Leonan Veyl’s voice is smooth, corporate-polished. “Oskar. I’m Leonan Veyl, CEO of—”

  “I know who you are,” I say, sharper than I probably should. “What do you want?”

  The tension in the room shifts, just a little. One of the lawyers raises an eyebrow. Veyl, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. If anything, he looks... intrigued.

  “I see,” he says. “Straight to the point. Good.”

  He steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the table like he owns the entire city. And maybe, in some way, he does. Artebot’s known for playing the long game—biological replicants, not machines. Real tissue, lab-grown organs, synthetic minds with wet circuitry. All of it meant to undermine companies like Droigland and AzuriaCorp. All of it meant to feel real.

  “I assume you’re wondering how you ended up with a box of unreleased Venom,” Veyl says, tilting his head. “You visited one of our less-official testing kiosks two days ago. You were... cooperative. Blackmail does that.”

  I blink. “Blackmail?”

  Veyl smirks. “You agreed to field testing in exchange for us not releasing a certain train station camera feed.”

  I say nothing. My jaw tightens. I don’t remember any of this. Not the kiosk. Not the deal. Nothing.

  “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Venom was developed by Droigland, yes. But we’ve... refined it. Our version is more stable. The results more measurable. Side effects are minimal—at least so far.”

  “You were given a case of Venom. You still have it, don’t you?”

  I hesitate. I don’t nod. I don’t say a word. Just stare at the glass vial that one of the officers slides toward me.

  Inside: a swirling green liquid, faintly glowing. Like toxic coolant. Or absinthe engineered for a machine.

  Veyl doesn’t push. “We’ve refined Droigland’s formula. No injections. No implants. This is fast, smooth, and powerful. We need results. Live testing. You’re already part of the process.”

  My stomach turns. I don’t move.

  “This stuff... what does it do?” I ask, quietly.

  “Enhanced senses. Reflexes. Strength. Awareness. Tenfold. For a short window, you’ll operate above human limits.”

  “And the side effects?”

  “We’re still collecting data.”

  Of course you are.

  I glance down at the vial again. My hand hovers near it, fingers twitching. Something in me pulls back—instinct, maybe. I don’t have many cyber-enhancements. Barely anything that might sync with something like this. What happens if it overloads me?

  “What if it does something to me I can’t walk back from?” I say.

  Veyl just smiles. “Then we’ll learn. That’s what progress is, Oskar. Risk.”

  I look around. No one here seems worried. They're all watching me like I’m already halfway under a microscope.

  I pick up the vial. It’s cool, but not cold. Kept cool by the box. I turn it in my hand. I should say no.

  But I drink.

  It hits cold first, then heat swells in my chest like I swallowed lightning wrapped in mint and battery acid. My spine tightens. My skin buzzes. My vision snaps into a sharpness I didn’t know was possible.

  Everything feels too loud and too clear, and yet... perfect. Like a single breath contains a full minute.

  I exhale slow.

  It’s better than anything I’ve tried—cleaner than synth-dust, smoother than rush-tabs. No crash, no fog. Just speed and light and confidence in a bottle.

  Stolen story; please report.

  And no needles. Just a sip.

  Veyl leans forward. “Well?”

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “...I feel like I could see sound.”

  Everything is electric.

  My fingers drum against the edge of the table, faster than I thought they could move. The wood feels alive—every grain, every microscopic ridge, textured in a way I’d never noticed before. I can hear the air conditioning system humming three rooms away. I can feel my pulse moving through the arches of my feet.

  My eyes dart from face to face around the table. Veyl. The CTO. The lawyers. Their expressions shift in slow motion, like I’m watching them through some kind of time-bending filter. My brain is already three steps ahead of what they’re about to say.

  I sit back in the chair and let it wash over me.

  The chair’s leather creaks beneath me, and I swear I can hear the individual fibers stretch.

  “You alright?” one of the executives asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, blinking fast. “I just... I get it now. I get why you made this.”

  Veyl smiles again. “We built it to outmatch anything Droigland or AzuriaCorp could ever make. And now, we need field data.”

  I glance at my hands again. The slight shimmer to my fingertips, like I’m more than flesh now. More than human.

  “I feel everything,” I say. “Like I’m made of radar.”

