The Shadows of Tarsus

Jude vaulted over the rusted barrier, landing hard on the oil-slick pavement, the impact jarring his knees. A siren wailed somewhere behind him, rising like a warning bell. No time. He ducked into the shadows of a derelict vending bay, breath tight, heart slamming.

Behind him, the alley glowed green with flickering neon and emergency strobes—another power outage sweeping the district. Tarsus was always dying, bit by bit. Tonight, it felt like it might finally stop breathing.

He tasted metal in the back of his throat. Blood, maybe. Or fear.

His fingers trembled as he uncrumpled the note he’d risked everything to steal. The ink shimmered oddly under the flickering lights.

Everett has it. Apex Tower. Midnight. Bring nothing but resolve.

The heirloom. The only thing his father had truly feared losing.

And now Everett had it.

Jude moved, fast and low, slipping between collapsed scaffolding and broken walls. The wind carried scents of burning plastic, ozone, and mildew. Beneath it all, something worse: decay. Like the city was rotting from the inside out.

Ahead, a shadow moved.

Jude drew the knife from his coat. The figure—a lanky man with cybernetic limbs and a jagged blade—stepped out of a broken doorway, sneering.

“No one walks Tarsus free past curfew, pal.”

Jude didn’t answer.

The man lunged.

Jude dodged, slashed low, blade slicing across thigh hydraulics. Sparks flew. He stepped in close and drove the hilt into the man’s throat. A sickening crack.

The man crumpled.

Jude knelt quickly beside the body, breathing hard. He rifled through the man’s vest. A stun cartridge. A small pouch of credits. A clean water pack.

Anything useful.

He stuffed the items into his satchel and moved on.

He blinked. For half a second, the world flickered. Like a skipped frame in a film reel.

Then it passed.

He shook it off.