Neon flickered through the rain-slicked streets, a tortured symphony of color drowning out the chaos beneath. Tarrant Collins leaned against the crumbling wall of a dilapidated building, the damp air heavy with the stench of burnt circuitry and despair. All around him, the city writhed in its own grotesque beauty, an entire ecosystem of lost souls and scattered dreams. The electric hum of nearby holo-ads painted the night in garish shades of pink and lime, each image a reminder of the lives that could have been. But Tarrant wasn’t interested in what could have been; he was anchored in the self-inflicted shambles of his own existence.
He lit a cigarette, the flickering tip illuminating his weathered features—the eyes shadowed by weariness, a jaw roughened by days without a razor. The smoke curled from his lips, dissipating into the clammy air, leaving behind a bitter reminder of the choices he had made. Choices that had brought him here, to the underbelly of New Eden, a city sprawling with opportunity but rife with danger. The gangsters ruled these streets like ghosts haunting the ruins of a once-great civilization. And Tarrant? He had once danced boldly among them.
A fleeting figure caught his attention. A child, no more than ten, darted past him, her ragged clothes a patchwork of hand-me-downs and stolen fabric. Her dark eyes were wide, reflecting the flickering neon like twin voids. She was one of many, the forgotten, the overlooked. As she vanished around the corner, Tarrant felt a clenching in his chest, a longing mixed with guilt—the girl reminded him of a time he had chosen the wrong side, a time he had been too selfish to care.
It had been three years since he first met Anton Reed, the city’s most notorious gangster. Every corner of New Eden whispered his name, resonating with both fear and respect. Anton was a force of nature, his empire built on a foundation of violence, cybernetic enhancements, and ruthless ambition. Back then, Tarrant had seen the opportunity, a way to rise from the stagnant sewer of his existence. He had admired Anton’s power—the way he commanded loyalty with mere words and a smile that hid a thousand daggers.
Tarrant had become Anton’s right-hand man, a role that quickly escalated into a lavish nightmare. Night after night, they’d paraded through the city like kings, plucking the ambitions of men from their chests like ripe fruit. The thrill of the action, the adrenaline of the heist, engulfed him with a sense of purpose. It was easy to get high on that power, to forget the morality that anchored most men. But as Tarrant climbed higher, the cost of that climb became increasingly apparent.
In the underbelly of New Eden, domination came with a price. Power demanded respect, and respect often required blood. It wasn’t long before he lost sight of the man he used to be, mired in a haze of violence and betrayal. He still recalled the night that changed everything—the night he betrayed Anton.
It had started as a simple job, a cybernetic implant with a hidden payload stolen from a rival gang. Tarrant had underestimated the depths of his ambition, and when the rival gang responded, it was a bloodbath. Two of Anton’s lieutenants lay dead, their lifeless bodies littering the streets like discarded trash. And Tarrant, in that moment, panicked. He turned to the other side, to the group that had once been their enemies, hoping to find a way out. It was an act of desperation, of cowardice, and the moment that he crossed the line could have cost Anton his life. It would have, if Anton hadn’t opted for a brutal brand of forgiveness—the kind that came with chains and a looming death sentence.
Now, Anton ruled with an iron fist, puppeteering the very streets Tarrant haunted, the streets that were now haunting him. The guilt twisted inside him, a gnawing, insistent presence that made sleep a distant memory. The child he’d just seen, that embodiment of innocence and vulnerability, served as a constant reminder of the lives he had shattered, all in the name of greed and ambition. It had become a cycle—a cycle of desperation feeding more desperation.
As he crushed the remnants of his cigarette beneath his boot, Tarrant’s resolve solidified with each pang of regret. He was done hiding. Done allowing the guilt to fester like an untreated wound. New Eden needed to shift, needed to rise from the ashes of its own folly, and he was the only one left who could pave a new path. He needed to confront Anton, to right the wrongs that had spiraled from that fateful night—no matter the cost.
Dragging his feet toward Anton’s enclave—an old skyscraper whose façade was a Christ-like mix of tear-streaked glass and rusty beams—Tarrant felt the weight of his decisions press down with every stride. Raucous laughter bubbled from within, blending with the beat of the city outside, a mocking reminder of the life he once reveled in. Inside, the lights danced like fireflies, casting shadows that swallowed the faces of men who had lost their humanity long ago.