  Veyl taps a folder on the table. “We have simulations ready. Urban recon, stealth intercept, even live takedowns if you’re willing. Your reflexes, your perception—they’ll handle it. You’ll feel like you’re dreaming with your eyes open.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So I’m your new toy?”

  “You’re our collaborator. If this works... you’ll be the first of something new.”

  I run a hand through my hair. It doesn’t even feel like my hair. It feels like I’m brushing through a hologram of myself.

  "How long does it last?"

  "About three hours," one of the technicians answers. "But you'll feel the taper. There’s no crash. Just a gentle fade. We didn’t want withdrawal symptoms."

  "How generous," I mutter.

  They let me stand and walk around the long glass-and-chrome room. Every surface reflects light like a blade. I can see my reflection, and for a second, I don't recognize myself. My pupils are so dilated they look almost full black.

  I can hear my heartbeat and the ones in the people near me. Every shift in weight. Every creak of a leather shoe.

  I stop at a window overlooking the city. Even from this high up, I can see everything in motion—the traffic, the people, the neon signs twitching and pulsing through the fog.

  I don’t know if this drug makes me more alive or just less human.

  But in this moment, I feel untouchable.

  They let me walk out the front doors like nothing happened. No escort. No threats. Just the cold hum of automated locks behind me and a gentle “Thank you for your time” from someone I never even saw speak.

  I’m still high.

  The city feels stretched, like it’s unfolding in front of me, a canvas coming alive with motion and sound. Everything has edges, rhythm, pulse. The horns in traffic feel like part of a song. The footsteps of pedestrians, percussion. I don’t even realize I’m walking until I see flashing lights, hear the scream of machinery — a carnival.

  A real one. Spinning rides and glowing prizes and kids with cotton candy stuck to their faces.

  I grin. Of all things, right now, this feels right.

  Just as I’m about to step into the queue for the Tilt-A-Whirl, I hear someone call out.

  “Oskar?”

  It’s April. Leather jacket, one headphone dangling, confused expression turning into a soft smile.

  “Hey,” I say. “You want to come on a ride?”

  She raises a brow. “Are you... okay?”

  I shrug. “Let’s just say I need to feel velocity right now.”

  She laughs, short and breathy, and follows me through the gate.

  We sit side by side in one of the carts. The metal is freezing under my hands. The world tilts once, twice — and then we spin. Faster than I thought. The lights blur into a vortex of color. April grabs the bar with both hands, but she’s laughing now, genuinely. I feel my head lean back, air whipping across my face like I'm slicing through the sky. I shout into the wind, not words — just noise. Just feeling.

  She glances at me. “This is insane.”

  “Yeah,” I shout back. “It’s perfect.”

  The ride slows, and everything feels fake again. Still. Ordinary.

  April leans on my shoulder as we walk back. “You’re different today.”

  “I think I needed that,” I murmur.

  When we get back to the mansion, I head straight to my room. I don’t even say goodnight. The door clicks shut behind me and I let myself fall into bed, the mattress swallowing my weight like it’s been waiting for me. I lie there, staring at the ceiling. Everything still hums in my body. Buzzes in my bones. That ride… the Venom… it’s all tangled together in this unreal haze.

  Time passes — I’m not sure how much — before I realize the house is too quiet.

  I sit up.

  “April?” I call.

  Silence.

  I stand, stretch out the stiffness, and head into the hallway. “April?”

  Still nothing.

  I wander room to room. Lounge. Study. The dimly-lit office. Her favorite chair by the fireplace. Empty.

  I start to frown.

  She wouldn’t have just left. Not again. Not without telling me.

  I walk through the hallway calling her name a bit louder this time. No answer.

  Eventually, I find Azuria in the kitchen, methodically organizing utensils into their drawers.

  “Azuria,” I say, stepping closer. “Where’s April?”

  She turns to me, expression flat. “Who?”

  My heart skips.

  “April. You know?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, voice calm and even. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  I blink, frozen. “You don’t remember April?”

  “I don’t, sorry.”

  “At least her friends then, Judy and Ember?”

  “I have not met anyone with these names, sir.”

  No. No no no. This can’t be happening.

  I didn't think I was sick. But now?

  "Who hacked AzuriaCorp?" I ask her, suddenly.

  Azuria answers instantly. “I did, sir. You instructed me to.”

  The air shifts. Feels heavier. My mind reels.

  Something’s very, very wrong.

  This rabbit hole... it’s deeper than I thought.

  And I already took the first step.