The Transmutation Tax

11:47 PM | Abandoned Bleecker Street Substation

The crucible glowed like a dying star in my trembling hands. Manhattan's heartbeat thrummed through the subway walls as I whispered the Third Transmutation Verse. The rat carcass between my knees began changing.

"Not fur... not fur..." I chanted through gritted teeth. My sister's hospital monitor beeps echoed in my memory. Thirty-six hours left before organ failure.

The creature's tail dissolved into copper filaments. Good. The Wall Street intern's stolen access card burned in my pocket - tomorrow's infiltration plan required perfect alchemical currency. But the equation felt wrong. My left eye started bleeding.

A memory tore loose.

Mom's hands braiding June's hair. Fourth birthday. Vanilla cake with... with... Gone.

The rat-cyborg hybrid squealed to life, its new microchip brain glowing through translucent skull. Perfect specimen. Another 0.24% of my childhood erased. I collapsed against graffiti-covered walls, tasting battery acid and failure.

Security Feed Transcript | 00:03 AM

Guard 1: "Movement in Sector 7-B."

Guard 2: "More homeless tweakers?"

Guard 1: "Thermal shows... Christ, it's Cross from R&D."

Guard 2: "The whistleblower? But he's been..."

Static. Metal screeching. Feed terminates.

00:17 AM | Arcane Exchange Headquarters

The ventilation shaft deposited me above CEO Argent's office. Moonlight through floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the truth - the entire Financial District laid out like a sacrificial mandala. My stolen retinal scanner froze.

"Evening, Doctor."

Security Chief Voss leaned against the DNA-locked vault, taser baton crackling. My rat creation chose that moment to short-circuit, spraying lubricant across his Italian loafers.

"Pest control prototype," I bluffed, fingers tracing hidden chalk in my sleeve. "Board wants it ready for the Singapore summit."

His smile showed too many teeth. "Funny. Board wants you ready for the solstice."

The emergency sprinklers exploded in crimson liquid as I completed the escape glyph. Last thing I saw - Voss calmly wiping blood-water from his face, the vault door reflecting symbols that shouldn't exist outside my family's grimoire.

1:03 AM | Brooklyn Bridge Anchorage

June's text blinked on my burner phone: Still no match for transplant. The East River shimmered with illegal alchemy runoff. My new creation rusted in its cage - not a cure, just another corporate weapon delayed.

Then my stolen files decrypted.

The schematics glowed - not next-quarter product designs, but a six-kilometer-wide ritual circle. Completion date: Summer solstice. Target: Every subscriber of Argent's new longevity app.

My hands found the subway pillar's fresh graffiti. Without thinking, I translated the tagger's spray paint into containment runes. The concrete warmed beneath my palms, whispering forgotten warnings in Elder Futhark.

The rat-thing gnawed its cage bars. Behind us, something in the river's chemical depths began to answer.

Chapter End Hook:

The app download counter ticked past 10 million as my phone died. June's final memory of me was now officially older than my last childhood recollection. But in the bridge's shadow, the river's whispering waves formed words even a half-amnesiac alchemist couldn't ignore:

They're not harvesting organs.

They're harvesting souls.

This chapter establishes:

Immediate stakes (sister's illness vs memory erosion)Mystical corporate conspiracyUnique magic system rules (memory-based alchemy cost)Action sequences blending modern tech and occultismMysterious worldbuilding breadcrumbs (elder futhark, river entity)