Vane collapsed, his systems rebooting in a frantic loop of red error codes. The crowd went silent, then erupted. Jax didn't wait for the cheers. He grabbed the voucher for his cleared debt from the bookie’s hand and disappeared into the Nilxro fog, his arm still trailing smoke.
When the buzzer rang, Vane moved like a blur of chrome. His first strike dented Jax’s chest plate, sending a shower of sparks across the concrete. Jax stumbled, his vision glitching. He knew he couldn't outpace Vane’s military-grade processors. He had to lead the enforcer into the "Blind Spot"—the chaotic interference caused by the tower’s aging power core.
Vane’s advanced sensors flickered and died. For three seconds, the corporate predator was blind. Jax didn't waste them. He swung a heavy, unguided haymaker that connected squarely with Vane’s neck joint. The sound of shearing metal echoed through the tower.
The city of was never truly dark; it was a neon-soaked labyrinth of humming circuits and steam-clogged alleys. But tonight, the air felt different—heavy with the ozone smell of a looming "Night Fight," the illegal high-stakes brawls that kept the underworld’s gears turning. The Challenger