echos of the Grid

Kai didn't stop moving until the city swallowed him whole. He wove through backstreets and under overpasses, the morpher's faint glow his only guide in Gotham's labyrinth of gloom. His sneakers slapped against cracked pavement, each step pounding a question into his skull: *What am I?* Dead kid from Miami? Medieval ghost? Or just a freak with a toy he didn't understand? The fight with those goons replayed in his head—too fast, too easy, like he'd done it a thousand times before. But he hadn't. Not *him*.

He finally slowed near an abandoned lot, chest heaving, and slumped against a chain-link fence. The air was thick with the tang of oil and decay, and a busted streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting jittery shadows. The morpher sat quiet on his wrist, its crystal dim but watchful. Kai glared at it, half-tempted to smash it against the fence and be done with it. Except it'd saved him twice now. And that voice—it knew things. Things he didn't.

"Okay, riddle bot," he muttered, tapping the crystal. "You dragged me into this. Least you can do is explain."

A soft hum answered, then the voice—calm, metallic, edged with something ancient—spoke in his mind. "Query acknowledged. Memory sync required. Accessing host data."

"Host data? What—" Kai's words cut off as the world tilted. His vision blurred, green light flaring from the morpher, and then he wasn't in Gotham anymore.

He stood on a windswept hill, grass swaying under a sky streaked with storm clouds. The air smelled of earth and iron, and his hands—calloused, scarred, *not his*—gripped a sword. Chainmail clinked against his chest, heavy but familiar. Ahead, a battlefield stretched out, littered with bodies and broken banners. A man in dark armor loomed over him, face hidden behind a helm, voice cold as stone.

"You swore loyalty, Kaelric," the figure said, raising a blade dripping red. "And yet you defy me."

Kai—or Kaelric—snarled, voice rougher, older. "You stole it. The Grid's power was never yours to wield." He lunged, sword clashing against the man's, sparks flying. Pain seared his side—a wound he hadn't felt until now—and then the man's blade sank deep. Betrayal burned hotter than the steel. The last thing he saw was a glowing shard, green as the morpher's crystal, clutched in the traitor's fist.

The vision snapped shut. Kai gasped, back in the lot, gripping the fence so hard his knuckles whitened. His side ached, a phantom echo of that stab, and sweat beaded on his forehead. "Kaelric," he whispered. "That was me. Or… it *was* me."

The morpher pulsed. "Memory sync complete. Past designation: Kaelric of Dornholt. Knight of the Grid Order. Terminated 1274 AD. Current designation: Kai Reyes. Reborn host."

"Reborn?" Kai's laugh was shaky, borderline hysterical. "So I died back then, and now I'm… what? Your new meat puppet?" He shoved off the fence, pacing. "Why me? What's the Grid Order? And who was that guy?"

"Data incomplete," the morpher replied, infuriatingly serene. "Grid corruption detected in prior host cycle. Current objective: Protect. Further directives pending."

"Protect what?" Kai snapped. "You? Me? Gotham? Give me something I can use!" Silence. He groaned, kicking a rusted can across the lot. It clattered against a pile of junk, and the noise bounced back louder than it should've. Too loud.

Footsteps crunched behind him. Kai spun, fists up, morpher flaring. A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, lean, with a red helmet glinting under the streetlamp. A gun rested casually in one hand, aimed at the ground but ready. Red Hood. Kai knew him from comics, from late-night internet dives, but seeing him in the flesh—or Kevlar—hit different. The guy radiated danger, like a predator sizing up prey.

"Nice light show," Red Hood said, voice distorted through the helmet. "You're the one who's been pissing off the local trash, huh?"

Kai swallowed, keeping his hands visible. "I didn't start it. They came after me."

"Yeah, I saw the leftovers. Three-on-one, and you walked away. Not bad, kid." He tilted his head, the gun twitching slightly. "Problem is, you're not just tripping over muggers. Those guys had orders. Someone's got a leash on 'em, and it's tugging your way."

Kai's gut twisted. "Orders? From who?"

"Working on that." Red Hood stepped closer, and Kai tensed, the morpher humming a warning. "What I wanna know is what's with the glowstick. Tech like that doesn't just fall outta the sky."

"It didn't," Kai said, too fast. He clamped his mouth shut, cursing himself. Red Hood's helmet hid his eyes, but Kai felt the stare—like a laser burning through his skull.

"Funny," Red Hood said, holstering the gun but not relaxing an inch. "You're not from around here, are you? And I don't mean Jersey."

Before Kai could answer, a roar split the night—tires squealing, an engine revving hard. A van barreled into the lot, headlights blinding, and the side door slid open. Four figures spilled out, masked and armed, moving like they'd trained for this. The morpher blazed, voice sharp. "Threat escalation. Morph advised."

Red Hood drew twin pistols in a blur. "Looks like your fan club's here. You ready to dance, glowstick?"

Kai didn't have time to think. The armor snapped over him, visor locking in, and he charged as gunfire erupted. Whatever he'd been—Kaelric, Kai, or something else—he was in it now. And Gotham wasn't letting go.

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