David Martinez

  I'm gonna be real: this had to be the weirdest and most convoluted way to arrange an interview. Here's what went down:

  Ever since I got infected with this pathogen, no one can detect me unless I manually add them to my contact list. It's not about being hack-proof or untraceable—it just controls who can actually reach me. So whoever called me had to get creative. They used Doc as a middleman, hacking his agent to forward a gig proposal. And guess who it was from? Or in this case, recommended? Viktor Vector himself.

  Turns out being a Ripperdoc isn’t just about chroming people out. I should've seen that coming, but honestly, I was too zoned out to fully process his explanation. My brain just went brrrr.

  But that wasn't even the weirdest part.

  The real kicker was the Government Agent sitting across from me, looking like he belonged in some secret ops flick.

  “Why the hell did you drag me into a government meeting?!” I snapped at Doc, who, for some reason, was also there.

  “I didn’t know they were feds until they contacted you through me!” Doc threw his hands up defensively. “Besides, I’m in the same boat, so don’t blame it all on me!”

  “Please, gentlemen.” The Black Ops guy stepped in, his voice smooth and measured. “This is a good opportunity for both of you.”

  I crossed my arms, unimpressed. “Yeah, pardon me if I’m not buying the whole ‘trust me’ vibe. Last time someone said that, I got beaten until I was swimming in my own blood.”

  I shot a glare at Doc, who coughed awkwardly and looked away.

  Asshole.

  “Regardless,” the agent continued, unfazed, “let's establish the rules. You’ve never met me. I don’t exist. And this conversation? It never happened.”

  He turned to the group standing behind him. “We have three individuals here, counting David.”, He finished, giving me a tap in the shoulder.

  “Howdy,” the man greeted with a tip of his hat.

  He looked rough and rugged, sporting a thick beard and hairy ganic arms. His chrome was mostly internal—probably synth organs or titanium bones. Maybe a top-tier Biomon too, though I couldn’t pinpoint the exact tech. His attire was a strange mix, blending 6th Street vibes with Nomad aesthetics. The cowboy hat and worn leather boots sealed the deal.

  “This is Mr. Anderson Kenway,” the Black Ops guy introduced. “Expert in any engineering problem you might, and probably will, face during the missions my organization assigns you.”

  “Sup,” another voice chimed in—a bored pop of bubblegum following.

  “This is Jessy, short for Jessica Cooper,” the agent continued. “Any Netrunning problem that comes up will be handled by her. She's an expert in quick hacks and an amazing programmer—as far as the government’s concerned.”

  Jessy looked young—maybe early twenties—but she had the appearance of someone even younger. Her orange hair and fan-patterned skin were accented by tribal-inspired tattoos. One blackwork tattoo covered a good portion of her leg. Her outfit? Pure Night City: provocative but not quite vulgar, toeing the line between edgy and arousing.

  Which didn’t match her youthful look at all.

  “Ain't you too young to be here?” Doc asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “Ain't you too old to be relevant?” Jessy shot back without missing a beat.

  “I am, but even so, I’m here.”

  “And this is David,” the agent cut in, ignoring their banter. “We had to put serious effort into locating him these past few days. Cameras don’t capture any identifiable details, his face appears blurred, his agent can’t be tracked by satellites, and bank records only show transactions—not the locations where they were made. The list goes on.”

  “So the kid’s like a void in the system?” Anderson nodded along.

  “Exactly,” the agent confirmed. “But there’s a loophole—if David adds you to his contact list, we can at least get a general idea of his location. Otherwise, we can’t even call him. It was a miracle Viktor Vector searched for gigs through the NCPD HuscleNet, allowing us to finally reach you, Mr. Martinez.”

  “Okay... I think I got most of that,” I said slowly, trying to sound confident—though it probably didn’t land. “But why all the secrecy? Couldn’t we just—”

  “Have this conversation at a food stand and get hunted by every corpo and merc listening in?” Jessy interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, that sounds smart.”

  “But why my clinic?” Doc finally spoke up, looking annoyed.

  We all stared at him.

  Who the hell would choose a guy who spends half his day watching sex BDs as a meeting point?

