ã€ŠFRAY (Martial Arts / Progression Fantasy)ã€‹


 1.0 - THE GHOST

    If there¡¯s one thing you should know about me, it¡¯s that I am my father¡¯s daughter. It doesn¡¯t matter that he expects the impossible from me. That I¡¯ve already been fighting for an hour in the baking heat. That I¡¯m only ten, or that I can¡¯t count how many times I¡¯ve been beaten down today. He would never give up. So neither will I.

    Panting for breath, I get my knuckles on the ground and push up with a groan, blinking back to the blurry greenery of the rock garden. Behind me, I can feel my father watching from the shaded deck. And he¡¯s not the only one. A calloused hand hangs in my vision, open and waiting. Crouched behind it is a boy as young as I am. I look up to find him looking down with inquisitive, golden eyes. Mouth wrinkled by opposing emotions. Worry for me, and pride for how sure his victory was.

    His hand waits. Blowing loose hair away from my face, I take it and rise.

    Dad smiles wryly when he sees us standing side by side, a zen circle of tempers. I am wind and sun, a girl with tape on her knuckles and a chip on her shoulder. The boy beside me is an ocean. Today he dictates my currents, and lately, I have had enough of it.

    My father doesn¡¯t have to say a thing. I¡¯m already moving on my own. Putting the dark-haired boy behind me, I stalk to the other side of the marble fighting square, burying my temper with a long breath through my nose. When I turn back, both of them are waiting. Dad in the shade, Thane in the sun, a carved staff balanced firmly behind his back.

    Our eyes meet across the marble. Thane¡¯s narrow with martial intent. The salty wind blowing through the garden stills, one final silver leaf twirling to a stop on the center line. The buzzing insects and chirping birds hold their breath in anticipation.

    Then my father nods. ¡°Again.¡±

    I blink awake on my side, half my skin scalded by the marble, Thane¡¯s hand on my forehead. I flinch, slap it away, and get back up.

    ¡°Again, Tay.¡±

    Sixty seconds, maybe less, until I end up in the dirt.

    ¡°Again.¡±

    Bruises cry out across my body. Two fingers dislocated. Thane rushes to help me from behind. I claw to my feet faster than before.

    ¡°If you can beat Thane, you can beat anyone.¡±

    But I go down, down, and down again. Every time, Thane¡¯s worry makes my face burn worse. I¡¯m not mad at him. Never him. Just myself. He starts to protest to my father while I lay stunned on the ground after our last round, thinking of all the good reasons I should stay down, and the one bad reason I never will. One by one, my fingers curl inwards. One by one my limbs find their strength. Inch by inch I force up onto my knees, head hanging, gasping for breath.

    Then I slam a fist into the stone. My gaze snaps up.

    And I snarl that word for myself.

    <hr>

    ¡°Again.¡±

    Murmurs erupt from the shadows of the gym. A packed crowd ripples against the stage, all eyes on me. Sweat drips from my hair. Hair drips down my face, white and tangled. Spotlights, not sun, beam hot and golden over my shoulders. My battered sneakers squeak against the polished wooden fighting square as I sag against the ropes. Still recovering in the opposite corner, my opponent, a muscled brawler with a mane of orange-red hair, waves a finger in a high circle.

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    ¡°Run it back,¡± he growls, still smarting from the last bruises I left. Shirtless and dense, he snatches a towel from the corner pole and smears it over his face, dislocated fingers twitching from pain. ¡°One more,¡± he repeats, more a challenge to himself than me.

    The gym roils around us, wall-to-wall, flooding the air with anticipation of my answer. I¡¯ve been here before. Not this place, not this city, but this feeling, eight years after that memory from the garden, it¡¯s still no stranger to me. It envelops me again as my eyes close. The pressure of knowing I am watched. All those expectations. Most people start to crumble from attention like this.

    Snorting a glob of blood from my nose, I flick two fingers for the bare-hand boxer to wait and glance out over the body-packed floor. Upbeat Neopop pouring from crackling speakers in the rafters takes over in the interim. I grab a roll of griptape with my metal right arm and do a quick couple wraps around the real knuckles of my left hand, elbows resting on the ropes, buying time. Can¡¯t exactly remember what round it is. Quarters? Semis? Far enough to start hearing the usual grumbles; that I¡¯m some pro fighter who came down to the streets to farm these mooks for easy credits on a weeknight.

    I do smile at that.

    Out the rolled-open doors, icy autumn air and a pulsing neon metropolis of fifteen million people push back against the electric heartbeat of the music. A flood of foot traffic wanders outside, armor and armaments hanging brazenly every hip and shoulder. Blades, firearms, and copius amounts of griptape are the most common sights. More people keep swinging in to watch the fights when they see this place is packed to the sidewalk. That¡¯s how I ended up here, too. I wasn¡¯t meaning to fight tonight. Usually keep away from it, honestly. It¡¯s safer that way. But in my defense, this little tournament did look like easy money. Money which I currently am very much in need of, considering when I checked my bank account this morning, the only thing staring back was a straight line of zeroes.

    So I signed up. Fake name, promised entry fee, the usual. And like usual, the place stayed quiet right up until I won my second round and put some flashy Duelist on his rear with a three-sixty showstopper of a kick. Going by the dinginess of the brickwork here, I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m the most lucrative attraction this place has had in years. Haven¡¯t taken a real hit all night. Everyone¡¯s wondering when it¡¯s going to come.

    Unfortunately for the bets they¡¯re making, I didn¡¯t choose this place because of the crowds. I chose it because my stomach was growling, and the less a scene I make, the better. But the fight just isn¡¯t ready to let me go.

    There¡¯s a stirring around me as an Oldtech scoreboard high up on the walls resets with a buzzer shriek. I rake a handful of nails through my hair, not turning back yet. A bell clangs loudly behind me; thirty seconds left. As long as I keep staring outside, I can ignore the black-hole pull, the escape that old sound promises. I can forget the garden. I can keep remembering what I swore one thousand, two hundred and four days ago: that the girl I used to be, her father¡¯s daughter, is dead to the world. Long dead. And no one can ever suspect otherwise.

    But then one shout breaks through the rest. It¡¯s for me. Another follows. And another and another still, building to an incoherent crescendo, a roar of anticipation with no end or beginning. I can¡¯t keep blocking it out, no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut. It infects me. That need to fight snakes around my heart and tightens like a noose. I start breathing harder and harder. Feeling the adrenaline coming on the more I try to resist.

    Most people crumble under pressure like this. But I was made for it. I need it.

    Before I know what I¡¯m doing, I¡¯m shoving away from the ropes and squaring up again. The tightness gripping my chest vanishes the moment I do. The answering roar raises every hair on my body. My heart skips a beat as I finish turning and see the garden again, the boy with the black hair crooking his fingers in challenge. The weight of my father¡¯s attention from somewhere behind me. Then I blink, and they¡¯re replaced by concrete reality. Some stranger¡¯s eyebrows narrowed in spite, brow dark, heavy hands curling into angry fists as he brushes a mop of hair to the side. I pull my shirt up and wipe my face clear. Erase the memory and evaporate the worries. Shake my head as I sink into sideways stance, bouncing on my heels, and flashing the tiniest smirk at the stream cam floating just outside the ropes.

    Screw it. I already brought the crowds. I¡¯m just a girl with no name that no one¡¯s going to remember. I swore I¡¯d never say again, again. But it¡¯s just one more fight.

    What¡¯s it gonna hurt?

 1.1 - GLADIOCRACY

    It¡¯s questions like those that always would get me in trouble with Aunt Jolie. Stubborn questions, you¡¯re-not-my-mom questions, what¡¯s-one-more questions. The kind that my father would ask her and always get scolded for. So in a way, it¡¯s funny that one of them brought me to the capital looking for her.

    I¡¯m sitting on a curb outside the gym while the final fight wraps up inside. Nose buried in an electric-blue holoscreen map, I¡¯m just a riverbed stone in the pedestrian flow of the Electric Town. Steam pooling off my skin in the icy night air, tall to a fault, legs awkwardly sticking out into the brick street, I¡¯m one freckled face in this neon paradise that never seems to sleep. It goes by a lot of names. To a girl who grew up in the rice fields half a world away, it''s a goddamn headache. And the maps, I have found, are as helpful as a knife to the back.

    The Electric Town is crazy. A metropolitan contradiction of retro and chrome, young and old, flash and flair. Old-fashioned streets filled with rowdy bars, pop-up vendors, and public parks rise around me, flowing from balcony to highrise like bamboo fountains. Everything funnels towards a massive tower that stands higher than the rest of the metropolis, an arena that spears out of the district¡¯s electric heart almost half a mile away.

    Hectic crowds pack every alley, balcony, and rooftop between me and that tower. Distant roars and cheers from its heights echo distantly over the Electric Town. Far closer, glasses clink as drinks pour in open-air restaurants. Chrome skyscrapers rise side-by-side with holoexperience arcades, training dojos, and fashion studios showing off new collaborations with celebrities from the pro fighting leagues. Electric music and blinking advertisements pour endlessly into the streets. Information overload.

    Since the moment I took my first steps in the capital this morning, I¡¯ve never been more lost in my life. But if I¡¯m being honest, I could do with getting lost here. It¡¯s my kind of crowd.

    This city lives and breathes the fighting arts. Streetwear, flashy weapons, and openly flaunted supernatural abilities aren¡¯t just everyday sights- you can¡¯t go more than a couple steps without seeing one. It¡¯s a warrior¡¯s playground. High overhead, comet trails streak the starless night sky with rainbow colors as fliers rip away from balconies and metro roofs. And down at street level, a palm-sized metal sphere like the one projecting my map floats in plain sight, feeding users their weapons and supernatural powers.

    Those spheres are our common ground. They¡¯re called JOYs, and everyone from schoolkids to pro league celebrities spends our whole lives connected to them. Since as far back as humanity can remember, we¡¯ve always had the spheres and always been using them. There¡¯s no reason not to. The tech is a Pandoran box that turns humans into living weapons at the touch of a holographic key, and the only limits are the classes you choose.

    Between the eighteen classes, anyone can summon any weapon imaginable, manipulate the primal elements, soar on wings of aether, or use magic straight out of a spellbook. You¡¯ll see huge Mecha riders walking side-by-side with Tamer pets and Martial Artists out for their daily runs. Here in the capital, they take it a step further. Combat isn¡¯t just a pasttime- it¡¯s a religion. Entrenched and ever-present. Everything, even the champion-king of the entire Section, is decided in these arenas. It¡¯s a gladiocracy: a world stratified by martial prowess. To the strongest warriors goes prestige, power, and absolute rule. Doesn¡¯t matter if the strongest is a hero or a tyrant. No one- not even the most powerful corporations- gets in the way of the Champion. You don¡¯t argue with a living legend who can annihilate armies at the snap of their fingers.

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    People that try? They end up like me. Hungry on a curb in the Electric Town, eyes glazing over while I flick and scroll endlessly through a map I can¡¯t even understand.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got it upside down.¡±

    I glance up as another girl¡¯s voice spears right into my brooding. Her boots come to a stop in the middle of the projection, scattering it into a snowstorm of electric-blue particles. One small finger enters my vision and makes a vague swishing motion. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be the other way.¡±

    I glance up to find her looking right back down at me, leaning over the map with humor sparking in her eyes. She¡¯s short, lean, my age. No weapons, and completely out of place with the crowd around us, no JOY floating near at hand. Instead, she¡¯s dressed down like an office intern just off of a late shift. Black slacks, white shirt, two buttons unpinned and sleeves rolled rakishly to the elbow. Long black hair and pale yellow irises that dance with amusement as she straightens back up.

    ¡°It¡¯s funny. You look way more lost out here than you did in there,¡± she says, jerking a thumb back at the gym. The hammering of the thirty-second bell echoes from inside. She arches an eyebrow. ¡°Nice moves, by the way. At least, until you faked that sprained ankle.¡±

    Never once does she look down at my prosthetic right arm, which starts right where my tank top ends. Carbon fiber fingers flick faster than the real deal as I spin the map to the right orientation. ¡°You saw that?¡±

    The girl chuckles. ¡°I hate to break the news, but you¡¯re not going to cut it at the opera with acting skills like those. Might want to consider a different career.¡± She tilts her head to the side. ¡°You could have waited at least a couple seconds before walking out on that guy. What¡¯s the deal? Don¡¯t like money?¡±

    ¡°I got enough for dinner. That¡¯s all I need.¡±

    ¡°Oof. Bleak.¡±

    ¡°Trying to say something?¡± I sigh. I spare a glance at a pack of heavy hitters in matching windbreakers who exit the gym together. The guy at the front, that brawler who wanted the rematch, glares daggers at me down the sidewalk. ¡°Might want to get in line. There¡¯s a wait.¡±

    ¡°Not trying to say,¡± the girl says. ¡°Trying to ask. Take a hint, hotshot.¡±

    I freeze. My real hand, left hand, traces the cracks in the loose brickwork we¡¯re sitting on to see if I can pry it out. Fighting instincts kick into overdrive, sharpening and noting and plotting the fastest escape route. Then my attention finally returns back to the girl in front of me, belatedy processing the absolute nonexistence of a threat she poses.

    On the outside, my caution must just look like a dumbass blank stare, because she just arches that eyebrow a little more. ¡°Can I get you a drink?¡±

 1.2 - CULTURE SHOCK

    Her name is Feint, and for being the first person I hold a real conversation with in the capital, she¡¯s not so bad. And dinner is, well, loud. But fun. She takes me to some electroclub diner on the nebulous border between the Electric Town and University districts that¡¯s apparently the prime dive for the big names of the combat colleges.

    ¡°And the drinks aren¡¯t bad either,¡± she says, leading the way down the metro station¡¯s steps with her hands in her pockets. ¡°Everyone who¡¯s anyone goes here at least once a week.¡±

    I take a last look down the straight-shot kilometer of rowdy neon paradise separating us from the distant arena spearing out of the district¡¯s heart, then follow. ¡°Do you?¡±

    ¡°Once a month, if I¡¯m feeling it.¡± Feint glances back with a crooked smile, gives my sweat-stained gym clothes an up-down glance. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll fit right in.¡±

    Nestled between highrises, the electroclub, the S-Tier, is the most retro joint on the block. Square and angular, two short stories, three tiers of patios all broadcasting the night¡¯s offering of major league fights. Opposing cheers sweep through the uni crowd on the roof as Feint and I find one of the street-level entrances. There¡¯s a small line loitering and finishing drinks outside, streams and projector screens cascading from their JOYs, a few more tapping into their classes as they head out into the city. Feint walks right up to the Mecha bouncer, tugs me close enough to imply we¡¯re a package deal, and we¡¯re in. A quick arc of street-side neon chases my reflection inside, illuminating tan skin and white hair before it¡¯s gone.

    Inside, the main room is filled by so many people we can¡¯t even close the door at first. I blink quickly, adjusting to the muted shades of blue and pink lights running along the ceiling. The doors squeak shut behind us, sealing in the chaos. Rip-roaring electric jams blast from a live band way in the back of the main floor. Shouts and whistles for the streams drown out the tempo. Dozens of screens flash highlight reels and live pro fights from the walls, each with its own commentary and sound. Bowls and silverware rattle loudly. Mugs thump and clatter against tumblers. Drink runners laugh and duck down the rickety staircase beside the largest screen in the room on their way to fetch new rounds for their teams upstairs.

    I take it all in with wide eyes, almost forgetting myself as I follow Feint¡¯s wending path towards the bar. The mix of accents and fightslang flies right over my head. A loud, unfamiliar barrage. Most people around me are wearing some kind of three-colored windbreaker, and those who don¡¯t are stripped down from workouts like I am. It¡¯s a young crowd. My age or a couple years older; the girls¡¯ bodies more curved, guys¡¯ broader. All at the apex of physical fitness, and all standing with that cocky confidence I recognized in each of the fighters I embarrassed earlier tonight. They¡¯re students of the combat colleges, enrolled in the capital¡¯s most famous universities. The cream of the fighting crop. The next generation of pros. And those jackets, I think the colors are for the different schools. I¡¯ve got one just like them in my bag. I fish it out and shrug it on when I get stuck under a fan for too long, muttering apologies for the people I bump with my elbows. The jacket is three sizes too big and two decades too old for me. Midnight blue, blood red, faded white, patched and feathery at the seams, zipper long missing. The half-teardrop sigil of the Martial Artist affinity covers the back. I wear it like I was born in it.

    Feint¡¯s timing is perfect. We reach the bar right after a trio of Duelists vacate their seats and slide right in beneath a couple stream screens showing a current fights happening live up in the M; some minor league bout between a winged markswoman and rabbit-eared Innovator. She shoots me a curious look as she reaches over to grab a menu from the other side of the counter. ¡°Remind me, where¡¯d you say you came from?¡±

    ¡°The villages.¡± The truth alone is too short, so I make up the best lie I can. ¡°Akena, up near the mountains.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Beach girl. Explains the tan.¡± She keeps blindly pawing around, eyes squinting further. ¡°They have burgers out there?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not savages,¡± I chuckle, glancing down the bar. ¡°But no, not really.¡±

    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll¡­ have to¡­ broaden your horizons.¡±

    I say nothing at first, just enjoying watching her fish around. She¡¯s as short as I am tall. It¡¯s entertaining. Increasingly so, until she finally braces with her palms and hops up to look over the counter, then sees there¡¯s no menus at all. She settles for kicking back on her stool and stealing a pair of drinks from the table behind us, right as their owners pop off over the livestream playing on the big screen.

    She slides the bigger glass to me with a wink. ¡°Cheers.¡± And drains hers as soon as the straw hits her lips.

    I almost choke on the first sip. I take mine slower, not used to the sweetness. Or the burn. But it doesn¡¯t take long for the drink to start prying at my quiet. The cup¡¯s contents are gone in a couple minutes, another soon in its place. I don¡¯t even realize when I start leaning forward and actually getting into talking with her. Probably when our food comes. I should know better than to risk chatting with strangers, but I don¡¯t mind so much tonight. This girl is sassy. She¡¯s a talker. And she¡¯s the only person in the whole city who hasn¡¯t given a weird look at my right arm yet.

    ¡°¡­so there I am, right?¡± Feint¡¯s face is flushed as she loosens her tie, plunging through another story about her internship all the while. She lets out a dumbfounded laugh at the memory. ¡°Ten at night on a Friday, I¡¯ve got a six pack in one hand and a mop in the other, and this minor league schmuck is like¡­ well, can you do my taxes? And I¡¯m like, dude, I can¡¯t do my taxes! And then¡­¡±

    To think I was planning on finding a hotel and passing out. Seeing her reaction when I look away just long enough to take my first bite of what she ordered for us, then the way her eyes widen as I start demolishing it, makes tonight¡¯s whole diversion worth.

    ¡°Geez Tay, slow down! You¡¯re gonna pop like a balloon if you eat the whole thing.¡±

    ¡°Yesh I will,¡± I agree through a mouthful of food.

    She¡¯s snorting over another drink, this one glowing like cyan lighter fluid. Scoots her chair a touch closer, leaned sideways, one elbow on the bar. Eyes briefly running appreciatively up my body before ending at my eyes. ¡°Where are you even putting all that?¡±

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    ¡°Hell if I know. I¡¯ve been eating rice for a month straight.¡± I glance over the burger at her, then nod at the rowdiness around us. ¡°Nice pick. You bring a lot of girls here?¡±

    Feint¡¯s cheeks shoot straight to red. ¡°Hah, good one. Me? Some penthouse playboy?¡± She fingers her earrings and finds a distraction to look at instead. ¡°You looked lost, and I figured you could use a friendly face. Someone else at your school would¡¯ve done it if I hadn¡¯t. Plus, you put on a hell of a show. I haven¡¯t seen a good martial artist since Mars was still Champion. You guys are a dying breed.¡±

    Out the club¡¯s glass walls, the Metro Blockhouse shimmers through the night. The throne of the capital, home of the reigning champion, the strongest warrior and ruler of the entire Section. So big you can see it from any alley in the Electric Town. I¡¯ve been eyeing it since I hopped off the metro. At Feint¡¯s joke, I blink away from the view and back to my meal. ¡°That¡¯s an apt way of putting it.¡±

    Her finger brushes my sleeve. ¡°Those colors are like twenty years out of season, but you¡¯re enrolled at Concordia? First semester?¡±

    The jacket, she means. I reach up, absentmindedly thumbing at the faded collar, wistful twitch of my lips. ¡°It¡¯s my dad¡¯s. Not mine.¡±

    ¡°Damn. You¡¯re really far from home if you weren¡¯t accepted to a uni.¡± Feint takes a quiet sip. ¡°You fought better than some of the seniors I¡¯ve seen, and you only use one class. Kinda insane, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°So what brings you to the capital? Piss off an examiner, hoping for a rerun on the entrance tests?¡±

    ¡°Mah, kinda.¡± I reach up, fixing the crown of petal-shaped bangs above my forehead. ¡°I¡¯m looking for someone.¡±

    She watches me with playful, dancing eyes. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s so funny. Me too.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡± I ask, trying to pivot the conversation back to her. ¡°You¡¯re eighteen, right? Enrolling?¡±

    ¡°Look who¡¯s the playboy now, Tay. All curious about where my dorm¡¯s gonna be.¡± Smirking at my startled reaction, Feint shrugs and drains the rest of her drink in two quick swallows. ¡°I mean, I am going to be at one, don¡¯t get me wrong. Just passed my exams, actually. Full ride at Concordia. Orientation¡¯s in a couple days.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t use a JOY,¡± I note.

    ¡°Admin track.¡± She wiggles her hand, showing off an expensive watch and an intricately etched damascene bangle ringing her left wrist. ¡°Fighting isn¡¯t really my thing. Never been good at it.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    She chuckles. ¡°Probably hard for someone like you to understand, but some of us plebs aren¡¯t so great at the whole, square up and beat the shit out of each other thing.¡± Holding my drink up for me to finish it off, she waits ¡®till I¡¯ve emptied the whole thing before hopping off and giving me a quick shoulder nudge, cheeky grin. ¡°You good for one more round? I¡¯m gonna go grab some refills.¡±

    ¡°Good choice,¡± a familiar sneer answers.

    The kind of sneer that¡¯s just looking for an excuse to fuck around and find out, belonging to the bare-knuckle brawler who interposes himself between me and Feint.

    The guy from the gym. The one who wanted the runback. And he doesn¡¯t look happy about how that runback went.

    He¡¯s my height and twice my weight in muscle. Mane of orange-red hair bound down his back by a leather band. Powerful arms. Taped-up knuckles, heavy like a sledgehammer. Gold-silver-blue university jacket that¡¯s got a lot of pals in the crowd around us. The modern iteration of the old colors I wear. Same school, different era. My stomach sinks as I see the number of matching jackets loitering nearby. If something starts here, it¡¯s going to go from schoolyard brawl to a hospital trip in two seconds flat.

    A telltale shimmer of fire ripples around the brawler, clearing space in the crowd. He¡¯s an Elemental- fire type, obvious to see. There¡¯s a fresh burn snaking up my left forearm that attests to how dangerous the class can be. Which means trouble. Not just because we¡¯re in the middle of a bar, but because I only use one class, and it¡¯s the most mundane in the roster.

    I already beat this guy once, but that¡¯s no guarantee I can do it twice. As a Martial Artist, the worst I can do is break some bones. Elementals? They might be simple, but the posters hanging from the walls here don¡¯t lie. The infamous ones made their names by deleting cities off of maps. One of them sits atop that tower that looms over the Electric Town right now.

    All that to say, I keep a real careful eye on the mirror-polished chrome behind the bar, waiting for a single telltale spark of flames igniting while I reply.

    ¡°Got a problem?¡±

    He grabs the back of my chair and jerks it a heel-scraping inch away from the counter. The nearest conversations screech to a halt like a highway crash. Eyes turning, space forming, as the hounds of the capital instinctively start smelling the blood in the water. He doesn¡¯t even slow. ¡°You owe me a runback,¡± he says.

    ¡°You already got it,¡± I say, taking a casual bite of my burger. Still watching the mirror. ¡°Plenty of your buddies saw. You won. Fair and square.¡±

    His brow darkens. Face tightens. A single spark of fire almost ignites as his anger spikes and he growls, ¡°Get out of that chair.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good. But thanks.¡±

    Feint slips between us right as three more uni fighters in matching Concordia jackets emerge out of the nearest crowd to form an awkward semicircle. She rests an elbow on my shoulder and cocks her head casually to the side. ¡°Hey, buddy. She said she said she wasn¡¯t interested.¡±

    ¡°No one¡¯s talking to you, shortstop.¡± She¡¯s about to fire back when the brawler snaps his fingers, igniting a fingertip of flame. The pulsating ember glows red-hot. ¡°Move.¡±

    She moves.

    He waits for me to stand. And when I still don¡¯t, he slings that compressed elemental power a centimeter away from my face, blowing the rest of my food into paste and splattering it across the liquor on display.

    Dead silence as the band squeals to a halt.

    A faint scorchmark cools along my cheek. The acrid smell of fried ozone in the air, a sizzling path burned by the flame, still evaporating as the brawler stomps through it and comes right up behind me.

    ¡°You don¡¯t get to wear those colors and fuck off from a fight,¡± he snarls. ¡°They stand for something better than a bitch who fakes an injury to skip out-¡±

    ¡°-Aurix. Aurix, stop.¡±

    Another Concordia fighter, shorter with a sleeping juvenile fox curled over his shoulders, pushes through the others. Shoulder-length, straw colored hair cascades down to brush against the hilt of a small scabbard and shield on his back. One hand, fingerless gloves, curls over the brawler¡¯s shoulder. But it¡¯s his eyes that catch me. Jade green, pure as the crystal stone itself. The green narrows briefly as he takes in the situation at a glance.

    ¡°They also stand for something better than picking petty fights,¡± he cautions the taller brawler. ¡°We have a reputation to uphold.¡± He motions at the standstill club. ¡°This isn¡¯t Cayman¡¯s. Let it go.¡±

    The brawler keeps glaring death at me, taped fingers curling and uncurling. A long moment passes. Then another. For a second, I think he¡¯s going to start something anyways. He moves forward, martial artist smooth, and drives a finger into my breastbone. Hard.

    ¡°If I see you around campus again, one of us isn¡¯t walking away,¡± he growls.

    Then he finally relents to the prying hand, shrugging it off and turning to leave. The shorter boy flashes me a cautious look before following his classmates back to the depths of the club.

    Slowly, the pulse of the music returns. Beside me, Feint breathes out a huge sigh and watches the uni fighters go. It takes her a second to finally shift back to me.

    ¡°So Tay, about that last round¡­¡±

    But by the time she does, I¡¯m already long gone.

 MEMORY.00

    I knew the day I met Tay that loving her was an inevitability, not a possibility. Tay, on the other hand? She takes her time. Life is never a straight line for her. It¡¯s a circle, a squiggle, a loop, a heartbeat pulse that bounces wherever it wants. That day, it bounced across my path. And my life was forever caught in her eddies.

    I was eleven. My whole school was on a field trip out to the villages, some summer month where the heat only grows thicker, never lesser. It was the furthest I¡¯d ever been from the capital. No skyscrapers in sight, just endless paddies of grain dotted by the occasional house. A tang of salt on the air. Pure blue sky, the kind of blue that recalibrates your entire measure of the color. And then the people and their homes. Warm, spartan, homely. Paper walls and wooden roofs, everything built in squares. An entirely different world than the capital. I loved it all.

    Early afternoon, on the edge of the village main, we sit on the platform of an ancient train stop waiting to ride back to the village¡¯s one highrail station. Little Cal¡¯s hand presses small and soft inside my own. Two years younger than I, my little sister is always my equal in studies, though the heat and travel have both taken their toll. She dozes nuzzled against my shoulder while we bask in the sun. On the horizon, a technological comet of steel and magnetics rockets towards the village on rails that tower two stories above the fields. One more hour and I will be on it and on my way back to the capital, this paradise just a memory.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Cal murmurs, sleepy eyes just barely cracked open.

    ¡°Hm?¡±

    She points one pale finger out across the ocean of rice. ¡°The train.¡±

    I squint hard and shield my brow with my free hand. The distant bullet train glimmers as it breaks out from beneath a white cloud, racing towards us. But that can¡¯t be what she¡¯s talking about. My sister is nine, not a dunce. So I squint harder. Even nearer now, the bullet train makes to pass our small station without stopping, tearing through the countryside at mach one. But it does not fly alone. A comet of slipstream light snakes over the paddies hot on its tail, matching the train turn for turn. Its golden trail disappears behind the last cabin as they hit the straightaway to the station. My mind races to identify the trail. Someone using a low-altitude flying class? No way. No one can go that fast, even with a JOY.

    A roar of triple-digit velocity barrels down on us. Heads start turning on the station platform. My heart clenches. And the moment before the train passes, that golden comet swings out from behind the last car, blows the sound barrier with a stuttered clap of thunder, and slashes from the train to the station then a hundred meters beyond like an arrow of light. In front of me and gone faster than a blink. So fast that all I can see is the lighttrail it leaves behind, seared into the atmosphere.

    The golden line fades as a supersonic wake washes over the platform, blowing through my dark hair like a summer tempest. But I remember what I saw inside the comet. Two things, burned into my memory forever: a girl whole stole my breath, and the wild grin she shot my way.

    Wind like a giant¡¯s broom kicks over the fields. Blinking quick, I crane my head to follow the comet as it curves ninety degrees into the sky, burning off its momentum until it comes to a floating stop high above the station, then lazily drifts down towards the distant farmlands like a guiding star.

    The train races on, undeterred. My classmates gasp in wonder. Our teachers murmur about dangerous joyrides, arms crossed in disapproval. Only Cal saw what I did. When I glance down, she¡¯s watching the star sink into the fields too. She squeezes my hand. Knowing my heart.

    I slip off the platform and onto the sun-baked road, leaving her my schoolbag and JOY to hold. ¡°Cover for me, Cal.¡±

    And I take off running.

    By the time I find the comet¡¯s impact crater. I¡¯m too far from the station, too deep into the rice fields to start regretting my rashness. If I didn¡¯t have the mountain range to the north as a landmark, I could be tricked into thinking these paddies go on forever. An infinite plaid of square plots, muddy water, and cracked black asphalt. The heat is ungodly. Rapacious sunlight beats against my shoulders, so thick and humid I find myself ripping off the buttoned school uniform and shoving it into my waistband. I keep going till a lone landmark rises from the fields in front of me: a small copse of trees, a weathered wooden bench, and an illegible yellow sign for some kind of ancient public transportation that¡¯s at least a couple centuries old.

    That¡¯s where I find the crater where she landed. And just beyond it, munching on an apple in the shade at the edge of the grove, I find her too.

    Leaning against a blooming tree, one battered sneaker kicked up against its trunk. Lean and angular, a leopard hide of freckles smeared over every inch of her. Kinetic power ripples through her tanned skin, which glows faintly even in daylight. A wavering aura of invisible wind stirs the leaves around her, billowing her long hair outwards in a little lion¡¯s mane. It shimmers like mercury and golden twine. Silver and gold, shining in the sun like an unsheathed blade, a crown of flower-petal bangs cascading down to frame her face.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    To eleven-year-old me, she was stunning. A vivacious girl through whom the world¡¯s pulse beat. What could I do except stare?

    And then I had to go and scuff my foot.

    Her head whirls around. Soft red eyes, face flushed red from her run, mouth parted in surprise. I stand there stuck, shirt off, scrawny, and sunburnt. I hold up my hand to stop her, trying to explain, but her mouth just forms into a competitive grin when she recognizes me from the station. She shuts off her JOY and curls two fingers in silent challenge. The invisible wind that surrounds her slowly fades. And then she¡¯s gone, laughing whirling back to the road, taking off at a dead sprint. The half-eaten apple splashes into the paddies.

    She¡¯s as fast as the breeze. Her hair trails behind her like a dragon¡¯s twisting tail, taunting me to catch up so I can see the face beneath one last time. Bare feet slap hard against the grassy shoulder of the road. I barely stop to lose my shoes after a quarter mile. She spins around and slows down while I tear them off, skipping backwards to taunt me. Watching me from meters away, eyes dancing with amusement, daring me to catch her. The moment I look back up, she¡¯s already taking off again.

    That next hour under the high noon sun is one of the worst in my life. I run harder than I ever have before, pleading with my body to keep going mile after hellish mile as she leads me on an aimless path across wooden walkways and down long empty roads that make up this backwater. Despite not using a JOY, she never slows. My only choice is to move faster.

    A subtle change overcomes her intensity as we bank left onto a long straightaway and a low estate rises in the distance. I¡¯m close enough behind her then to hear the ragged gasps of her breath, see the individual droplets of sweat wicking off her lone left arm. Her stride lengthens as she senses me finally draw astride. I give everything left in me to match her pace all the way to the white-walled estate at the end of the road, trading step for step.

    In the end, I think she lets me win.

    Running straight from the road down the tiled driveway of her home, she flies through a wide-open wrought iron gate towards the black supercar idling just inside. I stop and collapse at the border between the asphalt road and driveway, watching as the driver¡¯s door flies open, and from it, a legend in the flesh swings out to sweep her up in a loving, crushing embrace.

    She squeals as the man swings her in a circle, ignoring the sweat staining his designer suit. He holds her close and lets out a booming laugh. From these fields at the end of the world to the skyscrapers of the capital, there¡¯s not a soul who wouldn¡¯t recognize the sound or the man who makes it. He¡¯s a figure and a half. Broad in the shoulders, powerfully muscled, a wide chest framed by the shoulders of a hero who carries the hopes of an entire world. Crimson hair rages to his shoulders in a russet mane, matching the petals of his daughter¡¯s hair in length. Eyes dark as ocean depths gradually find me in turn. Everyone knows the color from the streams, but there¡¯s a different feeling entirely to witnessing the passion of a hurricane up close and personal when it decides to examine you and you alone.

    I swallow hard, wondering if I should kneel or bow or simply wave. He lets out another laugh as he ruffles his daughter¡¯s hair and crouches beside her. Those terrifying blue eyes focused on me all the while. Emotion I don¡¯t understand stirs within his face as he looks me over more intently. An understanding, a pained realization, the long look of a man watching the first word of a prophecy he never believed come true before his eyes.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were bringing friends back, Tetsuka!¡± he chuckles, suddenly burying that look beneath a fa?ade of cheer. ¡°You should have told me. I would have bought something nicer for dinner.¡±

    The girl shrugs and bashfully tries to push him away. ¡°Wasn¡¯t meaning to. We got caught up runnin¡¯ together.¡±

    He tugs on the girl¡¯s cheek until her freckles turned red with embarrassment. ¡°He made you run hard.¡±

    ¡°He just wouldn¡¯t quit,¡± she says. Her head tilts to the side in a quizzical manner. In the moment, it makes my heart skip a beat. It¡¯s honest and simple and tinged with a hint of a grin that invites me to come down the driveway.

    My lingering unease from the man¡¯s first look scatters to the wind. I scratch the back of my neck and stagger down the tile as best as I can, ignoring the one pant leg that comes unrolled as I do. ¡°Beat you at the end, too.¡±

    ¡°Did not. I was running to the house, not the driveway.¡±

    I cross my arms and grin. ¡°Should¡¯ve said so, then.¡±

    Her father pushes her forward in gentle reprimand. She turns even redder in the face as she steps up to introduce herself. Scant inches shorter than me, still panting for breath like I am, flowerlike hair matted to her forehead. She¡¯ll grow taller still, though the difference between us will never change for long.

    ¡°Go on, Tetsuka. Your aunt taught you manners, even if you don¡¯t use them,¡± he says.

    She growls and sticks her left hand out to shake. I stick out my right, fumble to no small delight of her father, then switch to the left. She wilts a bit at the gaff.

    ¡°¡¯m Tay¡­¡± she mutters, doing anything she can to avoid looking me in the eyes.

    Her father watches with cautious curiosity as I take her hand and hold it till she looks up.

    ¡°Thane,¡± I say, adding a smile at the end. ¡°Let¡¯s go again sometime.¡±

 1.3 - DAY ONE THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE

    Day one thousand, two hundred and five starts like most of the others do: with knots in my back, a foreign ceiling over my head, and sweat-damp sheets rumpled on the bed. Bad-dream damp. Out the floor-to-ceiling window of my hotel room, the capital¡¯s daytime life trundles on through a chilly midmorning. Snow flurries dance between the skyscrapers. Greenery on mid-level gardens billows in the cold wind, green leaves fluttering past to join the nascent snowflakes. Everything bright and shining, the sun¡¯s reflection glaring at me through the glass.

    From the bed, I roll over to face the window and the next row of highrises, but I¡¯m not really looking at the view. My left arm lays stretched out over the empty half of the bed, thumb and forefinger rubbing together, absentmindedly longing for something that is not there there. The rounded nub of my right shoulder stays buried in the bed. Self-conscious even now. I blink slowly, lost in longing for a different view, a different bed, a ceiling whose every plank and knot I know. Someone for my fingers to touch. But there are no sounds of cooking coming from deeper in the house. No creaks on wooden floorboards, no buzzing cicadas or chirping songbirds. No comfort of knowing another person is near at hand. Just honking hovertransports and the quiet whirr of a climate control unit. And silence.

    Eventually, I shake off the stupor and finally sit up, rubbing at my eyes to clear away the sleep. When they open again, the face of a stranger blinks back at me from the glass-plated closet. Long legs, too long for the hotel bed. Tan skin splattered in heavy brushstrokes of freckles. Those are mine. But the canvas-white hair, the downcast eyes, the silent lips; those belong to the girl whose name appears when I turn on my JOY. The mask I wear to survive.

    How long has it been since someone called me by my real name? I can¡¯t even remember.

    My head comes to rest on the backboard. Knees instinctively half-tucked so my feet don¡¯t hang off the bed. The sheet falls down while I finger my bad shoulder, feeling out the too-smooth nub, brain on autopilot. My eyes slide to the side table, the gunmetal-grey arm waiting there. Hate this part. The pinch of carbon fiber clutching to skin. The needles-stabbing as organic circuits drive into my nerves. But I hate being without it even more.

    Once, there was a time I could go without my prosthetic arm if I really felt like it, and I often did. Those times ended one thousand, two hundred and five days ago. My world is a gladiocracy, fighting skill the only virtue. Being down a limb is a risk and a weakness I can no longer afford to indulge in. The arm is lightning-twitch fast, one-hundred percent nonmetallic, and the last link I have to finding Aunt Jolie. It was one of the last models she made for me, right around my sixteenth birthday. I¡¯d broken the last while sparring with Thane. This one is as perfect as anything my aunt touches. I run my palm slowly over the bicep as I attach it, callused fingertips tracing the grooves. Reinforced plates stamped with the fishook logo of Shimano Heavy Industries, living biotech circuits painstakingly grown with my own genetic samples as their template; it¡¯s one of those rare things that¡¯s too expensive to have a price tag.

    The segmented fingers curl in and out in every possible combination as I test the sync with my body. Only when I¡¯m satisfied with the reaction time do I finally go get dressed; not that I have many options to choose from. I chucked everything I own into the cleanser bin by the door before I passed out last night. I nudge open the lid now and dump the bin across the floor, kicking through the meager pile. Do I want to wear those leggings, or these leggings? The socks with the holes, or the socks with more holes? You get the idea.

    I¡¯ve been on the move for a while, if you couldn¡¯t guess. Figured out the rhythm of surviving alone. Learned how to keep my head down, keep away from attention, and just focus on getting through one day at a time. Which I did not do last night.

    I broke every rule I¡¯ve ever set for myself in the space of a few hours. Showed off too much while fighting? Check. Talked with someone for more than sixty seconds? Check. Made friends and enemies with people who are definitely going to remember me? Check, check, check.

    My JOY is blinking the one-two pattern of an unread message when I finally make it to the bathroom. A fingertip tap on its shell opens a projection while I brush my teeth, fixing my hair up in a tail. The JOY runs a quick makeup scan over my face while my eyes scroll along the text. That girl from last night sent me a message about an hour after I slipped out of the club. I don¡¯t even remember when I gave her my number. Scanning the contents real quick, a worried checkup that ends with a question mark and a :), I delete it and spit out my toothpaste, sighing into the sink.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A stranger¡¯s eyes, dour and electric blue, are waiting when I look up.

    Whatever, Tets. New day, new city. You got this.

    Five minutes later, I¡¯m out on the concrete of the Imperial district, walking the long circuit of roadside paths that rounds one of the capital¡¯s huge artificial lakes. Autobikes and hovertransports cruise along the wide asphalt highways beside me. Away from the skyscrapers, I¡¯m left to the mercy of the coming winter. Cold air nips at my freckles. White hair flaps loosely over my shoulder. Shading my eyes with my left hand, I peer out over the placid lake, squinting at the landmarks dotting its shores. The beaches themselves are covered in picnicking couples, midmorning joggers, teams of university fighters out for training. The shallows writhe and roil from different classes at play. The Electric Town presses against the opposite shore nearly a mile away; the Metro Blockhouse towering over the rest of the skyline. A deeper chill snakes down my spine when I lay eyes on it again.

    I focus on closer sights. On the east shore of the lake, the road splinters into a bouquet of highways as it enters some cluster of rich residential districts called the Glass. Closer at hand, my map points me towards the capital¡¯s expansive community gardens and the Kingswalk, an acres-wide forest filled with shrines dedicated to the Section¡¯s past champions- our rulers, the strongest warriors who stand over all others. Neither of those are the sort of places I¡¯d expect to find Aunt Jolie. But then again, I¡¯m not really sure where I would start looking. The capital¡¯s a big place. And like me, Aunt Jolie vanished from the public eye nearly three years ago.

    Unlike me, Aunt Jolie is- was- a major public figure; a face of the pro leagues. Though she wasn¡¯t a warrior. She was a politician. And in a society where the only thing that really matters is how good you can fight, a politician who got famous in spite of that is a special kind of tenacious. The kind of tenacious that ends up on the news streams pretty regularly whether they want it or not. The kind of tenacious that doesn¡¯t just disappear, or get disappeared.

    But as far as I¡¯ve searched, I¡¯ve barely seen a clip about her on the streams or the Net in those three years. It¡¯s like the entire world collectively decided to forget that she existed. And my own knowledge isn¡¯t much better- Aunt Jolie is the only family I have left, but I never knew much about her life in the capital except that she worked in the Metro Blockhouse. And I can¡¯t exactly walk up those famous steps, knock on a few office doors, and start asking around for her.

    ¡®Seen anything about the mysteriously absent General Manager Jolie Mons?¡¯ Hah. Not exactly a safe conversation opener when you¡¯re trying to live as a ghost, believe me. It¡¯s the kind of weird question that makes you memorable. And being memorable isn¡¯t a great idea when people powerful enough to make someone like Aunt Jolie disappear tried to make me disappear, too.

