wiring until the glyph-master jerked free and chided, “Hey! That’s delicate tech!” Raccoon chittered defiantly, then darted off to flip open a utility hatch in the fighter’s hull, revealing a stash of fresh power cells. Flip scooped them up through tears of laughter, remarking, “These little maniacs are better scavengers than we are.”

Blossom managed a rare smile as a trio of raccoons staged a mini-relay race with med-gel packs—passing them mouth-to-pouch-to-mouth—until one sprinter “won” by flinging a pack at Maui’s head. He caught it reflexively, blinked, then nodded. “Not bad, furry logistics unit.”

Even TingTing couldn’t help but soften, watching the raccoons rearrange debris into a makeshift barricade, then collapse it in joyous destruction—claws clicking like tiny percussion instruments. Their gleeful chaos felt like a lifeline, reminding her that, however dire the situation, ingenuity and humor could still blaze a path forward.

With her spirits somewhat bolstered, TingTing took a deep breath and moved to a relatively sheltered section of the crater. Activating her personal comm unit, she shielded the signal as best she could. She bypassed standard protocols, routing the connection through a series of secure RAST relays Zip had managed to salvage, finally punching in the encrypted code for her grandparents’ private channel back on Earth.

The connection was shaky, riddled with static from the distance and local interference, but it held. Her grandfather’s face materialized, holographic, etched with concern but steady as always. Her grandmother appeared beside him, her presence a calming balm even through the distorted feed.

“TingTing,” Ngā-koro’s voice cut through the static. “We felt the disturbance. The cost.”

Tears pricked TingTing’s eyes, blurring the image. “We got him, Grandfather. But… it was bad. We lost people. He’s… not right.” She choked back a sob. “Was it worth it? Did we just bring the enemy into our midst?”

Her grandmother’s image flickered, but her voice was clear, gentle yet firm. “Child, listen. What you retrieved was not the enemy. It was the battlefield.”

TingTing frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Your brother took the jump,” her grandfather elaborated, his gaze intense. “The one into Trident’s world. And yes, he failed. He was broken. Compromised. That was the serpent’s first bite, its venom.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “But another serpent intervened. Not to kill. To change.”

“Fantail,” TingTing whispered, the name a revelation as she remembered the tracker.

“And perhaps Tao himself,” her grandmother added, her tone soft. “The venom didn’t destroy him. It triggered an antidote. A transformation. The tracker wasn’t just a tracker, TingTing. It was a key. A seed of counter-code, planted deep during his time as Asset X. Activated by Trident’s own integration machine.”

TingTing stared, processing the impossible. “So… the reconditioning… the integration…”

“Was the catalyst Fantail planned for,” Ngā-koro confirmed. “Trident thought he was forging a weapon. Instead, he triggered the payload. Tao is compromised, yes. Changed. But the change wasn’t just Trident’s corruption. It was the activation of the counter-op. He carries the means to disrupt Trident from within now, even if he doesn’t fully control it himself yet.”

“The mask,” TingTing breathed, recalling their earlier conversation. “It wasn’t just a metaphor.”

“It’s his armor now,” her grandmother affirmed. “Woven from Trident’s own code, turned back against him. He appears broken, volatile, perhaps even hostile, because the battle rages inside him. He is the ‘long game,’ TingTing. The trap Fantail set.”

Relief washed over TingTing—so potent it almost buckled her knees—immediately followed by a wave of guilt. The rescue. The casualties. All for a boy who was already part of a plan. Had their desperate charge endangered the entire operation?

“He’s far from safe,” her grandfather cautioned, sensing her turmoil. “The internal conflict is immense. Trident will realize something is wrong. And Tao needs his anchor. He needs his team to believe in the possibility, even when he seems lost.”

“We didn’t know,” TingTing uttered, her voice hushed. “We fought so hard…”

“You did what you had to do based on what you knew,” her grandmother reassured her. “You brought him back. That was vital. Now, the path changes.”

“Fantail is in Arizona,” Ngā-koro stated. “He’s preparing the final stage. The trap needs the bait to be present. You must get Tao there. Intact. Alive.”

TingTing looked over her shoulder at the crater where her team rested, injured and uncertain. At Tao, lying still, a living paradox of corruption and hope. The weight on her shoulders shifted, became different—heavier perhaps, but also clearer.

“We’ll get him there.” Her voice found its strength again. “Tell Fantail… tell him the package is secure, if slightly damaged in transit.”

Her grandparents nodded, their images dissolving into the static. TingTing stood alone for a moment, the secret a heavy cloak. She looked back at her team—and the raccoons, now tussling over the last power cell like greedy toddlers. One particular rascal paused, tilted its head, and chittered at her as if offering solidarity.

She allowed herself a small, determined smile. Chaos could save the day—if you knew how to channel it.

Chapter 23: Fugitives & Whispers

Dust, fine as powdered bone, settled over the wreckage of the Trident stealth fighter. The crater rim offered scant protection from the thin, hostile atmosphere of the nameless moon. Emergency lights inside the fractured cockpit cast long, eerie shadows.

Maui worked silently, applying a medi-gel patch to Aiyana’s injured arm. Niiwin attempted to coax life back into the fighter’s comms system, glyphs flickering weakly around his hands. Blossom knelt beside Tao, monitoring his shallow breathing, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion. Zip and Flip scavenged the wreckage, pulling out emergency rations and power cells, their usual chatter replaced by grim efficiency.

