Chapter 2: Black Market Bargains

Coffee burnt the back of my throat as I woke late morning, sunlight sneaking through thin curtains. I sprawled on the bed, mind racing through the night's victory. The sedan door clicked shut below – Iris had already zipped away to recharge her cores, though as always I could summon her with a thought.

Gravity pulled me upright. The system interface hung at the corner of my vision, unobtrusive now but awaiting my next command. I realized I was out of clean socks and short on credits for even a simple meal. A solution formed on my tongue: the Black Market.

"Iris, prepare data comms." I had no qualms about flashing our freshly acquired intel on the net. Hidden dealers and mercenaries would pay good Credon for top-secret corporate info.

She appeared, poised and silent. "Transaction list updated. Post the files or search for outlets?" Her words were clipped, efficient. Master – servant – that's how I felt describing it in my head.

I signed onto the dark web channel we used in secret. Finger-lengthen holograms of cash, coins, and rare items glowed like temptations. Within minutes, bids flooded in. A name caught my eye: Rochester, underground arms broker. A dirty-grin avatar of a broad-shouldered man. He offered 400 Credon for the data package. Not bad for a single score from Virage's vault. I agreed. Transaction complete: +400 Credon. Two coins in Astral value winked on screen. Enough to operate.

Next, I needed gear. Wiping yesterday's adrenaline from my pores, I stepped out into the afternoon city haze. Neon signs reflected in puddles. I hailed a taxi-bot to the Terminal Quarter. I could still feel the thrill of victory beneath my skin: the world hadn't ended after that system pop-up, it had opened up.

In the crowded alleys of the market bazaar, traders hawked everything from bio-implants to outlaw software. I kept a watchful eye on muscle-bound guards patrolling with railguns. Danger was part of profit out here.

I had exactly 400 Credon and a promise I'd get to keep any gear I bought with it. Iris hovered in my jacket, minimizing her silhouette. She carried gear pack after our mission: a sleek cyberdeck, EMP grenades, and a grappling launcher. She rarely spoke of it, but I knew she was eager to test new toys.

I approached a black glass counter where a wizened vendor with mechanical eyes rummaged through holos. "Fifteen EMPs, ten shock gels. Total?" I guessed. He snorted, "That'd be 75 Credon, kid. But you look like you know how to spend."

Bargaining was possible, but it never hurt to pay up. Dropped 75 Credon on the table. Credon: 325 left. Iris quietly observed, arms folded. She never complained if I spent – after all, I was the master.

Next, I needed something for hacking remote systems. The cyberdeck was serviceable, but not enough against the high-firewalls I sensed at Virage or worse. I eyed a rust-streaked crate labeled "Neural Crypto-Injector". Perfect.

The deck specialist, a thin man with neon-green dreadlocks, explained price: 3 Astral. My stomach clenched. I didn't have any Astral currency except the single coin we'd earned – which I intended to save for something crucial.

"Can't you do credon, boss?" I asked.

He snorted. In this corner of the world, one Astral was around ten Credon. Three Astral was thirty Credon – triple what I had. "Not a chance, friend. Very rare tech." His eyes bored into mine. I was polite, but diplomatic: "Alright, I'll pass."

He shrugged: "Suit yourself. Most can't even afford 0.5 Astral." And he went back to buzzing on his gadget.

I spat on the sidewalk. Great, so many Astral I'd earned as bragging rights. It was frustrating — like having top-shelf liquor but a locked bar. But I nodded to myself: Patience. My strategy had to adapt. In a system world, maybe I needed to level up more before splurging.

While Iris computed our budget, I turned to smaller needs: a light rifle with EMP rounds. 200 Credon, heavy but reliable. I gave him the cash. Credon: 125 left. He grinned. Iris whispered statistics in my ear: range 300 meters, lethal shock blast. Good.

With pack full, I withdrew to a quiet corner. Iris materialized by my side in holographic form — no, not form, but aura. "Transaction logs updated, Master. Weapons and tools acquired."

I nodded. "Check local news for those seeking the intel."

She tapped around in cyberspace, and the result made me raise an eyebrow: The underground economy is abuzz. The data had sold well; the intel was now notorious, it seemed Virage's secrets flew fast. Some ganglord bragged he had "Virage in his pocket." That meant trouble. I hated being on someone else's radar, especially big ones.

A clear message popped on my HUD: New Objective – Meet Contact at Warehouse 17, discuss opportunity. The system was active again. Already? This system was relentless, assigning tasks while I was mid shopping. The warehouse was a dirty pit near the docks, ironically a common meet-up spot for unpredictable deals.

I whistled lightly. Opportunity. Intrigued, I accepted: Task: Investigate contact. Potential reward: Astral currency. The promise of Astral sparkled.

"Iris, prep the skimmer. We're heading to Warehouse 17." My voice was calm but my stomach tightened.

Outside the market, dusk had settled. The city's hum was low tonight. We glided through dark streets, silent.

The warehouse loomed rusty and empty in the dockyard lights. Iris tucked herself behind my shoulder, invisible but protective. She moved as if cast in steel, always at attention. I stepped forward carefully. Memories of my first infiltration reminded me: always be ready, trust no one.

From the shadows, a figure emerged: tall, suit, thin blade strapped on leg. "Damon Vale," he said, voice smooth. "We meet at last. Impressive work on Virage's files."

My grip tightened on my new rifle. "Who are you?"

He smiled, teeth glinting metal. "A client. I've been... watching. You do good work. I have a proposition: a high-stakes gambit that pays in Astral. Are you interested?"

I hesitated, scanning him with Iris's silent input. He had the look of a consiglieri from a syndicate – dangerous. But juicy Astral had a way of making me ignore caution.

"Details." I said.

He stepped closer. "Buried in Virage's data was something bigger than biotech. A ledger of global transfers, calling code Shadow Balance." His eyes flicked red in the dim. "They're transferring Astral on a scale that could crash markets. My offer: disrupt it. Half the haul in Astral goes to you."

My heart hammered. This was no petty black market deal. It was war-level politics – and he wanted me on his side. The shadows deepened around us, and for a moment I felt that old familiar thrill.

Astral for more Astral? Too good to pass up.

I glanced at Iris's pixel-blue form. In her code-brain, I knew her concern: this was dangerous. But if I was going to play mastermind, I'd have to wager on big tables. Taking half of something big meant we had the firepower I needed – perhaps that injector after all, or even more. The risk tasted sweet.

I answered the mysterious figure with a calm nod. "I'm listening."

I didn't trust this stranger, but strategy was about taking chances. As he outlined the job – breaking into Virage's mainframe to plant a virus – I felt the old spark of conquest.

By the time the meeting ended, night had fully settled. Armed with a plan and Iris by my side, I walked away from Warehouse 17. The world felt different now: bigger, and full of puzzles.

In my system interface, new goals and a tally of 2 Astral winked up at me. First taste of real coin. The sky was velvet above, promising both danger and fortune. I, Damon Vale, was ready to dance with it.