    Not to mention, most people that powerful are found in the Metro Blockhouse. It¡¯s the throne of the Section. The forty strongest warriors in the land and the entire support staff they need to rule the capital and beyond call that place home.

    I do my best to ignore the arena¡¯s distant gaze while I walk the lakeside, asking about my aunt in the most innocent way possible. Everyone shrugs the same. No one recalls her being out in the city in months, if not years; though they all know her name. They say she¡¯s a spectre of the M, now. Rarely seen, reclusive in the highest levels of the arena, only leaving on rare occasions. Or only being let to leave.

    Couple hours later, I¡¯m finished touring the entirety of the Kingswalk forest and no less aimless. I mull my options over while I eat a lunch of fried rice out on a lakeside hill, watching the families and couples from a distance. I pick through the bits of egg with a frown, flicking them onto the grass for a little blackbird that alights near my feet to peck at. The rice isn¡¯t bad. Pretty good, actually. And that¡¯s coming from someone who¡¯s a bit of an expert. But it is rice. My stomach starts growling as my thoughts return to that burger from last night, that juicy meat with the cheese and the veggies and the¡­ no, no, no, Tetsuka. I swallow the drool already pooling in my mouth, mind turning back to the burger, the club, Feint. Miss admin-track herself. That concerned message I deleted this morning. I¡¯m not usually into trusting strangers, but Feint at least knew her way around the Electric Town. She might know a better person or place to ask some discrete questions. Better than picnickers, at least.

    Frowning, I lean back onto the grass, pulling out my JOY. I page through a couple more projections till I¡¯m staring at a list of all the landmarks where I could possibly find a clue to Aunt Jolie¡¯s whereabouts. Besides the Kingswalk, there¡¯s a couple more I might check, but only the last one has any real promise.

    Only problem is, it¡¯s right in the heart of hostile territory: the University district.

 1.4 - MS. POLY-SCI

    I sit on the roof of the metro while the city slinks into dusk. Knees tucked to my chest, arms around them, huddled against the cold. Dad¡¯s jacket loose over my shoulders, a half-eaten apple in hand. Sky a grey-blue half-devoured by the coming night. Darkness settling over the capital, a fading strip of molten color dying behind the distant cityscape, street lamps coming on one by one in the neighborhoods I ride over. That fleeting, romantic moment between the dusk and the neon. The moment of a tiptoe kiss after dinner, a fingertips-trailing parting at the metro station, a monochrome photograph of a lover looking back over his shoulder.

    Then a highrise flashes between me and the sunset. A two-story poster of this weekend¡¯s main event buries the dying light in platinum pixels and eight letters that spell CHAMPION. And I¡¯m back.

    Carbon-fiber fingers clenched against the metal roof. Loud bangs and reverberations up and down the metro as fliers slam down and jump free to soar into the outer limits of the Electric Town. The last sights of the famed district wing past on both sides, color-smear billboards printing my skin with neon tones. Pulse-pounding Neopop blares up from the streets. It fades as we cross one of the many scars in the capital¡¯s skin; a seam in the crust of the city that gives a glimpse down into the lawless undercity. The Vents. An underworld jungle of upside-down towers, layered blocks, and the concrete bridges that stretch between. The one place it¡¯s said that even the Champion¡¯s influence doesn¡¯t reach.

    The switch to the University district is night and day. Same brick streets, but the buildings are all lower, three stories at the most. Lanes of mom-and-pop gyms, neighborhood tech outlets, wide parks, comfy apartments, and cozy gas streetlamps. Data transfer cables hang like black vines over the intersections. Instead of brain-melting Neopop, the music wending through the streets is acoustic and demure, welcoming without drowning. If I squint, I can just barely make out the distant hills and gleaming skyline that marks where the combat universities begin.

    Luckily for me, I¡¯m not going anywhere near those schools tonight. Though there¡¯s bound to be students all over the place anyways. It¡¯s their district, after all. With this year¡¯s orientation coming in a matter of days, the density of newly arrived faces should be high enough that I¡¯ll have no problem fitting in. I still bought a cap to cover my face. Spent the last of my money on it, but I¡¯m glad I did. Growing up in the Section¡¯s rural coastal villages, I¡¯m well familiar with the weather tonight. Dry cold, uneasy cold, the kind that brings wind and rain close on its heels. It¡¯ll be nice to have some cover.

    Faraway thunder rumbles through the clouds as the metro pulls into the district¡¯s first station. I tug down the brim of the cap and slide off the train with the other roof riders, landing in the middle of the disembarking crowd. Bag tight against my back. I keep to the densest clusters of students as I work my way through a short series of hallways that lead to street level, only stopping to grab a can of caf from a row of rusting Shimano Heavy Industries vending machines. In the glass reflection, holographic posters for the first showmatch of the universities¡¯ winter season shimmer and shift in wall displays. This season¡¯s kickoff has the first-rank fighter of Erida Uni going up against the apex predator of the college leagues: Thane the Invincible, a fighter so ludicrously above his competition that people are already calling him a shoo-in for the pro scene.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    I stare daggers at the poster in the vending machine¡¯s reflection, listening to other people commenting on the odds as they pass. They mutter about Thane¡¯s unbroken record of victories like he¡¯s standing right behind them. Like he isn¡¯t the heartthrob of the gossip circuits, hasn¡¯t been obliterating his competition since day one, or been the most talked about uni student for three years straight.

    The can of caf slaps into my hand.

    Out of the station with a sea of unfamiliar faces, descending into a wide plaza ringed by warm streetlamps and cozy restaurants. Scents of bakeries and firewood make my nose twitch while I scan the crowd until I find a conspicuous person-sized pocket that¡¯s missing a head. The crowd flows around the pocket and gradually disperses, revealing a short, black-haired girl who¡¯s staring right back at me with a smug little smile. Black leather jacket open down the middle, maroon scarf bundled around her collar like a cowl, laced-to-the-knee boots. Black hair done back up in a loose tail, long bangs draping past pale yellow eyes that watch me approach with barely-restrained humor.

    Feint quirks an eyebrow at me as I descend the last of the steps. ¡°We¡¯re so going to have to update your wardrobe, Tay. If you keep walking around looking like a Venter who just stumbled out of a street fight, someone other than me is going to start remembering your face.¡± She swings right into step beside me. Hands in her pockets, no questions asked. ¡°After that disappearing act last night, I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be hearing from my mysterious new friend again. Imagine my surprise when you of all people text me back right as I¡¯m getting off my shift.¡±

    ¡°Friends aren¡¯t exactly my strong suit,¡± I say.

    ¡°Weird way to say ¡®Yes Feint, I would love to get that last drink sometime,¡¯ but I¡¯ll take it.¡± She playfully bumps her hip against mine. ¡°So, what¡¯s the catch? You getting into more trouble tonight?¡±

    I¡¯m grinning before I realize it. ¡°There¡¯s a place in this district I wanted to check out. Didn¡¯t know the best way there.¡± Already opening a projection screen from my JOY, I tilt it over so she can read. ¡°It¡¯s a gym that¡¯s called the Roundhouse on the ¡®Net. But I can¡¯t find it on any of the public maps.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s old, is why. And that¡¯s not its real name. Used to be one of those landmarks you had to see if you were coming to the capital. I¡¯m pretty sure it shut down a couple years ago.¡± She shoots me a smirking, sideways glance. ¡°So it is trouble on the menu tonight.¡±

    I let my hands sink into my pockets. ¡°The trouble¡¯s optional; I just want to take a quick look-see. In and out. Ten minutes, tops.¡± I glance down. ¡°You know how to get there?¡±

    ¡°Do I know how to get there. Hah! Good one.¡± Feint rolls her eyes, thin smile disappearing as she settles behind her scarf. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for stuff that doesn¡¯t want to be found, you came to the right girl for help.¡±

 1.5 - GLORY DAYS

    Our route quickly takes us into the denser parts of the district, closer to where it borders the Electric Town. No auto transportation of any kind is allowed here, so the streets are filled with uni students on their off hours. Excited first-years trying the bakeries and coffee shops; later seniors in tees and gym shorts hauling bags of groceries back to their dorms. Everyone keeping a wary eye on the brooding sky.

    It¡¯s only when Feint says we¡¯ve reached the last turn that the pedestrian flow ratchets back down. Two quick alleys away from the busiest downtown plazas, we¡¯re walking down a wide, dimly-lit brick lane all by ourselves. Humble houses and small stores shuttered for the offseason flank the sidewalk. I hop the curb and walk right down the center of the street, listening to the soft sounds my sneakers make while I pass between circles of shadow and lamplight. My eyes roam the sidewalk until I finally spy the one dark silhouette amidst the other lit-up buildings. A huge warehouse, two stories that have the height of three, boarded windows and dusty glass. Above the wide bay doors, a hand-painted sign marked with handprints of all sizes. The paint is faded, the wood chipped, but the name beneath them is still legible.

    I stare up at the sign for a long, long moment. Hands in my pockets, rocking on my heels. Only when a streetlamp flickers behind me do I finally remember where I am and who I¡¯m with. I glance both ways down the street. Dead empty. Feint draws up beside me, a small puff of steamy breath pluming up from her scarf.

    ¡°How do you want to do this?¡± she casually asks.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a few ideas.¡±

    I head under the front awning to inspect the bay doors. One tug confirms that they¡¯re locked in place. Bolts rusted through, too. An alley keeps heading down the side of the warehouse to my right, running down its flank. Couple windows, nailed-down wooden boards, undisturbed like sacred ground. It takes one JOY-powered elbow to smash through the first window I see and get us an entrance.

    Wincing at the noise, I wave for Feint to follow and ease through the busted boards, letting my weight rest on the first foot through. Something catches my ankle as I start to duck though. I throw my hands forward and just barely keep from braining myself against the windowsill as I tumble into pitch-black lobby on the other side, a hot itch of pain crawling along my hip. Gasping, I start to palm over the cut, then immediately flip to my feet when a bright spotlight slams on behind me. My silhouette leaps to life on the wall. Heartbeat shooting straight into overdrive. Panicked adrenaline spikes through my veins for the two frames it takes me to whirl around and come face to face with a creaky Oldtech projector sputtering out its last life, upside-down on the floor. Not a spotlight, not a security guard.

    Feint¡¯s worried face pops over the windowsill. ¡°Shit, what happened?¡±

    I kick the thing¡¯s power cord off my foot with a growl. ¡°Getting a little paranoid, is all.¡±

    The projected footage keeps flickering on the wall. Some old tape of a coaching session, degraded by time, two people in a gymnasium I don¡¯t recognize. Staticky audio plays in a distorted warble. Three words make it through before the projector starts coughing on dust.

    ¡°First comes hands¡­¡±

    My eyebrows narrow. Toeing off the projector with my sneaker, I pull out my JOY and set it to hover behind my shoulder, spreading a wispy blanket of electric-blue illumination while Feint eases between the boards far more more gracefully than I did. She moves smoothly even with her hands in her pockets. Agile like a bite-sized acrobat. If she hadn¡¯t told me she doesn¡¯t fight, I¡¯d peg her as a natural fit for any of the mundane martial classes. Duelist, maybe.

    We wander the lobby together, kicking up clouds of dust as we go. I can¡¯t stop my sneezes, only stifle them, pinching my nose so I don¡¯t make even more noise. Cyan light spills past my shoulder over the warped wooden paneling and old memorabilia littering the walls. Silver trophy cups from college tournaments dated almost two decades back gleam in the darkness. Tattered banners of prestigious noble houses from faraway Sections rustle quietly. Battered weapons of various martial disciplines hang on simple hooks: a katana¡¯s detached blade with an oil-stained edge, a revolver with a shattered barrel, knuckle tape soaked in blood. Huge photographs printed on real paper; tons of them, unimaginably expensive in a digital age. Many people fill the frames, but one manages to find his way into each photo: a powerful fistfighter with a smile always on his face. Sometimes he¡¯s front and center. Sometimes taking the photo. Rarely he¡¯s in the background. Once or twice, he¡¯s looking out over some incredible vista, giving a human scale to the otherworldly wonder captured between the margins.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    I pad along the history of his life, watching him grow from a boy as old as I am to a young warlord at the head of an army, to a powerful hero waving to a thousandfold crowd, and at the end, the quietest moments those crowds would never see. The index finger of my left hand brushes along the monochrome memories, clearing away the dust. A lump rises in my throat. I swallow it down and look away.

    Feint¡¯s watching me with a mix of curiosity and concern. ¡°You alright, Tay?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± I say. I hold a hand to my forehead and put the pictures behind me. ¡°Someone went to a lot of work to make sure this place was kept in good shape. Why was it shut down?¡±

    ¡°Beats me. I heard the Sectional Director zoned it off as a government investment, kept anyone from buying up the property.¡± She looks around the darkness, searching the low roof and ancient brick floors. ¡°Maybe it was important to her. Clearly was to someone.¡±

    A reception desk waits in the darkness ahead. Half-disintigrated papers are scattered atop it. I thumb through them briefly, but most of them crumble to dust when I touch them, and those that don¡¯t are nothing helpful. Nothing that screams this way to Aunt Jolie, at least.

    Across the hall, under a wide mouth of an opening so low I have to duck under and Feint waltzes right beneath, the air temperature drops ten degrees flat. We¡¯re in the main floor of the warehouse, I think. Guided by the meager light of Feint¡¯s JOY, I search the walls until I find an old lever for the overheads. Takes both hands to throw it. An electric hum shivers through the air once I flip it upright.

    Most of the spotlights up in the rafters are out, but a few begin to glow once power reaches them, patiently warming towards a golden ambiance. I blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the new illumination. Shift slowly on my heels, taking in the vastness of the space. A sea of rusted punching bags and decades-old weight racks runs along the brick walls. Heavy wooden pillars naturally divide the floor into partitions for training, stretching, sparring, and more. It¡¯s a gym, alright. A beautiful one, handmade and mausoleum quiet, suffused with all-natural retro that the Electric Town can only hope to copy. Perfectly preserved in dusty amber; like a sword in a stone that¡¯s lain dormant for eons, patiently waiting to fulfill its purpose.

    There¡¯s a weight to the air here. A stillness that grows as I approach the full-size sandstone square in the center of the gym; fighting instincts magnetized to it. I run my palm along the flattened surface, eyes closed, feeling the history of lessons learned and friendships forged in its scratches and scuffmarks. For a moment, I¡¯m taken back to that little rock garden in my memory. I can almost hear the squeaking shoes, the slap of skin against wood. Black hair, golden eyes. I wince.

    Then my ears perk up. Blinking back to the gym as I¡¯m dragged out of the moment and my ears twitch again. This time back and to the left, towards a little side exit to one of the alleys. Squeaking shoes, just outside. Not a figment of my imagination.

    Keys are already rattling in the door. Sucking in a breath, I look to Feint for help, but she just throws her palms hands up, eyes wide with panic. There¡¯s nothing but pillars and workout equipment around us. No time to hide, the door¡¯s already creaking open and-

    ¡°-like ten years, right? I didn¡¯t even think the lights could still work.¡±

    My stomach drops as one by one, four elite uni fighters fresh from a workout squeeze through the creaking door, gazing around the lit-up gym with the same wonder I just did. The first through, a boy with a sleeping fox resting over his shoulders, is still talking.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a sparkrat?¡± he offers, eyeing the rafters. ¡°Lots of them coming up from the Vents lately.¡±

    But their fiery leader has already seen me. His expression hardens.

    ¡°Nah,¡± he growls, releasing his bag. It hits the ground with a violent thud. ¡°Different kind of rat.¡±

 1.6 - RUNBACK

    I throw my hands up, palms empty. Eyes darting left and right in search of an exit. But these are baby professionals. They can see that they¡¯ve got us cornered. Smell the single beat of panic that pulses through my veins. Like hounds, they spread out, block Feint and I in, and close the noose in an instant. They stand too far apart for a single attack to hit more than one, wary of any classes I might have been holding back when they saw me last. Wary of Feint, too.

    I can¡¯t get caught up in anything here. If I do, I¡¯ll be questioned, and my skimpy fake identity will not hold up. But the more my heels begin to ease back, the more it triggers that special sense for weakness that all these cocky college warriors have.

    They know I want to run. But they also have a reputation, and in a gladiocracy, murder is the highest sin. So they¡¯re not going to kill me. Not when there¡¯s a witness. They¡¯re just gonna fuck me up real, real bad for what I did to their leader.

    Then I take another look at the guy in charge, and I¡¯m not even sure of that guarantee.

    It¡¯s not anger I see on his face. It¡¯s hate. A cool hate, a calculating hate, a proud hate. He takes his time wrapping his knuckles in tape while the others flank us, tearing off each length with his teeth. That mane of orange-red hair pulled together like a comet.

    ¡°Nice of you to turn on the lights,¡± he says, inspecting his knuckles. Almost lazily, he adds, ¡°Grab them.¡±

    Feint tries to dart away and gets clubbed in the back of the head as one of the three other fighters lunges to catch her. He fishes through her empty pockets in search of a JOY before dumping her against a pile of moth-eaten storage crates. Half-conscious and dazed.

    ¡°This one¡¯s just a mook,¡± he says.

    Then they surround me. On my right, a densely muscled girl with geometric tattoos covering her arms in dark ink. Leather-bound cybersword taller than I am strapped to her back. To my left, a wiry guy with slew of throwing blades hidden in his uni windbreaker; slicked back fade and a razor-sharp gaze. They close from opposite sides, moving with the trained smoothness common in all team fighters. Only the third, that straw-haired boy with the fox- Tamer class, the pet handlers- refuses to budge. While I let the others grab my arms and wrench them back, he puts himself between the ringleader and Feint, one hand protectively extended.

    ¡°Aurix, do not do this,¡± he warns, staring down the taller brawler. He glances at me. ¡°Look at her, man! She¡¯s probably just some Venter looking for a place to sleep. Let her off. We¡¯re better than petty revenge. You are better.¡±

    ¡°Venters don¡¯t fight like she did,¡± Aurix says, finishing his tape. ¡°You saw her throw that match. She¡¯s some pro smirk who thought it¡¯d be funny to embarrass us in front of a crowd. I¡¯m just gonna teach her a little lesson in respect.¡± He looks past the girl. ¡°Her jacket.¡±

    They rip Dad¡¯s jacket off my shoulders and throw it over. Aurix flips back the collar, frowns, and drops it atop his bag. Powerful hands reaffirm around my bare wrists.

    ¡°Nice arm,¡± the tattooed girl sneers. ¡°Should¡¯ve used that money on a real one.¡±

    ¡°I would if I could, believe me.¡±

    ¡°Aurix¡­¡± the Tamer tries again.

    Aurix shoves right past, winding his arms in small circles to loosen up. Heather grey shirt already stained by sweat, violent eyes the color of a lake at midnight. A buzzsaw trickle of elemental fire seeps from his sleeves. One snap will ignite it to lethal levels.

    Fox boy shakes her head in disappointment, voice sinking. ¡°What would your father think?¡±

    Aurix blinks twice. The question actually stalls him for a moment. Then his hate doubles. All of it narrowing on me, finding an outlet in me as he snarls, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t we all love to know, Felix.¡±

    The fighters holding me wrench my arms back with an iron grip. I flick my chin up, egging their leader forward. Only thing I¡¯m thinking of is how the hell I¡¯m going to get Feint and before I escape. I can¡¯t just leave her.

    My fingers curl inwards, five metal then five real, knuckles cracking. ¡°Real brave of you, ganging up three against one. Maybe you¡¯ll land a real hit this time.¡± I glance over at the huge girl gripping my prosthetic arm. ¡°Might want to hold on a little tighter.¡±

    She responds by slamming me against the side of the fighting square hard enough to bruise my back. My spine arches over the edge. I grimace at the pain. Aurix closes, balling a fistful of rippling fire around his right hand. Dominant hand. ¡°Keep talking,¡± he says. ¡°Get all the snarkiness out, before I beat it out of you.¡±

    My voice steels in warning as he comes to a stop in striking distance. ¡°You let us go, I¡¯ll walk out right now and never come back.¡±

    He glances up as a couple of the lights flicker above us, eyes quickly returning to my face, my prosthetic arm, my lanky frame. Deciding what to break first. ¡°Nah. No one embarasses me like that and walks away. You did it twice.¡±

    He settles on my face. Typical.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°So I¡¯m just an emotional punching bag for your daddy issues. Killer.¡± I try to look past him, shouting at the fox tamer. ¡°What about you? You¡¯re just going to sit there?¡±

    He refuses to meet my gaze, not that I care. The lights flicker around us again, drawing the attention of the uni fighters for a split second. I don¡¯t bother looking up. I can already see the way this night¡¯s about to go, and it¡¯s not pretty. The nonchalance is just a distraction while I subtly adjust my weight to the balls of my feet. ¡°Mah. Go ahead. Your friend here needs all the help he can get.¡±

    Aurix¡¯s arm chambers back like a piston. Potential energy skyrockets in the shoulder joint. The flames build around his fist, shuddering with waves of compressed heat. And then, right as his hips swivel to release the body-breaking punch, a high-pitched electric whine saws into our eardrums like steel against steel.

    Everyone recoils. Aurix slams his palms to his ears. The others try to follow suit, but can¡¯t release me. Instead, they shout in confusion at the noise, heads swinging towards Aurix as the flames around him sizzle out like a pinched wick. The giant JOY-created sword strapped to the girl¡¯s back follows a moment later, dissolving into a slurry of electric-blue nanolines. Gone in a blink.

    She feels the change in weight and reaches back on instinct. ¡°What the¡­¡±

    Slick-fade¡¯s eyes widen as he pulls out his JOY. The sphere¡¯s dead, cold metal. His head whips to me. ¡°It¡¯s her!¡± he suddenly shouts, mouth agape. ¡°She¡¯s Feint! The pro-killer!¡±

    Feint?

    ¡°Feint!?¡± the fox tamer gapes.

    Pro-killer?

    I don¡¯t even have time to process the second accusation. Because at the exact same moment that Slick shouts, every overhead in the gym suddenly cuts out at once, coating us in darkness. The JOY in Slick¡¯s hand blinks back to life, splaying projector screens in every direction as it reboots. Orange-hot fire cuts back on around Aurix¡¯s hand. He¡¯s throwing his full weight into the punch at me when the blinding light of the rebooting JOY¡¯s projector screens slashes across us, hitting him square in the eyes.

    Pinned still, back to a hard wall, surrounded on all sides, outsized and outnumbered four to one, I move as my father taught me. Aurix¡¯s fist has only started to accelerate when my right foot snaps up in a blur, cracking the two halves of his jaw together hard enough to fracture teeth. The punch flies wide left. I drop in the same moment, catching Slick off guard and dragging him into the path of the blow. A fire-wrapped fist collides with his unprotected jaw like a sledgehammer against hollow wood. He cracks into the side of the square headfirst.

    The overheads click back on. Still dropping to the ground, I plant a hand on the floor and flick out a kick at the side of the inked girl¡¯s knee. Only her Guardian class¡¯s built-in reinforcement keeps the joint from popping like a cork. She collapses with a roar of pain and I keep rotating. Handspring over her back and onto my feet, then whip my entire body into an evasive roll at a microsecond warning as I hear the familiar oxygen shriek of elemental flames being concentrated into lethal compression. A vitriolic beam of fire slams through the space I just occupied like a foot-wide hole puncher, incincinerating the air, a table, a pull-up bar and one of the gym¡¯s support pillars before it slags a hole straight through a brick wall and tears into an alley across the street; bridging the road in a string of roiling light.

    Fire swells and blooms along the devastated path. Scorched skin itches on my lower spine from the near miss. I jerk upright just in time to meet Aurix¡¯s lightning-fast chaser. Boxer¡¯s triplet; jab-jab-haymaker. I throw myself sideways to juke the first jab and shoot back instantly. Smash an elbow into his sternum to stagger him, and link it into a reverse snap kick to the gut. He goes through a stack of dusty furniture like a cannonball.

    The other two are back up the second I look away. Slick grabs a blunt wooden training blade from a nearby rack, clutching a hand to the bruised side of his face. ¡°Get manual weapons!¡± he slurs. ¡°She¡¯s killed leaguers from the M. The reports said she¡¯s immune to JOYs. We can¡¯t rely our classes.¡±

    ¡°Just our luck,¡± Ink growls. She seizes a ladder leaning against one of the pillars, whirling it like a tree trunk. Blocking space. Buying time for Aurix to smash out of the debris, then sweep into her wake, feline-quick.

    They splinter into a triangle formation, not even giving me time to deny the accusation. Slick closes first, flanking to my left. Aurix and Ink charge straight from the front. I pick a target and explode into motion. Snag a weight clamp from a nearby ramp and backhand wing it at Ink¡¯s head like a steel bullet. Her hardcoded university training costs her. Instinctively, she tries to lift the ladder and deflect the projectile, but it¡¯s too cumbersome. She doesn¡¯t even blink before the clamp brains the center of her forehead and drops her like a sack of meat. Aurix powerslides beneath the ladder as it swings wildly above his head, flames gathered orange-hot in his hands, shearing the floor with twin curtains of fire.

    Pounding footsteps to my left. I glance, line my foot up with a rolling crate, and kick it into Slick¡¯s legs, ending his attack before it can begin. Pain explodes through my torso as Aurix smashes into me like a jackhammer from the front the moment I look away. Heavy, muscular, violently fast. The impact force of the punch spins me sideways, opening my midline. His sneaker pistons heel-first into my chest, catapulting me into a pillar hard enough to eject the breath from my lungs.

    Airless, I throw my hands up instinctively. Orange hair whips in front of me like a panther¡¯s tail. A burning fist pulverizes the wood as I duck to the side. Another haymaker chases the first so hard Aurix¡¯s knuckles drive into the pillar¡¯s guts, trapping me at point-blank range.

    We¡¯re staring eye-to-eye. My back to the pillar, his hand stuck inside it. His knee already chambered for a brutal strike meant to obliterate my intestines through explosive kinetic force. He sneers. ¡°Some killer you are.¡±

    I slam my forehead into his face. Bone cracks against bone. Stars explode inside my head, but he recoils even worse. Before he can recover, I grab the side of his head and smash him facefirst into a bench press. There¡¯s a sick crunch of cartilage. Red smearing his face. A bloody moan as he rebounds off of it like a backboard. I kick his body over the bar and out of the fight, then suddenly throw my prosthetic arm up and back to no-look block the wooden training sword that Slick swings at my skull. The blunt weapon snaps clean against hard carbon fiber. Splinters shower over my shoulders. I duck Slick¡¯s followup and he rolls right over my back with a surprised yelp, straight into a dismissive heel that dumpsters him into a rack of wooden training implements, scattering the decade-old weapons like bowling pins.

    Only then do I manage to get air back into my lungs. It comes slowly at first, as my heart gradually remembers it can breathe. Painfully straightening up, I clutch a hand to my chest and stumble a back against the side of the sandstone square, reeling from confusion.

    They think I¡¯m Feint? And that she is some kind of assassin who¡¯s immune to JOYs- that¡¯s not even possible- who they clearly recognized? Who¡¯s wanted on the news? Shit, shit, shit.

    It can¡¯t be true. But they sure thought it was.

    And if they¡¯re even half-right¡­ a spontaneous dinner date with a killer who¡¯s wanted for murdering major leaguers doesn¡¯t just happen. Feint finding me on that Electric Town curb didn¡¯t just happen.

    She told me she was looking for someone. I knew she wasn¡¯t lying when she did.

    Now, a day too late to save me, I get why.

 1.7 - LOOSE ENDS

    A gleaming metal dagger wings into the gap between my feet, driving hilt-deep into the wood.

    I freeze. Listen to the lone pair of boots that I only now have time to hear crunching through the rubble behind me. Breathe out hard. And turn.

    It¡¯s not the last of the four uni fighters, the one with the fox, who¡¯s staring back. It¡¯s a girl who¡¯s a lot shorter, a lot sassier, and so much easier to like. And I¡¯m such a fool for trusting her. Because Feint doesn¡¯t look like an off-the-clock intern as she spins another knife between her fingers. She doesn¡¯t look like a flirty city girl who doesn¡¯t even carry a JOY because she¡¯s so bad at fighting.

    She looks like she¡¯s used that knife.

    A lot.

    Feint strides right over the Tamer¡¯s bleeding-out body. Jacket gone and sleeves rolled back, exposing pale forearms and the bangle wrapped around her left wrist. Dark rivulets of blood trace the line of her palm. Her playful yellow eyes dance from the spreading flames, to the unconscious bodies littered around my feet, then finally, to me. Perfectly at home in this carnage, ignorant of the sirens screaming two alleys over.

    ¡°I was going to leave the dirty work to these guys, but, well¡­¡± she nudges Aurix¡¯s body with the toe of her boot, too heavy to roll. ¡°¡­they really bit off more than they could chew.¡±

    ¡°Who are you? What do you want with me?¡± I snarl.

    Her lips twitch in a humorless smirk. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a hint.¡± She casually spins her knife. ¡°You probably have nightmares about it¡­¡± Spins again. ¡°¡­every night.¡±

    The old, abandoned gym begins crumbling to the heat. Watching the roof starting to sag, I run the chances of surviving another fight with a completely unknown entity, then cut them in half. My wounds are bad enough. It¡¯s the exhaustion that¡¯s the real killer. That, and the red-blue-white lights pulsing through the grime-coated windows out front. Lumber and metal clatter and crash around us as the inferno builds. Embers and smoke choke the air. I scan the brick walls, the lobby I entered through, looking for any escape. Only way out is back through the lobby. If even. And Feint¡¯s just standing there like she¡¯s waiting for me to try it.

    I¡¯ve only got one factor in my favor. Even if she¡¯s immune to JOYs like the uni fighters claimed, my class doesn¡¯t require one to work. It makes me faster and more durable, and it has training wheels in the neural link that help new fighters learn the martial arts, but I shut those off ages ago. I might be the only person in this city prepared to win a fight against someone who a JOY can¡¯t hurt. Not that it¡¯s much help now.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t take you for a runner,¡± she says, still waiting.

    ¡°And you play a good mouse. Had me fooled pretty well,¡± I reply, stalling for seconds. ¡°Who is it that wants me dead?¡±

    ¡°Someone.¡± She shrugs. ¡°Someone rich, someone powerful, you¡¯d probably know better than me. I don¡¯t ask why. Just who and when.¡± An electric-blue glow pulses through the damascene folds of the metal bangle ringing her wrist, igniting a pattern eerily reminiscent of exposed circuits. ¡°I¡¯m sorry whoever hurt you isn¡¯t done yet. I don¡¯t usually like killing people. Especially girls like you. But they gave me a reason I couldn¡¯t refuse.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m touched,¡± I snort. ¡°But I bet you tell that to all your victims.¡±

    And I¡¯ve finally found the distraction I need.

    The rubble stirs behind Feint as the small snout of a red fox pokes through. Beady, hate-filled eyes peer out. The little JOY-made creature finds me first. Then Feint, and its master¡¯s blood on her hands. The creature¡¯s years-trained heuristics make their choice. And I make mine.

    There¡¯s no way out of this except through the girl in front of me. The moment the fox lunges for her ankles, I spring back and use my JOY¡¯s reinforcements to smash a shin through a faltering pillar. The roof buckles above. Gives with a crash. A screen of ash and debris dumps between Feint and I, cutting vision. Through the haze, I see her silhouetted left arm snap up. The bangle around her wrist flashes with an electric pink glow, piercing the smoke. Mid-leap, the fox suddenly freezes, shrieking a pixelated whine. Then its shriek warbles. Crumbling into a nonstop sound no organic creature could make as its body stretches, tears, and smears; ripped right out of existence.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    I can still feel her trying to track me through the smoke, the itch of danger as her killer¡¯s intuition zeroes on my movement. A knife flashes out of the blind. But I¡¯m already six feet above it, springing off the lip of the fighting square and spinning through the burning air. I flip over the smokescreen in a whirlwind, catching roiling flames in my palms. Time stretches in the frame our eyes meet. I fall like a thundbolt, embers swirling through my hair, red heat wreathing my hands. Her head jerks up, a rippling firewall our arena border.

    Then I¡¯m in range. Slashing down from the rafters. Razor-sharp platinum flashes towards my chest at the last moment. I twist, halfing my falling momentum so I can slap Feint¡¯s knife to the side with a carbon-fiber palm. Drop and reap her ankles with a scything sweep. But she¡¯s just as fast. Twisting mid-fall, she touches down with five fingers and handsprings over the shin that would have claimed her head and instead clips only hair. There¡¯s a microsecond gap I leave for her to counterattack in, but another flicking movement of her wrist activates her bangle again instead, and-

    My JOY shuts off.

    The strength the sphere was feeding me, propping me up with, letting me leap in a six-foot arc with, vanishes. I don¡¯t even register that my body doesn¡¯t respond like it usually does at first. I¡¯ve lived so intimately attached to the tech that the moment it abruptly winks out for the first time in years, the microsecond lag it takes to adjust costs me everything.

    Feint¡¯s hand flashes, low-high. And that¡¯s all it takes.

    It feels like she punches me in the stomach from five feet away. Belatedly, I realize her knife is no longer in her hands. I fall back a step. Then the cold begins slithering its way deeper into my guts. My throat chokes up. Whole body hitching from shock. Freezing, rebelling as the stabbing pain blossoms and a familiar hot ooze begins pouring from my stomach.

    I teeter over and collapse backwards onto the floor. Croaking for air. Grabbing at the knife impaled in me, nearly blacking out when I touch the handle. My fingers shiver as they firm around the grip. But I can¡¯t make them close. I scrabble back on one elbow, through the burning embers and chunks of wood rain that rain down, searing my skin, melting cloth and flesh together. The pain helps me claw back to my feet. Just in time to eat a boot to the face.

    My head snaps back. Concussion as I slap against the ground. Feint¡¯s soles come to a stop outside my rapidly blurring vision. Spitting sparks, the dead shell of my powerless JOY rolls to a stop outside my reach. Feint nudges me onto my back and kneels. I gasp again, chest seizing. Her face wrinkles bitterly.

    ¡°Hate this part,¡± she mutters.

    She forces her hand over my mouth, grabs the knife, and I scream a muffled scream into her palm. The fires keep burning. All of me shudders, the blood pumping faster. I try to throw a kick at her, but my leg won¡¯t even move. Heat choking everything. Being smothered. I can¡¯t die here. Not like this. It hurts so bad. I need to get up. But my arms refuse to respond.

    Once she¡¯s done wiping the blade off on my shirt, Feint rises and leaves me to die. I jerk over onto my side, everything out of focus, straining my left arm with all the strength it can give. It shudders uselessly, pushing me up a single agonizing inch before dropping me right back onto the floor. Still outside my reach, my JOY winks back to life when Feint passes far enough away, powering back on just to keep me alive just a few agonizing moments longer while my head slaps down into the puddle of my own blood.

    ¡°We¡¯re not¡­ done¡­¡± I slur at her back. ¡°Shitty, fucking¡­ assassin.¡±

    Feint¡¯s heat-blurred boots come to a stop amidst the rubble.

    ¡°Come finish¡­ your job.¡± Blood trickles and drips down my head. I gasp out a single laugh through the obscene pain when I finally see her feet turn. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ more like it.¡±

    A mouthful of liquid splashes against the floor, arterial red, as I force myself onto hands and knees. I blink with horrible slowness, almost crumpling back down. Viscous blood drips from my lips. When my eyes crack open again, I¡¯m staring at laces and hard leather. My real hand, left hand, balls into a fist.

    ¡°You really want to die that badly?¡± she asks. I can almost hear her shrug. ¡°Fine by me.¡±

    Feint drops to her haunches, looking me over. Two soft fingers caress my chin, lifting my head and exposing my neck. Cold metal presses against my throat.

    I meet her gaze through a curtain of sooty hair. ¡°You really are¡­ a shitty assassin.¡±

    She arches an eyebrow. ¡°And how¡¯s that, Tay?¡±

    I push my forehead into hers. ¡°You¡¯re too goddamn nice.¡±

    She looks down. Back up, eyes widening in surprise. My hand is already locked around her wrist. With all the strength I have left, I rip her arm to the side and twist to break her grip at the last moment, arrowing her knife at the wall. Right into an exposed gas line.

    The knife drives in to the hilt.

    Feint sighs.

    And a superheated fireball rips the world in half.

 MEMORY.01

    I¡¯ve been visiting Tay at her family estate for months, but the peculiar breed of hair-raising nervousness I suffer on my trips to see her has never gotten old. A consequence, I suppose, of being trapped in a car for hours with one of the most powerful- and certainly the most loved- men on the planet. Most people would be having a heart attack at the chance to shake the famous Mars Mons¡¯ hand, much less take an extended road trip with him. It¡¯s a little more awkward when you¡¯re best friends with his reclusive daughter.

    I¡¯ve been living a double life since I chased after her that summer. Two, three years ago, maybe. I¡¯m thirteen now. One foot in the capital with my sister as wards of the state, the other half a world away with the girl I spend far too many afternoons daydreaming about. Balancing the two is a nightmare that the man beside me is well acquainted with. He lives the same struggle: a father to fifteen million people, but also to one. Ruling from the capital so often keeps him from returning to that windswept estate by the sea.

    I know he dreams of our destination. Every night, I¡¯m sure. I can see it in the distance to his gaze, the gentle breath he releases as he sinks back into his seat, watching the empty road scrolling beneath us, thinking only of what waits at the end. It¡¯s been weeks since we last returned. We tend to make most of these trips together, courtesy of good fortune and timing. The pads of his fingers drum quietly against the steering wheel. He always keeps a hand on, even though the thing drives itself. We¡¯ve been on the road all night. On the dash, an electric-blue clock burns an ungodly hour of the morning into our retinas.

    ¡°How¡¯s your sister?¡± he asks, startling me out of my reverie.

    A loud yawn escapes me before I control it; Mars smiles. ¡°Cal is well,¡± I say. But I know better than to lie. Guiltily, my gaze turns to the window. ¡°Well enough, at least. I worry she doesn¡¯t get out enough when I¡¯m not there. I read her reports from school. They¡¯re always the same. Perfect grades, never participates with the others. Poorly socialized.¡±

    Mars snorts out a note of amusement. ¡°I know someone who would argue quite vehemently that there¡¯s nothing wrong with being an introvert.¡±

    ¡°Director Mons, you mean?¡±

    ¡°General Manager,¡± he corrects, raising a finger. ¡°Jolie is finicky about titles.¡±

    I reach into the middle console, blindly feeling through the four half-finished cans of caf drinks. ¡°Cal doesn¡¯t like using a JOY, either. Our pediatrician thinks she might be technophobic.¡±

    Mars raises an eyebrow. ¡°They told that to you?¡±

    ¡°I browsed his notes when he wasn¡¯t looking.¡±

    ¡°Browsed.¡± He smirks to himself. ¡°And what do you think?¡±

    ¡°I think she¡¯s an artist. Not everyone has a heart meant for fighting.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re older than your age for understanding that.¡±

    Mars¡¯ face, as always, is inscrutable. Charisma, not raw power, has always been his strongest suit. He lightens the mood with a quick chuckle and a side-eye glance. ¡°So what else did you browse, Thane? I know you read your file too.¡±

    I take a careful sip of my drink, watching the rice fields flowing past. ¡°Nothing worth mentioning.¡±

    A comfortable silence stretches between us for long minutes. I find myself swept into it without even noticing. Mars has an easy way like that; a campfire charm. He has a father¡¯s care in his eyes. A gentle way of sitting. All potential energy, like a panther who rarely needs to show his fangs. The sort of man that you want to like you from the moment you meet him. A man of violence, surely, but also one of love. Better than most who find themselves with his same burdens.

    It¡¯s all too easy to see why our people follow him to the end of the earth, forming armies in age where such things have never been done. Talking to Mars is never like talking to a gladiator king. It¡¯s like an old friend from the office, a fellow gym-goer, someone who¡¯s no different than you. A man of the people.

    ¡°Tetsuka didn¡¯t like using a JOY either, at first,¡± he eventually says. ¡°And look at her now. I¡¯m sure your sister is the same. Just a little later to bloom than the others.¡±

    I look up as I feel the car turn, entering the last darkened straightaway to the estate. To the east, the first light of dawn splinters golden through the clouds.

    ¡°Speaking of which¡­¡± Mars¡¯ JOY rumbles quietly on the dash, drawing both our focus. He sighs, reaching for a cup of long-cold caf, then opens a projection of the incoming message. Cyan light casts the tired circles under his eyes in even darker shade. ¡°Always something else,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I¡¯ll let you wake her up while I start breakfast. I need to make a call.¡±

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    -

    I know I¡¯ll find Tay exactly where I last left her. She¡¯s a tough animal to rouse. She sleeps too much, lazes in the sun, and has mastered the art of only ever opening her eyes halfway, just enough to show her disinterest in worldly boredoms. If her temper is the wind, her moodiness is the stifling heat of a humid summer noon. But when she finally deigns to stir, there is an addictive danger to watching it happen. Like watching a tiger stretch its claws while it licks its fangs while it decides what it¡¯s going to do.

    Outside the house, endless fields of rice billow in the grip of a gentle seaside wind. Bamboo creaks in the rock garden. Birds and cicadas buzz and chirp loudly; life overflowing. Morning dew drips down the windows of the estate, sunlight fractaling through the watered glass. The comfortable silence of an empty library pervades the wooden halls and paper walls of the quaint main home as I pad along, looking for Mars¡¯ bedroom. His daughter is a creature of patterns. I know enough of her by now to know she¡¯s only ever found comfort in one man in her life. And when her loneliness takes root, she returns to the closest things she has to him: his belongings, his scents, and his memories.

    I slide open the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the chips in the wood that make it wobble, to find her sleeping in a puddle of sunshine atop her father¡¯s bed. Hair gleaming, a liquid river of mercurial silver and polished gold that drapes in petals from her forehead down the wending curve of her freckled spine. Heavy eyelids closed. Lips faintly open, blowing tiny breaths to stir the sheets beside her face. Her lanky legs curl close to her chest, making her look half the length she really is. The nub of her right arm is buried deep in the bed. The fibrous muscle of the left twitches in the thrall of some imagined battle of her dreams.

    Minding the mess on the floor, I draw up to the side of the bed, debating on how best to wake her. I feel guilty even considering it until a blind left hand reaches up to paw over my face. Her red eyes slowly crack open, and a contented smile splits her mouth.

    ¡°Thane,¡± she murmurs.

    My heart turns in my chest. I back off blushing, looking for something to clean up on the floor. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be asleep.¡±

    ¡°I was. But I felt you coming.¡±

    ¡°How far off?¡± I ask.