  “Given the... opportunistic nature of your clinic, the government deemed it a discreet enough location for our temporary headquarters,” the Black Ops agent said, barely masking his disdain.

  “Right,” Anderson leaned against the wall. “But what do we call you? ‘Gov Agent’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. And we’re gonna need codenames if we want to keep our identities hidden in the field.”

  “I honestly don’t care. I want my eddies,” Jessy muttered, popping another piece of gum. “And what’s this David gonk even good for? He doesn’t build, and he doesn’t hack.”

  “I am still here, y'know…” I muttered. These people really be talking about others like they aren't there, huh?

  “You can just call me Mr. Seven,” the agent finally said, offering his codename. “As for David, he might not have the same technical skills as the rest of you, but his ability to disappear off the grid makes him the ideal infiltration and exfiltration operative.”

  “That is, if his skills are up to par,” Jessy added with a skeptical glance. “But I’ll admit, that’s a decent... skill. Yeah, let’s call it that.”

  “Alright, Seven. Can we get to the point now?” Anderson asked. Despite his gruff tone, he radiated a calm demeanor.

  “Of course. Just to wrap things up—Doc here will handle any injuries you operatives sustain during missions.”

  “I didn’t agree to—” Doc started, but Seven cut him off smoothly.

  “Yes, you’ll be paid significantly for your services,” he added with a knowing look.

  That shut Doc up fast.

  “For Task Force Neuron’s first assignment, the objective is simple—but, as with most things in Night City, it comes with significant risk,” Seven began, switching into corpo mode as he pressed a button. A holographic map of the city flickered to life. “The target is Mordin Schmidt, German, late 30s. He’s connected to several high-profile criminals operating in the city. Our job isn’t to capture or kill him, but to force him out of his home.”

  “Why?” Anderson immediately asked. “Ain’t we supposed to be supporting a major op? Or is this the op?”

  “Yes, and yes,” Seven confirmed. “Getting Mordin to relocate will directly support the main squad’s mission—which I won’t be disclosing.”

  “And how exactly are we supposed to scare this guy?” Jessy asked, narrowing her eyes. “Corpos don’t just pack up and leave unless they’re about to lose serious money.”

  “That’s where you come in,” Seven said, highlighting several points on the holo-map. “These are his known vehicle depots. High-end rides, rare imports—big investments. Hitting one will force the others to react. That’s why we need to bug the antennas and retransmitters in these areas—to delay and, more importantly, control their response.”

  “So I get to feed them ghost signals,” Jessy muttered, a grin forming. “Now that’s more like it.”

  “And I’m guessing I’m the ideal candidate for this part of the job?” I asked, already piecing the plan together.

  “Precisely,” Seven confirmed, turning to me with a serious expression. “Anderson will provide cover and drive if necessary, but you will handle the devices.”

  “I’m not exactly a Netrunner…” I started, hesitant.

  “No need to be,” Jessy interrupted, tossing me a small, outdated device. “Just plug this into the jacks, and I’ll handle the rest.”

  I stared at it.

  “…Are these Wi-Fi routers?”

  This shit was ancient.

  "Analog tech is hard to trace, and it usually works," Jessy said with a shrug.

  Anderson let out a low chuckle. "Kid, this stuff’s older than all of us combined."

  I couldn’t help but agree. This was seriously outdated.

  "Age of tech aside, we’re on a tight schedule," Seven cut in, his tone sharp enough to snap my attention back to him. "This mission is happening today. A burner vehicle is prepped and ready. Jessy stays here with me while I coordinate from the control room. You two, get moving."

  "Yessir," Anderson said, already making his way to the garage.

  "Uh—yes!" I stammered, still trying to process everything.

  Wait. If this mission was so last-minute, what would’ve happened if I hadn’t agreed? Would they have found someone else? Or was I their only option?

  The world fucking confused me sometimes.

  By the time I reached Doc’s garage, Anderson was already behind the wheel of a Mackinaw MTL1—an economy-tier truck, nothing fancy, but perfect for blending in. The kind of vehicle used by just about anyone working a legal job in Night City. Which made it ideal for this job.

  Nova.

  I climbed into the passenger seat, and Anderson eased the truck into traffic, following the flow like we were just another set of nobodies.