Anton was at the heart of it all, perched behind a bar of blackened steel, his presence as commanding as the first day they met. “Tarrant!” Anton’s voice sliced through the chatter, a sharp knife cutting through warm butter. “You’ve come back, I see. I was beginning to think you’d drown in your own guilt.”
Tarrant stepped forward, the acrid taste of fear and determination curling on his tongue. “I want out, Anton. I want to make amends.”
The laughter that erupted from Anton’s gang was filled with mockery, but Tarrant held his ground. Anton’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he contemplated his former ally.
“Out?” Anton asked, his tone a blend of incredulity and amusement. “Do you think you can just walk away from this life? You know too much. You’ve become a liability. And liabilities—” he leaned in closer, “They don’t get to leave.”
Tarrant’s heart hammered in his chest. “I want to help. Not just myself, but everyone caught in this mess. The kids, the families… we can change things. We can build something better.”
“Change? You think you can be the herald of virtue in these corrupt streets?” Anton laughed, a sound like glass shattering. “You’re delusional. The only thing this city understands is power. And power, Tarrant, is built on blood.”
“Then let’s change how we wield it,” Tarrant insisted, desperation clawing at him. “Let’s give them something to believe in instead of fear.”
The air thickened with tension, and for a moment, Anton regarded Tarrant as if seeing him for the first time. “What you’re asking for is death. Do you understand that?” he asked, the menace in his voice unmistakable.
Tarrant swallowed hard, the heat of resolve boiling under the surface. “If it means freeing the people from your grip, then so be it.”
For a second, silence stretched, the cacophony of the room fading into insignificance as Tarrant and Anton locked eyes. In that moment, Tarrant felt something shift, a brief flicker of recognition that transcended their power struggle, a reminder of their shared history. It was amber-stained nostalgia, a bond spattered with blood and greed, now tainted with regret.
But Anton’s smile returned, twisted with malice. “You think you can take me down? You’re a fool, Tarrant. A pathetic, misguided fool.” He gestured to his men, who moved in closer, shadows dancing like wolves around their prey. “You really should have stayed in the shadows.”
Tarrant’s heart raced, the primal instinct to flee gnawing at him. But running would never resolve the pain, the regret. With a surge of adrenaline, he shouted, “No! I won’t let you do this to anyone else!” And then he lunged forward, the heat of desperation igniting every nerve in his body.
Gunfire erupted. The acrid stench of gunpowder blended with the overwhelming scent of fear and sweat. Tarrant’s heart pounded in time with the chaos, but he moved with conviction, striking against Anton’s men like a force of nature. He couldn’t let them continue the cycle of violence. Not for the child he had seen earlier, and surely not for himself.
Blood painted the walls as limbs tangled in a grotesque ballet, and in that chaos, Tarrant confronted Anton once more. The two men stood toe-to-toe, two titans caught in a ruthless embrace of fate as the ferocity around them faded into the background. “It’s over, Anton!” Tarrant shouted, his fists clenching, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Over? This is just the beginning!” Anton hissed, his voice venomous and cold. But Tarrant wasn’t afraid anymore. With a fierce determination, he lunged forward and tackled Anton to the ground. In a moment that felt eternal, their bodies collided, the impact resonating with the weight of every wrong choice Tarrant had ever made.
The world around them blurred, and in that chaos, Tarrant saw a glimpse of freedom—the girl in the streets, the hope of a new beginning, and the redemption that came not from power but from the courage to face one’s sins. He could end this, he could change everything.
And as the two men grappled, Tarrant felt the chains of guilt break away, freeing him like a phoenix rising. The fight transformed into something primal, something human, and in that moment, he became a catalyst—not just for himself but for those who had been trapped in the darkness.
In the aftermath, the sirens wailed in the distance, lamenting the violence and chaos that had erupted in the heart of New Eden. The city was still a long way from salvation, but Tarrant felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Sometimes, to change the world, one must first confront the shadows lurking inside. And sometimes, redemption came not from avoiding pain, but from embracing it head-on.
The rain began to fall as he stepped into the streets once more, each drop washing away the remnants of a past he could never reclaim. He glanced back at the skeletal remains of the skyscraper, then forward into the neon haze that stretched towards the horizon. The hard neon lights shimmering with an almost ethereal glow. A long road lay ahead, but he would forge it anew, one step at a time, for every child, every soul waiting to be rescued from the blighted promise of the city they called home.