TingTing stood apart, staring at the alien sky, the twin suns of this system casting a harsh, unforgiving light. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the bone-deep ache of the battle and the heavier weight of their situation. They were alive. They had Tao. But the cost—Drone Unit 7, the RAST operatives in the bio-mass, Aiyana’s injury, the destruction of their own transport, now stranded light-years from support. And for what? A brother who might be irrevocably broken—or worse, a weapon waiting to be turned against them.

TingTing’s chest tightened. Every memory of the fight struck like shrapnel—each life lost another stone on her back. She still heard Drone Unit 7’s final burst of static, still felt the lurch when the bio-mass claimed her teammates. Command had never felt so much like betrayal.

The silence stretched. Tao’s faint breathing and the hum of damaged life support were the only sounds. The retrieval had succeeded, but the mission felt hollow. The weight of uncertainty pressed down—about Tao, about the team, about herself.

Then Zip crashed through a stack of empty crates, wearing a cracked med-visor and dragging a tangle of wires behind him like a cybernetic kite. Flip followed, chewing on a glowstick. “Found a sandwich!” he declared triumphantly. “Might be sentient.”

“Or ancient,” Zip added. “Fuzzy, either way.”

TingTing closed her eyes. “Please tell me it’s not glowing.”

Flip held it up. It pulsed blue. “Glowing and humming.”

TingTing sighed. “Of course it is.”

From the shadows of the crater’s lip skittered a dozen chrome-fanged bandits—Zip and Flip’s micro-drone prototypes rebooted into fur and claws. They dashed across the sand, noses twitching, tails flicking with manic energy. One raccoon hurdled across TingTing’s boots, prompting her to stumble and catch herself against a shard of hull. In that absurd moment, the tension within her cracked like broken glass. That fractured smile, a fleeting truce with despair, allowed a flicker of something small but fierce to spark within her. If these tiny creatures could dance through devastation with such reckless joy, perhaps their own path forward wasn’t entirely shrouded in darkness.

They dragged the unconscious Tao inside a lava tube, the darkness absolute after the relentless glare outside. Zip and Flip jury-rigged salvaged power cells to create minimal lighting and life support, their movements quick, efficient, devoid of their usual antics. Aiyana, arm crudely bandaged, set up proximity sensors at the tube entrances. Maui stood guard, Nukutaimemeha humming softly beside him, a silent sentinel.

Days blurred into a cycle of repairs, rationing, and tense waiting. TingTing, armed with the knowledge from her grandparents, watched Tao constantly. He drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes muttering fragmented code, sometimes lashing out with residual green energy that sparked against Niiwin’s hastily erected containment glyphs. Other times, he lay unnervingly still, eyes open but vacant. TingTing tried subtle diagnostic scans, looking for traces of Fantail’s counter-code, but Tao’s system was a chaotic storm of conflicting signals—Trident’s corruption warring with something else, something fiercely resisting. She couldn’t risk direct intervention.

Blossom rarely left Tao’s side, tending to his physical needs, cleaning grime from his face, checking his erratic vitals. Her earlier anger and confusion had settled into a quiet, aching grief mixed with fierce protectiveness. She spoke to him softly during his rare lucid moments, recounting shared memories, trying to reach the boy she knew beneath the Asset X programming and the internal chaos. He rarely responded coherently—sometimes flinching away, sometimes gripping her hand with surprising strength—before lapsing back into the void. The ambiguity was torture. One night, Blossom found herself murmuring their first mission joke—about a raccoon stealing the enemy’s boots—hoping to draw a laugh. For a heartbeat, Tao’s lips twitched. Then the machine’s green glow seemed to intensify around him, and he sighed in his sleep as if haunted by something he couldn’t name. Blossom pressed her forehead to his, tears slipping free. “I’m here, Tao. I’m not going anywhere.”

TingTing wrestled with her secret. Tell Blossom? Tell Maui? The risk felt enormous. Revealing Tao was part of a plan might offer a sliver of hope, but it could also be seen as a betrayal—why the costly rescue if he was already an asset? And if Tao was still volatile, knowing the truth might make the others lower their guard at the wrong moment. She tried cautious, encrypted pings towards Fantail’s last known coordinates, relaying their status, requesting instructions, receiving only automated acknowledgments. She was flying blind.

Their fragile peace shattered on the third cycle. Proximity sensors shrieked. “Trident patrol!” Aiyana hissed, peering through a camouflaged opening. “Fast response frigate, deploying hunter-killer drones.”

“They tracked the fighter’s energy signature,” Niiwin deduced grimly. “We need to move. Now.”

Chaos erupted. They bundled the still-weak Tao onto a makeshift anti-grav stretcher rigged by Zip and Flip. Plunging deeper into the lava tube network, Maui blasted collapsed sections clear with controlled bursts from Nukutaimemeha. Hunter-killer drones zipped into the tunnels behind them—sleek, insectoid machines firing stun bolts and containment nets.

Zip and Flip became whirlwinds of sabotage, setting electronic traps, triggering small cave-ins, remotely hacking drone guidance systems using salvaged Trident tech. “Detour! Take the lava chute!” Zip squeaked, pointing towards a near-vertical drop shimmering with residual heat.

Maui didn’t hesitate, jumping down with Tao secured, using Nukutaimemeha to slow their descent. The others followed, sliding and scrambling down the treacherous chute, drone fire ricocheting off the volcanic rock above. They emerged into a larger cavern network, the pursuit momentarily shaken off.