  Then my pocket buzzed.

  Wait—when the hell did I get a phone? The only time anyone had been close enough to plant something on me was when Seven—

  Oh.

  "This is Seven. Do you copy?"

  Anderson answered first. "Yup, we’re here."

  "Good. Jessy will ping the nearest depot locations," Seven said. We could hear the rapid clatter of a keyboard over the call. "Alright, according to my intel, we've got a decent time window to work with—ten minutes, give or take."

  "And where exactly are these antennas?" I asked, grabbing a gym bag to stash the routers before tossing it into the glovebox. "If we’re on a clock, I gotta move fast."

  Jessy hummed over comms. "Hmm… from the depot footage, looks like the antennas are inside the buildings. But the retransmitters? Those have access points outside. Just get me a jack-in point. Sending you the coordinates now."

  "Got it." Anderson pressed down on the accelerator, picking up speed.

  A few blocks later, we spotted the first depot. One of the garage doors was open, giving us a peek inside. High-end vehicles, no doubt. I caught a glimpse of a Mizutani—or maybe a Quadra—both solid sports cars.

  The antenna was mounted on the rooftop. I waited for Anderson to park, then slipped out, heading straight for the back alley. The plan was simple: scale my way up without drawing attention.

  I watched, waited—then moved. The moment one of the staff turned away, I sprinted to a stack of crates, using them as a boost to leap up. My hands latched onto the ledge, and with a quick pull, I scrambled onto the emergency ladder. One smooth climb later, I was on the roof without a single noise.

  Cameras weren’t a concern—Seven said I wasn’t showing up on feeds, so I moved freely.

  The antenna was standard, some basic radio relay pumping data into cyberspace. I dropped to a knee, pulling out a router, and searched for a compatible jack.

  Nothing.

  Not even a port for my personal cord.

  "Shit."

  “What?”, Jessy asked.

  “No jacks here. Not even standard ports.”

  Jessy let out an annoyed sigh. "Figures. These are corpo-grade antennas, so they’re probably using wireless signal encryption instead of direct wiring. Hold on…" There was more typing. "Okay, change of plans—look for a maintenance panel. Should be somewhere near the base of the antenna. If you can open that up, you might be able to install the router manually."

  "Got it." I shifted my search, scanning the base of the antenna. Sure enough, there was a small, locked panel on the side. Looked like it needed a security key—something I definitely didn’t have.

  "Alright… let’s do this the hard way." I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pry tool. Wedging it into the panel’s seam, I twisted hard until I heard the lock snap.

  The panel creaked open, revealing a mess of tangled cables and a circuit board. I grabbed one of the routers and studied the connections. The ports were old—Jessy wasn’t kidding about using ancient tech—but there was an adapter inside the bag. I connected it, powered up the router, and waited.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Jessy, you should be getting a signal now," I said.

  A pause. Then, "Hell yeah, I see it. Good job, kid. Gimme a sec to patch into their system… and… done. I’m rerouting their alerts into a loop. Any security pings from this location will just cycle back as false positives."

  "Preem." I secured the panel back into place, making sure it didn’t look tampered with.

  "Alright, one down, two to go," Anderson said over comms. "Get back down before someone spots you."

  I took a deep breath, then retraced my path, dropping down the ladder and slipping back into the alley. A few moments later, I was back in the truck.

  "Next location?" I asked.

  "Sending it now," Seven responded. "And pick up the pace—we might not have as much time as we thought."

  Anderson shifted gears, accelerating as we merged back into traffic. "What do you mean?"

  "Mordin's heading to a meeting," Seven explained. "Before that, he’ll be checking his depots—his stored cars are part of the deal. If we don’t move fast, the main squad won’t have the window they need to pull off their mission."

  "Where exactly is this main op happening?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything. After all, we were just hitting signal points—what was the bigger picture here? Data extraction? Disrupting comms to block reinforcements? Some kind of digital gatekeeping? There were too many possibilities, but I wasn’t seeing the full scope.

  "That’s not something you need to worry about, Mr. Martinez," Seven replied, his tone calm but firm. "You do the job, you get paid. Simple as that. As far as anyone knows, you were never there."

