Nova-Veridia had plunged into darkness after the Architect's death, like a colossal, extinguished cigarette butt. The endless neon signs, holograms, and skyscraper lights that pierced the sky were gone; only the grey hues of concrete, perpetually drenched by acidic rain, remained. The city wasn't breathing, it was gasping for air.
The only thing breaking this silence was the sound of explosions rising from around the Energy Distribution Center, "The Grid," considered the city's heart.
Jester was perched on a rain-beaten rooftop edge, watching below. His new black tactical armor was almost invisible in the wet darkness; only the purple cape on his back waved slowly with the wind. His metal left leg tapped against the concrete edge of the roof with a rhythmic, mechanical clink.
"Look at them, Detective," Jester said, his voice clear enough to cut through the rain's roar, yet soft as a whisper. He gestured at the chaos below. "Before, there was one big bully, and we all united in hating him. Now? The Architect is gone, and thousands of little bullies, all wanting to fill his shoes, are at each other's throats. Human nature is software that doesn't tolerate a vacuum."
Kaelen Vance stood directly behind Jester, his trench coat collar raised. His hand, resting on the hilt of the Judge, was tense. His steel-grey eyes scanned the two warring factions below.
On one side was the **Iron Legion**. Remnants of General Titan's old army; they advanced like disciplined but soulless machines in heavy, rusted armor. Their leader, Colonel Kross, barked orders from behind the tanks. Facing them were the **Neon Jackals**. A wild, anarchist group, armed with plasma rifles, having looted the Architect's labs and strapped on whatever they could find. Lasers and bullets clashed in the air, creating clouds of steam on the wet asphalt.
"We can't intervene," Kaelen said, his voice tired. "We're low on ammo. And your... situation is known. If you go down there, they'll tear you apart."
Jester listened to the faint hum of the blue reactor in his chest. In the past, he would snap his fingers and turn those tanks into origami. Now, he felt like a laptop with a weak battery. His "Admin" privileges were gone. He was now just a very smart, very fast, and slightly "glitched" user.
"You're right, Detective. Going down there and playing hero would be a poorly written script," Jester said, a crooked grin appearing beneath the sad paint on his face. He pulled a worn-packaged energy bar from his pocket and bit into it. "We won't fight them. We'll just be moderators. Let the system clean itself."
Jester flipped backward from the edge of the roof, heading towards an old junction box next to a ventilation unit. He opened the port on the back of his neck and connected a thick, greasy coaxial cable hanging from the box directly to his nervous system.
His eyes momentarily shifted from **hazel** to a dull **grey**.
His mind plunged into "The Grid"'s local network. The Architect's sophisticated firewalls had collapsed; only primitive, analog radio frequencies and automated defense protocols remained. This was a playground for Jester.
"Let's cause some interference," he murmured.
On the battlefield below, Colonel Kross's booming voice was heard over the Iron Legion's radios. But this was a voice synthesized by Jester.
*"Legion! Cease fire! The Jackals are surrendering... and apparently, their leader says he loves my mom's cookies!"*
At the same time, in the Neon Jackals' headsets, their own leader's voice echoed:
*"Those rusty tin cans called us cowards! Show them what a real rave party looks like!"*
Jester chuckled. His fingers moved in the air as if playing an imaginary piano. Then he made his real move. He accessed the code of the massive automated turrets surrounding the Energy Center. He deleted the "Target Identification" protocol and wrote a single command in its place: `MODE: RANDOM_CHAOS`.
The turrets rotated with a mechanical groan. Their barrels turned towards a Legion tank, then a barricade where the Jackals were hiding. And all hell broke loose. As the turrets began spitting bullets at both sides, the battlefield plunged into utter chaos. It was impossible to tell who was shooting whom.
"Now this," Jester said, taking another bite from his energy bar. "I don't have popcorn, but this show will do."
Kaelen shook his head, watching below through binoculars. "Sometimes I'm grateful to be on your side, and sometimes I'm horrified."
After half an hour of intense fighting, the Neon Jackals' will was broken. The undisciplined gang scattered into the back alleys, having suffered heavy losses. The Iron Legion, despite taking heavy damage, had managed to hold the main gate of "The Grid." But their victory had come at a high cost, their numbers reduced to a handful of soldiers.
Just then, a colossal shadow rose from the smoke.
Colonel Kross was in the cockpit of a four-meter-tall, heavily armored "Walking Tank" (Mech Suit), its hydraulic pistons hissing. The cannons on the machine's shoulders were still smoking.
"I guess it's our turn on stage," Jester said, pulling the cable from the back of his neck. His eyes had returned to hazel. He checked the laces of his black boots. "Don't you dare die, Detective. Or I'll resurrect you just to kill you again."
When they descended, Colonel Kross was waiting for them. The Mech's massive searchlights locked onto Jester and Kaelen.
"Jester!" Kross's voice came with a metallic echo from the external speakers. "My sensors are reading your energy signature. You're almost at zero. Your old god-like tricks are over. Now you're just a painted clown."
"And you," Jester said, walking towards Kross with his arms spread wide, "are a bully stuck in a tin can, Colonel. Tell me, how do you relieve yourself in that thing? Just curious."
Instead of answering, Kross fired the machine gun on the Mech's right arm.
Kaelen instantly lunged in front of Jester, pushing him behind a concrete block. Dust clouds rose as bullets shredded the concrete. "Distract him!" Kaelen shouted, rising from cover and firing the Judge at the Mech's sensors.