But they were deeper, more lost. And Tao stirred on the stretcher. His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly green. He looked directly at Blossom. A layered voice, cold and precise, emanated from him. “Protocol Chimera. Target designation: Blossom. Neutralize.”

Before anyone could react, Tao surged upwards, green energy crackling around his fists, lunging straight for Blossom.

Blossom froze, her pulse hammering against her ribs. This wasn’t just a rescue anymore—it felt like betrayal, by the brother she thought she knew. She locked eyes with him, searching for any flicker of the boy she loved. The memory hit hard—late-night laughter, mapping the Hong Kong skyline, arguing over whether raccoons could cause orbital traffic. She drew a slow breath, steadying herself. “Tao,” she murmured, her voice low. “It’s me. Blossom. Remember?”

For a fraction of a second, his fists wavered. The green glow around him flickered—resistance, or was it hope? In that heartbeat, Blossom glimpsed the real Tao—his jaw set, his eyes not weaponized, but pleading. She stepped forward into the unsettling green storm, every movement a choice: fight the brother she loved or risk them all. “I know you’re in there,” she implored. “Fight it. Please.”

Tao’s energy flared, but his shoulders sagged. He half-raised a hand—uncertain, human.

Then the cavern shuddered as a distant explosion echoed—Trident had found them again. The world tilted. Blossom realized there was no stopping this. Either Tao would break free… or they all would fall together. The next moment would decide everything. She reacted on pure instinct, throwing up an energy shield. Tao’s first fist slammed into it, the impact throwing her back, the shield flickering violently but holding. Before she could recover, a second blow landed with equal force. Tao himself staggered from the feedback, the green light in his eyes pulsing erratically.

In that instant, a chrome-fanged raccoon darted across the floor, skidding into Blossom’s ankle and chittering furiously as if cheering her on. The absurdity of the moment—her gravest fear clashing with a raccoon’s triumphant squeal—sent a jolt through her nerves, reminding her that even in chaos, allies came in unexpected forms. “Tao! Stop!” Blossom cried, scrambling backward, fingers trembling on her shield controls. Each thud of her heart seemed to echo in her ears: could the boy she knew really be gone?

Maui moved instantly, tackling Tao, pinning him against the cavern wall. Tao thrashed with unnatural strength, snarling. Maui grunted under the weight of his battle-brother. Even the raccoons froze, chittering in alarm. One small bandit skittered up to the pinned figure, baring its teeth—an odd act of solidarity in the madness. The layered voice, spitting corrupted code, commanded, “Release me! Target must be neutralized!”

“Niiwin! Sedative glyph! Now!” Maui roared, struggling to hold Tao down.

Niiwin slapped a prepared glyph onto Tao’s temple. It flared blue, then faded as Tao’s struggles weakened, his eyes rolling back before fluttering closed. He slumped, unconscious again, but the chilling directive hung in the air: Neutralize Blossom.

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Blossom stared at Tao’s still form, trembling, the targeted attack shattering the last vestiges of her hope that the boy she knew was easily reachable. Aiyana helped her up, her face grim. “That wasn’t just residual programming,” Aiyana stated, her voice quiet, catching on the word just. “That was a direct command. Triggered remotely.”

A lone raccoon nosed a dropped grenade near the edge of the fray, then, deciding it was more interesting than midnight snacks, pounced on it with a squeal. Blossom managed a short, humorless laugh—tears prickling—before the reality of Aiyana’s words cut through. “Trident knows we have him,” TingTing concluded, the tactical implications chilling. “And he knows Tao’s weakness.” She looked at Blossom, then made a decision. The secret was becoming more dangerous than the truth. “There’s something you all need to know,” TingTing began, her voice low but firm. She quickly relayed the conversation with her grandparents—the failed jumps, the serpent’s bite, the antidote, Fantail’s tracker, the counter-code, the “mask,” the long game. She explained that Tao wasn’t simply corrupted—he was a battleground, caught between Trident’s influence and a hidden weapon buried deep inside him. His volatility, his apparent hostility—they were the war playing out within. As TingTing spoke, a raccoon launched itself onto Niiwin’s tablet, swiping the star map into a tumble of garbled corrosion lines. Niiwin gently nudged it away—his grim expression softening for a moment at raccoon’s impish grin. Even in this darkness, life demanded moments of absurd levity.

The team listened in stunned silence. Blossom sank to the ground, legs folding out from under her. She rocked slightly, processing the revelation. Relief warred with anger, confusion, and a new kind of fear. “So… all this time… he’s been fighting inside? And that attack… Trident trying to force his hand?”

“Or,” Niiwin theorized, eyes darting to the green-tinged glyph residue on the floor, “Trident suspects the counter-code. He’s trying to trigger fail-safes, force Tao to purge the ‘infection’—which is actually Fantail’s weapon—by targeting you, Blossom. He knows the connection.”

“The tracker,” TingTing realized aloud. “It wasn’t just tracking. It was seeding the counter-code. The integration machine activated it.”

A raccoon tiptoed across Blossom’s lap, sniffed her helmet, and chittered as if in agreement. Blossom reached down and scratched its head. “Thank you, little scout,” she breathed.

Just then, Niiwin’s tablet chimed—a secure, encrypted handshake request. Fantail’s signature. TingTing and Niiwin quickly established the link. Fantail’s voice, calm and synthesized, filled the cavern. “Commander TingTing. Your signal is faint but confirmed. Asset retrieval successful, I gather?”