    As a ki fighter, Tay is as twinned to the world as the wind she so often reminds me of. With her JOY, her soul can tap into the pulse of ki, the life energy created by all organic creatures, and manifest it in reality. Some treat the manipulation of such energy as a science. For her, it¡¯s an instinct. She blooms and fades with the energy around her, drawn to powerful souls and vibrant life by subconscious impulse. Her ability to sense them out has only grown since I¡¯ve known her. Only a more skilled ki fighter, like her father, can mask themselves from the wandering touch of her kind.

    ¡°Mmm¡­ a mile away, I think. When you turned on the street.¡± Stirring in the sun, Tay rises and pulls up the shoulders of her traditional robe, wiping the crust from her eyes. She yawns loudly. ¡°Is he with you?¡±

    A familiar voice booms from around the corner, growing louder as Mars leans into the doorway with a basket of laundry in his scarred hands. Crimson hair is thrown back over his shoulders in a proud lion¡¯s mane, framing a wide and crooked smile. ¡°Someone hasn¡¯t been keeping up with her training programs.¡±

    Tay¡¯s eyes bolt wide open. She¡¯s rebounding off the bed and sprinting past me in an instant, diving into her father¡¯s arms with a yip of joy. ¡°Dad!¡±

    A burst of elated, invisible wind lashes the room and the fields outside as they meet. Mars crushes his daughter to his chest in a hug and buries his face in her shoulder, holding her for long seconds. The last tension that he was holding bleeds away in a breath the world will never see. A father¡¯s vulnerable, unsalvable fear that I¡¯ve only barely glimpsed before: that today would be the day his return would be met with apathy or hate, not love.

    But today is not that day.

    Mars swings Tay around one quick rotation before setting her down on the wooden boards, smiling uncontrollably. She¡¯s a coltish fawn when put beside a fighter of his stature; gangly and thin, still growing into her height. He ruffles her already messy hair until she blushes, then gently pushes her back into the bedroom with a finger raised in warning.

    ¡°Just because I¡¯m home doesn¡¯t mean you get to slack off,¡± Mars chides. He picks the basket back up and crooks his head for us to follow. ¡°Thane is up and going on runs before the sun rises. You, butterball, sleep in way too much.¡±

    ¡°Dad¡­¡±

    ¡°What, embarrassed because I caught you napping?¡± He stoops and snags a half-dried towel off the hall floor, adding it to the load. ¡°Or because Thane did?¡±

    She blushes and glances bashfully at me. ¡°I don¡¯t mind when Thane does. He doesn¡¯t call me dumb names.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because he likes you, Tetsuka.¡±

    My cheeks shoot straight to a heated red.

    ¡°Dad!¡±

    ¡°Hey, I never said I have to like you. I have to raise you. It¡¯s my privilege as your father. And if that doesn¡¯t count, then damn it, it¡¯s my privilege as your champion.¡±

    She bounces forward and nuzzles against his side. ¡°You know I don¡¯t care about that.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s love, for what it¡¯s worth.¡± Mars sighs languidly, turning the final corner to the kitchen. The wide doors beyond are slid fully open, revealing the depths of a sun-stroked rock garden filled with bamboo and hidden brooks. Right off the porch, a gleaming slab of marble etched with the Mons family¡¯s tiny history waits under a scattered carpet of verdant leaves. He grunts and sets the basket in a corner. ¡°Food¡¯s almost done and the birds are already out, kids. You both need to eat up. Because what comes after breakfast?¡±

    Tay and I share a glance, moaning the dreaded answer at the same time.

    ¡°Training¡­¡±

 2.0 - CELLMATES

    I¡¯ve been learning hard lessons since I started fighting at seven years old. It was cuter back then. Little Tetsuka, wanted to grow up and be just like the father she watched on the news streams, late-night wide-eyes popcorn-crunching with a cozy blanket around her shoulders and an empty house around her screen. It didn¡¯t hurt her that he was never around. Not being pushed hurt. Not impressing him enough hurt. He would have given me the gentlest life in the world, but I wanted the sharpest. I could take it. I was special. I could take anything. Anything to keep him around just a second longer.

    All those years, all those lessons, and I can still count on my one hand how many of them hurt like this.

    Day one thousand, two hundred and six starts like most of the others. I¡¯m awake before I open my eyes, but I already know I won¡¯t recognize the ceiling. That I¡¯m still living at all is the real surprise. I¡¯m a mess inside and out. Last thing I remember is a fireball flash through closed eyelids. A twisted lump in my stomach aches with the rise and fall of my chest. Shrapnel scratches itch along my cheeks, arms. Burns from the gas explosion flash with hot pain wherever they rub against clothing, concentrated at my back and legs.

    Icy nanospray seeps into the open wounds beneath their bandages, a disinfecting tang. I shiver from pain and cold chills, slowly digesting my surroundings. Processing that I¡¯m not dead yet. That I lucked out again. Too close, this time.

    This small room is not warm, my ratty clothes are shredded up and down, and my stomach lurches with sickness. Goosebumps stipple my left arm. My right is still connected; awkwardly pinned beneath me. Sweat dampens the lumpy spring cot I¡¯m laying on. Petals of dirty hair drape limply over my forehead, pooling across the mattress. Low voices mutter indistinctly in the distance. Somewhere above, a climate control unit whirrs quietly. Nearer, the rhythmic sound that woke me continues unabated. Thump-thump-slap. Floor-wall-hand. Thump-thump-slap. Moody sigh.

    Spitting out a dry cough, I crack open my eyes to the grey confines of a small jail cell, three walls concrete and one barred with iron. The sound repeats, thump-thump-slap. A white rubber ball arcs off the wall and returns perfectly to the cot on the other side of the cell, caught by a small, well-manicured hand.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be kidding me,¡± I groan.

    Laying down with one knee bent, Feint holds the ball as high as her arms can reach, eyes sullenly fixed on the ceiling. ¡°Morning, sunshine.¡±

    Patches of her pale skin are splotched with angry red burns up. Only one half of her torso is marked by the burns, blindsided by the gas explosion just like I was. Sensing me looking, she tilts her head enough to look at me out of the corner of her eye. ¡°Enjoying the view?¡±

    I flip her off with my real hand, but my dislocated middle finger can¡¯t get all the way up. Feint smirks and goes back to watching the ceiling. Her playful fa?ade slips back into place with an understated lethality it no longer bothers to conceal.

    ¡°You look like you slept well.¡±

    ¡°As well as I could with a hole in my stomach,¡± I growl. ¡°Thanks for that, by the way. Really the pick-me-up I needed after a night of getting jumped by a bunch of uni fighters.¡±

    She wiggles her shoulders, sinking deeper into the cot. ¡°Happy to help. Customer satisfaction is my guarantee.¡±

    ¡°And yet you¡¯re perfectly happy to sit there and let me sleep after trying to murder me.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, burn. Careful with that death wish, pal. Might cut yourself on it.¡± Feint closes her eyes and hooks her hands behind her head, still managing to look animated. ¡°What can I say? Maybe I have a weak spot for your rustic charms. And I can¡¯t exactly finish the job in a jail cell, can I?¡±

    My eyes narrow. Anger, hot for once, flashes through my arm. I slowly ease up, getting an elbow down, and bite back a gasp as the myriad wounds along my sides suddenly split open. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sure plenty of people have done it before.¡±

    ¡°God, you have such a dark sense of humor. It¡¯s so funny.¡±

    ¡°Whoever hired you wants me dead. Do you really think they¡¯d bother paying you to commit that level of sin if I weren¡¯t worth killing?¡± I lurch off the cot and onto shaky feet, real hand clenching and unclenching, and stagger one step across the cell. Feint catches her ball and shifts to watch me. ¡°You think watching me sleep off a knife you put in my stomach is a good idea? Is this a joke to you?¡±

    Her brow narrows. ¡°Yeah, it is.¡±

    She flicks the ball into my ankle, dropping me painfully to the concrete floor. The ball bounces and rolls off into a corner. I hit the ground in a puddle, groaning and swearing at her as pain lances through my joints.

    Feint languidly swings her boots off the cot and plants them on the floor. Dead serious now. ¡°I¡¯d take a little look in the mirror before you get all self-righteous on me, Tay. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re special where you came from, and important too. But me?¡± She crouches in front of me and watches me squirm, voice lowering. ¡°I¡¯m not special. I just get called because I¡¯m good at dealing with the special problems. Like you. And you¡¯ve got some balls to complain about me letting-¡±

    I lunge forward off the floor and grab her by the collar of her shirt. Drag her down and haul myself up by the fabric, point-blank, as I throw my gaze up to meet hers. ¡°Let¡¯s make one thing clear, Feint. Since you can¡¯t seem to take a hint.¡± I blow her bangs to the side with a snort through my nose. ¡°I. Don¡¯t make. The same mistake. Twice.¡±

    ¡°Funny. I could have sworn we¡¯ve been in this position before.¡±

    ¡°I could snap your neck in five different ways right now. Get real, or I¡¯m going to pick one.¡±

    ¡°You seem to be forgetting something real important, pal.¡± Feint¡¯s crystal-yellow eyes narrow dangerously. I¡¯m struck by a wisp of a memory as her bangs drift past, a flash of colors I used to know. It ends as I blink. Utterly humorless, Feints finishes by flicking one of my fingers away, watching me crumple onto the concrete. ¡°You¡¯re in no position to be giving orders.¡±

    I growl a curse into the smoothed floor. Her fingers wrap in the collar of my tattered shirt, lifting and dragging me back to my cot, where she unceremoniously dumps me back down like a pile of dirty laundry. ¡°Sit down and look pretty.¡±

    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± A yarking cough erupts in my chest while she pats her hands clean and turns away. My hand tightens in the guts of the cot¡¯s one pillow. ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    ¡°Better,¡± she chuckles. ¡°You know, you were more fun when you were less angry.¡±

    ¡°You could have made sure I was dead in that gym. Why didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Feint¡¯s back stays turned for a moment. Body language giving nothing away. And then, to my surprise, she turns. Her shoulders roll and her tips at the barred wall of the cell, the slate-grey hallway beyond. ¡°Figured I¡¯d let the roof take care of the rest. It¡¯s like I said. I don¡¯t like killing people.¡± There¡¯s a hint of reticence to her voice. The tiniest waver of something unsaid as she watches me in the corner of her eye. ¡°Especially not girls like you.¡±

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    ¡°Girls like me?¡± I groan, raking back my hair.

    She motions vaguely at all of me. ¡°The stubborn ones.¡±

    ¡°Funny way for an assassin to do business.¡± I chuckle painfully. ¡°I¡¯m dangerous enough to someone powerful to be worth hiring a professional murderer to dispose of. What makes you think I won¡¯t repay the favor the moment you turn around?¡±

    ¡°The fact that this job came straight from the office of the Champion.¡±

    She drops the revelation like the bomb it is. The Champion is the strongest warrior not just in this city, but our entire Section. It¡¯s no meaningless title. By the one martial law that dictates our society, he is our gladiator king. His power is absolute. Not even the most powerful corporations would dare resist a Champion openly, because the strength and mastery of a JOY that a Champion wield borderlines on deific. A fighter of their caliber could singlehandedly flatten an entire army of their lessers. From what I¡¯ve seen on the streams, our Champion is no different. He¡¯s one of the most dangerous of them all.

    And I don¡¯t even blink.

    ¡°You¡­ already knew.¡± Feint arches an eyebrow. ¡°You know the most powerful man in the world wants you dead, and you decided to come to his home city anyways? Are you insane?¡±

    ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m looking for someone.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re talking about Gami. Our Sectional Champion Gami. You know, the guy who¡¯s sitting on top of the Metro Blockhouse right now?¡± She scoffs. ¡°Regular people are like ants to him. What the hell did you, an eighteen-year-old, do to piss off someone like that? Why does he even care you exist?¡±

    ¡°Suddenly growing a conscience, Feint?¡±

    She rolls her eyes dramatically. ¡°They told me you were dangerous. They didn¡¯t tell me you were a handful.¡±

    I hold her gaze. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you finish the job?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still stuck on that?¡±

    ¡°Unstick me.¡±

    ¡°You made a mess, pal. And now I¡¯m tangled up in it too. Because you¡¯re supposed to be dead and I¡¯m supposed to be off collecting my paycheck right about now.¡± She scratches at her neck, I start sitting up. ¡°Instead, I¡¯m stuck here in a jail cell with you, there¡¯s several not-unpopular uni kids in the next cell over, a really famous building turned into a burnt muffin overnight, and our faces are plastered all over it. Together. That gym you destroyed? That was the gym where Mars Mons learned how to fight. You know, the Showmaker? The guy who¡¯s got more memorials around this city than there are streets?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± I growl.

    ¡°And that¡¯s somehow even worse,¡± Feint sighs, draping a hand over her face. ¡°Whatever. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already figured out what will happen when those guys-¡± she cocks her head for me to look out at the rest of the jail- ¡°start interrogating us. Or worse, bring in a Psi to pick through our brains. You¡¯ve got your secrets. I¡¯ve got mine. Be happy that me killing you here would get me thrown into solitary confinement faster than you can say Akis Prazen. It¡¯s going to have to wait until we¡¯re out.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna have to wait longer than that,¡± I say.

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Oh.¡± I catch her eye through a mop of white hair. ¡°If you really were hired by the Champion, the moment his people discover I¡¯m still alive, they¡¯re going to know you didn¡¯t follow through. Then you¡¯re as dead as I am.¡±

    ¡°That sounds an awful lot like another reason to kill you.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Not if you help me.¡±

    Feint actually stutters from laughter. ¡°¡­Please, please, hahaha. Oh my god. Are you serious? Help you? That better be the concussion talking, because I did not take you for a comedian.¡±

    ¡°Help me. I¡¯m serious.¡±

    She rests her spine against the cell bars. ¡°Tay, I was two centimeters away from murdering you last night. The Champion himself wants you and anything connected to you disappeared.¡± She watches me carefully, seeing how serious I am. ¡°I¡¯ve met him once. If you ever had the misfortune of fighting him, just know that it¡¯d be more trouble for him to keep you alive than kill you outright. He¡¯s on the throne for a reason. The last thing I should do is get more tied up with you.¡±

    ¡°I can get you anything,¡± I quietly say. ¡°Whenever you want, for whatever you want.¡± I hold her gaze till she stops laughing. ¡°You said the people who hired you offered you something you couldn¡¯t refuse. Whatever it is, I can get it for you. More, even.¡±

    Feint¡¯s eyebrows arch with genuine interest, her curiosity piqued. ¡°Anything is a big promise.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡± I hook my head for her to come closer. ¡°When we met, I told you I was here looking for someone. It¡¯s my aunt. She¡¯s a politician; an important one. The kind that can make anything happen.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as an important politician,¡± she replies. But she doesn¡¯t say no.

    ¡°You¡¯re the best shot I¡¯ve found of finding her,¡± I continue. ¡°Help me up. Help me out of here, help me find her and stay undercover, and I¡¯ll get you what you want. But I¡¯m not letting you out of my sight just so you can come back later and make me regret it.¡±

    Feint takes her time in deciding. Hands in her pockets, eyes wandering, thinking all the angles through. In her eyes, I can see the assassin¡¯s calculus turning. She calmly glances over and checks me up and down. There¡¯s more at play behind that gaze. More going on to this unassuming girl who can shut down JOYs on a whim. I know why she would¡¯ve been sent to kill me. Her power, whatever it is, is more dangerous than any I¡¯ve ever seen. A universal equalizer in a society that stratifies itself on inequality of strength.

    Like she said. She was two centimeters away from murdering me. That contract, that offer from the people who want me vanished, it¡¯s still up for her to take. She¡¯ll have a knife to my throat, one whim all that¡¯s stopping her from turning me in. I¡¯m making a deal with a devil by putting my life in her hands. But it¡¯s not like there¡¯s many angels left. I¡¯m chasing down the last.

    Feint makes her choice after another moment of thought. She holds her hand above mine, not quite taking it yet. ¡°Bold offer from someone who can¡¯t even stand on her own.¡±

    I shoot a wry grin up at her. ¡°I¡¯ll manage. I¡¯ve heard I¡¯m pretty stubborn.¡±

    Her slim fingers wrap around my forearm. ¡°I assume there¡¯s more to me being your best shot than my charming personality, yeah? Spill.¡±

    ¡°Depends on if you were lying about your internship too.¡±

    ¡°Hotshot, believe me when I say I wish I was making those stories up. Retail is a special kind of hell.¡± She rolls her eyes as she hauls me up. ¡°Lying about my internship. Please, Tay. You¡¯re not worth lying to.¡±

    When I wait for her to say more, she just flashes a little smirk and raises her left wrist. One slight twist activates her bangle, and with a deep metallic thunk, the cell door unlocks and begins ponderously swinging inwards. Panels in the ceiling ripple out in a wave down the hall, fifteen feet radius, give or take. Just like the JOYs she disabled yesterday.

    And we¡¯re free.

    We peer out of the cell together, her head under mine. Sweeping the hall together. Murmurs of police officers echo in the distance, but we¡¯ve struck at a good time. Evening, day shifts just getting off, never expecting someone could or would bother breaking out of the drunk tank in a digital society. Our JOYs are hanging on the wall just outside the cell. I tap a couple fingers against the bars as we walk past. They¡¯re repulsorfield reinforced, the same tech they use to contain fights in the pro arenas. Totally impenetrable to JOY classes or normal humans, from a toddler to a terajoule ki blast.

    I split away from Feint into a side hall when something catches my eye. By the time she looks back and sees that I¡¯m already around an entirely different corner, then hurries back up to catch me, I¡¯m already rummaging through a portacrate at a small desk back down near the prisoner intake office.

    ¡°Tay!¡± she hisses. ¡°Tay, what the hell are you doing? The exit¡¯s that way.¡±

    ¡°Just a sec.¡± Holding the lid open with my prosthetic arm, I keep blindly digging through the crate with my left until my fingers brush against familiar weathered fabric. I pull out Dad¡¯s old university jacket and don it in one smooth motion.

    ¡°Now we can go.¡±

 2.1 - ANTE UP

    Back into the Electric Town with a killer at my side. Making our escape through a rickety metal door in the back of the street-corner police office, Feint and I duck into a thin alley stained by the blue ambiance of yet another capital night. Tube-neon signs and shivering air ducts crawl along the alley walls, the glowing tree branches of the chrome jungle. The pulse of the city calls from the alley exit like a distant waterfall, blanketed by highrise advertisements that smear constantly-shifting light over the soaked streets. Nearer by, late-night ramen bars bubble and boil behind the moody whisper of rain.

    A canopy of awnings protecting doorsteps and balconies insulates us from the downpour drenching the city. I take one look up at the stormy skies above, touch the aching wound in my stomach as a bolt of lightning pulses behind the clouds, then set off into the night with Feint a half-step behind. Blistering puddles of runoff fill the alley floor with wavering reflections of the metropolis; we shatter them without stopping. The further we get from the jail, the faster, the better.

    Icy rain slaps against us in icy, rainbow-hued curtains as we break out of the alley. Yesterday¡¯s storm struck hard and fast while I was knocked out, and it came with a vengeance. Everything I wear except Dad¡¯s jacket is drenched instantly. The jacket¡¯s inline heating kicks on as it senses my core temperature taking a nosedive, but it can only do so much. My hair turns into even more of a slop. I pull it all back as best as I can and squint against the downpour, almost losing track of Feint right off the bat. It¡¯s only with some muttered apologies and quick footwork that I manage to catch up as we leave street level and jog up a flight of wide brick steps towards the aboveground metro platforms.

    The downpour fades, last droplets slipping down my back in frozen rivulets. The cloistered chaos of the metro station sweeps right into its place. High-speed trains rocket through the station at a clockwork rhythm. Hundreds of people clamor and jostle and laugh as they swap between rails past the gates. Dripping water from her rolled-up sleeves, Feint pulls out a JOY and sweeps it over the turnstile without worry, grabs my wrist, and drags me through before it can close behind her. No one notices. Nor do they take a second look at us while we pick the first train we see and dart through the doors just before they close, squeezing in chest-to-chest at the last instant. Despite the fact that we look like we just took a ride down the wrong side of an industrial rain drain, we¡¯re just two more college girls in the prime weekend time where everyone¡¯s finding a party to crash at.

    We¡¯re alone in having no flashy classes like the ones glowing and gleaming and jostling me on every side. A Guardian with matte, light-absorbing armor standing like a bulky living shadow, her elbow plates digging into my ribs. Boxing Feint in, a bookish bespectacled Magus who¡¯s crushed into the corner toes for space with a Tamer hosting four pets on his shoulders and a nasty bruise on his face.

    Feint sticks a hand up towards the ceiling, wiggling her fingers at a swaying ring grip. Before she can grab it, the train lurches into motion, tossing her against my chest.

    ¡°Need a hand?¡± I ask, all sarcasm.

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    She shoots me a dirty look and stands even higher on her toes, finally grabbing hold. Her wrist and the bangle attached to it hang right at my eye level. Dull black metal with silvery, wavelike patterns. Those etchings, too. But it doesn¡¯t look technic, meaning it¡¯s probably not a piece of gear made by someone using the Innovator class. If it is, it¡¯s really, really high quality. And that means she probably stole it.

    Dimly, I¡¯m aware of my new companion picking at the hem of her shirt in disgust. ¡°New shirt, new undershirt, new shoes¡­¡± she¡¯s muttering. ¡°New pants, new socks¡­¡±

    ¡°What is this thing?¡± I ask, still examining the bangle. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like any JOY tech I¡¯ve ever seen.

    ¡°That¡¯s because it wasn¡¯t made by a JOY. It¡¯s a Relic.¡±

    ¡°Relic?¡±

    ¡°You know, pre-OldTech. Like the stuff the Creators left behind.¡± She looks up at me with a dumb expression on her face, waiting. Then sighs when I give zero signs of recognition. ¡°Have you ever been to the Museum of Videography? The anthropology exhibit? Or¡­ read like any book about Olympus?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been outside the villages,¡± I admit, glancing at the rest of the train. Outside, the Electric Town whips past in a whistling blur, the Metro Blockhouse quickly rising out of the cityscape. ¡°This was my first time leaving. Ever.¡±

    ¡°And of all people, you had the misfortune of running into me first.¡± When I look back down, Feint is watching me with no shortage of humor. She jogs her wrist for emphasis. ¡°All the Relics we¡¯ve found came from Olympus. Most are missing, or broken, or museum pieces. But a couple still have some juice left in them. Only problem is, the Creators didn¡¯t exactly leave behind manuals on how to use them. So the Relics that are left stay locked up in rich aristocratic vaults until they¡¯re completely forgotten about as useless junk or jewelry.¡±

    ¡°¡­and yours is one of those.¡±

    ¡°Was one of those,¡± Feint corrects. She leans closer, eyes wandering the other riders, talking past my ear. ¡°So. This aunt of yours. She have a name?¡±

    I let my voice lower to match hers. ¡°Not one I trust you to know.¡±

    ¡°You asked me to help you hide from the Champion and his cabal, Tay. You¡¯re going to have to trust me at some point.¡±

    ¡°I will when you give me a reason to. Just because I need your help doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not expecting you to put another knife in my back the moment I look away.¡±

    ¡°I mean, I haven¡¯t killed you yet. That¡¯s got to be worth something.¡±

    The metro bucks beneath us, slowing for the upcoming station. Downtown E-Town, just a couple of streets away from where Feint found me the first time. The storm pounds relentlessly against the roof and walls. The clamor vanishes suddenly as bright white light floods the interior of the car and we coast into the station. Everyone pushes out the moment the doors squeak open, letting Feint and I finally sag away from each other. Other than Main Street, this is the busiest stop for anyone heading to the Metro Blockhouse. Weeknight, fight night, it¡¯s the only place people are going. And it feels like the whole city, us caught up with, is heading there.

    Feint stays beside me and waits for a gap to appear in the press of bodies. ¡°You should at least tell me what you did. Coming from a girl who¡¯s got her own skeletons, I¡¯m curious.¡±

    Not waiting to see if she follows, I make my own gap and push on into the station. ¡°I trusted someone,¡± I reply. ¡°Someone who looked a lot like you.¡±

 MEMORY.02

    On the marble. Amidst the garden. Staff in hand. JOY humming behind my shoulder. Brutal heat waves beating down on bare skin. Sweat dripping down black hair, stinging my closed eyes. Welts smarting painfully. Every muscle sore. Tinge of salt in the air. Fingers rubbed bloody and raw by friction. The calm expectation of a professional weighing me down like a manacle around my leg. These are the price of growing power. What it takes to become the best. But judging by my record against Tay today, I still have a long way yet to go.

    It is the fourth summer since I met her, and the fifteenth of my life.

    I¡¯m coming into my height more with each passing day. Growing leaner, faster, stronger. Striped with muscle and flexible like a sapling tree. More disciplined in both mind and body. I¡¯ve been outpacing my studies in the capital¡¯s academies so consistently that the tutors no longer know what to do with me. Yet book knowledge, grades and schoolyard rank; they never did and still do not appeal to me. Combat determines everything in our world. So it is only fitting that I shape myself to excel in it side-by-side with the girl who first introduced me to it.

    This tradition between Tay and I started on one of my trips years ago. A noise from out in the garden woke me early in the morning, the misty hour before dawn. I went to the kitchen, smelled Mars¡¯ caf, and followed it to the back porch where he was working. One of the rare times he could visit. Every so often a silhouette of a wild girl would sprint past atop the estate¡¯s outer wall. I asked if it was alright to join her.

    Mars smiled behind his cup, didn¡¯t look up, and said, ¡°I knew you would.¡±

    Since then, we¡¯ve been partners in crime. Inseparable from sunup to sundown, whether off exploring nature in the mountains or practicing our JOY classes and using them to race to the nearby coast. And then the physicals. Mars works us like dogs, and he doesn¡¯t care to scale his training regimens down from the level of pro league fighters for a couple of grade schoolers with too much energy. He says it¡¯s for our own good. I think he just wants us passing out early around the fire so he can have a few hours of peace and quiet to himself before bed.

    Even so, I can¡¯t deny the results. Suffer all I will in this garden and its heat, when I return to the capital and face off against my peers at the academy, I¡¯m stunned at how easy it is to beat them. Not just beat them. Exceed them on a fundamental level and dismantle them entirely.

    It¡¯s unnerving, sometimes. I¡¯m very good at fighting. Maybe too good. Just like my studies. And I wonder if that¡¯s why Mars looks at me in that strange way he sometimes does. Like there is a history between us that stretches long before I was born, and it is not a good one.

    It took years to grow accustomed to this grueling tradition. Stamina and strength has never been my strongest suit. I¡¯ve always been quicker on my mind than my feet. Tay, by contrast, is a natural. She¡¯s a neverending fountain of energy. Always has more left no matter how many hours we drill and spar. I try to rationalize it by remembering she¡¯s grown up training at an elite level since her earliest years, but her stamina is still on an entirely different level from mine, even with all the catching up I¡¯ve done. I have to force myself up every step of progress. For her, it¡¯s like the world leaps to do her bidding. If she ever cared to put her mind to studying books, I¡¯m sure she¡¯d blow me out of the water there, too.

    Mars watches us from the shaded back porch of the main house, lounging on a sun chair with a half-eaten apple in hand. Tay and I are forced to train out in the sun. Always are. We¡¯re already soaked through with sweat by the time we finish warming up with JOYless physicals. Shirts are stripped off and left to dry on the wood. Our developing musculature stands out in tension, flush with blood, as we wait for instruction.

    ¡°For sparring, we¡¯re focusing on your aura, Tay!¡± Mars shouts. ¡°And Thane, you¡¯ll be practicing it as well. You¡¯re still lagging behind her.¡±

    I nod as I gasp for breath, hands on my knees. My fingers swipe through a projector screen to activate my classes in a motion that¡¯s been worn into my central nervous system. Tay mirrors the motion beside me, still not fully synced with her newest prosthetic arm. Something in the fingers, I think. She was having trouble tying her sneakers earlier. Our classes activate in tandem- hers a carbon-copy of her father¡¯s, mine a manifestation of my personal strengths.

    All the songbirds get as a warning is a crackling fireworks flash that ripples up Tay¡¯s body before her ki kicks into gear with a jet engine shriek. Raw life energy floods from her heart through every pore in her body in a ravenous torrent, then settles into a rippling aura of white gold that shimmers around her like liquified starlight. Her hair is flung straight up in the current. The shriek fades to a rushing, airy waterfall sound as she tightens the flow of energy closer to her skin, supersaturating the atmosphere until motes of that energy begin physically dripping out of the air. They flutter around her like falling blossoms, one sweeping over to bump against my nose.

    Outwardly, there¡¯s no sign like that when my classes activate. No armory prompt to summon a weapon like a Duelist, no gear appearing like a Mage or Mecha. I feel the buzz of my JOY¡¯s neural link in my skull, and that is all. If I were to open a projector screen, it¡¯d show that I didn¡¯t choose three classes, but rather, three copies of the same one: the Shifter class.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Shifter is the eighteenth and final class, and it only grants a single power: allowing you to exchange one thing for another. The exchange has to be deemed ¡®equal¡¯ by a JOY, but that¡¯s the class¡¯ only rule. The exchange can be between any two concepts. Physical attributes and stamina are the most common- give up agility in exchange for being weightier, et cetera- but more nebulous things like emotions aren¡¯t impossible, either. They¡¯re just unexplored. Because any shift- no matter how big or small- requires total concentration to maintain, the class is almost impossible to use in combat at a more complicated level for any realistic period of time. It''s ludicrously unpopular because of that. Simple, instinctive shifts of physical properties that can be maintained without much conscious thought are the preferred usage. Usually those have a full-body color shift that comes along with them- red spectrum colors tend to mean offense, while blue spectrums are for defensive shifts. Otherwise, see a neat flower or a cute girl? Think about lunch for a split second? The shift drops, you¡¯re caught with your pants down, and someone like Tay is about to rewrite your bone structure in a foreign language.

    While she bounds off to her usual half of our marble fighting square, I let myself sink into a flow state. Prune the distractions from my mind. The buzzing cicadas and growling tanuki fade, as does the infrequent shade of the clouds. I focus on the tools before me. Three copies of the Shifter class are at my disposal. Two of them can be exchanged for anything of equal value, even another class, so I cycle one to Ki Fighter per Mars¡¯ request, cajoling a grade schooler¡¯s thin white aura out of my heart. Barely even physical, it¡¯s a meager shadow of the roiling pillar of starlight that is erupting out of Tay at any given moment.

    Still. It¡¯s something. More progress than the last time I tried this. I exhale slowly through my nose, settling my wooden staff in neutral stance behind my back. Another shift gives me access to the Duelist class, injecting all the manner of melee combat enhances into my nerves. Tay is waiting for me when I look up. Grinning wide as she runs two hands upwards through her hair, feet bouncing, hips faintly swinging, distracting like a pendulum. Mars barks the command to begin.

    She¡¯s halfway across the square before a single frame passes. Blinking from point to point with just a thought and a tiny expenditure of her endless stamina. I brace to meet her charge and barely spot a blur of red beaming towards me out of the corner of my eye, just a frame before Mars¡¯ half-chewed apple drills into the side of my head.

    Stars explode through my vision. My concentration shatters and I go stumbling off target, aura fizzling out with a little airy gasp, staff slurring through the air as the shift slips away. Tay pivots to track my fall, eyes widening.

    Her mistake. The next apple, this one completely whole, brains her in the back of her skull. She sprawls atop me in a pile of freckled skin and thrashing limbs before whirling around to glare death at her father.

    ¡°You were unfocused before you even stepped up to fight,¡± Mars chides, already tossing a third apple between his hands. ¡°Look at Tay.¡±

    I do, cheeks flushed with shame. My concentration faltered to an apple. She rages even brighter in response, fueled by her anger. Raging aura blasts the marble clean of spring debris. The nearest groves of bamboo begin groaning as they are made to bend away from her wrath. Too much rising power for the air to contain, it begins shuddering through the ground as well, vibrating through the rocky floor of the garden.

    Such incomprehensible strength. It seems impossible that it comes from the same source as mine. I am trying to overcome my humanity, and she¡¯s just trying to rein in deity. She grows stronger from her failures. Mine put me back at square one.

    Mars halts his vegetarian threat for a moment. He crouches beside me, larger than life, offering a hand that I am not worthy to accept. He turns it into a fatherly pat on the head instead, ruffling my hair. ¡°You¡¯ve picked a path with incredible potential, Thane. Someday, if you keep it up, it¡¯s the kind of power that could belong to a Champion. You could tap into any class the moment you needed it. But you can¡¯t let that potential blind you to what really makes the best, the best.¡± His eyes drift to his waiting daughter. With a smile, he ruffles her hair too. The terrifying amount of starlight pouring from her tapers away and the violent gales settle as she preens under his hand.

    ¡°The old man once told me that in the end, all classes are equal,¡± Mars tells us both. ¡°Any class, if sufficiently mastered, can seem completely overpowered and invincible. What separates them isn¡¯t the powers they give, but the people who use them.¡± He taps a calloused finger gently against my bare chest. ¡°You may think Tay¡¯s power is different from yours on a fundamental level. But you couldn¡¯t be further from the truth, Thane. There is no such thing as strength inherent- it¡¯s you who makes something invincible.¡±

    I bow my head in deference. When I open my eyes, Mars is holding the apple in front of me. ¡°If you drop your shifts every time you get hit, that power will never belong to you,¡± he says. ¡°You will always bear the risk of being beaten by someone like Tay. Someone who finds strength in simplicity, and isn¡¯t weighed down by doubt. Her strength cannot be taken from her. Yours can.¡±

    ¡°My mind must become a weapon,¡± I sigh, finishing his oft-spoken advice. He¡¯s told it to me a hundred times if not a thousand. On days like today, it feels further away than ever before.

    Flashing me a wry grin, Mars swats my shoulder and heads back to the porch while Tay helps me to my feet. Her fingers squeeze once around mine. Mars grins at the sight.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start again. From the top, with a little more situational awareness this time. And don¡¯t forget- first comes hands.¡±

    Breathing deep, I reassert my shifts and return to my starting position, picking up my staff on the way. I wipe the sweat from my brow and sink into the flow state. A small aura of ki forms around me, blowing my bangs from side to side. Tay waves at her father.

    ¡°What are you going to be doing?¡± she shouts.

    Mars shrugs. ¡°Reading, napping¡­ I¡¯m not sure yet.¡±

    Her face wrinkles in anger. I can¡¯t stop myself from joining the man in laughter. The moment I dare to glance over and find Tay stifling a giggle of her own, there¡¯s a flicker of motion from the porch as Mars slings the next apple at my chest like a backhand bullet.

    This time, I hold firm.

 2.2 - ENTER THE ARENA

    Before we can get more than ten steps away from the cover of the station, Feint is waving me on and veering towards the brightly lit shelter of a wide-front fashion outlet right on Main Street. Rain scalds the brick roads around me in merciless waves. Fighters with the elemental specialization for water create scattered, insulated bubbles on rooftops and along the street, but everyone else is left to defend themselves with disposable flimsplast umbrellas. And I don¡¯t even have one of those.

    Drowning in the rain, I take another analytical glance at the fifty-story arena looming over the nearby cityscape. Huge livestreams tower above the nearby cityscape, shimmering and cascading down the tower¡¯s glass facades with real-time updates of battles happening inside. The roar of the distant stands is loud enough to be heard even from a quarter mile down Main Street. I scan the streams more intently, pulling out my JOY and using it to magnify the distant projections. Looks like they¡¯re about halfway to the night¡¯s main event. Just a couple more matches until Gami is set to appear. According to the posters I¡¯ve seen around town, it¡¯s the first time in months that anyone in the major league has dared to challenge him. The arena is going to be packed more than ever. It¡¯s a perfect storm of cover. I don¡¯t care about the fight- just the window of opportunity it creates. I just have to get there in time.

    Other passengers coming off the metro are heading straight for the arena. I¡¯m about to join the flow when I realize Feint didn¡¯t just stop under the fashion outlet- she strode right on in, and left me out in the rain. Hissing out a curse in village slang that draws a few curious looks, I dash across the street, chasing her wet footprints up to the doors. My head whips back to the waiting arena as another echoed roar booms through the clouds, even louder than the last. Inside, Feint is browsing jackets and scarves. I don¡¯t have time for this.

    Raising a hand to shield my eyes, I take off running down the sidewalk, skirting past other pedestrians while my sneakers smash through inch-deep puddles. A chime over the doors goes off behind me as Feint bursts out. A moment¡¯s pause as she searches for me.

    ¡°Tay! What the hell are you doing?¡±

    I don¡¯t slow. Hairs raise along the back of my neck as the Metro Blockhouse looms ahead. And the feeling only sharpens the closer I get to the shadow of the great arena, entering the retro rings of streets that spool out from its base. A couple seconds more, and I¡¯m close enough to feel the mist sloughing off the M¡¯s vast front fa?ade. Ahead, the crowds coagulate into a dense river that¡¯s constantly pushing into the main entry hall. The home of the capital¡¯s ruling elite extends for dozens of vertical stories above like a human terrarium. I¡¯m about to join the people heading inside when an iron grip snags my collar and throws me off the street and into a wall beneath the awning of a ludicrously packed alleyside noodle bar. The orange neon logo of a dragon with a steaming bowl of spicy noodles illuminates Feint¡¯s exasperated face as she steps in front of me, rain pouring behind.

    ¡°Hey, dumbass. What the hell is your rush?¡±

    I shove her back and stand. ¡°My rush is that I¡¯m trying to get us moving, and you¡¯re stopping to browse an Id Co. catalog.¡±

    Feint motions at her waterlogged clothes, then at my equally ravaged state. ¡°And where exactly are you planning on going looking like that?¡±

    I tip my chin towards the arena.

    She blinks twice, dumbfounded. ¡°You¡¯re not serious. Did you listen to anything I told you in the jail? The Champion wants you dead.¡± A hint of true, icy apprehension enters her voice. ¡°If you go in there, if he¡¯s around, if he even decides to walk downstairs¡­¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t. And I know better than you what¡¯ll happen if we¡¯re caught.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the enthusiasm, hot stuff. But no.¡±

    Her hand drives into the wound in my stomach before I can blink. I double over with a gasp, falling into the deeper shadows beside the bar¡¯s tarp doorway. Feint pushes forward and pins me against the wall with one hand. Yellow eyes, hooded in threat, as she makes her point clear.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even,¡± I gnash out first. ¡°You¡¯re not going to kill me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re awfully sure of that,¡± she murmurs.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got my reasons.¡± A couple of the bar¡¯s patron stall under the awning as they exit the bar. Two of them glance over at Feint and me, positioned just close enough imply something else entirely. Grimacing and forcing down the pain roiling in my stomach, I stare right back and cock my head to the side, deadpan flat. ¡°Y¡¯all mind?¡±

    Feint watches them go. ¡°Reasons.¡±

    ¡°That gym you stabbed me in was the last place besides my aunt¡¯s office at the M where I could¡¯ve found anything about her. This is all that¡¯s left. Your intern clearance would make my life way easier, but I¡¯m going in there and finding her whether you¡¯re with me or not.¡± I breathe out hard through my nose, keeping my body perfectly still when she still doesn¡¯t release me. ¡°Gami is fighting tonight, literally in minutes. I¡¯ve been seeing the posters all around town. Most or all of the major league will be watching, even if just as a formality, and so will anyone else who¡¯s important enough to have hired you. Which means they won¡¯t be watching what¡¯s going on in the M itself. Not for another half hour, at least.¡±

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°If one person who knows your face sees you in there, you are dead, Tay. And by proxy, because I stupidly decided to keep you alive, that means I¡¯d be dead too.¡±

    ¡°You think I¡¯d be doing this if I had any other option?¡±

    She refuses to waver. ¡°No, which is why I¡¯m trying to stop you from doing it at all. It¡¯s my neck on the line too. Whatever you think you¡¯re going to accomplish by going into the M, it¡¯s not going to end well.¡±

    Another roar erupts from the apex level of the Metro Blockhouse, hidden in the stormclouds. Right across the street, unending crowds continue to pour into the ground floor of the arena. The main event is about to start. I can¡¯t let this chance pass. Not when it¡¯s my only link left to Aunt Jolie.

    No matter the risk, I have to take it. It¡¯s now or never.

    ¡°Sorry, Feint. But you¡¯re not going to stop me. Catch up or finish your job.¡±

    I snap a kick at her shin, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her fingers claw at my sweater as she falls. She hits the concrete and instantly recovers her footing with a handspring, but I¡¯m already halfway down an alley splitting away from the noodle bar. Neon ambiance flashes past on either side. Tight brick walls, clinking classes, blaring stream screens. Then I¡¯m back out in the storm and slipping into the thickest throng of tourists, stripping off Dad¡¯s jacket and tucking it under my arm. I throw a look back over my shoulder before the alley disappears behind a curtain of rain; Feint hasn¡¯t followed yet.

    I pick up the pace. Up the arena¡¯s eighteen marble steps, each etched with iconography depicting the capital¡¯s most famous scions of the eighteen JOY classes. Eyes on the hive of bureaucracy above the entry levels. I double check to make sure my JOY is powered on before I cross under the massive doors to the atrium.

    The arena¡¯s ambiance washes over me in a wave of golden light as I pass inside. Every surface gleams. Gold and brown, black and white, lacquer over showboating crimson carpets. Retro spotlights beam down from a ceiling so high it might as well not exist. State-of-the-art projector screens flash to life on motion sensors as rainbreakers and jackets are doffed, informing the incoming river of humanity with live feeds of real-time events higher in the tower while sharp-suited greeters process admissions and give directions.

    My eyes roam up and down, left and right, drinking it all in. My feet start wandering on their own before I shake my head and center back on where I need to find, remembering the assassin who¡¯s hot on my tail. This place is a museum of nostalgia. My instincts tug at me to slow down and absorb the new sights, the sounds, the subtle beats and nods in the arena¡¯s custom soundtrack that plays from speakers hidden in the floor. To go approach one of the minor league pros I can see heading out into the city and ask for an autograph like the little kids, to take in the holographic monuments of past champions captured in their most iconic moments. But I can¡¯t linger. The people who want me dead own this place now. I¡¯m jumping straight into the dragon¡¯s maw without a backup plan.

    So focus, Tetsuka. Just like Dad taught you. Slow it down. Breathe. Ignore the noise, the nerves tingling in my spine, that uneasy vague sense that I am being watched and the fangs are closing in around me. Focus only on what I need. Aunt Jolie works on the upper levels. Not sure which level exactly, but it has to be over forty. So I need a way up- a discrete one.

