The Grid’s Pulse

The rain hadn't let up, a relentless hiss against Orion Tower's 15th-floor windows as Jun Xi leaned against the bare concrete wall, arms crossed, his faded black hoodie damp from the slums. The clock blinked 1 PM, Neo-Shanghai's gray sprawl stretching below—slums a dark smear, Midtown's neon a jagged pulse through the haze. 30,348,750 Union Coins. That's where he stood, the Money Makes Money System ticking up 1,517,437 UN since midnight, a silent hum in his skull that drowned out the rain's drone. Ten days ago, he'd been nothing—1,500 UN, a slum shack, a life burned to ash with his parents' screams still echoing. Now, XiTech's 50-server grid lay half-dead in the corner, cables spilling like guts, and NexCorp's shadow loomed larger than he'd figured. His dark eyes flicked to the numbers on his phone—MarketPulse sales pinged again, 500 more users, 5 mil UN added—and a calculative smirk tugged his lips. They'd hit him, sure, but he'd hit back harder.

Lina knelt by the grid, her jumpsuit streaked with grease, a wrench in one hand as she ripped out a charred X9 cable—her curse cut through the hum: "Bastards torched the relays—cheap shot." Sparks flew, her dark hair plastered to her neck from sweat and rain, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her grit, her fire, the way she'd stormed into Tara's lair like she owned it. Wife #1 wasn't just a title; she was his spine, and he'd kill to keep her safe. Tara sprawled nearby, boots up on a crate, her holo-pad flickering with code—Midtown's signal danced in green lines, a ghost she couldn't pin yet. "Encrypted to hell," she muttered, her voice rough, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "NexCorp's got teeth—Northern Towers, I'd bet. Give me a day."

Jun Xi pushed off the wall, boots clicking on concrete, his tone chill but sharp. "A day's fine—30 mil UN says we've got time. Lina, grid's up by tomorrow—100 servers, like you said. Tara, crack that signal—I want names." Lina glanced up, smirking through the grease. "Bossy now, huh? 100's tight—X9s'll hold, but power's the bitch. CyberCore's got a quantum hub—50,000 UN. You buying?" He nodded, wiring it from his phone—funds dipped to 29,848,750 UN, then ticked back as interest rolled: 31,366,187 UN. "Done. Kai's hauling it—should be here by 3."

The system chimed, bold and cold: "Funds: 31,366,187 UN. Interest: 1,568,309 UN daily. Mission: Secure XiTech—Reward: 5 mil UN, Network Security Knowledge. Progress: 60%." He smirked—60% meant they were close, and that reward would sharpen his edge. Tara's holo-pad beeped, her grin flashing. "Sales spike—MarketPulse's at 1,500 users, 15 mil UN banked. You're a freak, lightning kid." Lina laughed, raw and bright, tossing a cable aside. "Freak's right—slum boy's rewriting the game."

Jun Xi crouched beside Lina, the server's heat warming his knees, his hand brushing hers—grease-slick, steady. "Game's mine to win. You're the gears—don't burn out." Her eyes met his, fierce but soft, and she nudged him back. "Worry about yourself, Jun Xi—10 days, 30 mil? I'm not the one pushing limits." Her voice dipped, real now. "That fire—your folks—I saw it in you yesterday. You okay?" His gut twisted—rain-soaked roof, her hand on his last night, the memory of ash and screams clawing up. He forced a grin, flirty mask slipping on. "Okay's relative—got you, don't I?" She rolled her eyes, but her smirk stayed—trust, unspoken.

The elevator dinged—Kai burst in, wiry frame hauling a crate, tattoos flexing under his soaked vest. "Quantum hub—50k's worth, slum king. Jia's behind—coding MarketPulse tweaks." His buzzed hair dripped, voice rough with dock grit. "Heard NexCorp's sniffing—my sister's freaking, says they'll crush us." Jia stumbled in after, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad glowing—her voice cracked, eager. "Jun Xi, I boosted MarketPulse—predictive tweak, 5% more sales. You're at 32 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—32,934,496 UN—interest and sales a steady drum.

Jun Xi stood, clapping Kai's shoulder—wet leather creaked. "Crush us? They'll choke trying. Jia, good work—5,000 UN's yours, intern or not." She beamed, rain streaking her glasses, while Kai grunted, "She's a geek—save her pay, I'm fine at 10k." Tara smirked, tossing Kai a mint. "Dock boy's soft—cute." Kai flipped her off, but his grin slipped out.

The room buzzed—Lina wired the hub, its low hum rising, Tara's holo-pad traced the signal, Kai and Jia hauled servers. Jun Xi paced, hoodie dripping, his mind racing—100x learning spun threads: grid specs, power flows, NexCorp's next move. He stopped by the window, rain streaking glass, Midtown's towers glinting like knives. "System," he thought, and it answered: "Funds: 33,502,805 UN. Mission Progress: 70%. Alert: Signal trace active—Midtown confirmed." Northern Towers flickered in his head—NexCorp's heart, maybe, but too far to touch yet.

Lina's shout snapped him back—"Grid's live! 50 servers, hub's purring—100 by dawn if Kai stops whining." Kai groaned, hauling a rack, "Whining's free—lifting's not." Tara laughed, her pad beeping—signal narrowed, a Midtown hub tower. "Getting warm, lightning kid—NexCorp's sloppy." Jun Xi grinned, flirty edge sharp. "Sloppy's their funeral. Lina, push it—Tara, dig deeper."

By 6 PM, the grid pulsed—50 servers glowed, quantum hub a steady thrum, funds hitting 35 mil UN with MarketPulse's climb. Lina slumped against a rack, wiping sweat, her voice low. "100 tomorrow—X9s'll take it. You're insane, Jun Xi—slum to this?" He crouched beside her, rain drumming outside, his hand on her shoulder—warm, real. "Insane's how we win. You're my pulse—don't forget it." She smirked, tired but fierce, leaning into him. "Pulse, huh? Keep flirting, I'll short-circuit you."

Tara cut in, holo-pad glowing—signal traced to Midtown's edge, a hub tower owned by "NexCorp Holdings." "Northern Towers link's next—day or two, I'll crack it. You're stirring shit, Jun Xi—love it." Kai snorted, sprawled on a crate, "Stirring's his job—Jia's coding, I'm lifting, you're hacking. What's next, slum king?" Jun Xi's eyes glinted, rain reflecting neon—35,071,114 UN now. "Next? We grow—NexCorp bleeds."

Night fell, the grid's hum a heartbeat, Neo-Shanghai's slums a dark sea below. Jun Xi stood at the window, Lina beside him, Tara's code scrolling, Kai and Jia bickering over a server. The system whispered: "Funds: 35,071,114 UN. Interest: 1,753,555 UN. Mission Progress: 75%." His smirk widened—75% meant blood in the water, and he'd hunt it. NexCorp thought they'd cracked his grid—but he'd crack their world.