“Affirmative,” TingTing replied, her tone terse. “Asset volatile. High extraction cost. We’re currently evading pursuit on XB-7, Luna-Primus.”

“Understood,” Fantail responded. “The Charon incident accelerated Trident’s timeline, but also confirmed Asset X’s internal systems are… active. The counter-code is propagating. Trident is moving his core operations. He suspects infiltration.” A star map appeared on Niiwin’s tablet, highlighting the Arizona desert. “He’s consolidating at his primary command bunker, disguised beneath the old Sentinel Array complex. He believes Asset X, under his control, will be the key to unlocking the Array’s power.”

“TingTing’s comm crackled, Fantail’s voice filtering through—distant, as if from an unseen position high above the canopy, yet clear in its unnerving implications.

“The trap,” TingTing murmured into her own comm, the words heavy with a dawning, terrible understanding as Fantail elaborated from afar.

“Precisely,” Fantail’s voice confirmed through the comms, the disembodied explanation making the details sound even colder. “The tracker Tao carries isn’t just a tracker or a code seed. It’s a resonance key—when activated by the specific frequencies generated by the Turtle Island elders and amplified by Niiwin’s glyph connection at the Arizona site—it will overload Trident’s control systems through Tao himself, creating a system-wide vulnerability: a backdoor.”

The comm link clicked silent, but the stark revelation hung in the air, igniting TingTing’s grief into a searing fury. Rage coiled through her, tightening every muscle as she confronted the dense canopy above, the space where Fantail’s unseen presence had just been. Her stance rooted amidst the ancient, tall trunks, visible in the clenching of her fists, nails biting into her palms, and the tremor that ran through her taut frame. She was screaming out, no care for who may hear as life swung from branch to trunk. And colors vibrant flapped skywards, fearing what may come, as a cacophony of chirps and bellows echoed troubles brewing below.

Pointing above and shouting, “You turned my brother into a walking logic bomb?!” The shout ripped from her, raw and ragged, not just an accusation but a condemnation that echoed with the force of her rage amongst the silent trees, aimed at the celestial being she now knew was watching.

For a moment, only the echo of her fury answered, swallowed by the vastness of the green. Then, a soft breath spilled from atop the lush of photosynthesis, twirling downwards, spiraling around TingTing in figure-eights between the ancient trees. There, fluttering with a profound sorrowful hum that seemed to meet her anger with its own deep resonance, hovered Fantail. His voice, as it now addressed her in person, was ethereal, yet carried the weight of difficult choices tempered with hope.

“TingTing, I hear the pain – and the anger – in your words, and believe me, that burden is shared.” A slight rustle of luminous feathers, like a sigh. “What Trident unleashed in Tao, that wasn’t mere technology we could simply dismantle. You see, tech is neutral, inorganic, reversible; the kind of deep bio-mimicry Trident used to twist his very spirit is not… It was a living corruption, designed to break him from within, to extinguish the very spark that makes him him.”

Fantail continued, sorrow laced with quiet resolve, his form subtly radiant with hope. “The path we chose—the ‘antidote’—was forged in desperation. It was our answer to a violation as deep as it was cruel. Tao knew the stakes, TingTing. His courage in accepting it… was extraordinary. Yes, we armed him—but to fight a war already raging inside him. To stand against a shadow threatening to snuff out countless lives. It was a desperate cost, yes—but for a chance at true balance. A chance for hope to take root again.

TingTing’s jaw clenched. Raccoon, emboldened by the conversation’s tension, scampered up her leg and perched on her shoulder. It sneezed into her ear. She froze, then exhaled sharply, burying her face in her hands. “Your team’s objective is clear: deliver Asset X to the Arizona coordinate nexus within 48 standard hours. Niiwin, your glyph work will be critical for amplification. The rest of you provide escort and defense. Expect heavy resistance. Trident knows something is converging.”

The call ended. The team looked at each other, the full, insane scope of the plan laid bare. Tao wasn’t just compromised; he was the weapon. And they were the delivery system, heading straight into the heart of Trident’s power.

Silence stretched again. Except for the raccoons—now busy forming a conga line around the unconscious Tao, as if launching him to stardom.

Blossom rose slowly, brushing dust from her uniform. She caught TingTing’s eye. In that look was fear, sorrow, and unbreakable resolve. “Let’s move,” Blossom stated, her voice steady. “For him.”

And as the raccoons scattered ahead—chattering directions like mad traffic controllers—the teens followed, hearts heavy but united, into the long game’s final move.

Chapter 24: Race to the Finish Line

Forty-eight hours. Stranded. Hunted. With a volatile living weapon.

“Okay, geniuses.” Maui clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the stunned silence that felt heavier than the alien atmosphere outside. His usual bravado couldn’t quite mask the tension tightening his shoulders. “How do we get a busted stealth fighter, five teenagers, two raccoons, and one ticking time bomb halfway across the galaxy without Trident noticing?”

Zip immediately produced a complex schematic projected from his wrist, the light glinting off the exhaustion smudged under his eyes. “Option Alpha: Repair the fighter using salvaged Trident parts and hope their IFF transponder codes haven’t been revoked. Probability of success: 12.7%.”

Flip pushed his glasses up his nose with a sigh that fogged the lens. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual energy. “Option Beta: Send a RAST distress signal, wait for extraction. ETA: six to eight standard weeks. Probability of Trident interception: 98.3%.”