    Only then do I release the quiet breath I was holding, letting my senses rush back in. I open my eyes with fresh awareness, flick left-right over shorter heads until I spot a bank of several lifts for employees and tourists at the far end of the tower. I¡¯m about to head towards them when I finally hear her drifting up behind me; a silence that slices invisibly through the crowds until it gets close enough to throw a friendly arm over my shoulder.

    Feint¡¯s face smarts from a fresh friction rash, courtesy of the concrete and my foot. She growls through a friendly smile. ¡°Tay, I swear to god, I really am going to kill you.¡±

    It¡¯s so loud around us that the words don¡¯t even matter. Just the friendly body language behind them. I play into the act, brushing a length of white hair behind my ears, nodding at the terminal ahead. ¡°How high do those go?¡±

    She just sighs. ¡°Depends on where we¡¯re heading.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes.¡±

    ¡°Take it as whatever you want. Can we get a move on? I¡¯d rather not get tortured tonight. I already have to deal with you.¡±

    We pass between another pair of huge pillars, breaking out into a brief opening between the crowds. There¡¯s a hubbub in the lift terminal at the far end of the tower, several news stream crews with floating spherecams aimed at one of the more decorated lifts. Excited murmurs start drifting our way. Someone important is coming down. Probably major league, going by the anticipated tones. I start reaching out for Feint to pull her along faster. My fingers brush against her sleeve at the exact moment a sensual, patrician accent calls out from behind us.

    ¡°Now if that isn¡¯t a surprise and a half. There¡¯s a pale face I never expected to see out in public.¡±

    Feint goes shock still beside me. Slowly, she takes her arm back and turns on one heel. I follow to see an older girl in her late university years standing behind us with a hand on her hip, pink eyes and catlike irises dancing with amusement.

    ¡°Your brother so rarely speaks of you these days,¡± the girl continues, addressing Feint. Her full lips quirk in a tempting smile. ¡°How have you been, Cal?¡±

 2.3 - THE OTHER SIDE

    My stomach drops.

    I don¡¯t even recognize the name at first, it¡¯s buried so deeply in my past.

    Cal.

    It¡¯s not even one I know particularly well. Just a name connected to a name. A point on a thread very removed from mine.

    But the gears are turning now. I look down at my tagalong assassin out of the corner of my eye, taking in her features from a clean slate. Her black hair. Those yellow eyes- not the right shade, yet not the wrong shade, either. But it wasn¡¯t until I heard her real name that I made the connection. It hits me now like a bolt of thunder.

    Feint- Cal- wasn¡¯t just hired by the Champion or his agents.

    She¡¯s one of them.

    And the person she reminds me so keenly of? A single glance at the walls of projector screens, where a highlight reel from a university showmatch earlier in the night plays on loop, confirms the dread rising in my gut. On stream, a dark young man with eyes like molten gold finishes dismantling another uni fighter without taking a single hit. The stands go wild. Cam zooms in on his face. Thane the Invincible, premier apprentice of the reigning champion, golden son of the capital, gives a modest wave to the cheering stands before the camera changes again. But the image of his face stays burned in my memory. Churning like hot coals as my anger builds.

    Other than height, the similarities between the most popular guy in the university leagues and the short girl beside me are unmistakable. Large eyes, small nose, sharp features that could so easily be mistaken for cold and aloof. Throughout all the projectors glowing across the atrium, Thane is the only university student to appear alongside the pros. As famous, if not more, than fighters of the minor league.

    Feint must have had a reason for letting me walk into the Metro Blockhouse of my own free will. All her protests and coyness had to be an act. The why doesn¡¯t matter. But this girl who stopped us must not have been part of the plan to lure me here. She¡¯s tall. Taller than I am, enviously full-figured, haughty lips bred for sipping wine and whispering secrets. Hip-length, silky hair the color of peaches and cherry blossoms. Heeled sneakers and midnight slacks, a slim Mage¡¯s gloves, and a sleeveless blouse that hugs everything possible up to its high collar. Her tri-color university jacket is slid just below her shoulders, and she uses a dainty fingertip to tug it a touch higher as she sways up to us. Behind her, some massive animal that resembles an insectoid, black-chitin lion pads out of the crowd, leaking acidic drool across the polished floor.

    ¡°Valance.¡± Feint- Cal- casually rests her hands in her pockets, studiously avoiding looking at the animal. Her tone morphs in an instant, seamlessly shifting from off-hours-intern back to playful killer. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting to see any of the Shadows out tonight. I thought you¡¯d be up watching the Champion.¡±

    ¡°And I thought you would have found another reason to keep as far from work as possible,¡± the girl replies with a light laugh. Her eyes go to the ceiling. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to see up there that hasn¡¯t been seen a hundred times before. It¡¯ll be over before I could even reach the booth.¡± She finally acknowledges my presence, gaze sliding back and forth between Cal and I. Her lips begin to part. ¡°Wait. Don¡¯t tell me, Cal. Are you¡­¡±

    Cal¡¯s hand drifts fractionally towards the small of her back.

    ¡°¡­here on a date?¡±

    A single beat of confusion follows the question. Cal and I both whirl on each other, blurting out ¡°A date?¡± at the exact same moment.

    She tears away first, spluttering out a laugh. ¡°Me?¡±

    I scoff and look away just as fast. ¡°With her? No way.¡±

    ¡°We are definitely not.¡± Cal rolls her eyes, all drama. ¡°And at the M, too? This place is as normie as an arcade. Good one, Valance.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Valance¡¯s pink eyes lid over with disbelief. ¡°Is that so? Color me surprised, you two had all the chemistry in the world just a moment ago.¡± Her full hips ease to the side while she finally deigns to look me over in earnest. She plays at the smallest bite of her lower lip. ¡°But if you¡¯re not here for pleasure¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing big. Just came by to grab some stuff from the office.¡±

    That monstrous creature keeps padding around Valance, bringing its eyeless, armored head near enough to sniff me. It¡¯s huge. A thousand pounds of chitinous fighting muscle, tall as my chest, that moves with the languid grace of a xenomorphic lion. Eight legs with razor-sharp digging claws. Spine-covered tail that drags like dead meat, scratching the floor. Raspy, hissing breaths. It takes every ounce of discipline I have not to react like the people who skitter nervously away from it. I¡¯ve never seen a Tamer make a pet that exudes such an obscene amount of danger as this thing. Predatory nature almost physically drips from it like the drool from its split jaw.

    ¡°¡­and who is this coarse friend of yours?¡± Valance is asking, dragging me back.

    Her gaze focuses on me for a moment longer than normal. Like she¡¯s trying to pry away my cold social shell just with her eyes. She¡¯s a Psi, I realize. The mental manipulation class. Her small cues and social manipulation are meant to draw my attention away from her mental probing; tiny details that anyone less than a pro would never notice adding up. That tilt to her hips. A hint of a tongue wetting her lower lip. Fingertips winding through a lock of pink hair. An arm crossing under her chest as she breathes in. She¡¯s an expert, already loosened away my suspicion. How long will it take her to strip-mine enough secrets from my head to tip her off? Seconds, if that. But a tiny twitch of confusion in her brow, almost immediately suppressed, halts my first instinct to run.

    I risk a glance down at Cal¡¯s left wrist. She¡¯s still got her hand shoved in her pocket, and she keeps it there as she skips back over to stand beside me, easing us away from the conversation.

    ¡°This is Tay. She¡¯s my¡­ roommate. At the dorms.¡± Cal sidles close and slips her arm around my waist, gently tugging. ¡°I¡¯d love to stick around and chat, but we already made plans to show her around town.¡±

    ¡°Fresh meat from the outskirts?¡± Valance purrs. ¡°I thought I recognized that tan.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive her for being quiet. She¡¯s not used to the big city yet.¡±

    ¡°Of course. I¡¯m sure the capital is quite a culture shock for a rice farmer,¡± the Psi replies. With a laugh, she daintily motions us away like she¡¯s brushing dust from the air. ¡°Don¡¯t let me keep you. Enjoy the bag-fetching, Cal.¡± Her voice lowers to a mature, knowing tone as she sways off. ¡°And make sure to pick an office with good insulation. I¡¯d suggest something on the thirties.¡±

    The flush in Cal¡¯s face hasn¡¯t faded by the time she starts pulling me towards the lifts. I keep an eye on the Psi and her pet for a few more seconds before returning to the crisis dragging me along at a breakneck pace. Forget the chance encounter that almost just exposed every secret in my head. The one that¡¯s still beside me is an even bigger problem. Cal could bring the entire Metro Blockhouse down on me with a single word. Why she lied to cover for me, I don¡¯t know. Why she hasn¡¯t said that word yet, I don¡¯t understand. But she¡¯s going to regret it. I can¡¯t break away from her yet, not while we¡¯re surrounded like this. Have to do it in the lifts. She¡¯s already beelining right for them.

    Working around the buzzing pack of news streams and live camera equipment, Cal finds a terminal for arena staff and swipes her JOY across the holopad, admitting us to an empty cylindrical tube with polished glass walls and gleaming chrome floors. She darts inside right as the nearby excitement swells to a crescendo.

    The lift beside ours, one for league fighters and VIP combatants from foreign Sections, whisks open with a hydraulic hiss. A firing line of stream cams starts flashing. Lightning-bolt staccato. Questions and calls for attention fill the air alongside handheld microphones and polearm spotlights. Sensing the action, other tourists collapse inwards on whoever is arriving like moths to a flame, hoping to see one of the city¡¯s strongest fighters in the flesh. All I catch is a glimpse of black hair, exiting just as I enter.

    What I miss is the rest of the person attached to it. A dispassionate warrior, twenty years old. Tall and powerful, handsome and dark, once-tan skin drained pale by a celebrity¡¯s life in neon paradise. His golden eyes are riven by passionate cracks of magmatic color and blink quickly against the assault of camera flashes as he steps out of the lift¡¯s confines. Always carefully controlled, his face betrays a flash of true emotion for a fleeting moment as he scans the adoring vultures and instead catches a glimpse of a long tail of white hair skirting around the crowd. For a moment, he thinks he sees a ghost of a memory, one whose shape he used to know better than his own calloused hands. His head cranes as he tries to follow that tail. Yet the moment he blinks, it¡¯s gone.

    And I¡¯m inside. The metal doors of the lift slide shut, silencing the chaos of the atrium. The Electric Town glimmers through the storm outside. Rain slaps against the glass like suppressed gunfire. Two narrowed yellow eyes stare back at me in the reflection, interposed over the view.

    The assassin who brought me here slowly rolls up her sleeves one at a time. I reach over without looking and press the key for the forty-second floor.

    ¡°You were so, so quick to tell it was the Champion wanted me dead, Cal,¡± I growl. Our lethal silence stretches as I let my hands hang, real and fake fingers curling into fists. ¡°When were you planning on telling me that your brother is his favorite apprentice?¡±

 2.4 - CHASING SHADOWS

    Cal¡¯s mouth works in silence. She tries to think up another lie, comes up empty, and settles for a shrug. ¡°Well. This just got awkward.¡±

    I flash forward. Her hand twitches at the same instant. The Relic around her wrist blinks to life, sending a subliminal hum shuddering through the air. Every hair on my body rises like I¡¯m standing beside a superconductor. Lights flicker. Security systems dim. My JOY goes with them and drops lifelessly to the floor, but I keep moving without it, whipping into a three-sixty aerial kick that carves down at her head like a scythe.

    Cal throws herself to the side, rolling across the deck and springing back to her heels with a platinum knife in her hands. Back to the glass. She throws an empty hand up. ¡°Tay! Tay stop, you-¡±

    I smash into her shoulder-first, nearly cracking the glass. Her body crumples, breathless. The lift barely shifts at the impact. The view outside hasn¡¯t changed yet. We haven¡¯t started moving. An electric-blue holopad back by the door now glowing an angry red, squawking for authorization. The distracted glance almost costs me. Metal flashes in the corner of my eye as Cal twists away from the wall and swipes side-to-side. A cat¡¯s scratch of pain slices across my face. I whip my head to the side and stumble back, blood trickling towards my jaw, a bloody, pulsating notch across my nose.

    ¡°Stop!¡± Cal pants. Her Relic keeps glowing on her wrist. ¡°I¡¯m not your enemy! I¡¯m trying to-¡±

    Four carbon-fiber fingers smear through the blood on my cheek. I hiss in pain and snap back onto her with hell in my eyes. Cal sees the wildness overcome me and tucks into a ball the instant before my foot jackhammers into her chest hard enough to leave hairline fractures in her forearms. She ricochets off the wall with a grunt. I don¡¯t relent. My feet clear the floor as I jump and spin, chambering a whole rotation¡¯s worth of momentum into the reversed kick that hooks into her skull. She blocks, barely. But the kinetic force flings her sideways, back towards the door, where I tackle her facefirst into the glass.

    She jerks against my grip. Trying to worm away. I club her across the back of the head and brace my prosthetic arm against the nape of her neck, flattening her face against the wall. My other hand rifles through her pockets. Searching for her JOY. Even if she doesn¡¯t use one to fight, the spheres are all-in-one links to everything digital. They¡¯re wallets, phones, cameras, and in her case, keycards.

    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake!¡± Cal grits out, gasping as I push my arm even harder into her neck.

    ¡°The only mistake I made was trusting you,¡± I snarl. The sphere¡¯s smooth metal fills my hand a moment later. I yank it out and slap it against the holopad until the pad blinks blue and lets out a happy chime. My stomach lurches downwards as we start to rise. Cal¡¯s squirming intensifies, panic rising.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you, Tay. Listen to me. Listen!¡± Her eyes search mine, looking for anything left to reason with. ¡°Why would I lie and cover for you so much if I was just going to hand you over to the Champion?¡±

    I throw her to the floor and attach her JOY to my hip. ¡°You¡¯re Thane¡¯s little sister. You tell me,¡± I snarl. Her knife clatters against the floor a meter away. ¡°What do they call him here? The Invincible. The best uni fighter anyone has ever seen.¡± I almost scoff at the notion. ¡°Drool-bait of the gossip circuits. Shoe-in for the pro leagues. Ringing any bells yet?¡± I stare down at her, no mercy left. ¡°Thane Kyriaku, apprentice of the tyrant who wants me dead, and brother to a no-name sister who doesn¡¯t even make the footnotes.¡± A hateful breath shudders out of me. ¡°My best friend.¡±

    Cal rolls onto her back and scoots away from me, panting fast. Just knowing who she shares a name with sends hateful blood pounding in my ears. Her Relic is still running, but I don¡¯t need to my JOY to ruin her. The security systems are being suppressed. I could do it right now. Break her neck with a well-placed kick. Stomp on her spine and smash it through the front of her stomach. But even as I begin to take that first stride forward, a pressure in my head tugs with an opposing impulse. Guilt. Horror that even in my desperation I would ever consider such a thing. Loathing, knowing exactly what my father would say if he could see me now.

    But Dad¡¯s not here. Not anymore. I don¡¯t have the luxury of being a hero and showing a snake like this mercy. Evil is in her blood. Her face is an echo of another that brings an entire childhood of joy and hate flooding back into my head. How many times did I look into those eyes, brush my fingers through that hair, touch that face and dream of some na?ve storybook future? How many nights have I slept in the mud thinking only of the day when I would see them again and finally kill the boy they belonged to?

    It''s the cornered-animal fear on Cal¡¯s face, and only that fear, that stops me a hair¡¯s breadth away from pulling the trigger. Her hand raised halfway in an instinctive attempt to protect herself from me, teeth grit, faintly trembling. Frozen like a rat with a gun to her head. Barely daring to breathe.

    My left hand balls so tightly that the nails pierce the skin. The sharp pain brings me back from the brink, walking me back from that step. Reminding me of the danger I¡¯m in just by wavering here for another second. The Electric Town keeps dropping away, swallowed by the storm. Black clouds and whistling gales envelop the view. Behind, the lift keeps chiming in a rhythmic pulse, already slowing as we close in on the highest levels of the arena.

    Cal tries one last time. ¡°We can still find your aunt,¡± she says, hand raised like it¡¯d do anything to stop me. ¡°I know what this looks like. But if that door opens and this mess spills outside, it¡¯s over. Gami, Thane, Valance, and the rest of the Shadows are going to know you¡¯re not dead like I told them you were. I¡¯ve been keeping the security systems suppressed-¡±

    ¡°-just so you can lead me into another trap?¡± I back a step closer to the door, feeling for the holopad. ¡°No. Hell no. You had your chance. A couple smooth words now aren¡¯t going to stop me, Feint.¡± She sees my fingers curl and knows I¡¯m about to run. Her eyes meet mine in a moment of panic, then dart to the left. ¡°You¡¯ve done everything you can to keep me from Jolie,¡± I snarl. ¡°No more. Enjoy explaining to your master why-¡±

    The door suddenly cuts open behind me. Sound washes in. Squeaking wheels and trundling carts. Brush mops, clattering metal, scraping pens, bottles popping open. A cloistered hallway filled with the weary groans and backroom banter of the custodial horde it takes to keep the arena running like clockwork. Interns carrying bundles of digital slates dodge around janitors, repulsorfield maintenance techs, sharp-suited secretaries and personal trainers for the forty league fighters who hold residence in this tower.

    Then I hear the squeak of rubber soles against metal decking and whirl back around, too far too fast. The humming suppression field emitted by Cal¡¯s Relic cuts out and my JOY affinities come rushing back like a lightswitch flipped. A surge in speed that I wasn¡¯t expecting leaves me overcompensating for the microsecond she needs to slide between my legs and chop out my knee joint from behind, crumpling me to the floor.

    ¡°Cal!¡± I shout.

    She scrambles up and throws a look over her shoulder, bangs haloing her face. Then she bolts off into the depths of the M, Relic reactivating, black ponytail dodging and darting through the workers clogging the hallway.

    I get a hand on the doorframe, haul myself up, and race after her. Shoving through her dumbstruck wake. People start recovering and reacting. Some off-duty league fighter sees me coming and responds twice as fast as her surroundings, lunging to block my path. Gloved fingers grabbing, then sliding away my shoulder; her following shout lost to the chaos. I¡¯m already past her.

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    I surge after Cal. Can¡¯t stop now. Literally everyone is staring, pulling out JOYs to record or call tower security if they aren¡¯t scrambling to get out of the way. My life is measured in seconds now. The Metro Blockhouse is stacked with pros and loyalists of the Champion. Dozens of power-hungry leaguers who make those uni fighters I embarrassed look like grade schoolers. And there¡¯s the bureaucratic horde of collaborators that executes Gami¡¯s will. Too many to escape if Cal gets far enough away for the security systems around me to start reactivating. Unless I keep inside her range.

    The barely-healed hole in my stomach shoots bolts of pain through my body with every step. I fly along Cal¡¯s wake, twisting through the throngs and shouting to clear the way, bursting between four janitors cracking open beers around an open bay door to a vast and empty battlefield. She¡¯s smaller and nimbler like I am. Like a mouse, she finds gaps between the haphazard cargo and scrambling secretaries that I can¡¯t and uses them to slip further away. I barely catch sight of her again as she reaches a four-way intersection heading deeper into the tower. She¡¯s about to go left when she looks back, sees me chasing at a sprint, and dodges right instead. Heading towards the exterior. East side. I bite down on the pain and will my body faster.

    Chased by a wake of shouts, I slide under a ladder being carried by two Nature elementals, pull myself around the hard corner and one-handed vault over a gaping intern pushing a cart of caf and pastries, launching into a spin. A stretch of clear space opens between me and Cal¡¯s quickly shrinking back. Finally I start reeling her in.

    Doors jut out of the cramped metal walls on either side. Some open, lights off, desks empty. Cal passes them all without slowing before skidding to a stop in another intersection, nearly run over by a massive cargo pusher laden with crates of foodstuffs. She can¡¯t get past. A massive door of darkoak built right into the walls of the Metro Blockhouse looms in front of her. She takes one look back at me before shouldering the door open and disappearing inside.

    I explode after her. Hurl myself across the intersection, tightening my body and twisting so my prosthetic shoulder is facing forward like a battering ram. The impact when I smash into the door rattles through every bone in my body. Wood splinters as it¡¯s slammed open. Nearly blown off its hinges. I crash through the doorway, tumbling head-over-heels across a plush navy-blue carpet and through a set of antique seating furniture before plowing straight into a bookcase.

    Paperbacks flap like bird wings as they pour over me. I shove out of the growing pile in a daze. Blinking quickly. Then glancing down to one of the books that drips off my head. A faded, heavily dogeared copy of a last-century romance novel. One I faintly recognize.

    The door groans behind me, clicking faintly as it seals shut. Two more books bounce off my shoulders. I groan and pick myself up. Head swimming from the impact. Cal is just a few feet away, back to me, panting for breath. I almost think the room around us is a museum until I notice the wide desk at the far end, which looks out over the entire Electric Town through wall-to-wall glass windows.

    It¡¯s an office. Dull and austere metal hidden behind a busy collection of antique furniture and memorabilia; accolades, weapons, framed memories caught in passing. There¡¯s a somber silence to how plentiful the objects are and rigorously they¡¯re arranged. Every memento is perfectly free of dust, yet worn and battered by decades of use. Too numerous to belong to the lone woman who survived them all.

    She sits ramrod straight behind that desk at the end of the room, staring nonplussed at her obliterated bookcase through a pair of antique glass spectacles. A tall rapier of a woman whose gaze is burdened by the all-knowing patience of a leader of men. Her crimson hair is shot with grey roots and wrapped tightly into a high tail. The ruthless intelligence of a clerical devil lurks behind her eyes, which are ringed by years of foregone sleep and colored like indigo ink. The same shade of deep-sea blue as my father¡¯s eyes, yet so much icier in their temper. Empty paper cups with caf stains litter her desk behind a thin metal bar that reads CIVIC DIRECTOR, SECTION G. A thin trickle of smoke pools from the cup where she was stamping out a lighter just before Cal and I bashed in.

    Three translucent projector screens color her face from the side, one flashing with an active call. Audio from the call trickles into the crumbling silence.

    ¡°Jolie, you have to listen to me. I swear it belongs to him. Some girl was wearing it when she ran past me just a moment ago, fastlike. She¡¯s still on this level-¡±

    All the desperation that carried me here without care for my own safety flees as I see Aunt Jolie in the flesh for the first time in three years. But she doesn¡¯t even recognize me. Not at first. Savagely perceptive, she peers at me in confusion while raising her voice at the assassin who stands panting between us.

    ¡°Calliope,¡± Jolie coldly says, ¡°You had better have a good reason for¡­¡± Then her eyes begin to widen. ¡°For¡­¡±

    The rest of the accusation stalls on her tongue. Sudden recognition strips the blood from her face. Her cheeks pale like she¡¯s looking at a dead memory risen.

    ¡°Tay¡­?¡± She looks me up from top to bottom, finally seeing through the recolored hair and false irises. Her voice thins to a stunned whisper. ¡°¡­you¡¯re alive?¡±

    Jolie¡¯s head swings towards the door as fists and shouts start pounding against it from the outside. Lightning-quick fingers toggle a hidden switch inside her desk, triggering manual security systems that reinforce the entrance with a heavy metal thunk just as a young woman¡¯s voice- that Psi we met in the lobby, Valance- hammers through the noise.

    ¡°Director Mons, there¡¯s an active security breach ongoing. You¡¯re being relocated. Open the door.¡± A brief pause. ¡°Director Mons! What¡¯s going on in there? Answer and unlock the door!¡± More pounding. ¡°I can¡¯t sense anything in there. She¡¯s escaped or unconscious. Contact Kalavakus and Thane and get me through that wall. Jolie! General Manager Mons! Open up!¡±

    A glowing point of red begins blossoming in the center of the door. Aunt Jolie whirls back to me as I stumble forwards, drawn to her by familial compulsion. So much maternal instinct fills her eyes. Three years of things unsaid, compressed by solitary confinement in this tower and the horrible guilt of giving up on any hope the few people she loved could still be alive. But she doesn¡¯t let that emotion rule.

    Cold, bladelike logic takes over. Jolie raises a hand in warning, stopping me from drawing any closer. ¡°You need to run, Tay. Now. Leave me.¡±

    ¡°Leave you?¡± I stutter out a single note of disbelief. ¡°It¡¯s me, Auntie! It¡¯s Tetsuka. I¡¯m not just going to leave you here-¡±

    The hammering grows louder.

    ¡°There¡¯s no time,¡± Jolie implores, shaking her head now. ¡°You¡¯re alive. You¡¯re alive,¡± she breathes, taking in the most relieved breath. ¡°Get out of here, honey. It¡¯s all that matters now. If you are free, Gami can still be stopped. All is not yet lost.¡± Another key press and the door to the balcony leaps open. Rain and frozen wind slash inside, billowing out our hair. Her eyes flick to the rapidly-melting door. ¡°You¡¯ve done enough by coming here. Don¡¯t worry about me now. I¡¯m not important enough to kill. I¡¯ll find a way to reach you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I stammer. ¡°You won¡¯t slow me down. I can carry you!¡±

    ¡°I can do more from in here than I ever could from the outside.¡± I make to move towards her anyways, but stop when Cal interposes herself between us. Jolie¡¯s nails tense against the desk. ¡°Trust me,¡± she says. ¡°Trust me, Tetsuka. They told me you were dead. They cannot be allowed to have you now.¡±

    The pounding at the door thunders back into my awareness. White hair flows around my shoulders, gripped by the storm. Jolie nods again. Imploring, trusting me to listen. Face tight with grim determination, I jerk my gaze away and snag Cal by the shirt, breaking for the balcony.

    ¡°We¡¯re not finished yet,¡± I snarl at her.

    The assassin stays prim-lipped quiet as I yank her along with. I throw one last pained look at Jolie before the rain hits me. She¡¯s already typing on a projection. Haloed by electric-blue lights, the last and least threatening of the heroes of her age. Then the office door buckles inward with a groan, an armored shoulder pushing through the growing gap. Jolie sees me hesitating and shakes her head madly.

    ¡°Get out of here!¡± she shouts. ¡°Fly!¡±

    I dash into the storm, black gales battering me from side to side. Forty stories down, the Electric Town glows in a lattice of golden lights and vibrant neon through a gap in the clouds. Cal¡¯s composure falters when she realizes what I¡¯m about to do. Lightning carves through the clouds ahead. A thousandfold roar reverberates down from the championship battlefield just as my feet touch the edge.

    Silhouetted by the storm, I listen to the beat and jump.

 MEMORY.03

    Today marks my first triumph.

    Clutching a length of platinum-plated rope, I take the steps of the stadium two at a time until I come to a stop atop the world. It¡¯s an exhausting climb after fighting for an entire week against my strongest peers in the outskirts villages, but the view is worth it all. My face flushes with warmth as I look out over the filled arena. The approval of an entire peoples thunders back.

    Not even Mars¡¯ guiding hand could help me up the final ascent to this summit. This is my victory alone. Years of knowledge, months of introspection, and moments of inspiration culminated in the skills I debuted to win. Tay has been my constant muse throughout it all, but it¡¯s the differences between us that set this stage. If she is the wind, I am the tides. Whittling away at my challenges through consistency rather than flashes of tempestuous power. We need each other all the same. Without wind, water stills. And without oceans, there is no life for the gentle breezes to caress.

    The metal I hold means nothing to me. My focus is on the horizon. The spectacle, the sounds, the flashing lights bleed away as I look out over the mountainous horizon. Snowflakes dance across my nose. Icy wind forges the memory harder. They cheer beneath me for what feels an eternity, a roar of wordless noise and excitement. I could listen to it forever.

    The moment wanes as the cheers splinter and news streams drift closer to the stage, hungry for interviews. Press from the villages and capital wait in equal numbers. My presence here is contentious for boundless reasons, not the least of which is the dichotomy of my birth. It¡¯s an insular culture here at the edge of the Section. To most, the dual life I¡¯ve lived attending these schools with Tay is enough to satisfy the needs of their honor. To the older conservatives who brood by the exits, I¡¯m a half-and-half carnivore from the capital that should never have been allowed entrance. My victory brings their people no acclaim. It¡¯s just a reminder of why they bow to the capital, and why no son of their fields has ever sat on the throne.

    If they had their way, their most vivacious scion would have won instead of me. A gold-and-silver girl of simple moods and hapless, entrancing accent, she¡¯s being bombarded by questions lower down the stage. Her wolf pelt falls far shorter than the golden lion beside it. She holds a silver rope in her one hand, clutching it to her heart. JOY off. Tears shine in the corners of her eyes. Laugh and wipe them away all she will, she cannot hide the emotion. Nor would anyone ask her to. Third place is still a bitter loss for someone like her.

    ¡°This year¡¯s village circuit champion: Thane!¡±

    They roar again, shouting my name in the mess of noise this time. I bow deep to the crowd, less to the administrators, and descend the stage.

    Tay meets me with a kiss at the bottom of the steps, standing on tiptoes just to do it eye to eye. Eyes so deep a red they almost melt with emotion. She¡¯s so cold under her cloak. I hold her on her toes and kiss her again quickly, just for myself. Then I smile and break away and we both laugh as I take her hand under the platinum drake scales draped over my shoulders. She¡¯s already talking about what dinner we¡¯ll get after the long ride home. Not about the loss. Nor about her father¡¯s missing presence amongst the crowd.

    Mars is gone, as he often is. Off waging another battle, protecting another Section, fighting the battles of tomorrow, not today. His constant absence in Tay¡¯s life never seems to bother her. Sometimes I wonder if I¡¯m the only one who thinks it wrong that I stand here in his place. A father to fifteen million people, so often he neglects to spend time with the one who should matter most. But she¡¯s always rebounding, never staying down for long.

    I squeeze her hand for reassurance. Swearing again that I will not let this life take me as it did him.

    And then I still.

    Behind her, on the other side of the still-emptying stadium, a figure I never thought I would see in this place towers over our team¡¯s coach. My eyes are drawn to the giant on a compulsion, recognizing the unease that parts the crowd in a wide circle around his presence. Tay¡¯s fingers slip from my hand as I come to a stop, alone and immovable while the pack of our teammates flows on towards the exit.

    She looks back in confusion.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± I say, nodding to the rest of the team. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up in the garage.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Just need a minute.¡±

    Her worried expression disappears a moment later as one of the juniors sweeps her off her feet in celebration. Crossing my arms under my pelt for warmth, I skip out of the crowds and skirt along the edge of the stadium, heading towards our coach. The man is dwarfed by the monolithic warrior beside him. A titan whose shadow stretches for hulking meters beneath the spotlights. The news streams respect his reputation by veering away to record elsewhere. As does anyone within earshot.

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    Call him what you will, the titan knows what it means to cultivate an image. Even if it is a fearful one. Wings like twin war banners, tail like a serpentine club dragging through the snow. His body is a gargoyle visage of pure platinum metal with a simple faceless helm, three meters of height, and all the implied malice of a loaded weapon with the safety off.

    Gami, a rising elemental in the major league, is a figure anyone would recognize almost as easily as they recognize Tay¡¯s father. He is as iconic for his metal as he is his peerless control of it. League analysts predict he¡¯ll be the first warrior in almost five years to make a challenge for the champion¡¯s throne. Given the way he¡¯s dismantled the professional scene on his climb to prominence, it¡¯s hard to imagine otherwise.

    The titan¡¯s voice rumbles out like a volcano as I approach, deceptively casual in spite of its depth. I shift one of my classes to Hunter and sharpen my hearing as I approach, ignoring the cold feeling seeping into my gut. Though Gami¡¯s head never turns in my direction, I can feel his attention on me every step of the way. An invisible pressure weighing down my shoulders.

    ¡°¡­to be blunt, I have been searching the Section for someone worthy of being my apprentice,¡± he¡¯s saying to the coach. ¡°Many professional fighters take at least one. I thought I might do the same to help better my reputation.¡±

    The man says some patronizing quip about Gami¡¯s infamy. A courtesy, of course. Few people enjoy the Elemental¡¯s soulless, calculating method of combat. His detractors call it a betrayal of the spirit of fighting. Gami makes another noise I think is supposed to sound like amusement, then finally eyes me as I approach. His blunt, helmet-like head looks down on me from on high. No eyes with which to see. It doesn¡¯t seem to keep him from perceiving like normal. Benefits without detriments.

    ¡°Young Thane. Your victory was well worth watching.¡±

    I incline my head downward, traditional village humility. ¡°I did not think my performance worthy of a professional¡¯s praise. You honor me.¡±

    ¡°Honor where honor is due. You possess an invigorating talent of a nature I have only seen once before. Your usage of the Shifter class is revolutionary. And shifts of classes themselves are a concept I have seen so thoroughly explored.¡± His helm turns marginally back towards my coach. ¡°I was consulting with your sponsor about the matter that brought me here.¡±

    I cross my arms beneath my cloak. ¡°You seek someone to mentor.¡±

    ¡°I do. I believe guiding a student into the university leagues would be a worthwhile investment of my time.¡±

    ¡°It certainly may be.¡±

    Gami rumbles out another amused note. I can¡¯t quite call it a laugh. He flicks his tail and begins to walk away from the coach, wordlessly implying for me to follow. The chaos and noise of the emptying stadium fades as we drift further from my teammates, chased by snow flurries.

    ¡°Let us not waste words, Thane. You are a rare talent. After seeing your skills in person, I am prepared to offer you a position as my apprentice.¡±

    Sweat prickles and freezes on my brow. I choose my next words carefully, laying a test of the depth of Gami¡¯s knowledge.

    ¡°If it¡¯s talent you seek, you would do better to pursue the girl who took third. Anyone could see she possesses a tenacity no other competitor did.¡±

    Gami needs not move to dismiss the notion. ¡°She does not fit my aims. I suspect her current patron would not be amenable to an advance, either.¡±

    A brutally simple answer. He knows about Tay and Mars. I conceal my surprise and continue to listen.

    ¡°This apprenticeship will not distract from your other priorities. A few events when you are in the capital, mostly. Some trips abroad. Training with other professionals. If you flourish, I will teach you to master my classes and add them to your repertoire. You will have my support and recommendation wherever you go. Fame, influence¡­ nothing will be beyond your reach. You will be able to make the world as you see fit.¡±

    ¡°Lofty promises,¡± I say, casting a glance back to where Tay still waits. ¡°But not ones I desire. I train with professionals already. It is the only reason I stood on the summit today.¡±

    ¡°I understand our Champion has an interest in you as well. His showmanship bleeds into your own.¡±

    Gami wants me, that much is clear. He is keen, and beyond that, his words suggest greater aims than a mere apprenticeship. And he cuts through every diversion I might try by diving straight for the kill.

    ¡°I saw something in your eyes today, when you stood on that stage,¡± Gami says. ¡°A sentiment I recognized quite easily.¡±

    Of all the things I expect him to say next, least among them is the truth.

    ¡°You want more.¡±

    An insidious nausea curls in my stomach. Time slows as we stand in a shadow between the spotlights. The arena drains on around us, not a soul hearing the devil¡¯s bargain.

    ¡°You will always want more,¡± Gami says, turning his back. ¡°And I can give it to you.¡±

    His tail drops a card into my hand. The first seed of doubt.

    ¡°For when you are ready, Thane. We will change the world, you and I.¡±

 3.0 - FALLOUT

    Gravity catches me with open arms as I leap into the storm. Black clouds swallow me whole. For a terrifying second I lose all sense of direction, hanging in a thundering abyss with Cal in my arms, tumbling in freefall. Then I break out of the cloud layer and a world of rain-soaked neon fills my vision. Streets and skyscrapers blur into rivers of color and light. Ice and water sting like hornets as they break over my skin. Too fast, falling too fast.

    Cal¡¯s hair whips past my face. She clutches tight to me as she screams to be heard over the roar of wind. ¡°Tay, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!¡±

    Thirty stories left between us and being a smear on the concrete. Ten more flash past in a blink. My reflection chases me down the glass side of the Metro Blockhouse at terminal velocity. But I can¡¯t slow us down early. Have to wait for the absolute last moment, hoping against all odds that no one sees us plummeting off the arena. The ringed streets of short-roofed restaurants surrounding the Metro Blockhouse swell larger. Cal shrieks louder. I ignore the panic, her nails clawing into my back, the rapidly closing city.

    Twenty stories. Razors of raindrops slash my face raw. I focus on the buzz of my JOY¡¯s neural link and reach back through the branches of my memory, summoning up that garden that haunts my every night. A flashback staccato unspools behind my closed eyelids. Crimson hair blanketing my shoulders as Dad cups my left hand and presses it to my heart. Thane, quietly watching. Then chasing a high-speed train over the fields. Soaring high above the coast. My hand on a boy¡¯s bare chest as I feel the spark inside him. My hand trembling, palm burnt and flesh charred, a trail of fried ozone beaming to a hole in the clouds. The fire of ki suffusing my veins. Burning, straining at my body until it seared from the inside out, skin pulsing with an interior glow. So much fire that I couldn¡¯t contain it, just let it flow from inside to out, blooming into the garden in a golden tempest.

    When I reach through the neural link now in search of that fire, the spark of life energy that has always lurked within me, I feel nothing but the dead coals of a long dormant forge. An eternal engine corroded by disuse.

    I waver.

    The city roars closer, so close I can see the stylized neon bowl glowing on a lowrise noodle bar¡¯s orange sign. And in a sheer moment of adrenalized panic, my heart forgets to be scared of the strength I closed myself off from long ago. The class that Dad built his reputation on and eventually passed down to me: ki fighting.

    My heart leaps to its most basic instinct with a terajoule kickstart. Unbearable agony shears through my nerves. Burning from zero to everything in a microsecond. Suffusing every inch of skin with awful, kinetic power until my body begins splitting apart at the seams and with a scream of pain I let it erupt into reality.

    Thirty feet away from becoming a smear on the concrete, my aura slashes out and burns hard enough in a quarter of a second to slow our descent from meteoric to just barely survivable. I ball around Cal instinctively the moment before impact. We smash down on the rooftop of a dojo in the second ring of streets from the M and scatter apart like bowling pins. Reality stutters. Gravel sawing across my skin. Friction fires slashing my legs and face. Vision pinwheeling through city sky gravel city sky gravel before settling on a concussed view of the Metro Blockhouse when I slam backfirst into a metal snake of climate control ducting.

    I drip off the metal. Collapse into a limp pile. Stunned at first, then coughing and groaning airlessly into the gravel. A marrow-deep ache pulses inside my battered body as my heart keeps burning, fueling the ki that oozes painfully out of my skin. For a long moment it¡¯s all I can do to lay there while the storm beats me down. The ache inside me never ends. It keeps going, going, going. Liquid energy escaping from a cracked vase. It¡¯s up to me to find the strength to get up, and I find it the moment I turn my head enough to see the black-haired girl who put me on this rooftop.

    ¡°You stopped me,¡± I snarl, ignoring the grit that cuts into my bloody palms.

    Cal fights to her feet at the same time I do. One hand braced against a steam-exuding vent for support, the other hanging limply at her side; dislocated shoulder. Her mouth curls angrily. ¡°Jolie Mons is a political hostage! If you jumped off with her instead of me, there wouldn¡¯t be stone in this city that Gami would leave unturned. Did you not hear her say-¡±

    I take two steps forward and smash my knuckles into her face. I throw my whole weight into the punch. Bone cracks against bone and she goes sprawling across the rooftop. ¡°I don¡¯t care what she said!¡± I yell. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think was going to happen! You have no idea what she is to me!¡±

    ¡°And what were you going to do different?¡± Cal sneers. ¡°Hit me more?¡± She crawls back up and spits blood, pale eyes glaring death from beneath a mop of black bangs. Sees me coming and laughs out loud. ¡°Fine. Give it your best shot. That¡¯s all you¡¯re good for, anyways.¡±

    I strip off Dad¡¯s jacket, throw away my JOY, and dive straight at her, tackling her to the gravel. She grunts as we fall again. I wrestle her down and start throwing punch after punch at her head, pounding her into the rooftop. Blood splits out of her mouth. Gasps of pain turn into grunts. I brutalize her on even footing, but she doesn¡¯t give up. She¡¯s no martial artist, but she¡¯s still trained enough to fight back. It devolves into an animal frenzy as the storm picks up. No technique, just raw emotion as we beat each other down. Neither one able to get on top for long. Cal¡¯s wet hand slips over my face, nails clawing for my eyes. She socks me in the nose with a blind punch. I fall back choking on blood. She gets a hand in my hair and yanks me to the side, scrambles up, then charges right into the snap kick I fire like a piston into her stomach.

    She gets launched five horizontal feet, goes down hard, and stays down. I can¡¯t even chase her at first. I¡¯m frozen to the bone, snorting globs and cartilage, so beat to ragged shit I¡¯m only still moving out of sheer momentum. The ache of aura oozing out of me spikes painfully as I manage to drag myself up with a climate control unit. I cough out smoke, unable to suppress the groan that rattles from my lungs. Clutch five fingers to my heart as my chest keeps tightening. Breaths coming shorter and shorter. Something¡¯s wrong inside me. Really wrong. I should have found another way off the tower. I haven¡¯t touched any class but martial arts in years, though I never erased it from my JOY. But that kind of disuse still shouldn¡¯t fuck me up like this. I¡¯m just too angry to stop and care.

    My sneakers squelch as I stagger across the roof. Cal¡¯s face is smeared in half-washed blood, one eye swollen completely shut. She uses a radio antenna to right herself. ¡°Feel better yet?¡± she yells. When I don¡¯t stop closing, she stands up all five-foot-three of her diminutive height, shouting through the rain. ¡°Would you quit it already, you crazy bitch? There is smoke coming out of you!¡±

    I pause to look down, finally seeing the source of the ache. Ki of some kind is still oozing out of my chest, but it¡¯s not the golden color it should be. It¡¯s black. Sickly. Polluted. My chest spasms tightly again and I slump against cold metal.

    Cal¡¯s about to say something even more vitriolic until she realizes I can¡¯t even talk back. Her lips part in surprise. ¡°Holy shit. Are you having a heart attack?¡±

    ¡°Why do you care?!¡± I shout. ¡°Why do you give two shits about me? Haven¡¯t you done enough already?!¡± I convulse from the pain, more than rain dripping down my cheeks. ¡°Is dangling Jolie in front of me just to tear her away not enough? Is hunting me like a dog for your master not enough? Spending every night wondering if I¡¯ll even wake up in the morning? Is that not enough for you?!¡± The words spill out of me raw and unfiltered. I don¡¯t realize I¡¯m screaming again till my throat tears raw. ¡°When I can¡¯t close my eyes because of the nightmares, is that enough? What about watching my father die while I hold him? Is losing everything I ever loved and cared for not fucking enough for you people?!¡±

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    The hate, the anger, the fear, everything I¡¯ve bottled up for so long comes out in such a vitriolic flood that Cal just stands there stunned.