  "Alright, alright. I get it. No means no." I sighed. "Next stop is...?"

  "Here." Jessy sent the location. "This one's near the harbor. Try not to take a swim."

  Anderson didn’t need to be told twice. He hit the gas, barely acknowledging the red lights as we weaved through the city. The sun was dipping below the skyline—by the time we finished, it’d be full dark. Anderson cut corners, squeezing the Mackinaw through spaces that it definitely shouldn't fit in, but somehow did. The depot at the harbor finally came into view, and we slowed down to avoid drawing attention.

  I spotted the radio tower—perched right on top of a stack of shipping containers.

  "How the hell are you gonna climb that?" Anderson muttered, already annoyed.

  "I know a way."

  The words left my mouth before I even thought about it.

  At this point, I was just rolling with it.

  I hopped out and jogged toward the entrance. A security checkpoint guarded the main gate, but the surrounding fence had no barbed wire—easy enough to vault over. The other side, though, was a metal surface—probably an access hatch for maintenance or tool storage. I could climb, sure, but another, even dumber idea crossed my mind.

  "Can’t I just jump over this?"

  I took a few steps back, testing my footing with a couple of small hops. Then, I pushed off with everything I had.

  And immediately regretted it.

  Because I didn’t just jump.

  I skyrocketed.

  "Whoa, whoa, no no no nonononono!"

  I went so high I overshot the containers entirely, landing—somehow upright—on top of one of those massive cargo lifters. I blinked a few times, making sure I was still, y'know, alive. Then I looked down.

  The transmitter was below me.

  "Fuck me," I muttered, spitting onto the metal surface.

  "David, how the fuck did you just do that?" Anderson's voice crackled through the comms, equal parts surprise and disbelief.

  "I have no idea," I admitted, still piecing it together myself.

  "Well, you better figure it out, because you just left a crater in the pavement."

  Sure enough, some security guards were already investigating the impact zone.

  "Forget subtlety," Seven cut in. "We’re out of time. Whatever you did, do it again and get to the transmitter."

  "Roger!"

  I jumped.

  The fall wasn’t as terrifying as I expected. My landing barely dented the top of the container below—felt smoother than I ever thought possible, like dropping into a heap of trash back at the Megabuilding.

  Except this time it was a hundred times more preem.

  "I'll try to delay their search," Jessy said, the rapid clicking of her digital interface filling the comms. "Just connect the router to the antenna, and we should be good to go."

  I unzipped the bag, pulled out a router, and grabbed a Philips screwdriver. Sure enough, the panel was screwed shut, but a few quick turns later, the jacks were exposed. I hooked up the router using the adaptors and tapped a few commands into the terminal. Connection established.

  Then a progress bar popped up.

  "Uh… why is there a progress bar?"

  "A what?" Jessy asked. A beat later, she must've seen it herself because she groaned. "Shit. Okay, I get it. It's a two-step program. Simple design, but tricky to crack at first glance. The routers are doing their job, but you'll need to bring this one back for me to process the data."

  "What do you mean, 'process the data'?" Seven asked before I could. "We don’t have time for that."

  "That’s not what I meant," Jessy said, unfazed. "Step one scrambles communications and replaces them with false positives. Step two is even better—it forces the next depot's footage to loop, meaning we can move even faster."

  "And where exactly do we need to take this?" Anderson asked, clearly skeptical.

  "That’s the best part—any vending machine," Jessy nearly laughed. "They're all connected to the cyberspace, so I just need a point of access to grab the data. Unless, of course, there's a Netrunner on our tail."

  "Fine," Seven relented. "Bring the router back as soon as the download is complete. But move fast—we might have five minutes before someone catches on."

  "Already done!" I yanked the router free and jumped straight off the building—right onto the highway.

  The landing wasn't nearly as smooth as before.

  I crashed straight into a trash bin.

  Anyway—!

  The Mackinaw skidded into view, and Anderson floored it toward the last transmitter. Lucky for us, plenty of vending machines were on the way.

  The last transmitter was in a spot I never would've expected for a high-end car depot—especially since those same cars were all over this area. But apparently, City Center had its own corporate schemes running under the radar. I should've figured as much. Security here was even tighter than in Watson, which said a lot.