TingTing’s gaze flicked among her friends—Blossom chewing her lip raw, Aiyana unnaturally still, Maui’s forced grin, Zip and Flip slumped like discarded prototypes. Each was weighed down by exhaustion and fear. Her own pulse throbbed against her ribs, a frantic drum counting down the seconds they didn’t have. They couldn’t wait weeks; Tao wouldn’t last that long. Hope felt like a fragile butterfly in a hurricane. “Option Gamma?” TingTing prompted, her voice steadier than she felt.

Zip looked up, a manic spark returning to his eyes. He grinned, tapping the schematic with more force than necessary. “Hijack the Trident patrol frigate currently performing low-orbit scans.”

A collective gasp sucked the air out of the small space—followed by a burst of near-hysterical laughter. It was the sound of people pushed past their limits, finding absurdity in the impossible.

“Are you insane?” Blossom demanded, whirling towards Zip. But her anger deflated mid-sentence. A raccoon suddenly zipped past her feet, dragging a length of sparking wire. The creature chittered indignantly, paused, and then, with unsettling surgical precision (using its mouth, which also contained several half-chewed gummy worms), adjusted the wiring across a console before darting off into the shadows. A distinct squeak signaled: mission accomplished. Moments later, another raccoon vaulted onto Flip’s shoulder with the grace of a furry acrobat, peered intently over his comm pad, and—without a word, just a solemn nod—tapped the ‘override’ icon using a single, surprisingly clean toe bean. The frigate schematic blinked—doors unlatched system-wide. A soft, cheerful musical chime played from the comm pad, a tune that definitely hadn’t been programmed by Trident or Zip.

Zip and Flip exchanged stunned, then delighted, grins. The raccoons hadn’t just improvised this mission. They’d planned it.

“Well,” Flip announced, adjusting his bandolier, which now seemed to contain mostly stolen spoons and what looked suspiciously like a Trident officer’s epaulet, “time to unleash Operation: Fuzzy Lightning.”

“AKA Plan Nonsense Prime,” Zip concurred, grabbing a smoke pellet from his belt and tossing it. It fizzled pathetically on the floor, releasing a faint puff of purple smoke that smelled vaguely of burnt popcorn. He coughed. “Let’s roll.”

Under Niiwin’s precise energy shielding—a shimmering dome that absorbed the oppressive heat and hid them from passive scans—and Aiyana’s silent, expert guidance through the narrow, twisting lava tubes, they reached the surface near the Trident landing zone. Adrenaline surged, sharp and metallic, chasing away some of the fatigue. They emerged just as the massive frigate was deploying its ground scanners, beams of analytical light sweeping the desolate landscape.

Cue the raccoons.

They burst from the shadows not as a disorganized mob, but as a coordinated stampede of weaponized ingenuity. Each seemed equipped with different, bizarrely effective, hacked-together tools: one wore a dented pasta strainer as a helmet, brandishing a whisk like a sword; another waved what looked alarmingly like a deactivated stun grenade duct-taped to a glowstick; a third pinged the incoming scanner beams using a bent tuning fork scavenged from a med kit, skillfully bouncing false signals across the crater rim, creating phantom energy signatures. One particularly ambitious specimen had constructed a “ghost generator” by duct-taping four empty snack wrappers to a salvaged drone fan, producing flickering, confusing thermal images.

“Release the decoy squad!” Flip directed, gesturing wildly.

Several smaller raccoons launched themselves from makeshift catapults constructed from salvaged medical tubing and bungee cords. They soared through the thin atmosphere like hyperactive, caffeinated acorns, trailing colorful sparks from attached wiring and warbling fake distress calls in at least three different, badly imitated, alien languages. The sheer absurdity seemed to confuse the Trident targeting systems.

Maui seized the moment. With a roar that echoed his ancestors, he struck the far side of the crater with Nukutaimemeha, unleashing a localized seismic event that shook the ground violently. Warning klaxons blared from the frigate; personnel scrambled as scanners pivoted wildly towards the disturbance, their targeting reticles jittering erratically.

While the frigate’s systems reeled, trying to differentiate earthquake from attack from… whatever the raccoons were doing, Blossom and TingTing executed a flawless hack-n-dash. Fingers flying across their portable consoles, they sliced through the frigate’s outer firewall like digital surgeons fueled by desperation and maybe too much synth-caff. TingTing felt a bead of sweat trace a path down her temple, her focus absolute, the weight of failure a physical presence beside her. A raccoon perched on her shoulder, not interfering, but gently rotating her discarded datapad stylus like it was conducting an orchestra of glorious absurdity.

Zip and Flip entered the frigate via maintenance ducts—ducts now strangely lined with hastily scribbled crayon maps labeled “YOU ARE HERE (PROBABLY),” “RUN FASTER THIS WAY >,” and “ALSO TOILETS (MAYBE).” They moved with practiced urgency, disabling internal security systems with a bizarrely effective combination of jamming sensor ports with peanut butter (apparently sourced from a forgotten emergency stash) and triggering emergency overrides that suddenly broadcast soothing lullabies over the internal comms. Several heavily armed Trident guards stopped mid-patrol, blinking in confusion. One, overwhelmed by the sudden shift from high alert to nursery rhyme, actually burst into quiet tears.