    ¡°I guess it¡¯s not.¡± A bitter laugh wracks my chest. ¡°Trying to help? Don¡¯t give me that drivel. I don''t need your pity. All you people do is hurt and take. And you have the audacity to stand there and pretend like you care?¡± I jab a finger at the Metro Blockhouse. ¡°Like you don¡¯t know exactly what he did?!¡±

    ¡°What? No! I barely knew who you were when I was told to take you out!¡± Cal holds up her hands defensively. Heavy rain drenches us; she has to raise her voice once more into a ragged shout. ¡°Thane never told me anything about you! I didn¡¯t even know you were her! That girl he used to go visit!¡± She searches my eyes for any sort of belief. ¡°All I got from him was a name and a picture, and I¡¯ve been doing everything I can to keep you alive because I didn¡¯t know more. I didn¡¯t think you deserved to die, that night I found you. But you¡¯re a fucking danger magnet who keeps doing everything you can to get yourself killed! Does nothing I¡¯ve done to help make a difference to you?!¡±

    ¡°I lost everything because of you people! Because your master murdered my father, and Thane-¡± I choke up, hand veiling my face, eyes squeezing shut. ¡°No. You have no idea what I¡¯ve been through. The hell I¡¯ve had to survive. All you did was stop me from rescuing the one hope I had left.¡±

    Shivers wrack my torso. Cal¡¯s mouth stays stuck open. Slowly she shakes her head, disbelieving even as she puts the pieces together.

    ¡°Gami¡­ murdered your father,¡± she murmurs. ¡°But if Jolie Mons is your aunt, then¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    I slump down into sitting. Neon reflections gleam in the wetness on my cheeks; a holo-poster for a memorial service at the Kingswalk drifts off the building beside us.

    ¡°He¡¯s my father,¡± I whisper. ¡°Was, my father.¡±

    Cal sighs, like she¡¯s coming to a doomed realization. ¡°Mars Mons. The last Champion.¡±

    I say nothing.

    ¡°But Mars didn¡¯t have any kids. And he¡­ I mean, his death was a tragedy. An accident. Everyone knows. It was all over the news streams.¡±

    I close my eyes, head lolling back against the duct. Real hand on my knee, fake hand drifting in the gravel. Staring up at the darkness so my eyes don¡¯t shut. ¡°I watched Gami murder him in cold blood. I held him as he died in my lap. Do you have any idea what that feels like to a ki fighter? When you can feel the spark inside someone drifting away and you¡¯d give every drop of life in you to keep it burning for just a second longer, but there¡¯s nothing at all you can do to stop it?¡± My real fingers tremble.

    Cal stands there in silence, trying to come up with some sort of reply. None comes. Rain plasters my hair to my forehead. Eventually, she collapses into sitting across from me. Looking at me like I¡¯m a bomb she just found on the side of the street. Reevaluating what she¡¯s been traveling with. Definitely not feeling safer because of it.

    ¡°I guess it makes sense now, why Gami wants you dead. You¡¯re the last loose end of the only thing to ever stand in his way.¡± She winces, gingerly touching her bruising cheek. ¡°I didn¡¯t know I was helping royalty.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not royalty.¡±

    ¡°Your dad¡¯s face is stamped on credit chits. If Gami¡¯s enemies knew that Mars had a daughter and she was still out there, they¡¯d use you in a heartbeat. Make you into a symbol, or something.¡± Cal blinks slowly, head hanging in an exhausted slump. ¡°So the General Manager really is your aunt?¡±

    I try to ignore the tar-black ki smoking out of me. Hard ask, given that it feels my heart is being used like a rotisserie spit. ¡°She¡¯s the closest thing I have to a mom,¡± I say, blinking slowly.

    ¡°You two look nothing alike, no offense. And not just in the hair.¡±

    ¡°Dad adopted me.¡± My carbon-fiber fingers twitch in sync. ¡°He raised me out in the villages. Taught me everything he knew. Your brother, too.¡±

    ¡°You said Thane was your best friend.¡±

    ¡°He was,¡± I sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±

    Cal finds a distraction in the cityscape to watch. A brooding, downward cast to her eyes. Deep in thought. Genuine in a way that makes me wonder for a second if she really didn¡¯t know about me.

    I wouldn¡¯t put it past Thane to have told her nothing about me, about us. He was never much for sharing. And I¡¯d do the same if I were still serving the tyrant who killed my girlfriend¡¯s father. Wouldn¡¯t want to see that guilt reflected in my only sibling every single day. Though that¡¯s assuming he feels any guilt at all. By what I¡¯ve seen of him on the gossip streams, our childhood together might as well not exist.

    After another minute of silence, I let go of the cold, angry breath trapped inside me. My lips form a hard line as I gather the willpower to get back on my feet. The longer I sit here getting drenched by the downpour, the harder it is to move. The momentum that kept pushing my just one more step forward is entirely exhausted. But I¡¯ve survived worse than this. So much worse.

    ¡°Believe whatever you want,¡± I grunt, getting a hand on my knee. ¡°But take it from someone who¡¯s been sleeping in gutters for the past three years: I don¡¯t lie.¡±

    Cal sees me struggling and eases onto her feet, limping over to kneel at my side. She holds her Relic near where the ki is smoking from my chest. Activates it, lips a flat hard line. The ache inside me dulls to a slightly more bearable level. I must give some outward sign of relief, because she asks, ¡°Better?¡±

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Helping you.¡± She hooks her cold hands under my armpits and hauls me up. ¡°I told you- I didn¡¯t think you deserved to die. That hasn¡¯t changed yet. And clearly, you still need a hand.¡± She winces, eyes flicking to my prosthetic arm. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t even know where I¡¯m going.¡±

    ¡°I have a pretty good idea it involves rescuing your aunt and getting into even more danger.¡± She sets me against the duct. ¡°Am I wrong?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just the start,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s not going to end until Jolie and I are safe, and that won¡¯t happen until Gami is stopped for good,¡± I don¡¯t add the obvious conflict with her brother. And I do nothing to hide my distrust, either.

    Sure. Cal might have been helping keep me alive so far. Even I can see that there¡¯s a sliver of truth there- I¡¯ve got a temper, that doesn¡¯t make me an idiot. And I¡¯m also a fish out of water in this city. That I found Jolie at all was only possible with her aid. I don¡¯t honestly know if I can rescue Jolie on my own. Dad taught me how to fight, not to rescue hostage political figures.

    Having someone who can watch my back, someone native to the city, could be the first step forward I¡¯ve found in the three years since I disappeared from the world. But Cal? She¡¯s the definition of the enemy. There¡¯s no way I can know if this isn¡¯t all just a part of some more elaborate plan. This city is her home. Jolie¡¯s captors are her friends. The sun would go cold before I could believe that someone like her would have a change of heart over something as simple as a little doubt.

    And what if it¡¯s Thane who stands in my way? I can see it in the way she instinctively jumped to defend him just a moment ago. He¡¯s her brother. She wouldn¡¯t choose me over him. I¡¯m no one to her. If it came down to it, she¡¯d push that knife all the way home to protect him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what Thane was to you,¡± Cal says, holding my gaze. ¡°And I don¡¯t know everything that happened between you two. Clearly it wasn¡¯t great, and I¡¯m his sister. I get it. You¡¯re going to loathe me no matter what I say. So I¡¯m not asking you to trust me.¡± She blinks slowly, yellow eyes gleaming faintly in the dark. ¡°Just that you give me a shot.¡±

    I start to shake my head. ¡°Why?¡±

    She turns her wrist over, showing the dull stone bangle. ¡°This is what I do. Not who I am.¡± Then she rests her elbows on the duct beside me, staring at the Metro Blockhouse through waterlogged bangs. ¡°I¡¯m no one¡¯s weapon. And if my brother was wrong about you¡­ maybe he¡¯s wrong about more.¡±

    We flinch together as the storm slaps us with renewed vigor. I¡¯m so cold, so drenched, so tired of running. For a moment, taking Cal¡¯s offer almost seems possible. I just wish that Aunt Jolie were here. That there were someone, anyone I could lean on for a moment without worrying that they¡¯d stab me in the back. That I wasn¡¯t resorting to trusting jackals and left to fight blindly through the dark.

    But I¡¯m alone. I¡¯m always alone, now. These burdens are mine alone to bear.

    I take a deep breath.

    I might not have Jolie with me, but I do know what she¡¯d tell me. There¡¯s an old saying about friends and enemies. And when you¡¯re not sure which one someone is, it¡¯s better to keep them as close as possible.

    And if Cal betrays me? I¡¯ll burn that bridge when I get to it.

    ¡°Then it¡¯s settled,¡± Cal says, taking my silence as the begrudging acceptance it is. She hooks her head at a ladder on the edge of the rooftop. ¡°I¡¯m sick of the rain. You good with a hot shower and some caf?¡±

    I scoop up Dad¡¯s jacket, glance back at the arena one last time, then follow at a limp. ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡±

    ¡°There isn¡¯t always a catch, Tay. Some people just enjoy being nice.¡±

    ¡°Spill it.¡±

    ¡°¡­Said shower and caf are waiting back at my place.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

 3.1 - THE GLASS DISTRICT

    Even though the last train ran at midnight, the Electric Town has only just begun to slow. I watch it slide past from the back of the autobike Cal chartered to take us to her apartment. We ride back-to-back with the repulsorfields off, too tired and drenched to care about the downpour. Colorful neon paints half my face; white-tan lights of passing autocabs periodically warms the other. The Shimano Heavy Industries engine purring inside the chassis vibrates up through my legs. Only the faintest electronic hum as it glides through the rainstreaked streets.

    Late-night electric jazz seeps into the air while we drift to a stop at a crosswalk. University students and off-shift workers drift out from the retro rotating doors of electroclubs and holoarcades around us, firing up their classes and taking flight if they don¡¯t add to the growing number of people waiting to cross.

    Cal lets out a sore, dismal groan at the wait. Leans back in her seat, resting her hand on both sides of the frame where I¡¯m sitting. Red light silhouettes her head as she glances back, noting the pained grimace on my face. The polluted black ki still smoking out of my chest; like an ethereal lance impaling my heart from front to back. ¡°You gonna shut that off?¡± she asks, arching an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s a ki thing, right? If you turn off your JOY, it¡¯ll go away.¡±

    ¡°I never turn my JOY off.¡± Green light fills every pool on the road. I tighten my legs against the chassis as the bike jets forward. ¡°Haven¡¯t since I was a kid.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± Cal says. She watches me with genuine curiosity, letting the machine drive itself. ¡°JOYs always shut off when you fall asleep. It¡¯s one of the core anti-psychosis routines. No one¡¯s been able to hack it out- it¡¯d make global news if they had. The only workaround is-¡±

    ¡°Not going to sleep at all. I know.¡± I cross my arms against the cold. ¡°I didn¡¯t hack it out. Sleep-linking is something Thane and I figured out together. Took us six months of really shitty nights.¡±

    Cal snorts quietly. ¡°If that was all, I¡¯m sure someone else would¡¯ve figured it out by now. Pros rack up millions of hours on their JOYs and their neural link still shuts off when they sleep.¡±

    ¡°You can sit around and watch me like a creep tonight, if you¡¯re really that desperate to be proved wrong.¡±

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t tempt me. I might.¡± The pressure of Cal¡¯s spine lifts away as she returns her hands to the throttle, manually piloting us towards an on-ramp that crosses the vast river dividing the Electric Town from the University and Glass Districts. Neon shimmers in rainbow hues up and down the length of the bridge, cascading like a waterfall. Far below, dark water boils in the rain. The bridge splits ahead, half heading towards the immense skyscrapers of the Glass District, the other towards humble apartments and cozy student-life ambiance.

    Cal takes us towards the latter. Lovely. Right back into hostile territory. Though that¡¯s practically the status-quo these days.

    I stifle a yawn and ask, ¡°How much further?¡±

    It¡¯s telling to her exhaustion that she barely manages an ounce of sass in her reply. Turns out the exit was a just-in-case. We cut back through the underpass and into the Glass District in near total silence. Just the pattering of rain against perfectly smooth asphalt as we cruise into a graveyard of giants.

    Immense skyscrapers of steel and glass wall us in like mountain cliffs. Forty stories is the smallest they come. The streets are hugely wide, perfectly aligned, and devoid of life or greenery. Four lanes each side, every light green. None of the Electric Town¡¯s pedestrian chaos and vibrant neon. Nearly a hundred meters ahead, the only moving thing I can see, a gleaming black supercar, banks a right and leaves us totally alone.

    The silence stretches, vast and lonely. Aunt Jolie has told me plenty of stories from her and Dad¡¯s adventures in the capital, but few of them involved the Glass District. How could she have conveyed the scale of this place to a girl who¡¯d grown up only knowing the villages? I drink it in with my eyes wide open. The wealth it must have taken to build this district is incomprehensible. Even with the power of JOYs, it¡¯d take a team of expert metal Elementals and a plethora of other classes years of time and billions of credits to finish just one of these skyscrapers.

    It¡¯s no wonder the corporations used to hold so much sway before my father¡¯s reign. This is an entirely different sphere of influence than the Electric Town. One with its own rules, its own titans. Even if its chokehold on the Section was broken, the bankrollers here are the unseen backbone that props up the gladiocracy and even the Champion himself. That Gami lets the corporations continue to enjoy this opulence tells me all I need to know about how little spine they have left.

    In the end, even the rich bow to true power.

    Cal takes us to a long, arcing road that chases the river¡¯s western side. The Electric Town glimmers across the water; shrouded in storm. A few more minutes of driving in the silence through the rain and we¡¯re wordlessly dismounting in front of a waterfront property of several limestone lowrises built around a central courtyard of pools and bubbling lagoons. A pedestrian walkway arches over the road, connecting the apartments to a lattice of docks that juts over the bay. Drizzling mist dampens the air, turning the pale streetlights fuzzy.

    I breathe in the surreal quiet, looking over the rest of the waterfront. The void of sound is absolute. There¡¯s no bugs, no birds, no anything.

    A jolt of pain spasms through my chest while I turn. Grimacing again, I reach up and clutch at my heart, fingers pressing against my ribcage. The ache inside pulses like an open wound. Painful and ever-present. ¡°You sure no one¡¯s going to recognize us here?¡± I ask.

    Cal snatches her JOY back from the autobike and gives it a slap on the rear tire, sending it humming off along the riverside. ¡°Here?¡± Her eyes flick up; she laughs. ¡°This isn¡¯t my apartment. I¡¯m in that one.¡±

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    She points past the courtyard to the looming blackness behind it. It takes me a second to register the infrequent lights scattered up its side as manmade, not reflections of the mist. My eyes drift up fifty sheer stories of supermodern aesthetic. Black, quartz, and glass from top to bottom.

    Imported palm trees from my homeland rustle and sway above as we hobble through the courtyard. Cal¡¯s apartment complex looms in front of us, swallowing the rest of the skyline. It¡¯s even taller than the Metro Blockhouse, I think. The walk from the lowrises across the huge empty concrete plaza into the shadow of the skyscraper¡¯s skirted edge is one of the most uncanny experiences I¡¯ve ever had. We¡¯re like ants wandering around a garden of gods.

    Cal doesn¡¯t seem phased by the vastness or the emptiness. She takes us right between the massive pillars propping up the building- each as large as the house I grew up in- and beneath the lip of the building, into a huge lobby of black stone and amber mood lighting. Again, we¡¯re alone in a tomblike quiet. Wisps of volatile black aura curl past my eyes as I stand awkwardly just inside the door. A hidden water feature gurgles out of sight. I sit down on a granite bench and ball up around the pain, all too cognizant of how much water I¡¯m dripping, how out of place I am in this richness while Cal goes to sign a paper login book. Such a ludicrous and pointless waste of money.

    I know I¡¯m scowling as I gaze around the lobby. Can¡¯t help the feeling that I¡¯m the rat the cat drug in. The Electric Town was understandable, even in its scale. This¡­ it¡¯s like being in another Section entirely. And Thane lived half his life here.

    Cal comes back a minute later and hooks her head towards the elevator lobby. Too tired for words, we pick the closest one and slump against opposite walls once we¡¯re inside. She toes a button halfway up the lift¡¯s display, grimacing as a fresh trickle of water drips out of her boot. I waver between holding onto the railing; pretty sure it¡¯s real gold.

    The ascent is awkwardly silent. A little too fresh of a reminder. Cal almost audibly breathes out a sigh of relief when the doors part thirty stories up, revealing a carpeted, high-ceilinged hallway that stretches down the middle of the building. Onyx double doors lie seamlessly in the walls at wide intervals, hinting at the size of the apartments behind.

    ¡°Home sweet home,¡± she sighs, holding her JOY over a holopad beside one of the nearest rooms. She swipes an index finger downwards, scrolling through the electric-blue text. ¡°We¡¯ve got the place to ourselves.¡±

    I let her enter first, take one last look both ways down the empty hall, then follow her in. ¡°You have people over often?¡±

    ¡°You would be the first.¡±

    She stops in the entryway, unwrapping her scarf and unzipping her boots. I peer in over her shoulders. The apartment is far humbler than the gluttonous monstrosity I was expecting, and it¡¯s appropriately her sized. Dark and red colors intermingle throughout the open main space, which flows in a single continuous room from a sunken social space to a wraparound hardwood bar that looks out over the river through rainstreaked glass. Understated, not new-money gaudy. Sleekly modern, black marble, amber lights at floor level, impressionist high-society artwork, not a single hard edge in the place. There¡¯s an empty table for six by the glass wall-window, shelves stocked with bottles I¡¯m pretty sure cost more than everything I¡¯ve ever owned, a huge stream screen that looks like it¡¯s never been turned on, and fashion magazines opened and left scattered just so by the cream-white couches. Like this whole place has been hardly lived in at all, and was just waiting to impress the first person to walk through the door.

    ¡°Blood money is good for something,¡± is all I can say after that first look. I lean out of the entryway, running my eyes over the tiered ceiling. Feels low in here, but not in a bad way. Moody and dim like a cave. A fireplace and subdued music sense my presence and activate down by the couches. ¡°Place like this, I figured you¡¯d be throwing parties all the time.¡±

    ¡°Why, because I¡¯m some social butterfly?¡± Cal scoffs.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± I get to work unstrapping my sneakers. ¡°Sure seemed like it at the electroclub. And at the metro station¡­ and the jail.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone is as cold as you are, Tay. Normal people tend to be a little friendlier when they¡¯re out on the town. Even if we have to fake it.¡± Cal doffs her jacket next, hanging it with her scarf on a peg that she has to stand on tiptoes to reach. ¡°Just because I¡¯m funny doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t like some separation. Sheesh. Next you¡¯re going to tell me you thought I was actually flirting with you.¡±

    She glances back over her shoulder when I don¡¯t reply quick. Sees the eyebrow I¡¯m raising, then rolls her eyes in response.

    I just shrug. ¡°I take people at their word.¡±

    Cal swings away and pads barefoot into the apartment, face averted. ¡°You have no idea how dangerous that is. It¡¯s so¡­¡±

    ¡°Honest?¡± I follow her in, lips twitching in amusement despite the ache in my chest.

    ¡°Trusting! You¡¯re so trusting of people you¡¯ve never met, and it¡¯s so stupidly coercive. It¡¯s like no one ever taught you how to lie.¡±

    ¡°Dad always said I had a good sense of hearts.¡± My eyelids flutter from exhaustion. The impulse to say more rises, and I don¡¯t bat it down this time. ¡°It¡¯s why I asked you for help in the jail. I knew you were still lying to me. But it felt like¡­¡±

    All that¡¯s happened between us this past day flashes back in a blur. The anger and hate and hurt on that rooftop. The fear and the panic when I learned Cal¡¯s name. Who she really is. The agony of finding Jolie just to leave her behind. The whispered threats, our fight in the Metro Blockhouse, and the instinctive feeling that made me grab Cal and take her with me when I jumped into the storm, even though she¡¯d nearly murdered me the night before.

    That feeling still hasn¡¯t changed. It¡¯s grown a little clearer, even. My soul aches and fuels the painful aura that smokes from my body, but my sense of ki is open once more to the flow of energy that pervades the world. For the first time in three years, since I closed myself off from that flow to protect myself from the agony of the night I lost my father, I can sense the sparks of life inside both Cal and myself, even the faint embers in her scarlet bamboo plants. Though even that sense is masked by pain and rusted by disuse.

    Just another thing to thank Thane for when I finally find him.

    Cal looks at me oddly, waiting like she actually wants to hear what I have to say. ¡°Felt like what?¡± she asks.

    ¡°¡­it felt like you didn¡¯t want to,¡± I say, turning away.

    She flinches like I just hit her. Her head disappears into a cabinet set in the wall as she starts digging around, growling up a storm. ¡°First you critique my social life like we haven¡¯t almost killed each other multiple times in the past two days, and now you¡¯re making fun of me. After beating me like a pinata because of my last name, no less.¡± She pops back out with a plush black towel in hand. ¡°Enough yapping from you tonight. We need to fix¡­¡± she motions vaguely in my direction, ¡°¡­whatever that is before you set off a smoke detector.¡±

    ¡°You just waved at all of me.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did. Shut up and behave for once.¡± Cal pushes me towards the bedroom, already reaching for one of the liquor bottles. ¡°Shower¡¯s through there. Go crazy.¡±

 3.2 - AN ARTISTS TOUCH

    Too tired to risk starting another argument, I take the towel Cal forces into my hands without dissent. She starts digging through a cabinet while I head past a bamboo screen and into her bedroom.

    The whole apartment is one big open space, there¡¯s not exactly much in the way of privacy, and the plants she has growing as a divider have plenty of gaps between. Her private space is even darker than the apartment¡¯s main room. The bed is set at floor level, so low I almost trip over it at first. Amber running lights kick on around it when I stub my toes and hiss out loud. More subtle light features activate atop the lone end table, illuminating sparse mementos that are as simple and clean as the rest of her home. A guitar-string ring lies atop a closed sheaf of holographic shopping lists. Closer to the bed are a pair of sunshades, two fishbone earrings, and a masterwork platinum watch. The same metal preferred by the Champion. Same metal as her knife, too.

    The washroom is a harsh-angled chamber of onyx marble. Automatic sensors slide the door seamlessly shut behind me, cutting off the clattering noises coming from the kitchen. The moment I¡¯m out of sight, I slump against a mirrored basin with a groan of pain, laying Dad¡¯s jacket to dry on the black stone. I strip off the tatters of my sweater. With my left hand, I feel around blindly for where the prosthetic connect to my right shoulder. I gasp out loud when I shut my arm off and pop the release. My teeth chatter as I stay there unmoving. Fingers firming and unfirming around the joint, too scared to pull at first.

    I¡¯ve never worn my arm for so long continuously. But I can¡¯t leave it connected anymore. It¡¯s coded to my biology. Living nerve circuits. The longer it stays connected, the more it will fuse and infest my body, and I refuse to allow that. I have always been more than this weakness.

    Squeezing my eyes shut, I shove the towel between my teeth and yank.

    Bloody iron fills my mouth. I nearly bite off my tongue as the first half-grown technerve pulls out of my shoulder like a distended muscle fiber. More tug out of my flesh in stringy grey ropes of spiderweb thread, leaving crimson pinholes behind in the rounded nub of my real skin. One final jerk gets the arm fully off me. I drop it to clatter against the stone and curl over the sink, immobilized and blinded by agony. Rocking back and forth until some sound from Cal¡¯s bedroom pulls me back to the brink of reality.

    I stumble over to the open space where the shower is, paw it on to create a veil of sound, then throw open a window high on the wall to vent the air. Cold mist rolls through, pressing against the steam that immediately billows from the broiling water. A flash of unfamiliar color jerks my gaze back to the sink. For a single instinctive moment I look in the mirror and see a stranger. Then my brain spasms and reminds itself, Oh. That¡¯s me.

    I should be used to it now, but I still expect to see who I used to be. The me in the mirror is a miserable parody of that girl. Haggard and spent. Skin paled without the constant embrace of the sun. Tight-lipped and bitter, cut off from the pulse of the world. Dark, distraught circles ring my eyes. I reach up instinctively with my one hand to touch the bruises that mottle my brow. Dried blood stains my freckles. I pull back my hair to get a better look, tracing the ragged slice up my cheek, then fingering the still-throbbing notch across my nose.

    And that¡¯s just the start of the injuries. I¡¯ve accumulated so many in just two days since arriving in the capital. I¡¯m so tired, I just laugh at the bleakness of it.

    I¡¯ll never save Jolie at this rate. I¡¯m going to end up dead within a week.

    The aura smoking out of me is the only thing I can fix on my own. I¡¯m not sure I even should bother. But leaving myself opened up, letting my body stay sensitive to the flow of ki in the world and letting it continue to pour from my heart, is like leaving an open wound untreated. I can¡¯t fix what¡¯s sickening my ki at the root, but I can close myself off from that flow again. Seal the sickliness back up. The process is exactly like a high-level ki fighter technique for nondetection- pulling one¡¯s aura back into oneself and suppressing it. The irony that I¡¯m doing said technique now just to stop my body from hurting itself isn¡¯t lost on me.

    I pull out my JOY and set it on the basin. Close my eyes. Think back, as I always do, to the garden. My thumb plays over the JOY¡¯s shell completely by memory, clicking through the menus, pulling up one of the oldest video logs that I¡¯ve watched countless times. Watery audio of a gym takes me to another world. One of clanking iron and heavy electronic rumbles.

    It begins, as always, with the patrician accent of a young duelist. ¡°¡­You really can¡¯t focus, can you?¡±

    My chest tightens instinctively.

    ¡°Cool classes. Can¡¯t help it,¡± my father¡¯s voice replies. Far younger than the larger-than-life hero who raised me. I¡¯m nearly as old now as he was then, I think.

    ¡°Are you finished?¡± the duelist sighs. They banter more before Dad finally settles down. ¡°Before every fight, before every decisive moment, I always have a way of focusing myself,¡± the duelist continues. ¡°The method differs for everyone. Some use deep breathing. Others yoga, or hasu, or meditation. For me, it begins with picturing my blade as an extension of my body. And how I guide that blade always starts in my hands.¡±

    Another pause as he readies his blade for a thrust from the right shoulder. ¡°First comes hands. Sometimes I even say it aloud when I fight: ¡®first comes hands¡¯. I¡¯m sure it sounds silly. But it¡¯s the truth. Focus comes from the hands. Not the feet or hips or mind. It, like all power, is something you guide. Not something you stoke.¡±

    I breathe in deep at the same time my father does, but where he exhales smooth as a polished mirror, the air just shudders painfully out of me. I repeat the words along with him, no louder than a whisper.

    ¡°First comes hands.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    I picture in my mind the strings of ki that make a web of living energy around me. My heart, a scarred candle deep in my chest, hidden within that web. Just a fingertip away from being snuffed and dark isolation returning. With my mind, I pull those strings away one at a time. But they keep shaking away from me. I¡¯m trembling too much. Not just in my body, but in my mind.

    ¡°First comes hands,¡± I whisper again, almost begging.

    Control slips away just as fast.

    My nails scrape brutally against the stone. I can¡¯t do this. I¡¯m not what I used to be. I¡¯m just a shell of what was. That girl I expected to see in the mirror is long gone. She was unstoppable. Confident, vivacious, growing stronger every time she fell. The kind of girl that someone like Thane would watch with wonder, not pity.

    I¡¯m not her. Not anymore. My focus is like dragging fraying thread over the shattered glass in my head.

    My teeth grit so hard they feel like they¡¯re going to break. My fingers curl into a fist. I smash it against the counter and am about to go bury myself in the shower when a sudden knock at the door almost makes me jump out of my skin. I whirl just as the wall whisks open, revealing a freshly-changed Cal on the other side. My eyes catch on her arms and the stark paleness of her skin. Short sleeves, a faded maroon shirt that hangs just past her hips, large enough to have been a hand-me-down from her brother. Then the surprising length of her let-down hair, the alcohol-damp washcloth she¡¯s got in one hand, and finally, the unmarked aluplast spray bottle in the other.

    I clamp my hand over the nub of my shoulder and turn so it¡¯s hidden from her. ¡°What do you want?¡± I growl.

    Her eyes flick from the dismembered arm on the floor, to the steaming shower, then to the smoke still coming from my chest. ¡°Nanospray.¡± She wiggles the bottle. ¡°Better to get it started now, since we¡¯re set on rescuing your aunt. And you¡¯ll sleep better if you don¡¯t feel like a walking road rash.¡±

    I exhale and hold out my hand for the spray. Cal¡¯s eyes linger on my brutalized torso. Taking in the lean lines, the network of injuries old and new. And the rest of me, too. Then, inclining her head in an obvious signal for me to sit on the edge of the onyx tub, she slips a hairband off her wrist and holds it between her teeth.

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    I look down at her. ¡°I spent most of my life alone. I can use a nanocan myself.¡±

    ¡°Put your hair up and sit.¡±

    ¡°I said I can do it myself,¡± I repeat, reaching for the sprayer. She lifts it away before I can grab it. I don¡¯t bother trying again. I could take the bottle in a dozen different ways if I really felt like it. I¡¯m too tired to try anything but words right now.

    ¡°Give me that, please.¡±

    Her yellow eyes harden in warning. ¡°Sit.¡±

    ¡°I-¡±

    Cal puts one indelicate hand on my chest and pushes me down onto the side of the bath. She keeps dangling the bottle out of my reach until I relent and take the offered hairband. I only tie back the half of my head with the ear wound. The other half keeps its messy flower petals, spilling over my shoulder.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t so hard, was it?¡± She asks, humoring me with a complacent little smile. Almost makes me want to kick her right off the bath when she sits down next to me. ¡°You really don¡¯t know when to stop being stubborn.¡±

    ¡°Just let me use the cloth. It¡¯s gonna hurt if you do.¡±

    ¡°I built my own autobike, Tay. I know how to use a rag.¡±

    She gives me time to close my eyes before she starts spraying. The spurts of nanospray itch like burning ice. Then the numbness. Seeps into the nerves, advanced healing biotics developed by master Biohancers for mass production over a century ago. The washcloth that follows is shiver-inducing. And like she promised, gentle enough that I don¡¯t feel more than a light sting as she starts to massage my numbed-out back.

    She peers weirdly at the smoking ki. Takes a testing sniff, obviously isn¡¯t satisfied.

    ¡°Ki doesn¡¯t have a smell,¡± I snort.

    ¡°What even is your aura? I¡¯ve hung around enough ki fighters at the M; the ki they make is nothing like this.¡± She tries to catch some in her fingers just to watch it sizzle out. ¡°It¡¯s usually all fired up. This looks¡­ sick.¡±

    ¡°All ki comes from the heart- that¡¯s why each person generates a different color. It¡¯s a manifestation of your soul, kinda. Like a musical instrument.¡± My fingers tighten around my kneecap. ¡°If your heart is hurt or scarred or broken, it¡¯s not tuned right, and the energy it makes comes out really bad.¡±

    Almost in sync with my words, the black smoke starts pulsing faster, leaving my skin with a faint airy hiss. A cold palm presses against the nape of my neck. ¡°Hey, hey. Relax.¡± Cal shifts a little closer. ¡°Relax.¡±

    Her work takes on a gentle rhythm. Hiss-hiss of the spray, long lulls of silence. Shower steam wetting my skin. With the gentle massage of the cloth, it unspools the tension in my body one knot at a time.

    ¡°There we go,¡± Cal murmurs, concentrating more fully on the cleaning.

    I peek out in small glances while she works. She¡¯s looking at the nub of my missing arm now. Reaches out to touch it. Her fingertips are about to brush the skin when she feels me tensing and pulls away smoothly, reaching instead to move a length of white hair away from my face. An artisan¡¯s touch. The gentle pressure of her hand pads along my cheekbone. Her tired eyes still shine with curiosity as she peers closer at one of the friction burns, brow narrowed in concentration. She catches me looking and smirks quietly. I glance away far too quickly.

    ¡°You know,¡± she says, ¡°Between having to constantly badger you into behaving and the number of times we¡¯ve beat the shit out of each other already, I¡¯m starting to think doing is better than saying when it comes to communicating with you.¡±

    My eyelids flutter back open. I didn¡¯t even realize I closed them.

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°This is me thanking you.¡± She sprays at a bruise under my jaw, smoothing it in with her thumb. ¡°When we jumped out of Jolie¡¯s office, I know you took that fall for me. And I deserved a lot worse than you gave for almost murdering you.¡±

    Rewetting the cloth, Cal continues to massage the bruise until I become accustomed to the feeling. Her fingers sift through my hair from time to time. Just brushing away loose petals. I sit as still for her as I can. I feel the tension in her hands while she works. What I almost did to her in that lift at the Metro Blockhouse, and the rooftop after, is still too fresh a memory for her to fully relax.

    I look down at my left hand. ¡°Are you afraid of me?¡±

    Cal works the cloth along the corner of my mouth, slowly straying from the wounds. ¡°I thought you were going to kill me back at the M,¡± she nonchalantly answers. ¡°Which is fair. I mean, I was considering it too. Thane warned me of how dangerous you are. That there were only two people in the Section he wasn¡¯t sure he could beat, and you were one of them. So I was ready to finish the job. But things turned out a little different than I expected.¡± Her shoulders lift in a tiny shrug. ¡°We¡¯re all afraid of something. Yeah?¡± She leans back and removes the cloth, turning it over in her hand. ¡°I think you¡¯re a long way from making the list.¡±

    We sit there for a long moment. I watch her fingers. She watches my eyes. Then she starts to stand, glancing down with a crooked smile. ¡°Would you look at that,¡± she murmurs, bopping the rag against my cheek. Black ki no longer smokes from my heart. ¡°All better.¡±

 MEMORY.04

    It¡¯s a short run kind of day.

    Dead of summer, middle of the day, it¡¯s the most grueling environment we could have picked. At the very least, it¡¯s a little closer of a race this time. I¡¯ve gotten faster myself. But so has Tay. And unlike mortal me, she never seems to tire, no matter how far or fast we go.

    She makes our race a blowout at the end, jogging nearly fifty meters past the driveway before slowly wandering back with her hands thrown over her head. I¡¯m keeled over on the shoulder of the country road trying not to puke. Head bowed, heaving for air. Sweat pouring down my arms and dripping off my face, singlet stained dark. No words are exchanged when she walks up beside me, still panting raggedly. Just a fist bump. At least I made her try that hard.

    We walk down the driveway together, detouring around the path to the house to follow a little trail through the garden instead. The vibrancy of Mars¡¯ summer home swallows us in birdsong and bamboo. Too tired to revel in the natural life of the place, I follow Tay along an ornamental creek that wends through the groves of the garden, dead-ending in a small lagoon of soft grass walled in by bamboo and rocks. A deep swimming pool disguised as a koi pond fills the center of the clearing. On its northern side, a tree of silver leaves- a Lungracian- blooms in full glory under the direct sunlight. Metallic petals lay scattered over grass and crystal-clear water, casting teardrop shadows over the pattern of a zen circle inscribed on the bottom of the pool. The still surface shatters as we dive straight into the water, clothes and all.

    Almost by instinct I shift my classes as I come to a rest at the bottom pool. Simple adjustments this time, lightning quick. Mage class first. A black leather tome fills my hand and I silently cast Spell Dilation and Water Breathing back-to-back. Biohancer next, to rapidly increase the breakdown of the lactic acid in my muscles. Then I shift Mage over to Ki Fighter, sinking into the vibrant river of life energy that permeates the garden.

    Eyes closed, I sharpen my borrowed sense for life energy, cataloging every dot of life in and around the pool. The frogs, the fish, the insects, even the blades of grass. Most vibrant among them are the Lungracian tree- like a campfire in my mind¡¯s eye- and the fusion bomb that is Tay¡¯s soul, paddling around on the surface. Her own kinetic sense reaches out, brushing against mine. An impression of the feeling colors my mind: a gotcha smirk, a raised eyebrow, wondering if I really couldn¡¯t help myself from checking her out.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± I sigh, when I finally decide to come up for air. ¡°I¡¯m training.¡±

    Her head pops out of the water a moment later. ¡°Oh yeah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been learning how to sense others while hiding myself. It¡¯s a handy ability. Your father uses it on you all the time.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get why you¡¯d want to do it,¡± Tay drawls. ¡°¡¯s nothing fun about hiding. And ¡¯s not like you even need more tricks.¡±

    ¡°Shifting creatively isn¡¯t a trick, Tay. I¡¯m just using tools we¡¯ve all been given.¡±

    ¡°You can use all the classes. It¡¯s cheating.¡±

    ¡°That is a gross oversimplification, and you know it.¡±

    ¡°But am I wrong?¡±

    ¡°For one, it¡¯d be more accurate to say I borrow classes, not use them.¡± Technically, the technique is an exploit of the Shifter class that hasn¡¯t ever been successfully explored, to my knowledge. ¡°And it¡¯s not a free win. Especially not against you.¡±

    I start pulling off my shirt. Again I reach out, eyes still closed, trying to grasp the unimaginable volume of pure life energy that cycles placidly from her heart to the world. It¡¯s leagues more than I¡¯ve ever seen from another ki fighter, even including Mars. ¡°No amount of skill can compete with that,¡± I murmur aloud, still thinking of the run. ¡°Like your father says- logic isn¡¯t everything in a fight. Sometimes heart is more important. Especially for classes like yours.¡±

    ¡°You say that like you think I might actually take a match off you.¡±

    ¡°It happens, doesn¡¯t it? I¡¯m not unbeatable. And even if I was, I wouldn¡¯t count you out. Most people have limits to what they can expect to accomplish. You don¡¯t play by the same rules.¡± I toss my shirt onto a dry stone nearby.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°Everyone has limits, Thane.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡±

    With a grunt, she pushes herself fully out of the water with her one arm. ¡°You think I don¡¯t?¡± she asks.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s just something I¡¯ve been thinking about. You¡¯re¡­ different, Tay. I think so, at least.¡±

    Her eyes flick down to the nub of her missing arm. ¡°Different?¡±

    ¡°Not like that,¡± I quickly say. My lips purse in thought for a moment. ¡°Whether or not Mars recognized it at the time, I think he saw it too when he adopted you.¡±

    ¡°Great wisdom from the teenage superstar,¡± Tay chuckles. ¡°You¡¯ve been listening to Aunt Jolie too much.¡±

    My eyelids flutter open. ¡°Not her.¡±

    ¡°Then who?¡±

    ¡°Something Gami said after he saw us together. Offhand.¡±

    Tay goes quiet at the reminder of my other mentor. The growing schism between her father and Gami sees its echoes between us, too. We are their disciples. Two students of opposite masters, yet entwined too closely to let something so trivial break us apart. We know what we have together. What our place in the world will be. We are more than the men who made us. The silence is just a casualty of my nearing return to that city beyond the horizon.

    Not wanting to let the moment linger, I rotate away to pluck a fresh apple from the lowest branches of the Lungracian. A casual twist of my hands snaps it cleanly in half. One of Mars¡¯ oldest tricks.

    I toss half of the apple back to her. ¡°My legs are completely shot, by the way. Good work.¡±

    I look back to see her staring right back with a knowing smile. Halfway through climbing out of the pool, reveling in the soreness as the muscles of her back stand out in tension, braced on her one hand. Tan skin and brushstrokes of freckles from top to bottom. Body strung tight as a string from years of grueling training, and wearing almost nothing to cover it. Her crimson eyes are wide open, drinking me in, enjoying the way my gaze lingers while she slips from the water because she was doing the exact same not ten seconds ago.

    A tiny gust of wind stirs the pool as I shift classes again, this time to Psi. Taking the brushing of our sixth senses to a higher level. Our surface thoughts press and mingle together. For just a moment, I see myself through her eyes. Not like a mirror, but like I¡¯m riding along with her thoughts. Taking in again the little things I love about him. The way his lips pursed in concentration when he messed with his hair earlier, then checked his shirt again, just in case. That look of focus, concentration when he finds an errant strand of grass on his shoulder and plucks it off. His quiet, and his dogma. Then, finally, the way all those things change again when he notices me watching, head cocked to the side.

    My- her cheeks wrinkle from a smile. ¡°Hey.¡±

    The connection snaps, my concentration broken. I know I¡¯m flushing when I look away. Tay waits for me to say something else and double down on my embarrassment; I dunk my head back under to save myself from giving her the satisfaction. Linger down there until I clear my head. Practice my class more, shifting to Water Elemental, concentrating on the flow. As always, my mind¡¯s eye wanders, drawn to the eddies as Tay extricates herself from the pool.

    When I come back up again, I rest my elbows on the lip of the pool, head buried away from the sun. I track Tay with my eyes closed as she walks around the shore. Bare feet slap towards me, then above my head and past, heading for the Lungracian. A branch creaks quietly.

    Lazy birds chirp. Hot wind blows. Our idyll summer days.

    In the end, it¡¯s me who breaks the silence.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if your father likes me,¡± I mutter.

    Tay chuckles from above. ¡°Don¡¯t be dramatic, Thane. Of course he likes you.¡± I hear her swaying around somewhere up and to my left, probably dangling from the tree by her legs. ¡°Are you saying that because he threw another apple at you? It¡¯s been a couple months since the last. You were about due for another.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m being serious- Ow!¡±

    ¡°So am I. You¡¯re overreacting,¡± Tay growls, tossing a second apple up and down in very audible threat. ¡°If Dad didn¡¯t like you, we wouldn¡¯t be dating. Especially not for three years now.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve seen how he looks at me sometimes. Especially since I started studying with Gami.¡± My brow darkens. ¡°He looks at me like I¡¯m dangerous. Like I¡¯m becoming my father.¡± I spit the last word.

    ¡°No he doesn¡¯t,¡± she snaps. Instantly defensive of Mars, though he¡¯s done less than most parents to earn it. She swings from hanging by her legs to stretching like a cat atop the length of the branch. ¡°And you¡¯re nothing like your father. You haven¡¯t even met him.¡±

    ¡°You say that so confidently, despite never having met the man either.¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve heard Dad¡¯s friends talk about him. He wasn¡¯t a good person,¡± Tay says, totally adamant. So black and white. ¡°You were looking through my eyes. What did you see?¡±

    I purse my lips, thinking through my answer, when she bulldozes right along.

    ¡°I can tell you what I saw, Thane. I can tell you what I¡¯m seeing now.¡± With a little grunt, she drops off the tree and sinks to her knees in front of me. Calloused fingers curling roughly under my jaw, lifting my gaze. Her sunburnt skin is all she wears. I¡¯ve never seen her naked. But it means nothing in the moment. I¡¯m lost in her eyes.

    ¡°Shift,¡± she says.

    I do. Psi. Our minds meld again.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± she says.

