#NotWorthReading JustMoveAlongPeople NothingToSeeHere

[chimeraonceagain]

Just a random story.

The air was thick with the stench of exhaust fumes and gunpowder as Alex Cruz stepped off the bus into the outskirts of San Luis Potosí. His eyes scanned the streets, lingering on the faded graffiti that marked gang territory. The city had changed in the years he’d been away—changed for the worse. The sidewalks were cracked, the buildings decaying, and the people walked with their heads down, hoping to avoid the chaos that ruled the streets. The gang wars were worse now, fiercer than when his family was killed. And it was all too clear: the police weren’t going to stop it. They couldn’t.

Alex tightened the straps of the military backpack slung over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the gear inside. The weight of a war he hadn’t left behind—just traded one battlefield for another. He was done with the special forces, done with following orders that led nowhere. His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead, toward the heart of the city that had taken everything from him. No more orders. No more chain of command. From now on, it was his war, fought on his terms.

As he approached his childhood home—abandoned for years, its walls now crumbling and marked by the passing of time—he paused. His parents’ old electronics repair shop had once been his refuge, where he’d learned to tinker with gadgets, to make things work. Now, it would become something else entirely. A base. A fortress. The birthplace of something new. Something dangerous.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the scent of dust and decay rushing out to greet him. He stepped inside, dropping his bag on the floor with a heavy thud. The room was dark, but his senses were sharp—military training had taught him to feel the space, to hear the smallest creak of wood or shift of air. He flicked on the single overhead light, casting a dim glow over the workbenches cluttered with old tools and broken radios. His father’s workbench, still standing after all these years, was where it all began.

Now, it was where something else would begin.

*Three Days Later*

Alex stood in front of the workbench, sweat dripping down his face, his fingers sore from hours of assembling, wiring, and coding. His old military gear was spread out beside him: fatigues, tactical vests, a sniper rifle, a silenced pistol. His old life. But on the table, pieced together from parts salvaged from the shop, was the foundation of something new—a rough prototype of a suit that would soon become his armor. It wasn’t much yet: light body armor with a few reinforced plates, a tactical vest equipped with simple tools. But it was enough. Enough to start.

His eyes flicked to the corner of the room where a laptop hummed softly, its screen illuminated with lines of code. He had named it **Nyx**, a rudimentary AI system he’d begun developing just days before. It wasn’t much more than a simple learning algorithm now, but it had potential. Every command he fed it, every problem he asked it to solve, helped it learn, adapt, grow. Nyx was the key—the bridge between his expertise in electronics and the war he was about to wage.

He wiped his brow, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of the screen.

"Nyx," he muttered. The AI’s interface blinked to life, a cursor awaiting his command.

> "Yes, Alex," the computerized voice replied, mechanical and emotionless for now. "What is your request?"

"Access local gang activity. Any known reports from law enforcement or recent news. I want to know who’s running the streets."

Nyx processed the request for a few seconds before pulling up a detailed map of the city. Red zones lit up across the screen, each one representing gang territory, each one a battleground. Alex’s stomach tightened. The city was carved into pieces, each controlled by a different faction. This wasn’t just about avenging his family anymore—it was about saving a city on the brink of collapse.

"Multiple reports of violence in the western sector," Nyx reported. "Main activity linked to La Espada Sangrienta."

Alex’s eyes narrowed. *La Espada Sangrienta*—the Blood Sword. The same gang that had slaughtered his family. They were still active, still tearing through the city with impunity. His jaw clenched, and he rose from the chair, pulling the tactical vest over his shoulders. His gear wasn’t advanced yet. The suit still had a long way to go before it could become the high-tech armor he envisioned. But this would do for now.

He holstered his silenced pistol, strapped his sniper rifle to his back, and glanced at Nyx’s display one last time. The AI was still crude, but it was learning. Growing. Soon, it would be a tool he could rely on. For now, it was enough to give him a slight edge.

"Nyx, keep tracking their movements. If you detect any shift in their operations, notify me immediately."

> "Understood, Alex."

With a final nod, Alex pulled a balaclava over his face, concealing his identity. The city would soon learn to fear him. But not yet. Tonight was only a test run. A first strike.

---

The night was thick with fog as Alex made his way through the city, moving like a ghost through the narrow alleyways and forgotten streets. His boots barely made a sound as he weaved between shadowed buildings, the gear he carried perfectly balanced from years of military experience. He kept his head low, blending in with the darkness, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, for threats.

He found his target easily enough. A warehouse on the city’s west side, where *La Espada Sangrienta* had set up a temporary base. Two guards were stationed outside, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders, their faces twisted with boredom. Amateurs.

Alex dropped to a crouch behind a parked car, pulling his sniper rifle off his back. He set up quickly, the motions instinctive after years of training. He peered through the scope, his breathing slowing, his mind clearing. He squeezed the trigger.

*Pop.*

The silenced rifle barely made a sound as the first guard dropped. Before the second one could react, Alex fired again, the second bullet finding its mark. Both bodies hit the ground without a sound.

He moved quickly, retrieving his rifle and sprinting toward the warehouse. The doors were old, rusted—no alarms, no cameras. Sloppy. But Alex wasn’t surprised. These street-level thugs were arrogant, untouchable in their own minds. He pushed the door open slowly, slipping inside.

The interior was dimly lit, crates stacked haphazardly along the walls, the air thick with the scent of gasoline. Voices echoed from the far side of the warehouse, but Alex ignored them. His target wasn’t here to play hero. He wasn’t here to save the day. This was a surgical strike.

He knelt beside one of the crates, pulling a small explosive charge from his pack. It was a simple device—just enough to destroy their supply lines, make a statement. He placed it carefully, setting the timer for thirty seconds. Then, as silently as he had come, he slipped back out into the night.

As Alex melted into the shadows, the explosion shook the ground behind him, flames licking up into the sky. It was a start. A warning.

But this was only the beginning.

---

Back at the workshop, Alex sat in front of the laptop again, staring at the map of the city. The explosion had taken out one of *La Espada Sangrienta’s* key supply points, but the war was far from over. His fingers drummed on the table as he watched Nyx analyze the aftermath. He needed more than just brute force. He needed to be smarter, faster. Better.

"Nyx," he said quietly, his eyes narrowing. "We need to upgrade."

> "Understood, Alex," Nyx replied. "Beginning analysis of potential suit enhancements."

Alex leaned back, his heart still pounding from the night’s events. The fight was just beginning, and so was he.

Nyx was learning. The suit was evolving. And soon, so would Alex.