Chapter 2: A Spark of Defiance

Coza woke to a rhythmic pounding—first faint, then insistent. It wasn’t the rain this time. His neural lens flickered faintly as it registered a proximity alert. Someone was at the door.

He sat up, his chest tightening. The faint blue glow of the sphere still illuminated his desk, the strange artifact as mysterious as when he’d first seen it. He had hidden it in his coat pocket hours ago, but it still felt like it radiated an invisible weight, suffusing the small room with tension.

The pounding came again. Coza hesitated. No one visited him. The Harbor wasn’t the sort of place where people dropped by unannounced unless they were desperate—or dangerous.

Sliding out of bed, he crossed the room silently, his bare feet against the cold floor. He didn’t activate the door’s camera feed. Whoever was out there, he’d rather not give away that he was inside.

The pounding ceased, replaced by an eerie silence. Coza leaned closer to the door, his breath shallow. He almost flinched when a low voice cut through the quiet.

“Coza Lin?” the voice called. It was calm, unnervingly so. “We know you’re in there.”

Coza froze, his mind racing. The voice was unfamiliar, its tone too measured to belong to anyone he worked with. He thought back to the crate, the device he had taken, and the malfunctioning systems. He didn’t need to be a genius to connect the dots.

“Open the door,” the voice continued, now sharper. “You’ve been flagged for non-compliance.”

Coza stepped back, glancing toward the sphere. Its glow pulsed faintly, as though mocking him. He didn’t know what it was or why it mattered, but it was clear now that someone wanted it—badly enough to come to his home.

The voice spoke again, but this time it wasn’t alone. Another voice, this one female, muttered something he couldn’t make out, and then the sound of metal scraping against the lock filled the air.

They were breaking in.

Coza didn’t wait to see who they were. He grabbed the sphere and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his coat, slinging the garment over his shoulders as he moved. The room offered no real hiding places—just a narrow window overlooking the Harbor’s lower platforms. Without thinking, he slid it open and climbed out, his hands gripping the rain-slick ledge.

Below, the drop wasn’t fatal, but it wasn’t comforting either. Catwalks and loading arms crisscrossed the space between buildings, a treacherous web of industrial decay. He heard the door behind him splinter, the sound carrying over the drumming rain.

“Find him!” a voice barked.

Coza didn’t look back. He swung himself over the ledge, his boots skidding against the metal framework as he landed. The Harbor stretched out in every direction, its maze of platforms and scaffolding offering both escape routes and dead ends.

A sharp whirring sound cut through the rain. Coza glanced upward to see a drone emerge from the shadows, its red sensor light sweeping across the catwalks. His heart leapt into his throat. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen enforcement drones, but it was the first time one was looking for him.

He ducked behind a rusted girder, the cold metal pressing against his back as the drone hovered closer. Its scanner emitted a rhythmic hum, searching for any trace of him. Coza clenched his fists, willing himself to stay still, even as rain soaked his hair and dripped down his face.

Then, a sudden burst of static. The drone veered sharply, its sensor flickering before it zipped away, disappearing into the Harbor’s labyrinth.

Coza didn’t question his luck. He moved quickly, darting down a narrow walkway and descending a series of precarious ladders. The voices of his pursuers faded into the distance, swallowed by the Harbor’s endless noise.

Coza’s frantic escape eventually brought him to one of the Harbor’s lower districts, a sprawling marketplace known as the Verge. The air here was dense with the smell of fried synth-meat and oil, and the crowd buzzed with the sounds of bartering and shouted arguments. Hawkers pushed carts laden with illicit tech and questionable food, their voices rising above the din.

The Verge was where the Harbor’s forgotten came to survive. No enforcement drones patrolled here, and the AI’s presence was felt only in the form of outdated surveillance equipment that barely functioned. If Coza could blend in anywhere, it was here.

He pulled his hood low over his face, his eyes scanning the stalls and makeshift kiosks. His pursuers hadn’t followed him this far—or if they had, they were clever enough not to make themselves known. Still, his every nerve was on edge.

As he moved through the throng, a figure stepped into his path. Coza stopped short, his hand instinctively moving to the pocket where the sphere was hidden.

“Lost something?” the figure asked. It was a young woman, her tone sharp but not hostile. Her hair was shaved on one side, the other half dyed a vivid green that seemed to glow under the dim market lights. She wore a patched jacket covered in insignias from long-dead corporations, and her gaze was piercing.

“No,” Coza said, his voice tight.

The woman’s eyes flicked to his coat, then back to his face. She smirked. “You look like someone with a problem.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “But if you weren’t, I’d suggest you avoid the southern docks. Heard there’s trouble brewing down there.”

Coza frowned, unsure whether she was warning him or baiting him. Before he could respond, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared.

Coza didn’t head to the southern docks, but her words lingered in his mind as he made his way to a quieter corner of the Verge. He found a shadowed alcove beneath a canopy of frayed tarps, its only occupant a hunched vendor tinkering with a mechanical arm. Coza ignored the man and sat on an overturned crate, pulling the sphere from his pocket.

The device’s glow seemed brighter now, its surface faintly warm against his palm. Coza turned it over, searching for a seam or an activation switch, but it remained inscrutable. Yet, as he stared at it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him as much as he was examining it.

“What are you?” he murmured.

The vendor glanced up briefly, his mechanical eye whirring as it focused on the sphere. He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it, returning to his work in silence.

Coza slipped the device back into his coat, his thoughts racing. Whoever had come for him earlier wasn’t just after the sphere—they were after what it represented. He didn’t know why, but he knew one thing for certain: if they wanted it, it was worth holding on to.

The rain began to pick up again, drumming against the makeshift canopy above. Coza sat in silence, the weight of the day settling on him. For the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that his life would never return to its previous monotony. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, the thought didn’t terrify him as much as it should have.

Above, the neon lights of the Harbor flickered, casting fractured shadows across the Verge. Somewhere, in the chaos of the city, answers awaited—but so did danger. Coza didn’t know which would find him first.

And perhaps, he thought, it didn’t matter.