    I do. Seeing the garden and the pool through a split lens, blurring further and further until the force of her personality completely washes mine out. I hold him for a moment longer until he finally understands what I see: someone worth loving. Someone worth trusting a piece of my heart to. Then I cup his chin between my fingers and pull him to me, lips parting, hungrily molding into him as a calloused hand draws me down into the water.

 3.3 - SEDITION AND COFFEE

    It takes some time before I finally realize why I feel so off when I wake. It¡¯s not the plethora of injuries that maul me- I¡¯ve dealt with plenty of those in my time, and I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll deal with plenty more before I die. It¡¯s not my arm- I put that back on as soon as I rolled off Cal¡¯s couch. It¡¯s not her apartment, either. It¡¯s not this city. In fact, it¡¯s no new feeling at all that¡¯s got me on edge. It¡¯s one that¡¯s missing.

    When I wake, I am not drenched in sweat. My spine is dry. Skin cool. No panicked overheat, no trembles from nightmares I don¡¯t remember.

    I slept straight through the night. No dreams, no night terrors. Not that it¡¯s done much good for my physical exhaustion, but waking up after dead sleep like that is a luxury I haven¡¯t had in years. And there¡¯s something weirdly calming about the domestic normality of listening to Cal bustling around in her kitchen while I lie there with my eyes closed. Clanking ceramic, boiling water, caf pouring. The beep-beep-beep of a food prep unit. A chair scraping back at the table. Calm morning music with a consistent beat that drifts from hidden speakers in the floors.

    Even this normalcy has its edge, though. I can feel Cal¡¯s attention on me the moment my breathing rhythm changes, the needle-prick feeling of her eyes on my bare back as I sit up and shirk a borrowed blanket from my shoulders. Don¡¯t even remember when that one got there; I didn¡¯t have it when I crashed on the couch. She goes back to sipping her caf and scrolling through the news while I head into the washroom to clean off my face and reapply a fresh layer of nanospray.

    ¡°Your peasant rags are in the washer,¡± Cal calls from the kitchen. ¡°Shirt¡¯s on the bed for you.¡±

    Blinking through dripping eyelids, I slowly twist to one side, eyeing the nanospray¡¯s work along my flank. It¡¯s the real deal. Still will take days to heal to a usable level, and I¡¯m sore in every bone, but it¡¯s a good sign. That black ki still hasn¡¯t come back out. And I look more awake, too. Less gaunt.

    I immediately scowl when I see the shirt waiting on the bed. It¡¯s far too big for either Cal or I. Another of her brother¡¯s. I throw a dirty look at the kitchen and sit down beside the shirt, holding it in my prosthetic hand while I run my real fingers along the chewed-up collar. Feeling the frayed edges of the softened fabric. I doubt he keeps shirts like these anymore; he stopped as we got older. They weren¡¯t exactly fitting for a student of Mars Mons, Sectional Champion. Even less for the ever-televised disciple of Gami, then-rising threat of the major league. Still. I kept a couple of them around the house for myself. And he still wore them, when no one else was there to see.

    I lift this one up to my nose, breathing deep. Wondering. But it just smells like detergent.

    ¡°I thought you village types slept on the floor,¡± Cal says when I pad back out. ¡°I half expected to find you curled up beside the door.¡±

    ¡°We do sleep on the floor,¡± I mutter, still pawing the sleep from my eyes.

    ¡°Let me guess- because it builds character?¡±

    ¡°Because it makes sure we don¡¯t grow up to be murderers.¡±

    She sniffs out a laugh. ¡°You and Thane really do have a lot in common. Dry humor, bleak personality, quiet as a rock if I didn¡¯t keep nudging you.¡±

    ¡°We lived more of our childhood together than apart,¡± I snort. She doesn¡¯t seem to notice.

    ¡°He never shared much about you. I never got why. Still don¡¯t. You¡¯re¡­ well, you¡¯re a character.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not the type to share things unprompted. If you¡¯d ever asked, he would have told you.¡± My eyes flicker. ¡°Some of it, at least.¡±

    ¡°You say that with as much confidence as you did calling him an accessory to regicide,¡± Cal says, glancing back now. ¡°And what exactly are you doing in my pantry?¡±

    ¡°Looking for jerky.¡± I close the cabinet and open her cooler instead, surfing the sparse contents. There. Clear box, steak and mushroom-something-sauce slathered on top. ¡°Never mind. Found it.¡±

    Cal¡¯s chair scoots against the floor as she tries to peer past me. ¡°I don¡¯t even have jerky. What are you¡­¡± Silence for a moment as she peers closer at what I¡¯m tossing in the food prepper. ¡°No, nononono. That¡¯s an A5 cut! That steak costs more than you would on market! Don¡¯t you dare just throw it in the prepper like a-¡±

    I push the key and go start filling a glass of water.

    ¡°And washing it down with tap water. Oh my god.¡± Cal drapes a hand over her face and goes back to eating her food. ¡°You¡¯re an animal.¡±

    For her benefit, I eat the steak with just a knife, sawing off chunks and popping them in my mouth. Chewing noisily, playing a game of chicken with Cal¡¯s patience while she goes to make another cup of caf. Her eyes linger on the movements of my prosthetic hand as she passes.

    ¡°When did that one happen?¡± she asks a minute later, busy at the sink. ¡°Must be an old wound. There¡¯s no scar tissue.¡±

    I chew heavily on another chunk of meat. ¡°It happened before I was born.¡±

    It takes her a second to put two and two together before she says, ¡°You had a birth defect?¡± The gushing water cuts off. ¡°Those are supposed to be fixed in the growth pods. It¡¯s illegal to let one through.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to my genetic contributors,¡± I mutter. ¡°Dad never told me about it. I never asked.¡±

    ¡°Huh. I thought that arm was one of your classes. Mecha augment, or something.¡±

    ¡°Nah. Just me being unlucky.¡±

    ¡°Explains why it didn¡¯t vanish when I turned on my relic.¡± She shrugs, dips a finger in her cup for a taste test, and adds one more packet of sugar. ¡°Did Jolie build it?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s been making them since I was little.¡± I scoot over when she returns. A corner of her untied robe brushes over the back of my chair. I lift up my carbon-fiber hand, curling the battered fingers in and out like spider legs. ¡°I used to blow through an arm every couple months. This one¡¯s definitely past its expiration date.¡±

    ¡°It looks like it¡¯s been through some shit.¡±

    I pick at a scratch on the top hand plate. ¡°At least it matches the rest of me.¡±

    Without asking for permission, Cal lays the arm out on the table, palm-up. She pores over the tech on the underside. Obsessed with the craftsmanship, like an artist examining a masterwork painting. Her fingertips run along the inside of each finger. An electric tingle shoots through the nerves as she does. ¡°Whole thing is made from genuine Shimano scraps. Shit, Tay. This belongs in a museum, not getting thrown around in street fights.¡±

    ¡°Cool. Let me just go buy a new one from the arm store before I donate it.¡±

    Cal ignores me and a nail against the palm. ¡°I bet Jolie is the only person in the city who still knows how to work with SHI tech. Stuff¡¯s either outlawed or gathering dust in contraband warehouses.¡± She lifts my arm upright, eyes sparkling as she gets a look at the dented knuckles. ¡°This is so cool.¡±

    That look. The way her lips part ever so slightly in honest curiosity. The way her gaze roams up and down my arm, drinking in the details, adoring the new puzzle for an insatiable intelligence to mull over. It¡¯s a look I remember so fondly from her brother. A familial echo made by a different personality. Thane always expressed with his eyes. For Cal, it¡¯s her mouth. Slight part of the lips, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. Her curiosity would cajole me so easily into lowering my guard because of how similar it is to one I once loved. For a second, I don¡¯t even see her. I see him. Us. A table back home, a lunch uneaten, his fingers tracing the calluses of my real left hand.

    Cal notices my staring and slowly lowers my arm back to the table. Holds a croissant and dunks it in the caf, takes a small bite. Then another. The moment¡¯s passed by the third.

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    We watch the cityscape together. Bright early morning, the storm¡¯s mostly passed, just some clouds lingering on the horizon and streaks of dew on the glass. There¡¯s a good couple of minutes of sipping silence. A dove and a blackbird land on a tiny metal ledge outside, hopping around each other. They flutter off when Cal pulls up a projector screen on the glass, enlarging it so we both can see.

    Electric blue fills my vision. Translucent over the view, news articles and blurry pictures of Aunt Jolie and various landmarks around the city slowly scroll down before dissolving into cyan snowflakes at the edge of the projection.

    She keeps idly scrolling. ¡°I assume you aren¡¯t going to want to wait until Jolie finds a way to contact us.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee she¡¯ll even be able to get a message out of the M.¡± I¡¯m still paying more attention to my arm. Trying to blink away that memory. Put it out of my mind. Talking helps, a bit. ¡°Best I could figure out from the Net is that she¡¯s some kind of political prisoner at the M.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s putting it as lightly as possible. Even though the Section thinks Mars¡¯ death was an accident, the regime change wasn¡¯t pretty. You¡¯re lucky you were missing for it,¡± she says, shooting me a side-eye glance. ¡°Your dad was a hero. There¡¯s a reason people are still holding memorial services three years down the line; literally everyone loved him. That doesn¡¯t happen for just anyone. Not even any Champion. There were even rumors that the leagues rigged their own rankings to keep him on the throne way after someone should have replaced him, just because no one thought they could do the job better. Even the worst fighters off the street would have thrown themselves into war like some kind of meat carpet if he¡¯d asked them to.¡± She shakes her head, pulling up an old picture of my father¡¯s coronation. He¡¯s kneeling before a gnarled and greying old man who¡¯s placing a laurel on his head while tens of thousands cheer on.

    ¡°You can¡¯t root out that kind of fanaticism,¡± she continues. ¡°The only thing Gami could do was lop off the hydra¡¯s head and scare the rest of Mars¡¯ highest supporters into staying out of sight. The public never saw it, but after the coup, he went down the list of the most dangerous ones- pros, corporations, powerful families like the Fangs, even the M¡¯s civic division- and gave them the choice of exile or a public challenge.¡±

    I cross my arms. ¡°Public execution, more like.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Most of them chose exile or caved.¡± Cal pauses to dip her croissant in the caf again. She offers it to me in exchange for the rest of the steak, I shake my head. She keeps going. ¡°The people who didn¡¯t capitulate were too few in number to do anything serious. And even if every pleb in the city would have died for Mars, you can¡¯t kill someone like Gami even by drowning him in blood. He¡¯s¡­ well, you¡¯ve seen him. Challenging that is suicide.¡± She presses a button on her JOY¡¯s shell, swapping the news columns for an aerial shot of Jolie¡¯s office on the forty-second floor of the M. ¡°Jolie was the one exception to the whole kneel-or-exile bargain. It¡¯s the worst kept secret in the capital that she was the real power behind the throne, and Mars was just the front man. He fought the wars and gave the speeches she wrote. But when it came to getting anything done that didn¡¯t involve punching something, she was up in her office crossing every T and dotting every I.¡±

    ¡°No one seemed to have a problem with it,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s a gladiocracy. Warriors aren¡¯t exactly known to enjoy filing taxes.¡±

    ¡°¡­or planning expenditure spreadsheets, or micromanaging tax brackets. Yeah. Which is how the corporations got so much power in the past. No one cared enough to watch them.¡± Cal chuckles at some private joke. ¡°Everyone was happy to let Jolie handle the busywork, and she was happy to do it. But it ended with the office of the General Manager being inextricably linked with most every civic process in the Section. As the Director, she¡¯s like a¡­ prime minister, or something. And the Champion is the president. Officially, she doesn¡¯t have any power. But even Gami knows she¡¯s the string that holds the web together. Every civic function of the Section would implode if she were executed, so he¡¯s been keeping her on house arrest in the M ever since the coup. If anyone sympathetic to Mars tries to make a move, Jolie will be the first to go. But we¡¯ve all been wondering if she¡¯s been secretly funding some sort of rebellion anyways.¡±

    ¡°If she was, it would have changed when she saw me alive,¡± I say. ¡°Jolie might be able to start pulling strings from inside the M, but it¡¯s too dangerous to leave her in there. Gami isn¡¯t an idiot. Better we spring her now than wait for her to be used as bait later.¡± My fingers drum against the tabletop. ¡°Even if the security cams were blanked out, people are going to start putting the pieces together. Not necessarily that I¡¯m the one responsible, but that someone is, and they¡¯re trying to recover her.¡± I settle deeper in the chair. ¡°I doubt I¡¯ll get another chance like last night, which means we¡¯ll have to look outside the M for a chance to rescue her. Who keeps an eye on her? Thane?¡±

    ¡°Gami leaves it to his cabal of dedicated enforcers and disciples, his Shadows. They do all of his dirty work; the kind of things that not even a leaguer can get away with publicly.¡±

    ¡°Like your assassinations.¡±

    Cal carries on like I never interrupted. ¡°I¡¯m not technically one of them, but I hang around the Shadows plenty between jobs. The younger ones, at least.¡± She pulls up a couple profile photos; none of which I recognize. ¡°The group was originally a splinter cell from the M¡¯s counterespionage division under Thane, though now it¡¯s just a handpicked group of operatives. Valance co-captains them when he doesn¡¯t have time. They¡¯re both Gami¡¯s apprentices, but he¡¯s in charge; even though she¡¯s older.¡±

    Valance. That Psi who we saw in the M¡¯s atrium. My fingers tighten under the table as a picture of her and Thane scrolls past. They¡¯re strolling out of a metro station hand-in-hand.

    ¡°The rest of the Shadows aren¡¯t nearly as high profile,¡± Cal says, ¡°and with luck, we¡¯ll never have to deal with them. The only one who could pin us together is Valance, and she didn¡¯t even know who you were. If we strike soon, they won¡¯t have time to figure out that I¡¯ve been lying about you. And the best opportunity for that is-¡±

    ¡°-Orientation day,¡± I say, jolting up in my chair.

    Cal scowls across the table. ¡°Is finishing other peoples¡¯ sentences some sort of ki fighter power I wasn¡¯t aware of?¡±

    ¡°Orientation day was my backup plan if I couldn¡¯t find Jolie at the M,¡± I explain. ¡°I heard it around E-Town- Jolie shows up once a year in public to give the commencement speech for different universities. Gami won¡¯t risk disrupting that pattern. It reassures people that she¡¯s still around and links him to my father¡¯s legacy.¡±

    Cal nods along. ¡°Rebel against Gami, rebel against Mars¡¯ twin sister. It¡¯s been working so far as a deterrent, except in the Vents.¡±

    ¡°That night we met, you said the commencement ceremony was next week.¡±

    ¡°Three days, yeah. Don¡¯t ask me why they planned it for a Wednesday.¡±

    ¡°So, all we need is a way in. We sneak into the crowd, let Jolie make her speech, and nab her from her escort on the way out when their guard is the lowest.¡±

    ¡°Whoahoh there, A5. Not so fast.¡± Cal holds up a hand and takes a long sip of her caf. She closes the projection with a dismissive motion, letting the unhindered cityscape of the Glass District fill the window once more. Her elbows come back to rest against the table. ¡°Ignoring the fact that getting into Orientation Day isn¡¯t just a snap of the fingers, their guard isn¡¯t going to be the lowest after her speech.¡±

    ¡°And you know this how?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve been on her security detail before,¡± Cal sighs. She sees me glaring and groans. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not always doing bad guy stuff. I¡¯ve worked for the counterespionage division before. My internship at the M used to be under Jolie, before the coup. I¡¯m the only Shadow she¡¯ll even slightly bother talking to.¡±

    ¡°Highly convenient,¡± I growl.

    ¡°This again. Remember all that arguing we did last night? That smoke that¡¯s not coming out of you anymore?¡±

    I fold my arms quietly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb,¡± Cal says, rolling her eyes dramatically. ¡°Look. The commencement ceremony is the most obvious place someone would make a play for Jolie- and someone did, the first year after the coup. Her speeches are in public, totally exposed, and a security nightmare because of how many people will physically be present. But,¡± she holds up a finger, ¡°but, at the same time as the commencement ceremony, there¡¯s also an exclusive gala happening in the Glass District. Foreign dignitaries, corpo lords, lots of pros- it¡¯s the elite of the elite, and they¡¯re all there scoping out the new kids for sponsorships. And rubbing elbows, sipping champagne, cutting deals. The usual.¡±

    She points out the window at one of the tallest buildings deeper in the district, just barely visible as a chrome spire above the others. A huge logo of a fishhook swoop- a character in the old written language of the villages, I recognize it from grade school- marks the building¡¯s fiftieth floor.

    ¡°It goes down in the old Shimano Heavy Industries headquarters. After the commencement ceremony, Jolie gets taken straight there to shake hands and make Gami look good for the foreigners.¡±

    ¡°And why is that any better than the commencement ceremony?¡± I ask. ¡°Foreign dignitaries means foreign fighters. Rich people means good fighters. The kind of firepower that I don¡¯t even know if I can beat. And how the hell are we going to get on the invite list?¡±

    ¡°By already being on it.¡± Cal tilts her head playfully to the side. ¡°Thane asked me to go in his place weeks ago; even said I could bring a plus-one. It¡¯s the best chance we¡¯ll have. The last place anyone would make a play for your aunt is at that party. No one gets in unless they¡¯re already good with the Champion or people he trusts.¡±

    I pop the last chunk of steak in my mouth, chew slowly, swallow. ¡°There¡¯s no way that would work,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯d be seen through in a second. You know what I¡¯m like. I¡¯m not good at parties- I¡¯m good at fighting.¡±

    Cal leans forward and smugly rests her chin in one palm. ¡°You¡¯re hot, farmgirl. Being awkward just adds to the rustic charm.¡±

    She smirks when I break eye contact first.

    ¡°Though there is one more thing we¡¯ll have to figure out first.¡±

    ¡°Always is.¡± I growl and shove away from the table. ¡°What is it this time?¡±

    Her eyes dance over the lip of the mug. ¡°How good you¡¯ll look in black.¡±

 3.4 - BLACK SUIT

    I can¡¯t remember the last time I felt anxious like this.

    Had to be when I was younger. But it was a different pressure back then, on the battlefield. I knew what I came to do, who I came to fight, and how the next seconds would devolve: a subtended hum of repulsorfields kicking on, a hammering bell rising to crescendo. Then the drop. Explosive, roaring, kinetic action. A knife¡¯s edge of flashing weapons and frame perfect reactions. Chaos and whirlwind. Instinct and adrenaline. A pressure building from the moment I ascended to the lights, finally released.

    I knew that pressure. But this?

    This feels like my first time all over again.

    It¡¯s a totally different audience. From the moment I take Cal¡¯s hand and emerge from our hypermodern autocab into the shadow of the cutting-edge corpse of Shimano Heavy Industries¡¯ corporate headquarters, the attention directed my way is no friendly expectation. It¡¯s an appraisal, a dissection, and a ravenous avarice.

    It¡¯s nighttime in the Glass district. The huge concrete plaza where we arrive is bordered by a hexagon of skycrapers built by long-fallen corporations. Largest among them is a spear of steel and glass that towers fifty stories high, sprinkled with infrequent light and hemmed by crowds of entertainment stream crews and enthusiastic fans that surge against a firewall of enforcers in Metro Blockhouse blue. Fighters with faces I recognize from the minor league patrol up and down the picket line. Sasha, a younger markswoman dressed in piecemeal golden tech-armor and a fitted crimson bodysuit, paces casually beside an all-white Biohancer wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Nearer to the base of the tower, the chitinous black creature that was accompanying Valance at the Metro Blockhouse lounges like a barely-domesticated lion between massive concrete pillars, lazily licking its serrated claws with a barbed tongue.

    Air transports carrying the night¡¯s most important figures circle and land at the penthouse level fifty stories up. Other, larger limousines disgorge their parties around us. The plaza swells with new arrivals. Broad men in fitted dark suits and lithe women in dresses that shift like liquid. Apex predators that drip elitism and lethal good looks. They carry themselves like oceans of potential energy; violent capabilities sheathed in holsters and quivers. Openly displayed, but their hostility tapered. For now.

    These are the elite, and they need no bodyguards. Their retinues are young and hungry beasts of war brought solely to populate the party and send a message to their peers. Tanned, haughty natives of the capital¡¯s outskirts villages. Pale, hard-eyed gang lords of the undercity. Both of whom are heavily outnumbered by major league pros and parties with clothing and accents from the foreign Sections that surround our lands.

    While Cal finishes talking with our driver, I check out the nearest group to us; a party of frigid warriors with pelt cloaks from the northern Sections led by a tall woman draped in crystal-clear ice shaped like jewelry. One of the bodyguards my age senses me looking across the plaza, combat instincts razor sharp. He glares back and touches the long hammer holstered on his back in warning. Like I¡¯ve insulted his honor with a single curious glance.

    Different rules here. I have to remember. This isn¡¯t my father¡¯s world. It¡¯s Gami¡¯s.

    Sensing the bad blood brewing, Cal nudges me along. ¡°Try not to start a fight with the icepicks,¡± she says, echoing my thoughts. ¡°Just follow my lead and play it cool.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°That code for look pretty and don¡¯t make eye contact?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re finally starting to get the hang of it.¡±

    ¡°I hate all this sneaking around.¡± I pluck at the collar of the revealing shirt Cal bought me. Draping and cowled, it flows down my front and leaves every other side of me uncovered, save an ornate pauldron and sleeve that disguise my prosthetic arm beneath black metal and gold trim. I feel naked. Exposed in a way that I never enjoyed, like a slab of meat in a streetside display. Cal picked the most drool-worthy clothes for me, yet she¡¯s dressed to the nines in tightly fitted formal wear that strays far closer to masculine than feminine. Waistcoat, tie, leather jacket and kneeboots; everything in black or shades of it.

    ¡°I¡¯d take a hundred straight fights over a party like this,¡± I mutter, eyeing the wealth and power around us.

    ¡°Quit being dramatic, sheesh. It¡¯s not that bad.¡±

    ¡°Maybe if you¡¯ve been going to galas your whole life. I didn¡¯t grow up doing this stuff.¡± My nose wrinkles as we break away from the limos, tailing a party draped in black and orange colors. ¡°Parties and press conferences were always Thane¡¯s thing.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re going to have to be yours tonight, princess.¡± Cal rolls her eyes and rests her hand against my lower back, so smoothly I don¡¯t even notice at first. ¡°You make a simple gala sound like a public lynching. Did your dad really never take you to stuff like this?¡±

    ¡°He kept me as far from the media as he could.¡±

    Cal shakes her head, dumbfounded. ¡°Not that you¡¯re exactly an open book, but everything you¡¯ve told me about the guy makes it sound like you were his science experiment, not his kid. What kind of father keeps his daughter alone in some rice field at the edge of the Section and only visits her for a couple days every few months?¡± She snorts. ¡°It¡¯s no wonder he sent Thane out to spend so much time with you. He turned you into a shut-in and must¡¯ve felt bad about it.¡±

    I stiffen.

    ¡°Get your hand, off my back.¡±

    Hearing the ice in my tone, Cal slips her hand away like it¡¯s committing a crime.

    ¡°Talk bad about my father again, and it¡¯ll be the last thing you say with working teeth,¡± I growl.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you just roses and lilies tonight,¡± she mutters, straightening her cuffs. ¡°I don¡¯t get why you¡¯re so defensive of the guy, is all.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t,¡± I snap. ¡°You don¡¯t have parents.¡±

    She flinches, lips parted, genuinely hurt. ¡°How did¡­¡± then she puts it together, and her face pinches up. Her steps grow more rigid, playfulness evaporated. ¡°Want to go that far? Fine by me. I was a system kid, sure- and so was Thane. But at least I didn¡¯t have a dad who treated me like a shelter dog.¡±

    We pause between walls of flashing stream cams, outstretched microphones, and yelled questions. The lights start focusing on us. Cal acknowledges none of them- not even the ones that call for her by name- as she stares into my eyes. She slowly shakes her head.

    ¡°Just because someone else screwed you up doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to sit here and keep taking shit when I¡¯ve been putting my head on the chopping block to keep you alive,¡± she says, dangerous and low. ¡°Explanations aren¡¯t excuses, Tay. It¡¯s time to decide if you¡¯re going to be better than the people who hurt you.¡± She turns on a heel and heads up the skyscraper¡¯s front steps, slinging her jacket over one shoulder. ¡°When you¡¯re ready for my help, then you can come find me. It shouldn¡¯t be too hard- I¡¯ll be the only one looking for your aunt.¡±

    Then her ponytail is bouncing up the steps and she¡¯s slipping away, donning yet another mask of personality as she starts working her way in with a different group. I stand alone on the concrete staring at her shrinking back, realizing how easily I took for granted that the space beside me was filled even for a day.

    In another butterfly timeline, it was supposed to be her brother¡¯s hand helping me from the car, not hers. This was the future I was supposed to have. Thane and Dad and Jolie and I were going to live together, no longer apart, no more of those months-long stretches where I would wander an empty house alone as a ghost, waiting for someone, anyone, to come back. I¡¯d make Dad proud. Be his daughter in more than secret. I¡¯d follow him on his journeys and his wars, always by his side. And Thane would be with me every step of the way.

    But¡­ that¡¯s not how it ended up.

    That was the storybook. This is the reality I was given. And I¡¯m lashing out at the catalyst that might change it all every goddamn time I look at her, because of all the minute ways she reminds me of him. Because she¡¯s right.

    Explanations aren¡¯t excuses.

    She¡¯s got a point. My heart told me to put my life in her hands, and it hasn¡¯t steered me wrong yet.

    I hurry up the steps and under the shade of the tower, catching back up to Cal where she¡¯s stalled just outside the front lobby. The group in front of her is being inspected by security; some sort of quiet disagreement going on. Cal jolts in surprise when my hand slips around hers. Haloed by renewed flashes of a dozen stream cams, I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her on the fingers.

    She watches me pull back with an arched eyebrow. ¡°Huh. I expected that to come a lot later.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself,¡± I snort.

    The group ahead of us starts funneling into the skyscraper. I fall in beside Cal as she hands our JOYs over to security. We¡¯re through in a heartbeat. My eyes pan over the interior of the building¡¯s vast ground level. ¡°Where do we start?¡± I ask.

    The reception of the gala yawns in front of us: a massive ballroom, three stories melded into one massive chamber with several glass-floored tiers between. Pitch dark save for a dim electric-blue ambiance that curls in swirling lines across the floor. Huge pillars make deeper shadows further from the action. Occluded lights from hidden bulbs splay weirdly through the glass floors, reflecting in dozens of liquid patterns that shift and pulse to the brassy beat of a five-man band playing in the center of the dance floor around a Mytho-classed harpist who covers herself with six angel wings in lieu of clothing.

    Over a hundred warriors of all classes mingle in loose packs around the rest of the open space. Hands brushing, tumblers clinking, dresses shifting, golden liquid bubbling, lips pursing, voices muttering. The sheer overload of stimuli makes me stall at first. Cal¡¯s hand reminds me into motion, leading me into the ballroom at a casual stroll while she too takes a moment to scope out what we¡¯re working with. Her head tips towards the closest source of light; an amber U-hook of a bar set aside the first dance floor.

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    ¡°The bar. Pretty girls always do well there.¡±

    ¡°You say that like you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Oh I do, believe me. But it takes a certain panache to work the floor.¡± Her hand slides around and off as she heads towards the heart of the gala. ¡°You start with the bar. Let¡¯s meet back up in a sec.¡±

    Oh yeah, sure. Send the farmgirl to go flirt with the rich and famous. Just like that.

    I snap my fingers quietly in frustration, shaking my head as I watch Cal slide right into someone else¡¯s conversation with a coy look and a proffered cup of golden wine. My attention slides back towards the bar when I hear a chuckle nearby.

    I find the source in an instant; some cavalier cocksure guy who¡¯s near my age. Way too young for this crowd, must be the apprentice of some foreign bigshot. Duelist by class, he¡¯s wearing an ornamental hilt on each hip, no blade or sheathe attached. Thin and tall like a young pine tree. A dancer¡¯s graceful proportions, not a brawler¡¯s. Golden hair, long and straight, drapes down the center of his back. An orange-gemstone pendant hides just beneath his collar, swinging briefly into view as he politely clears his throat.

    ¡°You may want to move,¡± he smoothly says, nodding at the next party approaching from behind me.

    I look back, catch a glimpse of fiery colors incoming, and take the hint. Sidle up beside him as he makes some space. I glance past him at the further reaches of the ballroom, searching for my aunt¡¯s hereditary shade of crimson. No dic. Can¡¯t see more than a few feet in any direction. The heads and firearms of the incoming party sweep in ten bodies wide, bringing the heat of their home Section with them. I catch the eye of the guy beside me, hooking my head at the foreigners.

    ¡°Thanks for the save. Who¡¯re they?¡±

    ¡°Trouble,¡± he answers, taking a delicate sip of something stiff. ¡°Section K. Their Champion and Gami aren¡¯t on the grandest terms. Word has it he nearly succeeded in having her assassinated just a few years ago, and she replied by sending him a gun with an empty magazine. Said the rest of it would be coming later.¡± Rich, cultured tones color the pedigree of his voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d take the invitation tonight, to be honest. She¡¯s a daredevil.¡±

    ¡°At least she¡¯s got some spine,¡± I mutter, glancing around the bar. A faint golden glow seeps from underlaid striplights in the counter, illuminating sharp jaws and haughty lips from beneath. I look higher, up through the glass floor, and suddenly feel even better about shutting down all of the dresses Cal tried to get me to wear. ¡°Better than the rest of this place.¡±

    ¡°Not a fan of the socialites?¡± His elbows settle back against the bar while he watches the band. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t blame you, myself. Hands tend to get a little dirtier where I come from.¡±

    ¡°Same, actually.¡±

    ¡°To dirty work, then?¡± He raises an empty tumbler in salute, silently inviting me to take it. Eyes wandering my naked flank as I lean forward. The rise of my chest, the curve of my neck.

    I laugh and shake my head. ¡°I drink to forget about guys like you.¡±

    ¡°Worth a shot.¡± He chuckles and passes the tumbler to the barkeep. ¡°Sixer on the rocks, please.¡± Then back to me, side-eye glance. ¡°Ordinarily I¡¯d take that rejection as an indictment of my character, but if I¡¯m being honest, I¡¯d drink to forget about my type too.¡± His cup returns filled with off-color amber. A touch of his fingertip frosts the outside, forming tiny snowflakes inside the liquid. Ice Elemental too, then. He pauses for a testing sip. ¡°Serve enough people who lie for a living, and it starts to rub off on you.¡±

    I just fire back with a raised eyebrow. He has to force himself to finish swallowing. Wipes the back of his wrist over his mouth, carelessly staining the white silk with muted orange-gold, barely repressing genuine humor. Shedding the cultured veneer for just a moment.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t look at me like that, love. I¡¯m not that pitiable.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not pitying you,¡± I say, letting a little authentic village slang creep back into my voice. ¡°It was a good pickup line.¡±

    ¡°Usually it tends to work a little better. Parties like this, most everyone is looking for any excuse to find a pretty body and an empty closet.¡± He waves a hand dramatically, letting the point slide. ¡°Not much you can do about the taken ones.¡±

    ¡°Not taken. Just not interested.¡± My nails drum against the bar as the music shifts from brass to something deeper, more electric. I¡¯m about to risk asking him if he¡¯s seen Jolie around when he straightens up beside me.

    ¡°Seems we¡¯ve more in common than just our lines of work, if men aren¡¯t your vice.¡± He lifts the tumbler to his lips, looking out into a gap in the crowd. ¡°There goes the specimen of the city.¡±

    The whole ballroom stops to watch as the most powerful woman in the Section drifts into the edge of the gala. She moves like a bloodied ghost, ethereal and silent. Capturing every gaze as she sweeps wordlessly along, returning none. Hawkish in her beauty. Commanding in the silence of her presence. Dressed for a shoutcaster¡¯s booth, her funeral mood makes the flawless physiques and tailored clothes that surround her look as pointlessly gaudy as they are, like a true scale weighing fake jade. It¡¯s the creases and wear of life that define true power. And my aunt bears hers proudly.

    Her faded crimson hair is tied in a high tail. Hololenses perched above her forehead, the crows¡¯ feet ringing her eyes on full display. Dark trenchcoat thrown over her shoulders, the empty sleeves trailing like war banners in a motion that calls to me through the packs that separate us. She doesn¡¯t pause for so much as a single word as she makes her way towards the back of the ballroom, where another dimly lit hall slinks off into the depths of the skyscraper. And she¡¯s not alone. A taller, younger, haughtier woman strides at her side. Peach hair, long legs, catlike pink eyes that flash as they glance out over the crowd. Valance.

    ¡°Ditched me for a free drink, huh?¡± Cal suddenly asks, jerking my focus back. She draws up beside me like she never left, close enough to make all the implications in the world to anyone watching. Her yellow eyes stray to the Duelist on my other side; the pendant hiding behind his shirt. Then she smirks. Places her hand down over mine, eyelids heavy, tilting her head to the side. ¡°Sorry, pal. This one¡¯s off the menu.¡±

    ¡°Believe me, I was already aware,¡± the Duelist replies, all charm.

    They smile daggers at each other; the briefest exchange with a reason I¡¯m not privy to. Something about the pendant, I think. Cal squeezes my hand.

    ¡°Should¡¯ve known you¡¯d have a thing for bad boys,¡± she chuckles. ¡°Come on. I¡¯m bored; let¡¯s find one of those empty closets.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have said it better myself,¡± I drawl, playing along.

    Cal leads me away from the bar, casually tracing the same path Jolie and Valance took around the edge of the ballroom. Drifting between the shadows of the pillars. Taking her time, letting the hushed conversations slowly swell back to their old level as Jolie¡¯s cold wake fades. Everyone¡¯s wondering what could have had the Director in such a mood on today of all days. They have no idea. But I know Jolie does. Her coat was no random choice. The draping unfilled sleeves; they¡¯re exactly how my shirts used to hang back when I didn¡¯t always wear my arm. She¡¯s calling out to me. She hopes I¡¯m here. My whole body is screaming at me to give chase without a second thought.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Cal chides, pulling me well to the side as two minor league fighters pass us on a patrol towards the depths of the skyscraper. Her back rests against a window looking out over midnight streets. ¡°Let her go. There¡¯s other ways to follow.¡±

    ¡°When we have no idea where she¡¯s even going?¡± I murmur. ¡°Valance was escorting her.¡±

    ¡°Which is exactly why we can¡¯t jump the gun. Valance is a tech wizard, super smart, and she¡¯s probably micromanaging the entire security operation here while being a flirt on the dance floor.¡± Cal taps a fingertip against the JOY inside her jacket pocket. ¡°Besides. I have a feeling Jolie wants us to know where they¡¯re going, considering she just started live-sharing her location with me.¡±

    I rest my real fist against the ice-cold glass, foot tapping, watching the streets while we wait for the leaguers to pass. Cal alternates between eyeing my collarbone and checking out the gala. When she suddenly starts to tense, I know something¡¯s gone wrong. My eyes flick up. In the reflection, one of the patrolling fighters- that armored markswoman who I saw outside- is starting to turn back towards us, confusion and vague recognition scrawled on her face.

    Brass music swells in the ballroom, drowning out her words. Before she can draw too close, Cal hooks two fingers inside my choker and pulls me down into intimate range. Breath brushing warm against my cheek. Faint perfume, clean masculine scent. Dark hair and a claustrophobic memory. Her lips drift like an electric current against my ear.

    ¡°Don¡¯t kill me for this.¡±

    An adrenalized, electric sensation shoots down my spine. Her teeth find my earlobe and tug possessively. Nimble fingers find my hip and slide beneath the silk shirt to my waist, nails gently marking the skin, pulling my hips to hers as she mutters into my ear.

    ¡°Work with me, Tay.¡±

    I turn into her, breathing into her neck. Letting her hand guide me closer despite the prideful ire it rankles inside, sending all the message the leaguer needs to see to turn right back around. ¡°A warning would have been nice.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing just fine without one.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re enjoying this way too much.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just playful banter. Don¡¯t take it so seriously.¡±

    ¡°Playful banter is all you do, Cal.¡±

    ¡°Guilty as charged.¡± Her lips form half of a knowing smirk. Heavy eyelids drift halfway open, irises sliding to watch the leaguer lose interest and return to patrolling. ¡°You¡¯re not so bad yourself.¡±

    Only once the patrol is fully out of sight do we split again. As the band shifts to their next set and a zithering trumpet slashes across the gala, Cal makes a little flicking hand motion at one of the dim corridors branching away from the ballroom. No flirt or playfulness to it. All business now.

    The ambiance of the party fades as we leave the main event behind, diving into a slate grey antechamber lined with old artifacts of the extinct Shimano family. Deconstructed pre-era autobikes, pristine circuitboards kept safe in glass cases, the defunct nuclear core of a Titan-class Mecha. From there, it¡¯s a straight shot to the unoccupied corridors slicing the length of the skyscraper. No more enforcers this deep in the tower, away from the dignitaries. Just us and the empty boardrooms slipping past on either side. Our muted footsteps the only sound in the vast emptiness.

    Guided by her JOY, Cal brings us to a stop outside an unmarked utility closet that¡¯s barely distinguishable from the walls of the corridor. A knife darts into her hand from a hidden holster as she starts rigging the lock open. Her JOY continues to float beside her, projecting a wafer-thin map of the highrise. While she works, she taps a finger on an orange-colored dot that¡¯s moving swiftly through the hologram.

    ¡°They¡¯re heading down. Subbasements.¡±

    I squint closer at the map. ¡°You said she¡¯s supposed to stay at the party.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. ¡®Till midnight at the earliest. She¡¯s never gone down to the basements before. Something¡¯s up.¡± Cal twists her wrist a quarter-rotation right and winces. ¡°Fuck Shimano tech. They future-proofed their gear for the next thousand years.¡±

    In a past life, I would have blown the door to slag without a thought and been through the very next instant. In this one, I backtrack to one of the antique autobikes, pry some priceless metal tube off the undercarriage, and whistle for Cal to stand the hell back. She sees the pipe swinging and steps aside right as I smash the lock to pieces. The room beyond is a dust-choked concrete closet the size of a small bedroom. A seamless hexagonal slab is set in the center of the floor; small carved carry handles to lift it out. I toss the pipe into a corner of the room, shed my pauldron, and crook two fingers for Cal to follow.

    ¡°You have zero reverence for cool stuff,¡± she mutters, passing the shattered lock.

    I roll my eyes and kneel beside the slab. After losing her jacket and tie, Cal crouches on her haunches on the other side, fitting her fingers into one of the carved handles. Our eyes meet across the concrete. A wordless beat passes where we gauge each other yet again. Wondering just how far we¡¯re going to push this alliance of necessity.

    Then my nails dig into the stone. The hatch swings ponderously open.

    And in silence, we descend into the dark below.

 MEMORY.05

    The office of the Junior Fight Promoter is never closed, not anymore. Jolie keeps it propped open with a brick from a wall that was blown out in a barfight at the noodle shop across the street from the M, and it¡¯s only thanks to her peculiar breed of nostalgia that I slip inside with the occupants none the wiser.

    Not that I needed the help. Bright autumn morning, frost and sunlight clings to the waking city beyond the vast windows. Reflected sunrays splay above the four people roped into an argument around the grand wooden desk that¡¯s more of a throne than the one Mars never sits in. Away from the stream cams, you¡¯d never suspect the twin siblings and bickering old men in this room hold all the power to decide the fate of our Section. The mood couldn¡¯t be more casual.

    Jolie, as always, lounges in her high-backed chair. Greggus Rebun, soon-retiring General Manager and golden-tongued shoutcaster of Mars¡¯ era, keeps his thick arms crossed while he wanders through a vast holoprojection that slowly rotates above the office¡¯s white metal floor. A short, gnarled old stick of a man with sharp silver hair lounges on the plush couches in simple grey sweatpants half a century out of style, stroking his moustache and making sure to grunt his disagreement every so often. And sitting on the corner of the desk holding a battered training rapier in his hands, the brother, father, son and hero who ties them all together watches the city outside with an idle gaze. Thumbing over the decades-old stunning edge, trying his hardest to not look as distracted as he so obviously is. It isn¡¯t working.

    And the hidden fifth? She sees me slip inside from her much smaller post beside the door, sees the amount of paperwork tucked beneath my arm, and very slowly scoots over to make room. I linger for a moment at her side.

    Sixteen now, as ever, Cal is still my equal in mind if not in height. The older we grow, the more pronounced the dissimilarities between us have become. My drive to please, her rebellious rejection of responsibility. My charisma, her wit. Always content to lurk in my shadow, never feeling the hunger to reach for more as I so often do. Even our colors have started to diverge. The darkness of our hair, the molten cracks within our irises. Which is how I already know how she¡¯ll reply to what I have to say. I still try anyways, catching her eye during a lull in the discussion.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to meet Tetsuka sometime. There¡¯s no better chance than tonight,¡± I murmur. ¡°She¡¯s not scary. You¡¯d get along well with her.¡±

    Cal answers by picking at a damascene bangle she slips off her wrist, lazily turning it in the light. Half-lidded eyes inspect the black metal like it holds some hidden inscription. ¡°I¡¯m sure I would. She sounds great.¡±

    ¡°¡­Cal.¡±

    ¡°Hm.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    ¡°I am too,¡± she drawls, swinging the bracelet on a loop around her finger. ¡°I appreciate the concern, Thane. But you¡¯re my brother. Not my mom.¡± She tips her head towards the rest of the office. ¡°Champ¡¯s been waiting for you for half an hour. Go help him out, dude.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be rude when they¡¯re arguing.¡± I watch her spin the bangle again. ¡°Still playing with that old thing?¡±

    ¡°You should try to sound a little less fatalistic about my chances of cracking it, considering how hard you begged Jojo to give it to me.¡±

    ¡°Begged is a crass way of phrasing signed a materiel requisition,¡± I sigh. I steal it from her fingers between blinks, checking out the metal for myself. ¡°What do you think it does?¡±

    ¡°Beats me. Not like the Creators left notes on these things.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be the first in a thousand years to turn a dead one on.¡±

    She smiles faintly at that. ¡°Well. It¡¯s about time someone did, yeah?¡±

    Passing the bracelet back, I work my way around the perimeter of Jolie¡¯s office. Past the bookcases of technical tomes and legal codes and last-century romance novels, past the gifted mementos and memoirs from faraway Sections, past the meticulous arrangements of potted plants and rigid clipboards. Finally noticing my arrival, Mars glances away from the window and carefully leans that training rapier back against the desk. When he rises, even Rebun quiets out of habit. Despite his gentility, there¡¯s a gravity when Mars moves, like watching a lion finally deign to stir from its repose.

