THE NEXUS VEIL
Nyther Solis sat at the top of the food chain, white tuxedo clean, cigar burning. He thought the Nexus Veil was his playground. He was wrong. Masked figures bypassed his security in the middle of the party, dragging him out the back door and dropping him into the dense jungle below. No one noticed he was gone until it was too late.
The vegetation down here isn't normal—it hums with electricity. Nyther ran blind, stripped of his empire and his guards. An enemy gunship tore through the clouds, hunting him down. The locals didn't help him hide; they dragged him to an altar to teach him a hard lesson: "Grace" isn't a gift you get for being rich. It's something you bleed for.
The gunship opened fire, turning the tribe to dust in seconds. Nyther didn't freeze. He picked up a blade and fought his way out, cutting through the smoke and the panic. He sprinted for a cave opening that looked less like a rock formation and more like a tear in reality. With the enemy closing in, he had zero choices left.
Nyther jumped into the rift without looking back. He woke up coughing on hard concrete. The jungle was gone. The gunfire was gone. He looked up at a skyline of cold steel and electric billboards that he didn't recognize. "What the fuck?" he whispered. He isn't dead, but he definitely isn't home.