  At least our Mackinaw still blended in, thanks to the express delivery routes cutting through the district. No one gave us a second glance. The depot, however, was inside a commercial building packed with different businesses, which meant I’d have to sneak around to find the antenna. Anderson parked outside and gave me a nod. I nodded back and slipped out, already trying to figure out the best place to start looking.

  "I think you should… just go to the… office floors… yeah," Jessy said slowly. "A lot of data work happens there—software debugging, paperwork, you name it. If there's a transmitter, that’s where it'll be."

  "But isn’t this a car depot?" I muttered, doing my best to blend in as just another potential customer.

  Not hard, considering the outfit Vomi gave me. I looked like a tourist wandering through the city, eyes wide at the tech on display.

  "The documentation for those cars is just as important as the cars themselves," Seven said, his tone unreadable. "Especially when many of their previous owners have… gone missing."

  A nice euphemism for something I didn’t need spelled out.

  "Document forgery is more common than I care to admit," Seven continued. "Or reveal. Unless you want to find yourself part of the penitentiary system."

  "I'm good," I said immediately.

  "Pass," Anderson added.

  "Hard pass," Jessy chimed in.

  "Glad we’re all on the same page." Seven didn’t miss a beat. "This depot is disguised as a dealership—all the cars inside are supposedly 'sold.' The real business is in the paperwork. I suggest you check their records while you're up there."

  "Preem," I muttered, casually glancing at a few guys in slick gangster suits so it wouldn’t look like I was talking to myself.

  Sure, agents existed, but no need to draw unnecessary attention.

  "Now pick up the pace—we don’t have all day."

  I kept moving, keeping my head down and my steps casual. Eventually, I spotted the section of the building where the so-called depot was. Now I just needed a way up. A quick glance to the side, and there it was—a service ladder. Problem was, there were a few people lingering nearby. I needed a distraction.

  Scanning my surroundings, I found two options:

  One—A guy was selling BDs right in the middle of the hall. If I stirred up a scene, I could pin the blame on him, drawing attention away from me. Downside? People might remember my face.

  Two—I could use my tools to short-circuit some of the advertising panels. The flickering lights and glitching displays would definitely turn heads. It’d keep me invisible, but it would take time—time we didn’t have.

  I made my decision.

  "Jessy, can you make the ad screens bug out?"

  "For what?" she asked, and I could hear the faint hum of camera feeds in the background—she was already checking my position.

  "There’s a service ladder here that’ll take me straight to the office floors. If you can make the screens glitch, I can slip through unnoticed," I explained, glancing at the BD seller again. "Or I do my own thing and risk someone remembering me."

  "Let me see…" She started typing. "Yeah, I can, but they might be able to trace it back. Unless…"

  "What if you use an intermediate? Like that loop thing?" Anderson suggested over comms. "That way your signal keeps bouncing, and they can’t pinpoint you."

  "Nice idea, but not only is that not how it works, I also don’t know how to do that specifically," Jessy admitted, sounding annoyed at herself. "But I can work around it another way."

  "So what do I do?" I asked, watching a couple walk past, laughing about something.

  "Find me a terminal. Even an ETM will work," she said.

  I almost choked. "A what?"

  "An old terminal for paper eddies," she said, exasperated. "They’re still connected to the net, but barely anyone uses them."

  I sighed. "I have no idea what one even looks like."

  "Just send him a damn image," Seven cut in, clearly tired of the back and forth.

  "Alright, fine." Jessy sent the image, and I frowned the second I saw it.

  The thing looked ancient. A metal keyboard, a touchscreen that barely qualified as a screen—it was practically a relic. But, lucky me, it only took two seconds to find one. I got close, plugged the router in, and—who would've thought?—for once, I didn’t even need an adapter.

  The device did its thing, and we were in.

  "The screens should be glitching right about now."

  Sure enough, the nearest ad display flickered, distorted into a mess of datamosh, and then threw up a Sorry for the malfunction message. That alone didn’t turn many heads—but the audio did. A high-pitched, glitched-out mess blasted through the hall, an electronic screech so bad it made my teeth hurt. Everyone winced, covering their ears, giving me the perfect opening.