    How many people look at the man as I do and see nothing but a hero? A peg on which to hang every one of their hopes and dreams? I stand among the few he allows to see the weary human beneath the legend. Mars may be taller, broader, more laconic and brutal from his years on the throne, but he¡¯s also more tired, and not in a way that any rest can repair. An entire year he spent selflessly aiding our allies in the western Sections, holding the line against the massacres and uprisings funded by the last of the Shimano clan, yet not a month has passed since his return before the responsibilities of rule have buried him once more- as they have time and time again.

    Even now he dreams only of abdicating this life, this room, this tower and this city. I see it in his wistful gaze. The jaded sadness of the older man on the couch, knowing his successor suffers so in silence. Mars has never craved power. If the world were different, he would have left to live on that farm in the east long ago. But that is not the world we were given. And that¡¯s what truly makes him the most dangerous of his peers. Not his strength, nor cunning, nor skill; but his selflessness. He wants only to return to his daughter at the edge of the world. Yet until it is safe to do so, he will do whatever it takes to make that day come, because someone must.

    Mars buries his sorrow in a heartbeat as he stands, flashing me a smile like he doesn¡¯t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. ¡°Perfect. My distraction.¡±

    I bow low in traditional village style as I deposit my paperwork on Jolie¡¯s desk. She waves for Rebun to quiet. ¡°What is this, Thane?¡±

    ¡°Last month¡¯s counterespionage report from the Vents, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ma¡¯am me ever again, please. We¡¯re both too old for it.¡± Reaching forward, she thumbs through the pages with practiced ease. ¡°See anything new down there?¡±

    I spare a glance at the old man who watches me from behind, ignoring the hair-raising intensity of his attention. ¡°Less activism by local vigilantes, and Dynasty has been entirely forced back inside the Orange.¡± I raise out of my bow and look to Mars, playing out the formality. ¡°You summoned me?¡±

    ¡°You summoned him,¡± Jolie echoes as she reads, half-question half-accusation.

    ¡°I summoned him,¡± Mars replies with a roll of his eyes, watching his sister flip through the report. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you forgot, Jojo.¡±

    ¡°Forgot what?¡± Rebun asks.

    Jolie arches her eyebrows. ¡°That it¡¯s the first day of fall, sir. Tetsuka¡¯s birthday.¡± She snorts quietly and drops the report; dull slap as it hits her desk. Looks up with a sparkle in her eye and a faint smile on her lips. ¡°Did you think I had my bike refueled this morning for nothing?¡±

    Mars raises a finger, opens his mouth, pauses to pick his next words, and closes his mouth. He claps one scarred hand on my shoulder and the other on Rebun¡¯s suited back. ¡°It¡¯s her seventeenth. I need to see her before we leave for Section Z. Can you cover for me?¡±

    Rebun¡¯s lips purse. ¡°You got that big sendoff match tomorrow with Winter¡­¡±

    ¡°She already knows.¡±

    ¡°And Gami on the weekend?¡±

    He sighs. ¡°That¡¯s the bigger issue. I need you to hold him off until we¡¯re back from the front lines.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s rank three now, Mars. Fight all the Shimanos you have to, I can¡¯t stall one of our leaguers forever without it getting illegal pretty damn quick.¡± Still, the bald man fingers his chin in thought. Unquestioningly preparing to bend every rule in the book for the sake of a man who made his name breaking them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can,¡± Rebun finally says. ¡°No promises though.¡±

    ¡°What you can is all I need.¡±

    The heavier man nods approvingly. ¡°And tell that little rascal I have a qualifier match waiting with her name on it, when she¡¯s ready.¡± His bulldog jowls tip towards me, shoutcaster¡¯s smile quickly forming. ¡°Still gotta clear out some room for you in the major leagues, son. Haha!¡±

    I meet his humor with an appreciative dip of my head. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking my time, sir. But thank you.¡±

    Mars glances at Jolie as she scoops her JOY off her desk, headed for the door. ¡°What¡¯s with the rush?¡±

    ¡°You want to race, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he admits. ¡°What for this time?¡± he asks. ¡°Pride?¡±

    ¡°Pick something better.¡±

    ¡°Pride and¡­ frozen drinks.¡±

    She¡¯s past Cal and out the door a moment later. Rebun explodes into laughter and slaps Mars on the back so hard he almost goes stumbling, then makes to follow her out. ¡°Only you can get Jojo out of her desk like that, man. Take your time with your girl, and bash some Shimano circuitheads for me. I¡¯ll hold things down till you two get back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m counting on it,¡± my Champion says, before turning back to me. ¡°Ready?¡±

    I nod.

    ¡°Good.¡± Fishing his JOY out of his pocket, Mars slings it to me with a wink. ¡°You¡¯re driving this time.¡±

    -

    I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯ve been practicing with Jolie to prepare for this day. I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d happen so soon, though. Nor be so simple.

    Driving a machine that pilots itself is perhaps the easiest challenge I¡¯ve faced this year. Eight hours straight, give or take, till we finally see the last seaside mountain on the horizon and I know we¡¯re almost home. The harder part is talking with Mars. Sometimes it feels like he sees right through me, no matter how closely I keep my cards to my chest. Today his mind is elsewhere. Nearer to the storms that lurk beyond the horizon. I¡¯m glad for it.

    Jolie¡¯s autobike is still cooling in the last rays of sunset when we arrive. Autumn has already taken hold on the idle countryside that surrounds the estate. Low white walls crawl with red vines and tall, dark grasses meander through cracks in the road. An endless sea of golden rice surrounds the house for miles upon miles, rustling with a sound like ocean waves. As I pull myself out of the car, my heartbeat rises in wordless excitement as the wind that stirs the fields suddenly changes direction, as if the world itself has finally noticed my arrival. My heart sings in tune with the rising gale. Joyous, overflowing energy suffusing the air so richly that my exhaustion peels away like wet clothes. Mars feels it too, smiling as the breeze caresses his crimson mane.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    I see her then.

    Standing on the wooden porch at sunset, the paper door slid open, her aunt watching her from behind with a loving gaze. Draped in simple summer silk. Hair like white gold and raw silver, twined in a tail of petals that wreathes her shoulders. Eyes a ruby red as deep as blood. Skin glowing with an internal light, burning with love overflowing. Beautiful like a virtuoso¡¯s song, a lover¡¯s dance, the kiss of the wind on a blazing day.

    Her eyes tighten, watering, and a smile splits her face.

    Tetsuka crashes into me with the force of a storm, throwing her arms around my neck. We kiss once, hard. Her hair cocoons us and her scent takes over; salt and sun. I hold her tight around the waist, silhouetted by the setting sun, until a change ripples in the wind. She pulls away with a final look and dives into her father¡¯s embrace next.

    Mars clutches her close, brushing a careful hand over her hair. ¡°Hey, butterball.¡±

    She buries her face in his chest. ¡°Missed you, Dad.¡±

    And one by one, he sheds his burdens beneath the unfaltering force of her love.

    -

    That night, we gather in the kitchen for drinks while Jolie and I handle the cooking. Tetsuka¡¯s favorite dish- cutlet curry- bubbles on the old-fashioned stovetop, filling the estate with a rich aroma of ginger and spice. Warm firelight crackles in the hearth. Laughter and quick smiles fire back and forth over the counters as Mars grills her over her latest tournament performances.

    ¡°¡­ hey hey, don¡¯t give me that look. They might not be able to tell, but I know you¡¯re slacking.¡±

    ¡°Mah, not slacking exactly,¡± Tetsuka drawls, voice mature and moody, dipping in and out of village slang as she pleases. I¡¯ve never loved a voice like I do hers. ¡°I just don¡¯t like beating them too hard. Thane gets it.¡±

    I snort quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t hold back.¡±

    Jolie reaches over from her pot and pinches my nose without looking.

    ¡°¡­usually, at least.¡±

    Tetsuka¡¯s eyes dance as she watches me, curling a hand under her chin. ¡°So what gives, Dad? Thane didn¡¯t tell me either you or Auntie were coming home.¡±

    Mars scratches the back of his head. ¡°Well¡­¡±

    ¡°It was supposed to be a surprise,¡± Jolie smoothly finishes. ¡°Your father was going to meet you at the end of your tournament. Something else came up.¡±

    ¡°¡­But I¡¯ll be here for a few days,¡± Mars adds. ¡°We¡¯re heading straight to Section Z after.¡±

    ¡°Z?¡± Tets¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Can I go with you?¡±

    ¡°Not this time, Tetsuka. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°You say that every time,¡± she grumbles.

    Jolie coughs politely. ¡°Because it is dangerous, honey. Not even Thane gets to go.¡± She dips her finger in the sauce I¡¯ve been brewing; no reaction. ¡°War is no place for children.¡±

    Her skin pulses dangerously in response to the temper within her heart. We all feel the needling tension that begins prickling our skin. It¡¯s no metaphor feeling. Tetsuka passively radiates so much aura these days that even without thinking, without trying to amplify that ki at all, it soaks the world around her to supersaturation. Like a living star that blasts her surroundings with endless fountains of invisible life energy.

    Ordinarily, just standing around her is like a sauna, a long rest, a full meal, and a shot of stimulants all at once. Moments like these remind me how easily strength like hers could be put to cataclysmic purpose. If she ever snapped, power like this could melt us to slag in a heartbeat.

    But she doesn¡¯t. Frowning, five fingers tightening into a silent fist, she reigns it all back in. The glow fades. Mars places both larger hands over her one. Guiltily, I look away from the family of two and return to my task. Jolie nudges my shoulder, resting her glasses above the crown of her forehead. ¡°You¡¯ve been quiet.¡±

    ¡°A lot on my mind,¡± I murmur, stirring the sauce for the thousandth time. ¡°Mars. Gami. War. School. This place.¡± My eyes trace the wooden rafters above. ¡°Her.¡±

    ¡°When I was your age, I was just trying to keep my brother out of trouble.¡± She glances fondly over her shoulder, Mars and Tetsuka already onto another animated conversation. Never letting grief linger for long. ¡°Some things never change.¡±

    Her pocket rumbles quietly. Not the first time it¡¯s happened tonight. Every time she grows a little more distant, looks around this quaint house a little more longingly. The darkness waiting outside these walls refuses to wait. We fight it off as long as we can with the fire. And when the fire burns low and our meal is nearly done, Mars pats me on the shoulder and slips a cold bottle into my free hand, having nabbed the spatula when I wasn¡¯t looking. He passes it to Jolie without a second thought.

    ¡°Thane is going to help me get firewood. We¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Jolie,¡± I add.

    I pass my apron to Tetsuka, who¡¯s now idly sitting on the edge of the counter. She chucks it back over her head and into a basket in the nearby hall. ¡°I can help.¡±

    Jolie shakes her head. ¡°Boys talk, dear.¡± She points the ladle towards the living room. ¡°I have a gift for you, too. Could you fetch it?¡±

    ¡°¡­Sure,¡± she softly says. She hops off the counter, landing lightly on the wood. Squeezes my hand, kisses my cheek as she passes. Her voice rises to its usual volume when she rounds the corner. ¡°Is it a new arm?¡±

    Jolie¡¯s voice fades as I slide the back door shut behind us. The porch creaks dark and quiet around me. Thatch shifts. In the dim light filtering through the house¡¯s paper walls, I spy Mars already sitting on the low steps leading to the marble fighting square where I spent so many of my summers training with Tay. His powerful shoulders are hunched, chin held high, eyes on the full moon and cloudless night.

    Faint, silvery moonlight paints the garden in cold tones. Rolling the bottle of liquor between my hands, I focus the pressure of my steps so I don¡¯t make a sound as I cross the creaking boards and take a seat behind him. We sit like that for a moment. Wordless, he¡¯s wrapped up in that moon, mind still wandering elsewhere. Another time, another year, maybe even just in the kitchen behind us, where Tetsuka gasps in delight at the new arm Jolie crafted for her. I pop the cap and wait, sipping quietly.

    ¡°You¡¯re worried,¡± is the first thing he says.

    I¡¯m so taken aback by his simplicity that I can¡¯t help but nod.

    ¡°How many birthdays have you two spent together, now?¡± Mars scratches at his stubble. ¡°You should be just as happy as she is. But you¡¯re brooding just as bad as I am.¡±

    I take a long drink. ¡°Was it that obvious?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re good, Thane. But you aren¡¯t that good. Not yet.¡±

    My lips twitch against the bottle. ¡°Rousing praise, coming from my Champion.¡±

    ¡°And from the father of the girl you¡¯re dating?¡±

    ¡°Yet another reminder how fortunate I am.¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s bugging you?¡±

    ¡°I could ask you the same thing, Mars.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re not going to. And that¡¯s an order,¡± he chuckles. ¡°Spill.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    My fingers drum lightly against the bottle. Black hair whispers past my face, longer these days. I brush it back. Finally realizing he¡¯s been watching me the whole time. Those midnight blue eyes focused on me alone. So pure, raw, uncalculating in their honesty that they make every ounce of my being seem so false in comparison. The force of his expecting silence drags the rest out of me.

    ¡°I¡¯m worried I¡¯m going to become my father,¡± I finish, unable to keep meeting his gaze. My elbows come to rest on my knees as I lean forward. ¡°The more I research him, the more I watch about his past, the more I wonder if I¡¯m making the same mistakes he did. Chasing strength as if it were a compulsion, craving more challenges, letting logic rule me. Carra-¡±

    ¡°-is nothing like you, Thane.¡± Mars¡¯ hand tightens around his drink. ¡°Take it from someone who actually knows the guy. You may have his hair. And his eyes. And even his talent. But you also have something he never did.¡± Laughter echoes from the kitchen; we both pause to listen. ¡°You have love, and that¡¯s something he couldn¡¯t even comprehend. It¡¯s what will make you a better man than he ever could be.¡±

    ¡°Love.¡± I echo the word in a murmur. ¡°Can I¡­ ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Mhm?¡±

    ¡°Did love ever stop you from doing something you had to?¡±

    He settles back against the steps, elbows on the deck. Eyes sinking to the marble our feet rest atop. Silent in thought, searching the tides deep within. ¡°Sometimes I wish it had.¡±

    I wait for him to continue.

    ¡°Every time I come home, I wish it had stopped me. I feel like a monster, seeing her all grown up and knowing just how little I¡¯ve been here for. But it doesn¡¯t keep me from leaving again. And somehow, that¡¯s even worse.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make you a bad man, Mars.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But it does make me a terrible father.¡± He shakes his head, gaze returning to the moonswept fields. ¡°And now she¡¯s already a woman of her own. Seventeen. My little girl. But she¡¯s not even mine, really. So many of you have spent more time with her than I have.¡± Regret, not frustration, stains his voice. ¡°She only wanted one thing, and I couldn¡¯t let myself give it to her. I had to be a hero. The guy everyone counted on. Someone had to, right? Because so many people out there need something to believe in, Thane, and they need something that believes in them too. And if I¡¯m not up there¡­ it¡¯s going to be someone else, and there¡¯s no guarantee they¡¯ll be the right one.¡±

    We finish our bottles at the same time.

    ¡°Our world is cruel,¡± Mars continues. ¡°If I¡¯ve learned one thing in my life, it¡¯s that good men are not supposed to win, and the bad ones usually do. That¡¯s why I want to make sure the right person is coming after me. I knew when the old man gave me the laurel that I¡¯d fight as long as I had to until I found that person. And lately, I¡¯ve started to wonder if I have.¡± He lays a heavy, scarred hand on my knee. ¡°Thane, I-¡±

    The kitchen door slides open behind us. Golden light and a woman¡¯s silhouette slashes between us. Mars closes his eyes, knowing the words that always come next. Someone, somewhere, needs him more.

    For a moment I see the shadow of the boy he used to be, cast by the fading candle he has cradled so long within his heart. I see the pain it brings to betray that boy and his ideals yet again, knowing he has become the very thing he has always feared becoming most: a man of compromise. A man who will put the many above the few, who will forgo his own child to save a hundred more, and who knows he cannot stop himself from doing it again. It gnaws at him in a way no external accusation ever could.

    Then the moment passes. His face settles. The grief is buried. And the mask of my Champion returns once more as he faces the light.

    ¡°It¡¯s Crucible,¡± Jolie says, holding out a projection for him to read. ¡°New weather patterns are erupting inside the interdiction zone. Our launch window is moving up.¡±

    ¡°To when?¡±

    ¡°As soon as we can make it to the Defiance,¡± she answers, casting an apologetic glance my way. ¡°Mori¡¯s already on her way for an airlift. Keep your tracker on and fly north. I¡¯ll link up with you as soon as I have Tay¡¯s arm calibrated.¡±

    Mars looks back over his shoulder and raises a finger at me. ¡°We¡¯ll finish this later. Okay?¡±

    Only I see the tears trickling from his daughter¡¯s eyes, staining the table beneath her calloused palm.

    -

    Hand in hand, we sit out in the rice fields atop our favorite sunning rock amidst the grainy sea. Leaning on each other in the silvery night. The moon fills her eyes to the brim as she watches the lonely comet piercing the northward sky.

    Off being a hero again.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be back,¡± Tetsuka bravely says, as she always does.

    I lean into her, and she into I. ¡°He wanted to stay,¡± I say.

    ¡°I know.¡± A small, angry tremble runs from her body to mine. ¡°But he didn¡¯t.¡±

    The wind embraces us for a long moment. Her hair drifts aimlessly around our shoulders, and she leans in harder, nestling between my arms. My fingers trace the sensitive skin of her missing side.

    ¡°Do you think this will ever end?¡± she asks the night. The glow beneath her skin fades like a dying candle. ¡°I feel so¡­ powerless. I¡¯m so strong now. Stronger than ever before. But I can¡¯t stop Dad from leaving, and I can¡¯t stop worrying that you¡¯re going to leave too, Thane.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving. We¡¯ll always be together.¡± I swallow the lump in my throat. ¡°And some day he¡¯ll join us, too. I won¡¯t stop until he does.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I press my lips into her hair. ¡°But I will make it so. I promise.¡±

    Tay¡¯s uncertainty persists. I feel it in the tension of her shoulders, in the way she leans against me, not wanting me to leave. She fears what the future will bring.

    Men like her father were never meant to carry so much for so long. Mars fights so hard for the future that he can¡¯t see the darkness rising in the present. Some day, I will lift the Champion¡¯s burden from his shoulders and carry it myself, just as he hopes. But that day is so far distant. His throne will be taken from him by force before then. Whether by a beast like Gami or some other force, one day, the unfaltering hero will finally crack. His hope and stalling so I might take his place before then only makes his enemies more ravenous.

    I¡¯ve seen it coming for months. But war is all Mars has ever known. He doesn¡¯t know how to put down the sword. He cannot see when the time has come to melt it into a plough. And when he tries, he is swept back into the tempest time and time again, doing what he always has because he always must. Because if he does not, then who will?

    As we watch her father trail from a comet to a star to a dark spot in the sky, I finally understand the burden I must shoulder.

    I just don¡¯t know if I have the strength to see it through.

 3.5 - TRUE POWER

    If ever there were a time to have my old strength back, it would be now.

    The hatch yawns open to reveal a vertical, hexagonal shaft cut into the concrete crust of the city. I feel naked without my sixth sense of ki, the comforting warmth of my aura, the light within my heart that never let the darkness close its jaws. Worse, I feel trapped. Cal braces above me, mirroring my every move as we descend, a knife ever behind my back. Every careful shift down the walls of the tunnel feels like I¡¯m sliding down the gullet of some city-sized monster. Willingly moving towards my own digestion. My instincts scream at me to get away from the unknown below, not sink deeper into its grasp. But there¡¯s no backing out now. I¡¯m in too deep. The only way out is down.

    Hand over hand we descend into the darkness. It¡¯s unbearably quiet. Claustrophobic. My breath echoes off the shaft mere inches away, reverberating up and down for seconds at a time. Cal¡¯s shoes scrape near my ears. She hisses out a curse when her toes slip against the concrete; instantly corrected. I focus on the climb.

    It¡¯s only when my palm flattens against a surface far smoother than the concrete that I call for a pause, bracing my feet against the opposite wall. Cal nearly collides with me anyways. Her voice whispers out of the darkness.

    ¡°What¡¯s the holdup?¡±

    I pull my JOY out of my pocket and toggle on the shell¡¯s meager light, splaying a thin sheet of electric-blue color over the weird patch of concrete. Takes a little awkward shining before I can see the whole thing. A large -1 in dark orange paint.

    ¡°This must be the first sublevel,¡± I say, glancing a little further down the shaft. Endless darkness and seamless concrete walls as far as I can see. ¡°Don¡¯t know how we¡¯re supposed to get out, though.¡±

    Cal¡¯s JOY flicks on for a moment, then back off. ¡°She¡¯s pretty far below us, and the maps of this building are classified by the seal of the Director. Jolie must have done it herself years ago. I can¡¯t see anything except our relative locations.¡±

    I look up between her knees. Pale yellow eyes gleam back with serpentine brightness. ¡°How far?¡±

    ¡°Sublevel seven, or close enough.¡±

    I glance down into the dark, lips tight. ¡°Let¡¯s hurry.¡±

    An invisible weight presses down on my shoulders the further we go. The silence wraps us like a morgue. Stifling in its cold. My body tenses with unease. My mind races far ahead of the repetitive shifting of hand-foot-foot-hand, wondering what waits below, keenly aware of what pushes me on from above. Another sublevel marker passes beneath my real palm. I¡¯m breathing heavier, now. Or maybe it¡¯s Cal. I can¡¯t tell in the dark. All I can do is climb.

    ¡°How far down do you think this goes?¡± I ask, once we¡¯re past the fourth sublevel. Cold sweat beads on my arms.

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know,¡± Cal mutters back after a moment. She pauses as we pass another painted marker. ¡°We have to be in the crust of the city now. Maybe it goes all the way to the Vents. Or further.¡±

    Minutes later, we finally arrive at the marker for the seventh sublevel. I blindly feel around the concrete walls until my fingers finally slide into the grooves of a familiar handhold, just like the one that opened the entry hatch. Out of habit I look up in search of the closet we entered through; there¡¯s nothing but blackness above. I motion Cal down so we can brace back to back, and together, we force the ancient hinges into motion. Corroded stone grates like a tomb as it inches open. The solidification in the joints tells me that these tunnels haven¡¯t been used in centuries. Maybe ever. We¡¯re in something as old as the capital itself.

    Another hexagonal tunnel, just as cramped but now horizontal, lies beyond the hatch. Faint illumination from some further source helps me guide myself inside first. Cal follows, effortlessly swinging in. I hold a finger to my lips once she rights herself. Black hair dips in acknowledgement. Her eyes are wide in the darkness, fingers tensing, reaching for a knife she left behind. She feels it too. The unease.

    Lowering down into prone, I lead the way into the crawlspace one lanky elbow at a time. I¡¯m tall enough to barely be able to move here. Cal has it easy. We crawl around a tight corner and the roof of the crawlspace changes from solid concrete to slitted grating just above our heads. That faint light from before now cuts through in precisely spaced slices of pale, late-night color. Tiger stripes of illumination inch over my body as I crawl forward. Hair raises along the top of my arm from nearby electromagnets. Some kind of quiet machinery hums somewhere out of sight, punctured by the occasional hiss of degassing air.

    I roll onto my back to peer through the slits, skin pressing flat against the cold floor. Goosebumps crawl up my arm. Can¡¯t see much outside. Just the distant ceramic ceiling of some vast technological space, colored by those pale running lights. Doesn¡¯t sound like there¡¯s anyone around.

    I glance back at Cal, tap my JOY. She buries hers under her palm and squints at a tiny geo-tracker. We¡¯re almost on top of Jolie. Shutting it back down, she looks up with a shrug. Points at her ear. Yeah, me neither. My luck might finally be changing if we¡¯re only a room or two away. No better place to make our entry than here.

    I press a fingertip to one of the screws holding down the ceramic grates. Nodding, Cal crawls between my legs and rolls onto her back too, prying at the screws with a knife. For once, I¡¯m almost happy to have a professional assassin along. Four screws pop free into her hand in the time I would struggle to do one. Once she¡¯s finished, I wrap my fingers around the grate, tense my arms, and immediately jerk my hands back down as the loud hiss of a hydraulic doorway suddenly opens right above us and a single titanic thump reverberates through the floor, the concrete, and the metal city beyond.

    ¡°Apprentice.¡±

    Absolute fear freezes me in place.

    It¡¯s him.

    Time slows as the dread presence of a gladiatorial god thunders ten centimeters over my head. Massive gargoyle feet hammer the deck with a weight that could pulverize a skull simply by stepping on it. Thousands of pounds of titanic platinum gleam as the creature passes beneath motion-activated lights. I know the rest of his shape even without seeing it. Huge draconic wings. Nine feet of unmatchable killing potential. A sinuous meters-long tail that undulates behind like a serpent of prey, scraping across the floor.

    My whole body locks up. Unable to move. Not even daring to breathe as the shadow of the reigning Champion, Gami, sweeps over me with all the subtlety of a solar eclipse.

    I feel every colossal footstep rattling my bones. Shaking nails dig into my palm till it bleeds. Warmth trickles and drips between my fingers. The pain reminds. Tearing at my fear, spurring my mind back into action. Summoning up more useful emotions.

    How easy it becomes when a second voice joins the beast who killed my father.

    ¡°Forgive my delay, master. Matters at the arena needed tending to.¡±

    Out goes the terror. Replaced by distilled, icy fire as for the first time in three agonizing years I hear the one voice I know better than my own. It belongs to the boy who left me for dead. The enemy he became and who I¡¯ve chased so, so far. I¡¯ve seen his face so often since I stepped into this city. But only with my own two eyes can I grasp just how much Thane has evolved since I last saw him.

    He is his master¡¯s disciple now. A thoughtful, calculating killer with savage, jet-black hair and passionate eyes forged from cracked and molten gold. Tall and powerful, yet humble in his stance. Preternaturally graceful in every movement. Peerless in his precision. A perfect emulation of the legends who raised him. Everything a Champion¡¯s apprentice should be.

    Thane¡¯s arms are crossed beneath a rough, homespun cloak that whispers just above the floor. His shirt is equally rough, bound by strings at its simple collar. Weathered boots of village make press softly against the ceramic underfoot, keeping pace with the lumbering beast at his side. The passing scent of coffee and thatch frays the strands of my self-control to the brink. It snaps as I hear the clicking of hard heels following behind him.

    Fresh from the gala, Valance brings up the rear side-by-side with my aunt. They pass so close I could almost reach out and touch Jolie¡¯s stilettos. My aunt¡¯s face is set in pale reservation. Grimly following along like she has a loaded weapon pointed at her.

    I can¡¯t stop myself. Timing the bone-jarring thuds of Gami¡¯s stride, I wait for scant seconds after they pass before refirming my fingers around the grate.

    Cal¡¯s nails dig into my leg. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare,¡± she hisses, the faintest possible sound. ¡°We can¡¯t move too early.¡±

    ¡°Let me up,¡± I snarl back.

    ¡°No. Hell no. We are NOT gambling our lives on your death wish when the fucking Champion is here, you rice farming-¡±

    Wrong answer.

    I jab an elbow into the nerve cluster in her stomach and her body spasms out of control, grip releasing. The grate lifts free as quiet as a whisper unspoken. Cold hate spurs me into movement. I am not myself as I roll out of the crawlspace and into the wake of a living god. I should be frozen with fear. Most people would be. But the petrification that gnaws at my limbs evaporates every time I catch a glimpse of the young man who walks at Gami¡¯s side, just as he did with my father.

    I¡¯d almost forgotten what my own strength felt like. It roils inside me now like I¡¯m waking from a years-long slumber; pushing and straining at its confines. Alive again. The shock of a frozen lake against naked skin burns through my nerves as my soul begins shuddering back to life, reacting to the emotion. The old pulse of ki worms into my veins like poison, spreading further with every beat. A rusted, instinctual reawakening of power fueled entirely by killer instinct.

    I slip out into a formidable, technological space filled with vast dominions of cutting edge medical machinery. Tracking from just within earshot, straining to hear Thane¡¯s voice. Mazes of ancient computational consoles stand interspersed between groves of dried-out vats for liquid storage, growth pods for unborn children, and dozens of workstations that knit the technological forest together. Thick clusters of data transfer cables snake across the floor like tree roots. Palm-sized Innovator drones dart around less-dense sections of the laboratory at the command of grey-cloaked technicians, recreating missing features of the space in holographic form: blackboards, datapads, curio on the workstations, and filling in segments of half-destroyed machinery. The ceiling of the sublevel lurks somewhere out of sight in the darkness above.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Two steps back, Cal replaces the grate a second time and shadows my movements as I slide into cover behind a nearby stack of computational consoles, quiet as a knife drawn. I don¡¯t look back. The tempo builds inside. The lethal pulse of ki pushing faster, shoving through my body like it¡¯s clogged with arterial blockage. I spare a quick glance over the glass-sided machine I hide behind. Defunct, pre-era circuitry hides inside. No one¡¯s used these kinds of massive computers in all of our history- they¡¯re clumsy, ancient relics of the times before the Creators, far outperformed by JOYs. And the growth pods- they¡¯re for making children, not science experiments. Cold unease slithers down my spines as I see my warped face reflected in one of the curved glass capsules.

    I return to watching Gami when metal suddenly glimmers ahead. Steel and copper pools towards the giant from the machines he passes, flittering between his massive four-fingered paws like liquid before returning from where it came. Perfectly replaced, down to the atom.

    I glance down, shifting on my toes. One single slip. That¡¯s all it will take.

    When the Champion finally deigns to speak, his voice rumbles through the lab like an earthquake.

    ¡°Your work is keeping you busy.¡±

    ¡°Dynasty¡¯s stragglers are putting up no shortage of resistance,¡± Thane sighs. His voice is firm, but quieter than anyone who sees him in public would ever expect. They wouldn¡¯t know as I do; that he does not enjoy being loud. ¡°Your people have done admirable work in recreating their facilities.¡±

    ¡°Admirable enough,¡± Gami rumbles. Nine feet tall, he looms over the nearby technicians like children. Every moody flick of his tail a death sentence. ¡°Though it could have been better preserved.¡±

    Thane lifts a recreated datapad from a half-melted workstation, sets it down on a different wing of the desk. ¡°You can thank their enforcers for the mess. And Valance.¡± The Psi flinches, saying nothing. Dark hair brushes over his eyes as he peers down. ¡°She¡¯s hungry. Too confident at times. Too eager at others.¡±

    ¡°As you are not?¡±

    ¡°I know my own capabilities perfectly well, master.¡±

    I pause at that desk while a technician walks past, eyeing the datapad Thane picked up. Technical specs of some sort of biological substance scroll past in holographic form; hexagonal charts of human genetic strings, the word DELFINA headlining the top of the page. I glance back to find Cal¡¯s eyes screaming at me to stop and her hand drawing a very clear line across her throat. I ignore her and slink forward through a long row of vats in perfect silence, tracking Thane and Jolie by small glimpses of their legs. Like a wolf through tall grass. Black umbilical tubes ending in nervejacks eerily similar to those in my arm dangle on either side, jungle vines stirred by distant climate control units.

    Venomous green light casts evil shadows across my face. I can¡¯t keep from looking at the tech I creep past. The eerie, decrepit nature of the equipment- the rust, corroded circuitry, ancient crust of dried liquids, tanks big enough to hold grown humans- it must all have been brought from some site deeper within the undercity. The Vents, like Thane said. But why? For what purpose would some lowlife crime lord need so many growth pods, and so much high-tech medical equipment? And why does Gami even care? Why has he brought me aunt here?

    My lips mouth the question at the very moment Thane asks it too, plucking a yellowed paper note from one of the vats. ¡°¡­the Executor who managed their operations in the Vents finished perfecting her Psis decades ago, but these machines were made during Mars¡¯ early years. Far more recent. And she abandoned them when she vacated the city.¡± I pull back when he glances over his shoulder, dangerously near to where I hide. Holding my breath as the weight of his golden eyes drifts past. ¡°Whatever her intentions were, the nature of this work eludes me.¡±

    ¡°You are not alone in that failure.¡± Gami slowly shifts towards a nearby growth pod fitted with an archaic hand-scanner, a sound like a dragon¡¯s displeasure reverberating from his core. ¡°Even with everything my Innovators require- funding, equipment, isolated facilities away from the public eye- they can replicate none of her product. I am beginning to wonder if I might need to replace them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Director Mons would know more,¡± he says, darting a glance at Jolie. ¡°Though whether that knowledge would be worth the cost of her cooperation is anyone¡¯s guess.¡±

    ¡°Her unwilling contributions thus far have already intrigued me.¡± Gami¡¯s tail slithers dangerously over the hand-scanner, booting up its ancient core. He continues working without looking. ¡°Your hand, apprentice.¡±

    Struck by curiosity, Thane slowly pulls the glove off his left hand with his teeth. My brow furrows. I lean forward, then clench when a flash of dark platinum suddenly bisects the laboratory air. Gami¡¯s tail whips out faster than a bullet. Heavier than a sledgehammer, yet as precise as a surgeons scalpel. The tip files to a razor point in the microsecond it slashes across Thane¡¯s palm. Droplets of blood snap off and slap into the glass nearby, two lone splatters of red leaving long tracers down Jolie¡¯s cheek.

    Not even flinching, Thane paces forward and presses his palm to the scanner. The circuitry within churns and clicks loudly. A pressure fills the space beside me; Cal finally catching up. Her hand starts to curl around my arm before freezing when the machine suddenly lights up red beneath Thane¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Ten percent genetic match,¡± he muses. ¡°How interesting.¡±

    Gami¡¯s tail snakes out again, coiling around Jolie¡¯s arm. Two taps of a huge, golem-like finger reset the machine. The razor tip hovers like a scorpion¡¯s tail over her palm. Commanding the fingers to open.

    Jolie stares up at him with the confidence of a woman on the gallows. ¡°Draw it yourself.¡±

    Thane sighs. ¡°Master, perhaps¡­¡±

    He cuts off as a second spear of metal erupts from Gami and snatches one of the working technicians by her neck, dragging her away from her petrified coworkers. Not even bothering to look back, he lifts her off her feet and out of my sight, holding her by the neck like a disobedient rodent. She begins to cough. Feet kicking wildly in the air, clutching at the metal vice.

    ¡°You have forgotten the worth of a politician in our world, Jolie Mons.¡± Gami lets the girl dangle a little lower, allowing her to take in a single gagging breath. ¡°Allow me to remind you.¡±

    I hear a snap. The gory crinkle of crushing cartilage as the Champion suddenly clenches his grip and chokes the life out of the technician until she¡¯s wrung dry. Like he¡¯s balling up scrap paper. Lifeless meat hits the ground with a wet thump. His tail sweeps the body towards where I hide. It jams into the space between the vats I¡¯m hiding behind. The girl stares up at me in shock, twitching and convulsing. Brown eyes wide open and begging for help. I go shock still and clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting at the gurgling noises escaping her.

    I tear my eyes away from the body as Gami casually flicks his tail, whipping off the gore. His impassive helm shifts to Jolie.¡°Your hand, Director. Unless another of your interns need pay for your defiance.¡±

    Face bloodless and mouth closed in silent shock, Jolie opens her palm for the Champion. Her eyes widen the moment before Gami¡¯s tail tenses and the crackling sound of a tree snapping in mid-winter splits the air.

    Jolie bites back a horrible scream so tightly that only a pained grunt emerges from her lips. Blood dripples from her mouth as she sinks to a knee. Rivulets of red leak from between the coils of Gami¡¯s tail. As it unfurls and slathers the blood over the console, her right arm falls limply to her side, shattered in three different places. The machine clicks and churns.

    ¡°Seven percent,¡± Thane quietly notes.

    Horror and dread swirl in a maelstrom of rage as I watch. That need for vengeance inside me morphing, coiling, corrupting into palpable loathing that pushes against the confines of my chest. The girl¡¯s body finally stills beside me, saving me the horror of her death sounds.

    ¡°Consider that your reminder,¡± Gami rumbles, flicking his tail at Valance. ¡°Take her away.¡±

    The Psi shoots a lethal look at the Champion¡¯s back before hauling Jolie back to her feet. Cal begins to slink away and follow. I clamp five fingers around her arm with a death grip, holding her in place, even as Valance leads my aunt to the edge of the laboratory. Two massive hydraulic doors split open down the center to let them pass. More warriors on the other side. The remaining technicians follow her out.

    I mouth a silent apology to Jolie. I can¡¯t save her, again. But there is still something I can still do.

    I look down at the crumpled, discarded body, and my fingers curl tighter.

    Gami¡¯s hammering footsteps resume their slow pace, giving me the chance I need to keep moving. ¡°Perhaps I was too hasty in having you dispatch the daughter of Mars,¡± the champion rumbles. ¡°I would have liked to test her as well. My predecessor chose that girl for a reason, despite her disgusting mutation.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not.¡± Thane¡¯s eyes linger on the scanner before he rejoins his master¡¯s wake, casually tearing off a length of his cloak and winding it around his hand. ¡°From what he told me, not even Mars knew why he adopted her.¡±

    ¡°You desire her still.¡±

    I feel without seeing the hesitation as Thane closes his eyes, not answering for a guilty heartbeat. ¡°She¡¯s gone. The past is the past,¡± is all he eventually says, cold as steel. ¡°Only time will tell if her death was our loss.¡±

    My death?

    I lean back from the corner of a glass-sided tank filled with discarded data transfer cables. Working through the words. He¡¯s talking like I¡¯m dead. And Gami thinks he killed me? My ears perk back up as the air vibrates; the Champion speaking again.

    ¡°Time is a commodity that grows ever more scarce. My enemies gather to test their luck against me. Even now¡­¡± His attention drifts right to the vat I hide behind, then stops. ¡°¡­their agents have an unfortunate habit of appearing at the least opportune moments.¡±

    He senses something.

    I haven¡¯t made a sound. Neither has Cal, and she¡¯s further back. I glance left, right, up. Searching for the cause. Then down. My toes rest atop a thin strip of metal inlaid in the floor. I suck in a hiss and jerk my foot back.

    Cracked glass reflects the dismissive hand motion Thane makes. ¡°I will deal with it.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Gami¡¯s volcanic amusement shakes the entire lab as he heads for a distant exit, the only one large enough to accommodate his size. ¡°I feel as if I should be insulted that they are so desperate as to send women and children to fight me now. Perhaps you should send them a message back.¡±

    ¡°Misguided spies aren¡¯t worth the time.¡±

    There¡¯s a hard moment between them before the champion responds.

    ¡°No, I suppose not. Return to me tomorrow. We have more to discuss.¡±

    Thane inclines his head in a cold bow. A quiet whisk of exhaling hydraulics escorts the champion out, closing the immense blast doors automatically in his wake. I watch him go in tense silence. Devouring Thane¡¯s reflection while he rises from his bow, but mind racing far ahead, still churning through their words. Gami thinks I¡¯m as dead as my father. But Cal said the order to kill me came from the office of the Champion. And if the Champion himself thinks I¡¯ve been gone three years¡­ then someone else had to have sent her after me.

    ¡°You can come out now,¡± he says, shrugging off his cloak.

    Someone else has been pulling the strings that brought me here.

    ¡°Ordinarily, I would at least ask the courtesy of seeing whatever unfortunate soul I have to make an example of¡­¡±

    And he¡¯s been playing me this entire time.

    ¡°¡­but we¡¯re far too familiar for that.¡±

    With the weight of three years of separation behind them, those golden eyes finally find me in the shadows like he¡¯s always known I was here. His lips quirk at the corners.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we, Tetsuka?¡±

 3.6 - THANE, THE DARK DISCIPLE

    I didn¡¯t know how I¡¯d react when I finally found him again.

    The ice that fills me now feels right. His voice might be just as I remember. Just as knowing, just as thoughtful, just as tempered. But it no longer belongs to the boy whose whispers once warmed my ears. It belongs to the monster his master made of him. A stranger wearing the skin of a lover.

    Another whisper, this one no memory, accompanies the blade that presses dangerous and sharp between my shoulder blades, directly behind my heart. ¡°I warned you.¡±

    I breathe out slowly, emptying my lungs. Breathe in again. Gauging the millimeters I have to work with- too few- as Cal roughly grabs my shoulder and hauls me to my feet, then pushes me towards the clearing where Thane waits.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to regret this,¡± I murmur.

    Cal¡¯s reply is as friendly as her blade. ¡°Tell me something I don¡¯t know.¡±

    My cracked reflection follows us through a forest of warped tanks. A girl with murder in her eyes and a storm in her veins. Her fists, the weapons of her father¡¯s creation, clenched to the breaking point. I shake my head, lose my hairband, and let my mane roar. Long strands of white billow across my face as Cal shoves me into the clearing. Mangled decking and derelict technology rise around us like the pillars of some long-forgotten temple to scientific gods. Holotables splay orbiting projections of information through the air, flickering at their immaterial edges in a silence broken only by bootsteps and outgassing hydraulics.

    All the while, he watches. Eyes like molten magma pouring over my silhouette. Every emotion hidden behind a cold mask of strikingly sharp features as beautiful as they are handsome. Drinking in the sight of me. Appraising, analyzing, dissecting. Like he¡¯s looking at a weapon, not a woman. How someone so capable of love could be so equally numb to it is alien to me. Even now, through the maelstrom of emotion tearing at my guts, I still feel a pull towards him. I¡¯ve always drawn strength from those instincts. Thane is a creature of an entirely different nature.

    His blinks are slow, draconic in their patience. Savage brushstrokes of dark hair stir in the current of an invisible wind; the outward omen of his Shifter class activating. His staff waits untouched in that sling on his back. Straightening languidly, he paces forward till he¡¯s mere feet away. Then closer still. Till we¡¯re so close that I can hear the quietness of his breath as he reaches out to touch me. One finger brushing hesitantly down my cheek, like I¡¯d disappear at the lightest pressure.

    His gaze lingers on my prosthetic arm. Drifts coldly over the pallor of my skin. Spares a fading glance at the body my clothes reveal. Then my disguising colors, the marks and scars I¡¯ve accumulated without him, and finally, back to the freckle-shadowed eyes.

    He sees a stranger too.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a while,¡± is the first thing he says.

    I glare back at him like a caged animal, restrained only by the knowledge of the danger I¡¯m in. And I¡¯m gnawing at the bars.