Meanwhile, deep within the ship, one raccoon rode a repurposed cleaning bot like a tiny, furry cavalry charge, expertly hurling miniature EMP grenades (acquired from somewhere) like party favors, disabling guard equipment with localized bursts of static. Another chewed through several non-critical coolant lines, then slipped spectacularly on the puddle it created, letting out a defiant shriek of, “I REGRET NOTHING!” as it crashed harmlessly into a wall—somehow managing to knock out a surprised guard with a flick of its tail during the spin.

On the bridge, their brand of pandemonium reigned. Aiyana, moving with blinding speed, backflipped over the central console, securing the primary navigation locks mid-air with pinpoint accuracy. Simultaneously, a raccoon clinging upside down to her belt clicked into action, firing a suction cup dart with a tiny grappling line attached, snagging a crucial manual override switch just out of reach. Niiwin threw up shimmering glyph barriers around the engine core controls, preventing any loyalist crew from initiating a shutdown, while another raccoon toggled the main power conduit manually—apparently by licking a live (but insulated) wire and screaming what sounded suspiciously like, “SCIENCE!” as the warp drives surged online with a satisfying hum.

While this whirlwind of focused absurdity danced through the ship, Blossom wrestled with the damaged engine controls, coaxing them back online under emergency power. Every console beep felt like a hammer strike against her ribs, but her hands were steady. TingTing charted their escape route, weaving through known Trident patrol vectors, her mind racing, coordinating frantic comms chatter with Zip and Flip—who were now, apparently, dual-wielding frying pans from the galley and joyfully screaming “SPACE CAVALRY IS HERE!” from somewhere near engineering.

In the medbay, a self-appointed squadron of raccoons had huddled protectively around the unconscious Tao. One sat diligently on his chest, occasionally patting him, resembling a furry, concerned defibrillator. Another paced back and forth along the edge of the bio-bed, muttering into a cracked headset it had found. “Vitals holding steady. Snack reserves depleted. Morale… questionable but furry.”

When the ship finally jumped to warp, the sudden lurch sent unsecured items—and raccoons—flying. Several raccoons expertly strapped themselves down using salvaged rubber tubing and what looked suspiciously like someone’s missing sock collection.

Trident pursuit ships materialized almost instantly, vengeance in their plasma trails. Dogfights erupted amidst glittering asteroid fields. Niiwin projected deceptive energy trails, leading ships on wild goose chases. Blossom, discovering a surprising, albeit terrifying, knack for the frigate’s weapon systems, scored several direct hits, each bright explosion stealing her breath, a stark reminder of the lethality underlying their desperate flight.

The raccoons, naturally, contributed. One, perched precariously near a comms panel, reprogrammed a standard galley coffee machine into a heat-seeking decoy emitter, causing one Trident fighter to veer off course in hot pursuit of what it believed was a high-energy engine signature, but was actually just a cloud of vaporized synth-coffee. Another, working with Flip via gestures and frantic chittering, jury-rigged a makeshift torpedo using a tube of industrial-strength toothpaste, several loose wires, and a hefty dose of aggressive optimism. Launched from a repurposed waste chute, it spun erratically before hitting a pursuing Trident ship dead-center, causing a surprising amount of external electrical interference.

“That… was not supposed to work,” Flip breathed over the comms, his voice filled with awe.

“Mark it down,” Zip intoned with mock solemnity. “Add ‘Experimental Fluoride Payload Delivery System’ to the official RAST tactics documentation.”

When Aiyana navigated them through a sensor-jamming nebula, forcing them to rely on manual navigation and instinct, Zip and Flip frantically rerouted power. As a last-ditch trick to shake a persistent tail, they launched an escape pod filled not with crew, but with a swarm of angry, buzzing alien insects found dormant in the cargo hold. As the pod burst open mid-flight near the pursuer, the insects swarmed its cockpit viewscreen. Riding atop the pod, briefly visible before activating a personal micro-thruster pack (again, where did they get these things?), was a single raccoon wearing pilot goggles, yelling triumphantly, “DID I WIN?!”

Emerging near Saturn’s majestic rings, the immediate pursuit silenced for a moment, an exhausted quiet fell over the bridge. Zip solemnly pulled out a kazoo and played a surprisingly recognizable, albeit flat, rendition of “Ride of the Valkyries.” Flip lit a single emergency glowstick and held a stale nutrient bar over it like a marshmallow. “For those who fell in battle,” he declared dramatically. “Like Drone 7. And the last of the chocolate supply.” Maui managed a genuine, tired smile.

And when Yarraka and Tipi’s determined faces appeared on the viewscreen, confirming the rendezvous plan, a raccoon scuttled impishly across the camera feed, momentarily obscuring Tipi’s eyebrow before proudly presenting a hastily drawn diagram titled “TOTAL VICTORY PLAN: STEP 1 = WIN. STEP 2 = SNACKS.” TingTing felt a surge of warmth—a stubborn, resilient hope pushing back the fear. Home was still out there. Allies were coming.

By the time Tao began to stir in the medbay, drawn back from the coded abyss, the raccoons were quietly, diligently assembling what looked disturbingly like a functional hoverboard/first aid station hybrid made entirely of repurposed cafeteria trays, IV drip stands, and an alarming amount of medical tape. They paused their work and collectively saluted him with stale noodles held aloft like tiny, edible flags. Cold. Questionable. Utterly sincere.

