Right on Target (TARGET)
"Unbelievable!" The host's voice boomed over the clamor of the crowd. "Our would-be Grand Slam King has met his match in a dark horse!"
The referee sprinted over, knelt beside Titan, and first raised his arm high, signaling "game over" to the cameras. Then he unplugged Titan's neural connection and said to him, "Breathe—"
Titan's agonized screams didn't stop immediately. The electrical stimulation in his brain caused his real body to tremble uncontrollably, the pain in his arm excruciating.
This was the Colosseum's requirement—fighters had to amplify their pain sensitivity because their screams drove the livestream wild.
"Congratulations, Mao!" The host poured fiery enthusiasm onto Su Heting. "This is his fourth victory since joining the competition, and his opponent was Titan!"
The venue erupted in noise, and the barrage of livestream comments refreshed endlessly around Su Heting.
Su Heting's tail disconnected from the port and the stimulation signals receding from his mind like a tide, leaving only a lingering aftereffect. He opened his eyes as if he'd just traveled through time, needing a few seconds to readjust to the real world, now right-side up again.
"You won!" The manager rushed forward while shouting and yelling at Su Heting. "Next up is King Shen!"
"I won," Su Heting said casually before glancing at Titan out of the corner of his eye. "Who's King Shen?"
Titan's curled-up body was blocked by the referee, only his twitching legs visible. One leg was tattooed with "Titan Clan", the other with "Safe Passage".
"Folks, I still can't believe it!" The host exaggeratedly raised his arms. "Mao's ranking is climbing!"
The projection in the venue suddenly switched to the fighter rankings. The name "Mao" shot upward amid celebratory fireworks, leaping from 58th place this month straight into the top 30.
Su Heting had no interest in interviews. He bundled himself back into his raincoat and zipped it up just as a camera lens nearly hit his face.
"What are you looking at?" His eyes were wary. "I'm mysterious."
Su Heting didn’t head home immediately after leaving the arena. Instead, he bought a skewer of black-market grilled mushrooms at the entrance.
"Extra spicy," Su Heting stared at the skewer. "Explosively spicy."
"Here’s an extra mushroom for you." The vendor, a woman in her forties named Jiali, handed him the skewer. "Good fight tonight. Where’s Hermit?"
Su Heting bit into a mushroom. "Blew up."
"The livestream blew up?"
"His head blew up." Su Heting gazed solemnly at the remaining mushrooms. "Can I have another skewer for free?"
"No." Jiali glanced at the surveillance camera at the street corner and lit a cigarette. "Tch, what dangerous topic were you two chatting about online? Asking for death."
"He started it." Su Heting picked up another skewer. "Next operation," he chewed slowly, "we need a replacement."
Jiali held her cigarette, revealing the tattoo of a little girl on her arm. The rain continued to fall as she exhaled smoke slowly and muttered under her breath, "Fuck him..."
Xingtian wanted to send Hybrids to bomb the Main God System, but none of them were willing to go—because they all had brain-machine interfaces.
These interfaces, utilizing electrodes, not only helped the modified survivors adapt faster to their implants but also turned the virtual world into reality, allowing those who sought to escape to live in the digital utopia of the online world. However, their online activities were severely restricted. To prevent them from being hacked or monitored by the Main God System, Xingtian had always enforced a draconian policy over them.
In the light-rail zones covered by the Main God System, Hybrids with brain-machine interfaces were like fish on a chopping block. Even if some managed to survive the mission, it would be nearly impossible for them to regain Xingtian’s trust and return to the Black Market.
“Didn’t they say they don’t accept Hybrids? Bullshit! Tricking us into working our asses off in these damn matches while planning to send us to the front lines. How the hell am I supposed to fight the system?” Jiali pointed at her modified leg. “Kick them with this steel pipe of mine?”
The rain drizzled down, and Jiali didn’t dare raise her voice. Suppressing her anger, she stubbed out her cigarette and tossed it to the ground.
The floor was filthy, littered with cheap, discarded napkins. Jiali turned her head and saw the gleaming patrol drones hovering above the arena, along with the neon-lit nightclubs in the distance.
“Drop dead,” Jiali muttered irritably. “All of you.”
Su Heiting finished two skewers of mushrooms and headed home, shoving his hands into his pockets, wishing he could shrink entirely into his raincoat to avoid any prying eyes.
At every street corner, Su Heiting would scan his surroundings out of the corner of his eye.
Living under such intense surveillance had made him paranoid—the feeling of being watched was like being swarmed by flies at all times.
The skyscrapers projected fashion ads and holographic models strutting down from the heights to flirt among the traffic. Holographic advertisements played chaotically on both sides of the street, while bizarrely shaped electronic signs crowded together. At night, the city was a cacophony of visual and auditory pollution.
Su Heiting passed a group of Hanfu enthusiasts holding retro paper umbrellas. Some wore traditional scholar hats, the black felt dangling with strange reflections.
“I bet on the wrong side,” lamented a boy in a fitted robe with a vintage sword at his waist. “Titan lost! I’m cleaned out. Next time, I’ll bet on King Shen…”
“Don’t,” Su Heiting said as he walked past him. “Bet on Mao. Guaranteed win.”