Jester burst from the dust cloud. He wasn't running; he was gliding. His body shimmered as if reality's frame rate had dropped, passing through bullets at impossible angles. These were the last remnants of his "Glitch."
Kross slammed his massive metal fist into the ground. Jester leaped into the air at the moment of impact, using the power from his metal leg to push off the Mech's kneecap and began climbing its torso.
"Get off me, you freak!" Kross tried to hit his own torso with his mechanical arms.
Jester swung onto the Mech's back with the agility of a monkey. He probed the armor panels with his fingertips. "Whoa, Kross! What's this armor alloy? Titanium? Or stolen pot lids?"
Kaelen continued to lay down suppressing fire from below, but the bullets ricocheted off the armor. "Jester! Whatever you're going to do, do it fast!"
Jester reached the main processor panel on the Mech's back. Normally, he would just place his hand and hack the system. But when he tried, sparks flew from his fingertips. "Damn it," he hissed. "The firewall's too thick. Not enough RAM."
Kross rapidly rotated his torso, trying to shake Jester off. Jester clung to a hydraulic pipe with one hand. His body swung wildly in the air.
"If software doesn't work," Jester muttered to himself, bending his metal left hand into a claw. "We'll disable the hardware."
His eyes locked onto the grated ventilation cover on the Mech's neck. "Cooling unit. A very classic design flaw."
Jester pulled himself up with superhuman strength. He dug his metal fingers into the grate. The sound of bending metal drowned out Kross's curses. "Hey, Colonel! Is this machine running Windows 98? Because you're about to get a blue screen!"
Jester violently ripped the ventilation cover off and threw it down. Then, with his free hand, he signaled Kaelen. Kaelen, without hesitation, threw the grenade from his belt towards Jester.
Jester caught the grenade in mid-air, pulled the pin with his teeth, and, grinning, dropped it into the exposed fan cavity.
"Rebooting the system."
Jester let himself fall backward into the void. As he fell, his body blurred slightly, and he landed softly on the hard ground.
**BOOM.**
A muffled explosion sound came from inside the Mech. The machine shuddered, black smoke spewing from its joints. Then a high-pitched alarm sounded: *CRITICAL ERROR. EMERGENCY EVACUATION.*
The cockpit's roof exploded, and Colonel Kross, along with his seat, was ejected skyward into the rainy darkness. The colossal war machine slumped to its knees, turning into an immobile pile of metal.
The few remaining Legion soldiers, leaderless, dropped their weapons and raised their hands. The figure standing before them, with a white-painted face and purple cape, was their nightmare, even with his energy depleted.
Jester was breathless. The reactor in his chest flickered erratically. Kaelen came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Good job, partner."
"I'm rusty," Jester said, examining a scratch on his metal leg. "Before, I would've turned that tank into a toy car. Now... I'm just like a mechanic."
The duo entered the Energy Center's main control room. Giant panels were filled with flashing red lights. In the center stood the colossal switch that would determine the city's fate.
Jester placed his hand on the switch. He paused for a moment. This power... The city's electricity, communication, heat... All at his fingertips. If he wished, he could become Nova-Veridia's new Architect. He could set the rules, make everyone obey him.
Kaelen holstered his weapon but kept his eyes on Jester. "What are you going to do, Jester?"
Jester looked at Kaelen. The permanent, painted sadness on his face merged with the weariness in his eyes. "I'm no king, Detective," he said quietly. "Kings sit on their thrones and get bored. I'm just... a chaotic electrician."
He pulled the switch down with all his might.
First, a deep hum was heard. The turbines beneath the ground began to spin. Then, the lights on the control panel turned from red to green.
Outside, a miracle unfolded in the streets of Nova-Veridia. Streetlights flickered on. Apartment windows lit up. Billboards, traffic lights, hospitals... The city awoke from its dark slumber.
Jester leaned over the keyboard and quickly entered a few commands.
`SYSTEM ACCESS: PUBLIC`
`ENCRYPTION: DISABLED`
"Free energy for everyone," Jester said, clapping his hands together. "Let's see what they'll do with it. They'll probably use it to see each other better and fight again, but... at least they won't die in the dark."
When they exited the control room, the city was lit. The joyful shouts of people came from afar, mingling with the sound of the rain.
Kaelen lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the damp air. "Is that it, then? Did we save the city?"
Jester didn't answer. His gaze was fixed not on the city, but beyond its borders, on the **Wastelands**.
On the horizon, where the darkness was densest, a thin, **green** beam of light rose towards the sky. This light was unlike the Architect's technology, the Syndicate's purple neons, or the city's yellow streetlights. It was a cold, alien, and unsettling green.
The port on the back of Jester's neck vibrated. Incomprehensible whispers filled his mind, like a broken radio signal. He didn't know the language, but the coordinates were etched into his brain: **Zero Zone.**
The smile on his face faded. His hazel eyes narrowed.
"Detective," Jester said, his voice turning serious. "I think we ended the party early. Someone out there saw us turn on the lights."
Kaelen turned in the direction Jester was looking and saw the green light. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out. "It's never going to end, is it?"
"Not as long as the story continues," Jester said, adjusting his cape. "Let's go. New players are about to take the stage."
The duo merged into the shadows of the illuminated city, walking towards the unknown. The static noise might have subsided, but the frequency... the frequency had completely changed.