The escape tunnel spat them out into a disused maintenance conduit, the air thick with the smell of decay and lubricants gone rancid.
Rusthaven's guts. Alex's side throbbed, a venomous counterpoint to the bewildering thrum of new sensations pulsing beneath his skin. He felt… crowded. Not physically, but in his head.
"The Echoes," Voss said, noticing his distraction as he rubbed his temples.
They were holed up in a derelict pump station, barely more than a rusted shell, the rhythmic clang of distant machinery a perverse lullaby.
"When you absorb a Core's energy, you sometimes get… imprints. Fragments of the original user's strong emotions, or even fleeting memories. Especially with a traumatic absorption, like yours."
Alex nodded slowly. That explained the phantom rage that had boiled up when he'd faced the bounty hunter – an aggressive certainty that wasn't his own.
And a recurring flash: a UGF barracks locker, a worn photo of a smiling woman, a feeling of grim duty. The Enforcer's.
"It's disorienting," Voss continued, checking the seals on her scavenged water purifier. "But it can also be… insightful. Combat instincts you didn't earn, knowledge you never learned. The stronger the absorption, the clearer the Echoes. Consider it a… hazardous bonus."
Hazardous was right. The Enforcer's cold resolve felt alien, invasive. Alex clenched his fists. "How do I make it stop?"
Voss gave him a sympathetic look. "You don't, entirely. You learn to differentiate. To filter. It'll take time, control. For now, focus. Your own thoughts, your own will. They're still in there."
Survival, however, demanded more immediate focus. Their escape had been clean, but they were exposed, without supplies or a solid plan beyond 'don't get caught'.
Alex's scavenger instincts, honed over years of navigating Rusthaven's treacherous underbelly, kicked in.
"We need food, water. Maybe some untraceable cred-stims if we can find a shadow vendor who isn't too chatty." His pre-mutation skills were still valuable. Perhaps more so now.
He used the faint, absorbed strength – it felt like a subtle enhancement, making his movements more assured, his grip stronger – to pry open a rusted maintenance hatch leading to a network of forgotten service crawlspaces.
The faint Static Core echo was less useful here, just a nervous energy thrumming at his fingertips. He had to consciously suppress the urge to discharge it, worried about leaving an energy signature.
They moved through the shadows, Alex leading, his eyes scanning for old security sensors, his ears tuned to the slightest unnatural sound.
Rusthaven was a dangerous place even when you weren't being hunted by the UGF and bounty hunters. Gangs like the Crimson Syndicate ruled entire sectors with iron fists and readily available black-market Cores.
Their luck ran out in a cramped utility corridor near a scav-market notorious for its 'no questions asked' policy. Three figures blocked their path – local thugs, by their patched-up armor and crudely modified slugthrowers.
The leader, a burly man with a jagged scar across his face and a dull, flickering 'Impact' Core barely visible on his chest plate (likely a damaged, third-hand implant), sneered.
"Well, well. Look what the pipes dragged in. Lost, little rats?" His gaze lingered on Voss's satchel. "Hand over your valuables. And maybe we forget we saw you."
Alex stepped slightly in front of Voss. His street-smart cynicism told him these encounters rarely ended well, even with compliance. "We're just passing through. No trouble."
Scarface chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "Trouble finds those who look like they have something to lose. And the Doc here," he nodded at Voss, "looks like she's got plenty worth taking."
One of his cronies, wiry and twitchy, took a step forward, hand reaching out.
Alex felt the Enforcer's aggressive echo surge, a cold desire to neutralize the threat. But this time, something else mixed with it – his own desperate need to protect Voss, the only person who understood what was happening to him.
He moved first. Faster than he thought possible. His old agility, born from rooftop chases and dodging corporate security patrols, combined with the subtle boost from the absorbed Strength Core. He sidestepped the crony's grab, his hand shooting out to grip the man's wrist.
And then, the Spark. Not accidental this time. He focused, channeling that crackling energy, visualizing the Enforcer's baton. A more potent blue flash erupted from his palm, directly into the thug's arm.
The man screamed, dropping his slugthrower, his limb convulsing from the bio-electric shock.
Scarface roared, "What the—Core-freak!" He lunged, his own Impact Core flaring – a shimmer of kinetic force around his fist.
Alex didn't have time to think, only react. He ducked under the clumsy punch, feeling the air buffet past his head. He brought his own fist up, not with finesse, but with that raw, borrowed strength. It connected with Scarface's jaw.
CRUNCH.
The thug staggered back, surprise warring with pain on his face. Alex felt a jolt travel up his arm – not just from the impact, but a faint, almost imperceptible tingle from Scarface's damaged Core. Had he… absorbed something else? There was no time to analyze.
The third thug, seeing his leader and companion downed, hesitated. Alex pressed the advantage, his movements now a clumsy but effective blend of street brawling and nascent Core power. He feinted with a spark, then delivered a solid kick to the man's knee.
It was messy. Brutal. Alex was breathing hard, his side screaming in protest, but they were standing. The thugs were groaning on the grimy floor.
"Not bad," Voss said, her voice carefully neutral, though her eyes were wide as she took in the scene. "A little… uncontrolled, but you're learning to channel it deliberately." She looked at Scarface. "He had a low-grade Impact Core. Did you feel anything?"
Alex flexed his hand. "A… vibration. A faint push when I hit him?" It was barely there, like a muscle twitch.
"Potential synergy," Voss mused, a spark of excitement in her academic tone. "Strength and Impact. Crude, but… intriguing. Your control is the key. And practice. Lots of it."
She sobered. "This was low-level. The UGF, Commander Zane's forces… they won't be so easily surprised. We need allies, Alex. Real ones."
He nodded, the adrenaline starting to fade, leaving him shaky. "Who?"
"There's a rebel cell operating deep in the Warrens. They call themselves the Crows. Led by a man named Kai. He's got a Stealth Core, a knack for pissing off the UGF, and a reputation for not trusting anyone."
Voss's gaze became distant. "But he hates the Federation more than he fears the unknown. And right now, we're very unknown."
She pointed down a particularly dark and uninviting tunnel. "Their territory starts a few klicks that way. Getting an audience will be the first challenge."
As they prepared to move, Alex noticed something new scrawled on the grimy wall beside them, almost invisible in the dim light: a stark, black silhouette of a bird in flight, its wings spread wide. A crow.
Voss saw him looking. "Kai's mark. He knows how to make an impression."
She then gave a wry smile. "Finding Kai won't be easy, and convincing him to help someone like you… someone with abilities that could make you a target for every faction in Rusthaven… even harder. But he's our best shot at surviving the week."
The unspoken truth hung heavy in the stale air: Alex wasn't just a target anymore. He was a weapon. And everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece.