Illphated
No Fool
The neon rain dripped from the rooftops, pooling in the cracks of the decayed city streets. Towering holograms flickered above, advertising dreams that were never real. In the heart of Neo-Phoenix, Gabriel “Ghost” Lozen leaned against a steel pillar, watching the city breathe.
He wasn’t fooled by the bright lights or the corporate lies. His ancestors had seen through illusions long before neon replaced the stars. The megacorps thought they could buy the land, rewrite history, and turn warriors into obedient cogs in their machines. They thought they could fool an Apache.
They were wrong.
Ghost had been tracking them for weeks—the men in black suits and mirrored visors who moved like shadows, whispering about a “reclamation project.” He had seen them scan old burial grounds with their drones, searching for something ancient beneath the asphalt. He knew their type. They didn’t respect the past; they wanted to own it.
Tonight, they would learn.
Moving through the backstreets, Ghost was a phantom. His cybernetic augments were the best the black market could offer, but his real edge came from the old ways—silent footsteps, patience, and knowing when to strike.
The meeting was at a derelict train station, where the old world met the new. The corp men stood in a tight formation, exchanging data chips and hushed words. One of them, a smooth talker in a silver-lined suit, was explaining their next move:
“The land is ours now. The council signed it over last night. Full excavation starts at dawn.”
Ghost stepped from the shadows.
“Funny,” he said. “I don’t recall my people ever giving away what’s ours.”
The men turned, hands reaching for concealed weapons. But Ghost wasn’t waiting. In a blur, he moved—disruptors shorting out their visors, blade slicing through polymer armor. One went down before he even knew he was dead. Another staggered, gasping as Ghost’s tomahawk—a blend of steel and energy—cut through his chest.
The smooth talker tried to run, but Ghost grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against a rusted pillar. “You thought we wouldn’t notice? You thought we wouldn’t fight?”
The man stammered, fear in his eyes. “It’s just business.”
Ghost shook his head. “That’s your first mistake.”
The city hummed around them, indifferent as ever. The megacorps believed they owned everything. But some things couldn’t be bought. Some warriors never forgot.
And an Apache is many things.
But not a fool.