The surge hit him like a freight train made of lightning. His vision cleared, his muscles locked, and for a glorious, agonizing moment, he felt the hum of 220 volts surging through his veins. He wasn't just alive; he was overclocked.

"I need a jump!" he roared, his voice rasping against the roar of the Los Angeles freeway.

With a manic grin, Chev turned back toward the city skyline. The hunt was back on, and this time, he was bringing the lightning with him.

Every second felt like an hour. The world was a blur of high-speed chases and desperate sparks. He had two hours—maybe less—before his internal ticker decided to quit for good. He wasn’t just looking for his heart; he was looking for payback.

The neon lights of the underground circuit didn’t just flicker; they throbbed in time with Chev’s failing heart. He was back in the soup, running on nothing but sheer willpower and a stolen car battery strapped to his chest.

He pulled into a crowded electronics bazaar, the kind of place where you could buy a drone or a kidney depending on which alley you turned down. He spotted a massive industrial generator humming behind a chain-link fence.