Blossom rushed to his side, her relief warring with trepidation. His eyes opened—clear this time, the terrifying green glow gone. Recognition dawned, swiftly followed by waves of pain and shame that washed over his face. “Sky…” his voice was a hoarse, cracked whisper. “What I… what it made me try to do…”

Blossom knelt beside him, gently brushing a stray lock of damp hair from his forehead. Her own eyes stung. “It wasn’t you, Tao,” she told him, her voice soft yet firm. “It was Trident’s code. A virus. But your strength—your heart—it pulled you back. That’s who you really are.”

He shook his head weakly, closing his eyes for a moment. “Part of it… the anger… that was mine.” He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “I know the plan. Fantail’s key. I… I have to be there.”

Tears shimmered in Blossom’s eyes, blurring the medbay lights. “We’ll get you there,” she promised, her voice tight with emotion but fierce with conviction. “Together.”

They held that moment, a fragile island of connection in the sea of surrounding turmoil, as the stolen frigate pierced Earth’s heliopause. Sensors lit up, painting the familiar blue curve, the distant Californian coastline far below.

The final approach was thick with tension. They detected the energy signature of Turtle Island resonating from Earth—a beacon of ancient power calling across the void, a promise of sanctuary. Arizona glowed ominously on their sensors, crawling with Trident energy signatures, all converging relentlessly on the Sentinel Array. They were flying directly into the storm’s eye, outnumbered, outgunned, running on fumes and sheer nerve.

TingTing locked eyes with Blossom, then Maui, Aiyana, Zip, and Flip—each face etched with exhaustion, grime, and a shared, unyielding determination. Battered but unbowed. On nearby control panels, the raccoons perched, whiskers twitching, tiny paws gripping consoles. They donned miniature, neon-colored sticker armor salvaged from somewhere and adjusted tiny goggles, hopping onto nearby crates like they were surfboards ready to catch a tidal wave, sensing the culmination of their long, strange game.

“Let’s make some mistakes,” Zip murmured, checking the charge on a device that looked suspiciously like a modified toaster.

“Strategic ones,” Flip added, tightening the strap on his spoon bandolier.

Aiyana gave a sharp, ready nod. Maui cracked his knuckles.

“Brace yourselves,” TingTing urged, her voice low as her fingers tightened on the helm, the weight of worlds settling onto her shoulders.

“Here we go,” Blossom echoed, voice fierce, gripping the weapons console.

And with that, they dropped out of warp—straight into the heart of Trident’s lair, guns blazing, alarms screaming, the fate of the galaxy riding on five exhausted teens, two dozen certifiably insane raccoons, and one boy who carried the key to it all.

The ocean roared.

Turtle Island, anchored spiritually—if not physically—to the Arizona desert nexus point, rose from the energy mist like a memory too long forgotten. Resonant waves clashed against the desert rock, psychic spray flying into the dawn air like scattered offerings. The air tasted of ozone, sagebrush, and thunder. Every ship, every board, every rig that had survived the journey buzzed with coiled tension.

They’d made it.

TingTing stood at the bow of the captured Trident frigate as it settled behind a wind-scarred mesa, her braid whipping across her cheek. Her private comm glowed with her parents’ silent faces—proud, anxious, unwavering. Now the weight of the plan, the cost, and the emergent hope rested on her shoulders.

She inhaled deep, feeling the land’s heartbeat beneath her boots. Every failure, every life lost, every risk—they all led here.

Behind her, the teens disembarked, forming a ragged line in the pre-dawn chill. Yarraka knelt and pressed her hands to the earth, tuning her Songline rig like a sacred instrument. Aiyana, at her side, whispered into her root-core interface, drawing strength from the Amazon’s memory. Tipi, wings tense, scanned the sky for the first sign of attack. Niiwin stood among humming glyph stones, sweat beading on his brow as he prepared to channel the amplification. Blossom-7, visor down and rifle cradled, steeled herself against the coming storm. Tao stood slightly apart, shoulders trembling with the echoes of his internal war, eyes shadowed but focused.

Blossom moved to him, slipping her hand into his. His grip was weak—but real. Their shared glance spoke of fear, love, and defiance.

The sky split—not with dawn, but with darkness.

Black Trident ships carved vortex tears through the clouds. Swarms of hunter-killer drones blotted out the first light. Energy serpents coiled like living lightning. Storm constructs crackled with malevolent power. And at the head of it all, Trident himself descended in a pillar of corrupted code.

Worse still, synthetic echoes of Tao—Trojans born of his compromised code—manifested as shock troops, their green-glowing eyes twisted in mockery of his pain.

The teens didn’t flinch. They launched.

Tipi lunged into the sky, wind glyphs blazing along his wings, weaving between drone swarms and leading them into natural canyon traps. Aiyana and Yarraka moved in seamless unison—one weaving sonic shields of vine and leaf, the other reading the earth’s tremors to redirect energy bolts back at the invaders. Niiwin, anchored to his glyph stones, fought on the digital plane—rerouting Trident’s control signals, keeping comms alive through sheer force of will and bead after bead of sweat. Bro-Not-Po—their secret weapon—hacked the drone sensors with memetic warfare: viral dance holograms, glitching code, and a sudden barrage of holographic pangolins that sent mechanical squads into bewildered retreat.

RAST drones exploded around them; Tipi’s wing sparked under tracer fire, forcing an emergency glide landing. Data-splatter mixed with sand, but he rose, flung his spear-rod skyward—Aiyana catching it mid-arc—and dove back into the fray.