  I yanked out the router, sprinted to the service ladder, and climbed as fast as I could. At the top, I found a door—an old-school one with a physical lock instead of an electronic one.

  Easy.

  I pulled out my tools and got to work. My hands moved on instinct, like I’d done this a hundred times before—except I hadn’t. Still, I somehow knew exactly which tools to use, how to angle them, and how many pins this lock had. A few quick turns, a soft click, and the door swung open. No noise, no fuss.

  Stepping inside, I was hit by a blast of cold air. The Corporate AC Special. White walls, spotless floors, rows of cubicles—an office space straight out of a corpo catalog. The place was packed, employees either glued to their screens or casually chatting with coworkers.

  No way I could sneak through a space this open.

  So I didn’t.

  I kept my pace steady, my posture relaxed, and acted like I belonged. Walking with purpose was half the battle.

  As I moved, I let my ears do the work, listening in on the conversations floating around the room.

  Most of the chatter was typical corpo nonsense—deadlines, workflow complaints, someone whining about their boss breathing down their neck.

  But one conversation caught my attention.

  “...They’re pushing the paperwork through today. Once it’s done, the old IDs won’t mean shit. New names, new histories, all clean.”

  “About time. You know how much they’re paying for this batch?”

  “Enough to make it worth the risk.”

  Fake identities. Corporate-level forgery. That explained why this “car depot” needed an office floor. They weren’t just moving vehicles—they were erasing and rewriting ownership records.

  I kept moving, blending in as I scanned the room. If the transmitter was here, it had to be somewhere central. Jessy had mentioned debugging stations earlier, and those were usually tucked away in quieter corners.

  I spotted a door at the far end of the room, marked Server Maintenance. That was my best bet. Problem was, a pair of suits were standing right outside, deep in conversation.

  I muttered under my breath, “Jessy, any chance you can pull another trick? I need those guys gone.”

  A pause. Then, “Maybe. There’s a coffee machine near them. I can overheat it, make it spill all over the place.”

  “That’ll do.”

  A few keystrokes later, the machine whirred violently, then let out an aggressive hiss before spewing steaming coffee all over the counter. One of the suits cursed as hot liquid splashed onto his sleeve.

  “Shit! That thing almost burned me.”

  The other guy sighed. “Come on, let’s get a cleaner before someone else starts whining.”

  They walked off, leaving the door unguarded.

  I slipped inside.

  “I have to admit, this is the smoothest a third party assistant has ever done a support mission.”, Seven commented over, genuinely impressed, “But don't stop now, get the transmitter.”

  The server room was like any other server room in the history of server rooms, giant boxes of tech connected to wired and many lights that had some purpose that I didn't know right now. I pick up the router and connect to the first terminal I see, only for the access to be denied at first.

  “Black-ICE.”, Jessy said, “I'll take a while to do this undetected, so just protect the router.”

  “Nova.”

  The server room hummed around me, its cold air clashing with the heat rising under my skin. I took a quick glance at the door—still closed. But outside, I could hear the muffled voices of the two suits.

  One of them sounded pissed.

  “The hell do you mean ‘nothing on the cams’? There was a goddamn malfunction, but no cause? No one on record?”

  The other guy’s voice was sharper, mechanical—his optics glowing gold. “That’s what I’m saying. There’s a blind spot. We have an intruder.”

  Shit.

  Seven’s voice came through my earpiece, calm but urgent. “Hurry it up, Jessy. The guards are catching on.”

  “I can’t exactly code faster,” Jessy snapped back. “They reported the coffee machine mess, but since the cameras aren’t showing anything out of the ordinary, they know something’s off.”

  “Fuck,” I muttered, already reaching for my Lexington.

  I pulled off my shirt, tying it around my lower face like a mask. My hair, still growing too fast from whatever the hell was in my bloodstream, helped cover the rest. At least I wouldn’t be easy to ID.

  “I’ll have the car ready,” Anderson reassured me. “Just in case you need an extraction.”

  The gold-eyed suit outside suddenly stiffened. “Check the server room? Yes, sir.”

  Double shit.