“Huh?” The boy turned his head but only caught Su Heiting’s retreating back. “Hey…”
Su Heiting slipped out of the crowd, hopped up the steps in a few strides, and entered the old building.
The elevator here was ancient, requiring three rounds of identity verification just to reach the desired floor. Xingtian’s biometric technology was a mystery—facial and retinal recognition had been phased out to manage the Hybrids of the new world. Every floor’s entrance was also guarded by Xingtian patrols. Most of the time, though, they were just goofing off, maintaining a lenient attitude toward the Hybrids coming and going.
But there were exceptions.
As Su Heiting rounded the corner, he saw three patrol officers playing pool. The table took up most of the narrow hallway, and they had even summoned two holographic beauties to light their cigarettes. The group blocked the entire passage, while the walls played footage of Titan and Mao’s match.
Fucking hell.
Su Heiting had a bad feeling about this.
"Wanna play pool?" A patrol officer flicked ash into the nearby ashtray and called out Su Heting's gaming ID, "Mao."
Su Heting had just been warned by monk earlier that day. He didn’t want trouble, but refusing now seemed like it would only invite more.
A few raindrops dripped from the soaked brim of his cap, making him look slightly disheveled. "I only know how to play Chinese eight-ball."
"Chinese eight-ball’s my favorite," the patrol officer grinned at Su Heting, his yellowed teeth glaringly visible. "Come play a couple rounds to celebrate your win."
They made no move to let him pass. Before he could respond, someone had already handed him a cue.
Su Heting pushed his cap back and took the cue. His black cat ears perked up, the fur on them swaying slightly as he chalked the tip.
"Break," the patrol officer leaned casually against the table. "What kind of cat are you?"
They didn’t see Su Heting as a "human survivor".
The upper echelons of Xingtian classified Hybrids as little more than machine-like tools. After all, the earliest experiments with implants and biochips had been conducted by the Main God System. The emergence of the New World’s brain-machine interface had sent Xingtian into a panic. Unwilling to be tamed by the Main God System, they chose instead to tame the Hybrids who had integrated with its technology.
"Just a cat," Su Heting replied, feeling the lingering buzz from the match still coursing through his head. The tension in the air made his ears twitch involuntarily. "The common kind."
The patrol officer tugged at Su Heting’s raincoat before lifting it slightly as if searching for something. "Where’s that tail of yours? Hiding it in your pants?"
Su Heting swatted his hand away with the cue. "The fuck’s it to you?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the patrol officer slammed Su Heting’s head onto the table. He heard the movement but didn’t dodge. Cameras lined both sides of the floor—he couldn’t fight back. If he was deemed the aggressor, the armed units nearby would open fire.
"What’s it to me?" The patrol officer flicked his cigarette butt away and then bent down to snarl in Su Heting’s face. "Fuck you, I lost everything tonight because of you!"
He yanked the multi-purpose baton from his waist and smashed it into Su Heting, knocking him to the ground. Another man looped an arm around Su Heting’s neck and even shoved the pool table aside as he dragged him toward the public restroom.
No cameras in the restroom. Su Heting twisted his head, avoiding the pressure on his windpipe. He drove his elbow into the man’s instep, and as his grip loosened, Su Heting seized his collar and yanked him forward, sending him crashing to the floor. As he stood, the patrol officer swung the baton, striking him square in the chest.
"Calling armed units," the patrol officer pressed a hand to his earpiece while swinging the baton again. "Hybrid causing troub—"
Su Heting ducked, sidestepping the baton before delivering a brutal kick to the patrol officer’s knee. The man cried out in pain, dropping to one knee. Su Heting seized his wrist and drove the baton straight into the ear wearing the earpiece.
The patrol officer screamed as blood gushed out.
Su Heting said nothing. He straightened up and kicked the patrol officer into the sink’s edge. Turning the faucet on full blast, water cascaded over the man’s head.
"Fuck... you..." The patrol officer’s words were broken by the torrent. He choked as his hands clawed at the sink’s edge as he tried to lift his head.
"Told you not to fucking bet against me?" Su Heting wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his mood utterly foul. He pressed the patrol officer's back deeper under his foot. "Serves you right for losing everything!"
The patrol officer gagged, a gurgling sound escaping his throat.
[Kill him! Kill him!]
The barrage of comments from the match still flashed before his eyes. Su Heting wondered if he was hearing the spectators' shouts from the arena again, causing the lingering adrenaline surging up his spine. His tail twitched with excitement as he increased the pressure, nearly driving the patrol officer's upper body into the pool of water.
"Warning," the patrol officer's life monitor blared. "Warning!"
The glass panels inside the public restroom shattered abruptly. The monk, fully armed, rolled into position and fired at Su Heting.
Su Heting's enhanced neural reflexes proved their worth once more. His cat ears processed sound faster than any human's, allowing him to duck and roll away the instant the monk pulled the trigger.
The bullet struck the wall, exploding a tile with a sharp crack.
"Get down!" the monk roared through his gas mask with his gun trained on Su Heting. "Or I'll fucking drop you right now!"
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