ELYSIUM

CHAPTER THREE

Matt awoke with a jolt. His body convulsed against the cold metal slab beneath him, sensors hissing, servers twitching in rebellion. The sharp stink of blood and gasoline assaulted his senses, clinging to his nose like rot. A chemical pine scent hovered beneath it—cleaning fluid perhaps, or some synthetic agent used to scrub memories from this place.

He tried to scream, but only a rasp escaped. Pain rippled through him, a thousand needles piercing flesh and wire. His skin—what was left of it—burned with unnatural heat. Metal groaned beneath the strain of movement. He was no longer just a man.

The dungeon around him pulsed with flickering red light, casting dancing shadows on the grime-streaked walls. The air was thick with smoke, choking and heavy, as if the room itself was suffocating.

“Matt! You’re awake!” a familiar voice cried out.

Rodriguez rushed to his side, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and dread.

“Gracias a Dios,” he whispered.

Matt tried to sit up. Agony surged through his spine. “Where is Memphis?!” he snarled, his voice low and guttural, like an animal cornered.

Rodriguez hesitated. “Matt… he’s—”

“Memphis! He’s awake!” Rodriguez bellowed, fear cracking in his voice.

The steel door groaned open.

From the shadows emerged a figure dressed in black from head to toe. Memphis. A ghost in a man's skin. His alabaster face gleamed like polished bone, eyes sunken deep with the weight of madness. His fingers—long, skeletal—pointed at Matt with surgical precision.

“Matt DeSante,” he hissed. “You owe me.”

Henchmen followed behind him like wraiths, rifles slung and ready, their faces blank under black visors.

“I don’t owe you shit,” Matt barked through clenched teeth.

Memphis’s smirk was slow, venomous. “Oh, but you do. You forget so easily. Before the army. Before your brain was scrubbed clean by the elites—you were mine. You fought for me. And now you come crawling back to the underground like a stray mutt, dragging your rat friend behind you.”

“Don’t talk about Rodriguez like that. He’s an officer of the law,” Matt growled.

“An officer?” Memphis laughed bitterly. “You still believe in justice, Matt? Touching.”

With a snap of his fingers, the henchmen lunged. Rodriguez was ripped away, dragged like garbage across the floor, his screams echoing off the steel.

“What do you want, Memphis?” Matt spat.

Memphis stepped closer, his breath cold on Matt’s cheek. “The elites feed on the bones of the poor. They sit above the world, watching us rot beneath them. You grew soft, DeSante. But I can fix that.”

Matt’s cybernetics sparked violently, his muscles locking in spasm. Sparks danced along his arms. The pain was blinding.

“Now listen carefully,” Memphis whispered. “In two nights, a delegate from Elysium arrives—Thomas Whitely, CEO of Whitely Cybernetics. A man drenched in blood and money. Your task is simple: find him. Bring him to me. Do that… and your wife and daughter walk free.”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “And how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t. That’s what makes it a bargain,” Memphis said, examining his fingernails like the matter bored him.

“If you touch them… if you hurt them,” Matt said, trembling with rage, “I will burn your entire syndicate to the ground.”

“Who, me?” Memphis tilted his head. “I’m just a puppet, DeSante. You’re the weapon. My weapon.”

Memphis turned toward the door, shadows swallowing his form.

“He arrives in two days. Get used to your implants. I’ll assemble a team. Your mission begins soon.”

“Wait!” Matt called out. “What about Rodriguez?”

Memphis paused, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Collateral, Matt. You, of all people, should understand how we operate.”

“That was a long time ago—”

“Be that as it may,” Memphis cut him off, voice razor-sharp. “I hold the strings now. You dance when I say.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the gloom, leaving behind the acrid smoke, the hum of tortured machines, and the furious pounding of Matt DeSante’s cybernetic heart.