  I couldn’t afford to shoot him—not yet. Too loud. And I couldn’t unplug the router before the upload was done. But leaving it there, fully exposed, wasn’t an option either.

  I had no idea what to do.

  The door creaked open. My hand tightened around my gun—

  Then my instincts took over.

  Before I even processed what was happening, I jumped.

  My body snapped to the ceiling, hands and feet sticking to the surface like I’d been glued there. My breath hitched. My eyes went wide.

  Since when could I do this?!

  The suit stepped in, scanning the room. His gold optics flickered as he swept the space, but his gaze never drifted up.

  Holy shit.

  I could feel my feet sticking through my shoes, my palms fused to the cold metal ceiling. Was this the pathogen? What else could I do? Was I about to start spitting acid or growing extra limbs?

  Focus. Focus.

  The suit turned, moving deeper into the room. I let go, landing soundlessly behind him.

  Before he could react, my arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight.

  SNAP.

  …Oh.

  I think I just broke his neck.

  Well. That works too.

  “All transmitters have been tampered with,” Jessy confirmed, her voice pressing urgency into my ears. “Get out of there. Now.”

  The other guard was still outside. I let the corpse in my grasp drop with a thud, loud enough to pull his attention. No need for subtlety anymore. As soon as the door cracked open, I raised my Lexington and put a round through his face. Blood splattered across the pristine white walls, and I shoved his lifeless body aside as I sprinted past.

  The civilians barely reacted—some flinched, some gasped, but no one moved to play hero. I retraced my steps, reached the door I’d unlocked earlier, and dropped down to the ground floor in a single leap. A small crack splintered beneath my feet, but I didn’t stop running until the Mackinaw came into view.

  “Drive! Drive! Drive!” I shouted, barely slamming the door shut before Anderson gunned it.

  The truck wasn’t built for speed, but it had torque. It lurched forward with force, reaching its top speed faster than any low-budget car on the street.

  “Well, exfiltration could’ve been smoother,” Seven snorted. “But we got the job done. Sending you coordinates now—ditch the Mackinaw and switch rides. And make sure you torch it. Can’t leave a trail.”

  “I’ll slow their reinforcements—mess with traffic lights, reroute their data. But if the NCPD gets too close, I’m out,” Jessy added, her voice steady but clear on her priorities.

  I barely heard them.

  Not because I was panicking. Not because I was hyped on adrenaline. Not even because I was thinking about how I just snapped a guy’s neck like it was nothing.

  I just sat there, calm, staring ahead as Anderson drove toward the next vehicle.

  All I could think was—

  Gig completed.

  The ride was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between us. Anderson didn't say much—just focused on the road, hands steady on the wheel. Seven and Jessy were still talking in my ear, but their words faded into the background. My mind kept circling back. Not to the gunshots. Not to the bodies.

  To me.

  To the way I clung to the ceiling like it was natural. To the way I moved without hesitation, without training, as if my body knew things I didn’t.

  To the way I snapped that guy’s neck with no more effort than cracking my knuckles.

  I clenched my hands, flexed my fingers. They felt the same. Normal. But they weren’t.

  And I still didn’t know what else had changed.

  "Kid." Anderson's voice cut in, breaking the spiral of thoughts. "We’re here."

  I looked up. An abandoned lot, empty except for a nondescript sedan parked in the corner. Perfect for a clean getaway.

  Seven’s voice crackled in. “Torch the Mackinaw, switch cars, and disappear. Standard procedure.”

  Anderson and I got out without a word. I pulled a small canister from my bag, popped the cap, and poured accelerant over the seats and dashboard. The smell of CHOOH2 hit my nose, sharp and bitter.

  Anderson tossed me a lighter. I flicked it open, watched the flame dance for a second, then dropped it onto the soaked interior.

  Whoosh.

  Fire swallowed the truck instantly, licking up the sides, smoke curling into the night sky. The heat pressed against my face, but I didn’t move. I just stared into the flames, watching the last evidence of our gig burn away.

  Then, finally, I turned, got in the new car, and shut the door.

  Anderson started the engine. “You good?”

  I exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

  But that was a lie.

  Because I had no idea what I was anymore.