High above the melee, Tao fought alongside Blossom. Each move they made was a choreography of trust reborn. When drones closed in, Tao’s fists crackled with contained counter-code, shattering their armor. Blossom laid down precise fire, each shot calibrated to buy him moments of clarity. They moved as one, saving each other from fatal blows, shields interlocking, their spirits united by a shared purpose.

Below, surrounding the Sentinel Array, the Elders’ voices rose in an ancient chorus. They chanted where the Ngāti dwell, in Lakota, in Cherokee—old words older than memory—echoing Turtle Island’s distant heartbeat. The desert floor pulsed under their feet, amplified by Niiwin’s link, a harmonic grid of resilience and unity.

The world remembered.

Then came the moment of convergence. The sky pulsed electric blue.

Fantail, Maui, and Bro-Not-Po materialized above the Array in Byteform, their auras blazing with ancestral power. They arced into position, forming the power ring. Sparks of energy danced along the circumference, bridging land, sea, and sky.

TingTing vaulted onto Nukutaimemeha. Her blood sang as Maui guided the legendary board toward the ring’s center. She felt the swell of power—from Elders, the G3, the land itself—coursing through her veins.

Raising her hands, she called not for victory, but for the resonance key resting in Tao’s heart.

Across the battlefield, Tao staggered. The counter-code surged within him, recognizing the frequency. Green static flared around his form as the pure blue light from the tracker site washed over him.

He roared—a sound carved from every glyph, every chant, every sacrifice. He focused that will, blasting the blue resonance outward—a beacon and vulnerability aimed at Trident’s core.

The ring’s energy—and TingTing’s unwavering faith—locked onto Trident like a homing net.

It wrapped him and his command vessels in a gravitational-informational field: not meant to kill, but to unravel the corrupted code. It bypassed shields, shards of pure resonance piercing Trident’s armor of lies.

He screamed—a binary shriek of digital and psychic agony—as his code unspooled into static. The corrupted Trojans shivered, went inert. The drones froze in mid-air, then dropped like falling leaves.

Darkness scattered. Noise stilled. The armies of Trident vanished or collapsed inert.

Below, the desert glowed in steady sunrise—sagebrush and sand bathed in golden light. The storm was over.

Tao stumbled forward, catching himself in the silence. He looked at Blossom; the green was gone. His eyes shone with relief, pain, and the fierce joy of survival. He reached for her hand; she grasped it, tears free at last.

Above, TingTing slid gently from Nukutaimemeha, the Galactic Three solidifying back into the their chosen forms. Energy faded, leaving only warm breath in the dawn air.

No victory cheers rose. Only the soft exhale of a world remembering its own heart.

They had done what no one else could. Together.

As the first normal wind stirred the sage, a lone raccoon emerged from the fallen circuits—or perhaps reassembled itself from stray data packets and discarded snack wrappers. It sniffed the air, nose twitching not just with the scent of ozone and relief, but with the distinct aroma of opportunity. Its tiny paws, surprisingly dextrous, adjusted a pair of cracked sunglass lenses repurposed into surprisingly effective data-goggles. This wasn’t just any trash panda; this was Agent Squeaky-Wheels, lead theorist (and primary test pilot) for the real cutting-edge operation: The Sub-Basement Skunkworks Division, pioneers of Critter-Based Jump Dynamics, also known affectionately (by Agent Squeaky-Wheels) as the “Wacky Raccoon High-Dive Hypothesis.”

Their theory was simple, elegant, and mostly derived from observing overloaded dumpsters: reality, like prime scavenging territory, has weak points. Forget wormholes and stable portals; the real action was in the “glitches,” the “thin spots,” the metaphorical loose lids on the cosmic garbage can. To be a Jumpmaster, raccoon-style, required not sophisticated tech, but nerve, audacity, opposable thumbs (mostly), and an unwavering belief that somewhere nearby, someone had thrown out something Shiny.

Their “high raccoon tech” was a testament to Applied Kleptomania and Dumpster-Dive Dynamics: grappling hooks fashioned from paperclips and stolen fiber optics, communication arrays built into discarded tin cans (still faintly smelling of sardines, a feature not a bug), Fuzzy Logic circuits powered by static electricity collected from rubbing against unattended server racks, and the legendary “ShinyThing Distraction Emitter” (a laser pointer glued to a remote-controlled car chassis). Their attempts at mastering “jumps” were less graceful teleportation and more chaotic, flailing tumbles through unexpected system backdoors, often triggered by accidentally shorting out a major power conduit while trying to “liberate” a particularly interesting-looking capacitor. They weren’t just trying out as jumpmasters; they were living the chaotic, unpredictable, snack-fueled reality of it, convinced they were surfing the quantum foam when they were mostly just falling off things with style.

Agent Squeaky-Wheels chittered—a sound that contained multitudes: the thrill of survival, the critique of Trident’s overly complex (and easily foiled by pangolins) tech, and the dawning realization that a dropped Trident comm unit looked remarkably like a high-yield snack dispenser. With a final, triumphant wiggle of its nose-goggles, it snatched the comm unit, gave a jaunty salute to the oblivious heroes, and vanished back into the flickering shadows of the downed tech—a tiny, furry testament to the fact that even after the biggest battles, the most important work (and the best snacks) are often found by those willing to dig through the trash. The battle was over. The sky remembered. But their story—every laugh and tear, every wild raccoon antic, every pulse of ancient song—every Magpie was only beginning.