    ¡°Heard I was supposed to be dead,¡± I growl. ¡°Guess I¡¯m just full of surprises.¡±

    He sniffs out a single note of amusement. ¡°Some things never change.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say the same to you.¡± My face tightens, freckles wrinkling over my nose as I jerk away from his touch. ¡°Betraying Dad looks like the best decision you ever made.¡±

    ¡°Betrayal.¡± Cold caution fills his eyes. ¡°After three years, I thought you¡¯d bring a better rebuke.¡±

    ¡°And I thought you wouldn¡¯t be scared to finish the job your master started. Yet here you are, bantering words with the girl you left for dead.¡±

    ¡°Do you really think banter is the reason you¡¯re still being let to talk?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one with the pet assassin holding a knife to my neck,¡± I hiss. ¡°You tell me.¡±

    He lets out a disappointed breath. ¡°If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it plenty of times by now. Just hear me out. Please.¡±

    ¡°Listen. To you. After everything you¡¯ve done?¡± My teeth gnash. ¡°Did you bring me here because you really thought that there would ever be a universe where I would listen to you?¡±

    He steps right past my barb. ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired of fighting? Of hiding from Gami? We can put an end to it. Right here, right now. Hate me all you will Tetsuka, just listen to what I have to-¡±

    My eyes flash. All heat, I lunge at him before the familiar chill of a blade replaces itself like a collar around my neck. ¡°You don¡¯t get to use that name.¡± I snarl, jerking against Cal¡¯s grip. ¡°Not after everything you¡¯ve done, you bastard.¡±

    Thane flinches. The break vanishes than anyone except me would notice. Just a flicker in his inscrutable fa?ade as he turns his back. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to do this the hard way. But I will if I must.¡±

    I search his back for any sign of the boy I knew inside the person he became. Some kindred emotion. But there¡¯s nothing. He¡¯s a mask to me now.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Why?¡± It comes out barely louder than a whisper. ¡°After everything we had¡­ why, Thane? Why throw it all away?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore.¡± His gaze drifts to the side, the empty growth pods. Cold green light casting his jaw from beneath. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    I breathe out. Voice and mind hardening as one. ¡°Then come and get me. Finish what your master started.¡±

    ¡°I assure you, I didn¡¯t go to such lengths to find you just to kill you. I have higher needs for you than Gami does. Though they weren¡¯t made on the assumption of you being cut off from your ki.¡± So he noticed. ¡°We¡¯ll start by fixing that. Making you receptive to my plans can wait for later.¡±

    My stomach twists in a cold knot.

    Leaning on a holotable, Thane lets his attention move on to black-haired girl behind me, giving time for his next words to choose themselves. ¡°You¡¯re ahead of schedule. And you didn¡¯t tell me you were coming.¡±

    Cal¡¯s shoulders lift in a small shrug. ¡°Didn¡¯t have a chance. This one¡¯s a handful.¡± She pats me too-friendly on my real shoulder. ¡°Besides. You¡¯re busy enough as it is. I could take care of one runaway on my own.¡±

    ¡°You did well. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°So. I brought her, just like you wanted. What¡¯s next?¡±

    Thane picks meticulously at his fingernails. ¡°A fair question. Though it begs another in turn.¡± Those golden eyes drift back to me, though he keeps speaking to his sister. ¡°When did you start asking questions, Cal?¡±

    ¡°Right around when you decided to start working behind the Champion,¡± Cal cooly replies, kicking the back of my leg. I fall to a knee with a gasp, the blade- long as her forearm- resting against my neck. ¡°Keeping this one alive was more trouble than offing her outright. Double that for hiding her from Gami. It¡¯s all risk, no reward. Gami killed her father- even if you had Valance melt her mind into a drooling mess, there¡¯s no way she¡¯d ever do anything but fight back.¡±

    ¡°You say that with such confidence, yet you chose to lure her here without alerting me all the same. As if the thought that she might be more dangerous than she seems never once crossed your mind.¡± Thane slowly shrugs off his cloak. ¡°Or, perhaps you didn¡¯t come to this place for me after all.¡±

    Cal scoffs. ¡°I don¡¯t-¡±

    He cuts her off with a raised hand. ¡°Tell me- just how long has Tay had you fooled?¡±

    Some subliminal change in his voice sends a shiver of warning down my neck. The hairs on my left arm stand on end. The pads of my fingers tighten against the ground as I line up the distance separating me from us. Tension builds in my limbs like a spring compressing. Willfully ignorant of how suicidal it would be to challenge Thane. Nothing can hold back the roiling maelstrom inside me now.

    ¡°You¡¯re clever, Cal. You¡¯re not an idiot,¡± Thane continues, not waiting for a response. Watching me war against my instincts, seeing if I¡¯ll crack like he wants. Trying to awaken me the way he always has. ¡°You knew Tay would recognize you sooner or later. You were prepared for it. And I warned you atop it all.¡± His eyes lid halfway. ¡°You knew she was using you to get to me, and you let her do it.¡±

    I blink twice.

    ¡°What?¡± Cal asks at the same time I think it. ¡°I couldn¡¯t give less a shit about who she is or what she¡¯s done. I¡¯m asking for you, Thane.¡± Her boot shifts fractionally to the side, toe pressing against a piece of char just within my reach. Free hand lifting her Relic up. ¡°Do you remember what you told me when you gave me this?¡±

    ¡°Every word. But I¡¯m starting to question if you¡¯ve forgotten it yourself. You¡¯ve never lied to me before, Cal.¡±

    Cal¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°I don¡¯t lie.¡±

    ¡°Then answer me this: you felt it the moment you saw her. Didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Her fingers clench.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so surprised. You¡¯re not the first to feel it, Cal. That magnetism.¡± Thane paces forward, index and middle finger trailing along the top of a holotable, scattering virtual sparks across its surface. ¡°My mistake, assuming you immune to attachment just because it¡¯s never interested you before. But you couldn¡¯t ignore this feeling. Could you?¡± His golden eyes flick to me. ¡°I would know.¡±

    Cal says nothing. Thane carries right on.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to say more. I already know the story. It began, I assume, right around when you started to question if I was right. If this girl who you felt pulled to from the very first moment had more to her story than black and white details.¡± His patience fades, voice hardening. ¡°Perhaps you even wondered if the brother you¡¯ve trusted all these years might not be who you thought he was. So you brought her here to find the truth. Using her just like she¡¯s been using you.¡±

    Liar, my mind hisses.

    ¡°Maybe you were even considering helping her.¡±

    Betrayer.

    ¡°But before you choose, you deserve to know what a mistake that would be.¡±

    The ice inside me begins splintering, fissures multiplying as I suddenly understand where he¡¯s going. He¡¯d do anything to hurt me. He wants me to break. He wants me to remember what I am and what I used to be. To break free of the rust and chains claiming my heart. He¡¯s forgotten why he should be afraid of me. So I¡¯ll remind him. I¡¯ll show him what breaking really means.

    The violent impulse pounding through my veins redoubles. Shattering through my composure. Mania becoming vitriolic fuel my aether devours in greedy gulps to gather the strength for ignition. It rips through me like liquid fire. Burning from inside out.

    Cal¡¯s blade drifts fractionally away from my neck. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Tay told you our Champion killed her father, didn¡¯t she?¡±

    In the corner of my eye, Cal nods warily.

    ¡°She lied to you,¡± Thane says, callously ripping into my heart with the sharpest blade he has. ¡°She knew you never would have helped her if you knew the truth of what really drives her. Why she would kill me right where I stand if she could, and why she¡¯s planning to do the same to you the moment you outlive your use.¡±

    My composure cracks.

    Gaps growing in my mind. Horror coming out behind clenched teeth and closed eyes. Reliving the day of my undoing. Thane stabs the memory into my soul with heartless patience, one word at a time. A body limp in rain-soaked sand. Red hair pooled wet and lifeless. Blood on my arms. Screams in my ears. Glass warping my vision. Fading pulse beneath my palm. My soul shrieking insanity, unable to contain its breaking, until I tore myself away from it forever so I wouldn¡¯t unravel. Compartmentalizing. Blotting. Swearing to survive. Burying that day and the memories that precede it in the darkest corner of my mind.

    Now it all comes rushing back. All of it. And it zeroes in on the man in front of me, consuming every ounce of my being.

    Hating him.

    Hating him.

    ¡°Because it wasn¡¯t Gami who killed her father.¡±

    Hating.

    HATING.

    ¡°It was me.¡±

 3.7 - THE INVINCIBLE

    I snap.

    Dimly, I¡¯m aware of Cal sprawling as I kick off her and lunge from the ground faster than a shadow fleeing light. The distance between Thane and I evaporates. I¡¯m onto him in an instant. Eye-to-eye, magmatic gold filling my vision for a split second before he sidesteps with precognitive grace and smashes his staff into me like a stubborn tree trunk.

    My body folds. Air ejecting as I¡¯m lifted off my feet. World tumbling. I¡¯m flung out of the clearing and crash into the rows of vats like a cannonball, ending inside one amidst a nest of broken black umbilical cables. Sparks skitter across the floor. Tinkling glass drips off me. Fresh slices gleam red down my exposed back. A console outside the vat clicks and churns, glowing pale green beneath a veneer of fresh blood. Glowing indigo liquid drips into my hair from some ruined tube.

    A howl builds in my chest. I hiss a seething gasp through chattering teeth. My nails scrape and break against hard metal. The howl rises to my throat. I shake. I shudder. Glass vibrates like wind chimes. I mumble a single word through the maelstrom like a death curse: Again. My lips repeat that word in a murderous promise: Again. Again. My soul screams to give in. And finally, I stop caring to hold it back.

    The nightmare of aura I¡¯ve been keeping so tenuously bottled ignites like a match dropped on a nitromethane puddle. Every pore of my body bursts open at once. Black, monstrous ki flashes into the laboratory like a hurricane. Chokingly noxious. My body isn¡¯t ready for the shock. Dark kinetic energy surges into every inch of skin, every twine of muscle, every fiber of nerve in a single beat of my manic heart. Searing my nerves from the inside out. And my soul keeps churning the energy out at a freakish speed I can¡¯t control, siphoning limitless fuel from the killing frenzy in my head. Raging faster. Faster. Devouring the emotion in gasps and gulps as it feeds and feeds and feeds and my head snaps back to Thane like a puppet possessed and I¡¯m gonna kill him. I¡¯m going to kill him. I¡¯m going. To. Kill.

    The lab groans, datapads and debris whirling into the hurricane, the entire sublevel creaking as it¡¯s made to bend under the force of a nightmarish flood of energy. Kinetic tremors shudder through the floor. Bolts and debris rattle across the deck. Even the light dims as it¡¯s bathed in my wrath. Anything not screwed down is swept into the tempest. It¡¯s insane. More raw ki dumps into the atmosphere in half a second than twenty lesser fighters could summon in an entire minute. And it doesn¡¯t stop.

    Inside, the dark flood escalates in an unending runway. Eating me alive. I scream as crackling pain shoots through my body so forcefully that my back arches in reverse, fingers real and fake clawing on air. Sensing the exponentially rising danger, Thane reaches out with his master¡¯s infamous class, liquifying the floor around me. Metal spreads and encompasses like a flytrap closing shut.

    Decades of hardcoded instincts take over. I just barely manage to snap back into control, riding rodeo on the mind-blanking torrent coursing through me. Black ki crackles down my limbs. Explosive, like rocket fuel injected straight into muscle tissue. Spinning off the ground, I let the power flow through my palm and saw out of the closing prison, then dive back at the clearing haloed by a buckshot payload of half-melted steel. Behind, the severed upper half of the tank slides off and smashes into the ceramic floor with a sound like a temple bell.

    ¡°Cal!¡± Thane shouts.

    But the tidal force I¡¯ve awakened inside can¡¯t be stopped. It catapults me forward in a flash flood of movement. Closing the distance to Thane. I ricochet through the derelict tanks and slash down to slide sparking across the floor, carbon fiber arm screaming in protest as a knife whizzes through the trailing tail of my hair.

    I twist mid-slide to see Cal recoiling from the throw. My left hand snaps up on reflex. The power within leaps to without. I don¡¯t even have to think to channel it. All the aura pouring from me bends to the overwhelming will of my violence and focuses down my arm, through my palm, building to the intensity of an orbital strike in a nanosecond. Inhaling the atmosphere like the world itself is gasping in shock.

    A pulse of dark light shatters the lab like a thunderclap, tearing through holotables and Oldtech machinery like dry paper before churning into rest of the machinary. Cal disappears inside the blast. The kinetic shockwave rips a cone of destruction meters wide. Scorched ozone sizzles like bacon in the aftermath. I twist through the smoke and skip off the floor in a corkscrew bullet jump, slamming into Thane¡¯s raised staff so hard I hang in midair on sheer momentum.

    ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± I hiss over the weapon, nearly faltering outright from the pain of the ever-escalating aura. Mind white with agony, yet I¡¯m seeing through it anyways. My whole body shudders from the load. But I can take it. I can take it. ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± I gasp again, meeting his iron gaze.

    ¡°And you¡¯re out of control.¡± Thane stares through the strands of his fallen hair unblinking. ¡°You¡¯re everything your father feared you¡¯d be.¡±

    ¡°Because of you, Thane!¡± My voice cracks with hate. ¡°You took everything from me and still you laugh. As if I was left with anything other than this anger I suffer! I hate you, I hate him, I hate that I hate you and that Dad is gone and he will never see me again. I hate that I am alone! You should have killed me when you killed him!¡±

    His eyes widen. I howl and throw all my supercharged strength into him, wrenching his staff out of the way. Too hard. He lets the weapon drop and releases his grip, letting my momentum carry me past with the staff still clutched in my hands.

    I react on sheer reflex, cutting at his neck with a chop as I overshoot. Thane deflects it barehand, redirecting the human-shattering force over his shoulder with the most minor of movements. My toes jam down. Monastic weaponry filling my hands. Even if it¡¯s Thane¡¯s, I¡¯m not untrained. The staff glides across my carbon-fiber palm as I swipe it across my back in a defensive cross to intercept Thane¡¯s replying strike. I finish the spin and burst into him with an animalistic frenzy of knee strikes, kicks, and jabs that he blocks like he¡¯s reprimanding a child. Deflecting my blows so eloquently that I can¡¯t displace him a single inch.

    The futile onslaught only enrages me more. Feeding the positive feedback loop that¡¯s devouring my soul. I snap a low kick to clip Thane¡¯s ankles and he steps powerfully into my range instead, stamping a foot down between my legs to cut off my rotation. My eyes widen as I feel the ground shift beneath me and a beam of metal pistons out of the floor, launching me away in a ragdoll flip.

    Thane¡¯s staff clatters into the darkness. Tumbling through the air, I rotate and throw an arm out backwards. Black energy surges and leaps at him like lightning, erupting into a pillar of black light five feet wide. Thane casually snaps his fingers. Holotables and gurneys lunge out like snakes as I flip past, snagging my torso and clotheslining me back to the ground. Cutting the blast off at the neck. The beam reaches him a heartbeat later. Enough power in that impulsive burst to level a Titan-classed Mecha. But rather than disappear inside it, Thane catches the energy in his hands and bends it like water. Horrifically painful black lightning crackles down his arm as it flows towards his other palm. He doesn¡¯t even grimace. Animal panic spikes inside as he mouths a mantra I know by heart:

    ¡°First comes hands.¡±

    And my father¡¯s teachings tear back at me in a beam of my own kinetic energy, melting me under a metal prison. More molten debris rains down across the lab as the carnage I wreaked scatters across the space like steel leaves.

    I tremble beneath the slag as it cools and pings. Scorched across my entire back. Vibrating on the edge of sanity. Spine bracing against the scalding heat as I strain to shove free. Even just to get my hand free enough to start sawing with ki. Panting for breath, I listen for the calm pace of Thane approaching to finish me off. But it¡¯s another, far softer pair of soles that treads casually into my vision first, halfway around the other side of the clearing.

    ¡°I thought you wanted her alive,¡± Cal says.

    ¡°Tay isn¡¯t the type to listen to words, believe me. The only cure for a temper like hers is to beat it until it can¡¯t move.¡± The buzzing sound fades as Thane exchanges classes again. A Shifter¡¯s wind stirs the battlefield. I can almost hear him crane his neck to examine the currents of my kinetic hurricane. He stretches his shoulder in a small circle. ¡°I know you feel that murderous miasma too, Cal. Her bloodlust radiating into you, infecting you with its frenzy. That¡¯s what¡¯s left of her soul. I hope it cures you of the idea of growing a morality. She just tried to kill you.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°I don¡¯t exactly blame her.¡± Cal¡¯s smoking, singed leather boots creak as she nudges Thane¡¯s fallen staff. ¡°She was right about you. All this time.¡±

    ¡°You already knew that,¡± he warns. ¡°Perhaps not in full, but enough. Your hands are no less stained. Don¡¯t think you¡¯re any safer from her.¡±

    ¡°Believe me¡­¡± Cal stomps on the end of the staff like an airboard, flipping it up into her hand. ¡°¡­I¡¯m well aware.¡±

    Shifting wind stirs Thane¡¯s hair to the side. ¡°Don¡¯t. You¡¯ll regret it.¡±

    He says it with such finality that she freezes on instinct. Then he switches back to me. Gaze piercing through all the debris I¡¯m buried beneath. ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten why you should have been more afraid of losing, Tay.¡± He clicks his tongue. ¡°Let this be a ray of reality for that delusion.¡±

    Thane waves his hand and the metal burden I strain to cut through, flash-fried into place by his ki blast, suddenly lifts free. Ruined projector screens flash across my retinas. I throw myself sideways and the metal reforms with sentient precocity, wrapping around my neck and legs. Dragging me back towards the ground. I fight it every inch, choking for breath, hands slamming down and arms bracing just to stop myself from being flattened out like a prize rug. Then, just before my quivering strength fails, Thane suddenly grunts and the pressure halts.

    Fighting against the weight around my neck, I wrench my head up to see Thane stagger forward a single step, face tight with pain. The hilt of a dull metal blade protrudes from his shoulder.

    ¡°Would you look at that,¡± Cal says, casually spinning Thane¡¯s staff in her hand. ¡°Bluffing after all.¡±

    The moment of distraction is all I need. Agonizing ki explodes again through my veins as I feel Thane¡¯s control slacken. No hesitation. I rip out of my metal bonds and flash forward, loosed across the battlefield in an arrow of black light.

    Golden eyes blink up to meet me. An invisible wind kicks through Thane¡¯s hair, the omen of his Shifter powers activating again as he exchanges classes. A white spellbook blinks into his hands-

    ¡°-Spell Dilation, Avaritic Arsenal, Energy Conduction Five-¡±

    -the book dematerializes and he shifts classes again the instant before I hit. Translucent light of a Guardian-classed barrier flashes into hexagonal shape between us. My bones creak as I slap into the field and rebound wildly, pinwheeling towards Cal as she dives to attack me from the other side. I bend my momentum into a wild twist, throwing my shoulder at her and whipping into a three-sixty reverse kick so fast my toes skip clear of the ground.

    She¡¯s already springing over my head. White wood flashes. Carbon fiber sparks four times in a single second as she passes, too fast an exchange for anything but a slow-motion replay to catch. Nicked but not hurt. Blocking my strikes without replying in kind, she slashes down on my other side, deflects a chasing attack Thane aims at my spine, then dives straight into him with his own weapon.

    Cal¡¯s opening salvo is even faster than the one she used on me, a whirling series of acrobatic low-high crosses that buys precious seconds. ¡°He killed your father, didn¡¯t he!?¡± she shouts back. ¡°So fight! Snap out of it and fight, you stubborn, freckled mess! I¡¯m doing this for you!¡±

    Thane meets her like mercury. He shifts classes and a battered six-o-clock revolver with a white-black paintjob fills his hands. Weaving around the staff¡¯s ends as Cal hunts for his center mass. Precognizant footwork, sidestepping with perfect timing borne from years of elite experience, then pivoting back-to-back and using his sister as a shield like an unwilling dance partner. Somehow the revolver¡¯s barrel locks onto me as I close. Sapphire electrolytic rounds prime in the ammo cylinder, then scream across the clearing in staccato as he squeezes the trigger without stopping.

    One round skitters off my leg and another slams into my side as I juke. Paralytic current erupts through the muscles like a cramp. Slowing but not stopping me as I compress the black ki pouring out of me into a crackling dark star within my palm, then flip through a sideways cartwheel to add a martial artist¡¯s flourishing momentum to the supersonic blast that I jerk back a hair-trigger from releasing.

    Through my scorched fingers, I watch as Cal feints low and strikes high at Thane¡¯s Gunslinger revolver, smacking the weapon from his grip. Her offhand sweeps at his open neck with a hidden dagger. Already retaliating, Thane meets the edge of the blade with an open palm and the dagger turns to liquid as it flows out of her hand, across his skin, then over his shoulders and into his other hand where he backhand whips it at me without even looking.

    I rip to the side. Cold steel punches through the meat of my collar instead of my heart. My control frays. Snaps. Before I can reign in the impulse that fires back, the blast building in my hand releases with a firecracker cackle. Kinetic wrath punches through the air like a supersonic delete key. Half the laboratory is wiped out in the breadth of a thought. Spilt oil ignites in a curtain of flame to ring the clearing.

    Filling the space Thane just pivoted out of, Cal has a microsecond of warning to activate her Relic before she¡¯s atomized in his place. Ki vacuums into her Relic in a stream of light. Thane gives her no respite. He throws himself between Cal and I like my father would in the garden, using our disharmony to unravel each other. Dueling against both sides simultaneously. Building his flow step by step. Eyes whispering closed he seamlessly cycles classes again and a web of electric-blue nanolines wraps into a Duelist blade with a circular crossguard in his right hand. I leap in to stop him from finishing the weapon and he snaps his fingers instead, combusting elemental fire from the atmosphere to slam my head sideways into a workstation.

    Stars explode through my head. Unconsciousness pushing hard against my brain. I drip off the desk with a groan. Thane¡¯s undivided attention falls on his sister. Focusing her down. Pruning the variables. Gami¡¯s teachings now, not my father¡¯s. A logical equation he wields to deadly effect.

    She does well to last six seconds. Too fast to react to by eye, Thane¡¯s blade cross-slashes from opposing directions to envelop Cal¡¯s attention; keeping her fully trapped in defense. A flash of metal carves across the nerves of the wrist she controls her Relic with before she can activate it again. Then Psionic tampering muddies her reflexes. He shifts classes and electricity arcs into her legs from nearby machinery, staggering her footwork. He shifts again. Sword blows rain down on her like hammer falls. Telekinetically seized debris shatters her shoulder joint with a wet pop. Her defense caves under the omnidirectional onslaught. A near miss carves off a flap of bicep and a chunk of an ear on the opposite side. Right side, left side. Opening up her center line. Lungracian stance, first mantra. Before she can recover, Thane ends the exchange like an executioner, pivoting one-eighty to hack through her and meet me in the same motion.

    He swings without thinking, expecting Cal to do anything but be cut in half at the waist. He doesn¡¯t see she¡¯s faltered to her wounds until it¡¯s too late.

    An instinct wildly different from the killing frenzy fires through me as I see it happening. My body responds without thinking. My hateful aura suddenly evaporates. I lunge forward and throw my arm into the path of the blade, shielding Cal with my body. Metal bites into flesh and bone from wrist to elbow. Biting deep. I stifle a grunt. Blood wells and pours. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, false blue against magmatic gold.

    Then the force of the blow hurls me away and we¡¯re tumbling and I¡¯m clutching Cal half-conscious to my chest, gasping for breath as the pain shakes through me. Eyes fixed on Thane all the while. He doesn¡¯t make a move to chase me. Just calmly magnetizes his staff back into hand from the depths of the flames, eyeing the dark storm that¡¯s suddenly faded around us.

    My chest rises and falls at a manic pace, still gripped by the adrenaline high. Left arm hanging limp, flesh scorched like a sunburn from neck to nails, blood dripping and oozing freely, shuddering down to the fingers. Stained hair draped lifelessly across my face. I keep backing up, never once letting Thane leave my vision. Fists aching to ruin him as he has me. But I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t push it. I should have known better. I couldn¡¯t beat him at my best, and I should never have fought him now. But I did.

    And now I¡¯m running in the only way I know. A wild animal slinking away from a threat.

    Thane stops me with a shout. Not an angry shout. A worried one. The named bullet he knows will find my heart.

    ¡°Tetsuka,¡± he calls, letting my name linger for tortuous seconds. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you. Just stop and listen to me, please.¡±

    Wet-eyed, I feel out the grating that we entered through with my feet and kick it open.

    ¡°You¡¯re just delaying the inevitable. I¡¯m not the only one hunting for you. If Gami learns that you¡¯re still alive, I can¡¯t protect you from him.¡± He breathes out quietly, that tentative way he does before saying something without testing the future. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t have to be that way.¡±

    He holds out a callused hand for me to take. Planting the seeds as his master did so long ago.

    ¡°I still need your strength. You could join me. End all of this running and hiding. Hate me if you must, but listen to me, Tay. Together, we could be enough to stop him. We could make things right.¡± His hand waits. ¡°I can¡¯t do it alone.¡±

    I search his hand for a long moment before shaking my head. The faintest, tortured twitch.

    ¡°Make things right?¡± My voice cracks in disbelief, bloodshot tears slipping down my cheeks. ¡°You took him from me, Thane. How could you?¡±

    His eyes close, fingers curling reticently inwards one by one.

    ¡°How could you?¡± I croak. ¡°Dad loved you, and you killed him.¡±

    He has no answer.

    I turn my back and run.

 4.0 - FALL

    Down, down, down into the concrete crust of the city. Salty tears wetting my gore-smeared face, I slide into the vertical service shaft with Cal cradled in my one working arm and drop into the darkness. Earlier, she wondered if this tunnel went all the way to the undercity. The Vents. The lawless criminal underworld of the capital. Aunt Jolie had no shortage of warnings about the place. But I can¡¯t flee upwards. My choice is made for me.

    I plummet down the narrow passage as fast as I dare, outracing the shadows behind. For all his talk, Thane won¡¯t just stand there and wait for me to flee. He wants me. He needs me- or my old strength, at least. That raw potential still lurks inside my soul, even if I can¡¯t touch it now.

    Thane is intimately familiar with that potential and the temperamental levers that control it. He¡¯s also the only Shifter of his caliber and nearly untouchable unless he wills it. So if he thinks he needs an even greater power than the one he already has, no lingering attachment will stand in his way. He¡¯ll send the wolves this time.

    Cloistered in the dark, I brace against the concrete with my lacerated back, ignoring the glass shards that push deeper into the meat. Pain and anger keep me together. Barely. I¡¯m unraveling at the seams, mentally and physically.

    Just more blood, I mumble, half-delirious. A delusion that holds until my wrecked body finally gives two sublevels down and my legs crumple inwards.

    I plummet. Darkness flashes past. Then faint, sickly light begins to glow from below. The shaft widens. I clutch Cal to my chest and tense. Blocky silhouettes race upwards to meet me. I twist past the first pipe worming out of the wall and straight into the second, nearly breaking in half over a solid concrete rain drain before slapping off a handful more ledges and power conduits on the way down.

    The drop feels like it lasts forever. It ends in concrete and cracked bones and choking silence. A tangled canopy of data transfer cables and black electric wiring snag me right at the end, catching around my neck like a noose. I rip them away and crash down into the waterlogged passage at the bottom of the shaft. Cal flops from my arm with a groan.

    Spluttering on water, I shove out of the puddle before my body remembers that it¡¯s more dead than alive. Agony explodes through my head like a flashbang. Then I¡¯m clawing up onto an elbow with a fresh rash down my face. My prosthetic arm creaks and groans on its last legs. Jointed fingers firing in small spasms as the biological circuits woven with my body- half-melted by the amount of energy that was just coursing through me- start failing on the somatic level. A feedback shock jolts through my ribcage.

    Blanketed in mops of white hair, I blink through bleary vision and force my head up. The brick walls of the passage widen ahead into a grungy, neon-choked alley. Through its mouth, I get my first look at the capital¡¯s lawless urban hell.

    I stare in silence at the scale of it.

    The Vents is a ravine of human greed. Far above, almost out of sight through a maze of interconnected towers, bridges, and layered city blocks, an endless plane of metal punctured by smog dumpers and rain drains replaces the sky I know with a pressure cooker lid. Giant scars rive through the false sky, pierced by the rare glowing trail of a flying class. Mass transport tubes for cargo and humans riddle the crust of the city like IV drips. Below those, massive upside-down towers of apartments and illicit businesses and fight clubs and club clubs and more stretch on and on through the boughs of the undercity. Like some giant debaucherous forest whose trees are pointed at hell, not heaven.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Smoggy rivers of rainbow lights worm between the bridges. Dim trails of ki and technology from flying classes crisscross between the blocks higher up. Storefronts pour neon advertisements and cyan holoscreens like runoff. So many lights to distract from the darkness that stretches on to infinity below: the Abyss, the yawning void that lurks beneath the capital.

    Back home, I always thought the Abyss was a myth. There was no way it was real. An infinite darkness? Anything that went into it never came out? Surely someone had explored it by now. Surely it wasn¡¯t as large as the stories made it seem. Yet even at the furthest limits of my vision, I can still see that darkness lurking beyond the lights. Hungry and waiting.

    A shiver runs down my spine the longer I stare at it. Around me, acidic runoff drips into inch-deep puddles around the alley. Grungy neon spits colored light near the exit onto the rest layer I landed in, a heavily trafficked thoroughfare filled with undercity natives who stride with jagged gaits. Some start peering into the alley as they pass. Lurid hands. Greedy eyes.

    An airless cough comes from behind me, dragging me back. Reminding me all over again of the hell I¡¯m trapped in. Of the even worse one I just left behind. Black hair. Gold eyes. I jam my nails into my collar until the skin splits, teeth gritting, trying to blank it out even for a second. But I can¡¯t escape. Not even in my own head.

    Lurching upright, I slam my back against the closest wall, reseating my dislocated shoulder with a sick fluidic pop. I almost black out and fall again. But I have to keep moving. Even when I¡¯m shattered and teetering on the breaking point. Because no one¡¯s coming to save me, and I know the moment that I look back at Cal and see the color of her irises, that I have to get away. Before I do something I¡¯ll regret.

    I stumble towards the mouth of the alley. Cal claws at my shirt with her working hand. ¡°Don¡¯t you leave me,¡± she pants through chattering teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking leave me here.¡±

    My mouth works in silence, but no words will come. I shake my head and tear away. She tries to follow, can¡¯t even get off the ground she¡¯s so wounded.

    ¡°Tay!¡±

    ¡°STOP!¡± I whirl back, trying not to scream. ¡°Stop talking to me! Just leave me alone!¡±

    ¡°Leave you alone? The only place you¡¯re going like this is your funeral.¡± She shuts up and swallows hard when I lean my fake arm against the wall, burying my head in the elbow joint.

    ¡°-Let me go,¡± I shudder. My fingers tense like claws. ¡°Let me go before I kill something.¡±

    Her fingers release with a resigned look. ¡°Tell me you¡¯re gonna come back.¡±

    ¡°Quit pretending you¡¯re my guardian angel, Cal. You¡¯re not. You¡¯re just an killer using me for your hero fantasies.¡± I don¡¯t care how she recoils; it¡¯s the truth. ¡°If you¡¯re going to keep lying to me, do me a favor: get lost.¡±

    A disbelieving chuckle shudders through her shoulders. ¡°Everything I¡¯ve done, and that¡¯s all I¡¯ll ever be to you. An enemy.¡±

    Her gaze weighs heavy between my shoulder blades as I turn away. Her voice reaches out like one final olive branch, stopping me at the streetlight¡¯s edge. Tone softening to that lilt that¡¯s fooled me so many times. Or maybe it¡¯s never fooled me at all. Could Thane really have been right? Could she really have been trying to protect me all this time, and for so simple a reason?

    ¡°Don¡¯t get hurt out there. Okay?¡± Cal murmurs.

    I breathe out a hitching breath before disappearing into the undercity.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back.¡±

 4.1 - THE LAMENT

    I need to get away.

    The first steps out of the alley are excruciating, made worse by the grime and smoggy cold that eats at my exposed body. I don¡¯t know where I am, where I¡¯m going, or what I¡¯m going to do. I just need to escape. I need something. Anything. Ghosts of the past haunt me, lurking behind my shoulders, clawing at the cracks in my brain. I want to scream at them and make them go away. I almost do. But they¡¯re not so patient as Cal was.

    I wrap my arms across my chest and push on across the concrete bridges and walkways, losing myself in the undercity crowds. Shiveringly conscious of how exposed I am in my gala clothes compared to the grey cloaks, acidproof tarps, and filter-masked faces that surround me. Hoods raised, masks veiling all but the eyes, protecting their owners from the ever-present trickles of corrosive runoff dripping down from the surface districts. The assault on my senses never relents. Sickeningly fake meat sizzles nauseous scents in towerside stall-carts. Yelling, shouting, shattering bottles, blaring stream screens blare on every corner. Drunken voices reach out at me as I limp past a grungy bar with blown-out walls.

    ¡°Little sister, you¡¯re too far from the Orange to be wearing all that skin!¡±

    ¡°Pretty thing too. Where you coming from with that limp?¡±

    ¡°Slut¡¯s a Duelist clearly,¡± another says. ¡°Hey! Come practice with my blade sometime!¡±

    More laughter. A Gunslinger five drinks too deep slurs his pistol out of its holster and fires a drunken shot well over my head. I flinch and stagger on. ¡°Scram on back to your masters, slave!¡± he yells at my back. ¡°Tell Dynasty we don¡¯t want their scraps polluting our streets!¡±

    Some sleazebag Mecha with an oily black frame jogs up beside me, tarp cloak flapping. He unrolls his wrist gauntlet to reveal a small armory of needles filled with a rainbow of glowing liquids. ¡°You want stims, sister? I got stims.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off,¡± I growl.

    ¡°You want Shatter? I can getcha Shatter.¡±

    ¡°I said fuck off!¡± I scream. Black ki erupts from my body in a roiling aura of dark fire, scaring the Mecha off faster than a rat. Voices murmur. Eyes and hands start drifting towards JOYs and holstered weapons. People stare at me like fresh meat or veer carefully away. So many people. Too many. Everyone¡¯s looking. Pressure adding in my head. It¡¯s all so much. Too much. I hate it. I hate it all and I need to get away and I can¡¯t get away from the things in my head or the things that aren¡¯t in there because there¡¯s no end to them, there¡¯s never going to be an end because I¡¯m all alone and I¡¯m always alone and there¡¯s no more footsteps coming through the door, no more arms to hold me safe, no voice telling me it¡¯s alright and it¡¯ll all be okay, nothing, there¡¯s nothing, no Dad, no future, no hope, no point, nothing to go back to, just hate and anger and clinging to the things I lost as if hate could ever bring them back. As if I could ever fix these ashes my life became.

    My eyes actually start tearing up. Salt and wetness drips down my face before I can stop it. Hands clamping around my skull, I shove through the crowds and stumble out onto a wide concrete bridge that spans the thirty-meter gap between two undercity blocks, fleeing the dark spiral of my thoughts again. I can never walk fast enough.

    Why isn¡¯t Dad here when I need him the most?

    He doesn¡¯t answer, not even in memory. He never answers. He never, ever answers. It strikes me to staggering, making me lean over the bridge¡¯s railing just to take a breath in the fetid wind. Staring the yawning darkness in its open mouth. Begging for some escape. Some sign. Some end to it all.

    There¡¯s no end to the suffering but the one staring back at me.

    It¡¯d be so easy. So easy to make it stop.

    Then someone bumps into me. I jerk away from the suicidal plunge to the Abyss with tears streaming down my cheeks. Can¡¯t wipe them all away. Pawing at the wetness and smearing it in with the dried blood, I fall into the closest alley after the bridge, push past a stack of rotting plastic crates, and slump down in the darkness behind them, letting it all spill out where no one in the world can see.

    ¡°I need you,¡± I cry, bunching up angry fistfuls of salt-matted hair in my hands. ¡°I can¡¯t keep going like this, Dad.¡±

    Choking gasps rattle my shoulders. Quietly sobbing. Elbows resting on tattered knees while my head hangs in between, fingers running through my hair, trying and failing to keep the pieces of my skull together. Tears drip and melt into the concrete. There¡¯s no hand on my arm, no warmth thrown over my shoulders. No one coming to chase me down and make sure I¡¯m fine.

    Because when it matters most, I¡¯m alone.

    When I was little, I always thought I wanted to be strong. Now, nineteen and too old for my age, the only thing I want is a moment to be weak. Even now I can¡¯t have it.

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    No one can survive for me. There is no reprieve from this burden I carry. And I doubt there will be until the day I die. Because even if I survive, even if I somehow escape this city and someday escape Gami¡¯s reach, someone must take on the fight Dad started. Someone has to break the cycle. Someone has to stop Gami. Else there will always be more monsters; more people being butchered like that girl in the laboratory. And I¡¯ll spend every night of the rest of my short life wondering if it¡¯ll be my last, just like I have these last three years.

    Catching my breath in waves of hitching, I slowly start collecting the broken pieces of myself and shoving them as deep down in my heart as they¡¯ll go. I move mechanically on the outside, autonomous instinct. Tears and snot are wiped away and forgotten. I suck in the fullest breath my wrecked body can handle. Sniffle loudly. Clench my fingers, unclench, clench again. Rake another handful of carbon fiber fingers through my hair. Sniff again, look up.

    Bottle it, Tets. You can get up again. You¡¯ve gotten up from worse.

    The ambiance of the nearby streets give me the anchor I need to haul myself up. Tonight, I have to be all numb momentum. Bouncing is the only way I can get up, falling like I did. And it¡¯ll mean hitting off something hard.

    I cough out a laugh as I limp to the mouth of the alley, leaning hard on a dumpster.

    ¡°Gotten up from worse?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Thane didn¡¯t¡­ used to be¡­ that good.¡±

    It¡¯s said that the more powerful a ki fighter becomes, the less they are physical creatures as they are spiritual. Food isn¡¯t so necessary, as they sustain themselves more on the spiritual energy of the world. Injuries, too, are more a reflection of a soul¡¯s will being battered down than an actual physical detriment. Used to be that I¡¯d be walking off even grievous injuries within a couple of days. Drove Aunt Jolie crazy, that I¡¯d never rest long in bed. But the me who could shrug off Thane¡¯s current handiwork after a couple nights¡¯ sleep is long faded. I can barely touch my ki, for one. And even though the earlier trauma ripped my soul open and left it pulsing inside me like a glowing candle core, it¡¯s an aching pulse, an open and raw wound that my mind shies away from touching.

    So I¡¯m stuck in the physical. That means being hurt, hungry, and in very real danger of getting picked off in a random street fight at any given moment. For now, dealing with Thane and the greater problems of my situation has to wait. As does Aunt Jolie. I don¡¯t just have myself to think about now- Cal is back there, somewhere. A fact my guilty conscience does not fail to remind me of that as I work my way back out into the Vents.

    I scan over the businesses in the nearby streets and across the gap to the next tower over in search of an easy mark for quick credits. Nothing sticks out. Smog chokes the light from the air. My stomach roils sickly as my sixth sense for life energy continues to stir. I can¡¯t shut it down. The aura of the undercity is polluted with suspicion and worry and exhaustion, a downcast and defeated miasma that pours against me like a dam broken. Hopelessness. Desperation. Misery. The crushing, invisible lament of a forgotten people who have never seen the sun.

    There¡¯s too many of them down here. An entire diaspora compressed into a space far smaller than they need, and now they¡¯re spilling out of apartments with four bodies to a room. Disrepair crawls through it all like invisible vines. Empty dirt-lot parks with dimmed lights, entire towers crumbling or burnt to husks; no one bothering to fix or protect or fight back against the corrosion. Discarded cans rattle across discarded streets. A tattered, decade-old poster advertising some Venter Relocation Program sponsored by the Metro Blockhouse flaps lifelessly beneath thick layers of graffiti. Once, the printed vistas of faraway Section K must have been eyecatching greens and blues and yellows; the colors of promise and new life. Promise not kept, clearly.

    I find my target just two streets away from one of the massive intra-city lifts, thick in the brighter sectors of the Vents where overcity tourists wander in unwary herds. The underground fight club looks like it¡¯s changed owners and designs every time one of the walls was smashed down from the inside out. Half of it is the sloppy remains of some derelict electroclub that used to be called the Rock-something. The jury-rigged rest of the arena looks like it was welded on a decade later and spills into the free lots between a mom-and-pop takeout store and a five-floor deephouse club. Wide stairs descend right into the open mouth of the arena, funneling bettors and tourists straight into the bloody, dubiously legal action. Not so different from the M, really. Just grimier, slimier, and filled with so many more ways to lose money.

    In other words, the kind of place no one¡¯s going to look twice at a scuffed ID scan.

    A din of rumbling music and distant roars washes out of the tunnel, drowned out regularly by jeers and cheers of voracious undercity spectators. I skip it for the moment and head past towards a crowded loan shark stand where credits shuffle fast and loose. Hugging my arms closer, feeling the cold grime already sheening over my shredded body as I push through the people watching the action outside on stream screens and JOY projections.

    The whole crowd groans at some nasty trickshot on stream right as I get to the shark. Typical greedy type, fat and glint-eyed, hairy skin and a bushy mustache. A square cap for a sun I¡¯m sure he never sees covers his thinning hair. Not much he can do about the gut.

    I see where those eyes go first. The state of my ripped apart clothing. My prosthetic arm. Then the rashes, the lacerations, the deep and mottled bruises of a cracked and breaking body, the dried blood and busted knuckles and bitter gaze. They settle on the rest of me as he leans back in a yellowed plastic chair that¡¯s about to snap under his weight, raising an empty palm in warning. I beat him to the punch, voice snapping like ice.

    ¡°I need five thousand.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little young to be gambling, chica?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back with six after I fight.¡±

    He huffs and pulls out a cigar.

    ¡°The money, shark.¡±

    ¡°You look desperate. I don¡¯t deal to desperate.¡±

    My mouth twists. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that. Your kind deal to anything.¡±

    The shark puffs a ring of smoke up towards my face. I don¡¯t flinch.

    ¡°Kids like you don¡¯t make my money back when they get fleeced by the house,¡± he grunts.

    ¡°Cash me out. I¡¯ll pay.¡±

    ¡°You talk like you will, but I ain¡¯t believing.¡± Heavyset eyes look me up and down again. A dour, world-worn look that sees a little too far past the fa?ade. ¡°Plenty of ways you could work if off in the Orange for being an idiot tonight, though. Getting¡¯ stuffed day in and out breaks every one of ¡®em. Even the hard ones like you. Maybe you should go take a look. Walk away and don¡¯t come back.¡±

    I stare down at the man, saying nothing. Another second of silence passes before he finally relents and rolls out a stack of credits the size of my forearm. Five thousand, clean.

    ¡°Go ahead and think about what cage you want,¡± he says. ¡°I play poker with the Executor¡¯s runt; I can put in a good word for you.¡±

    I snatch up the credits and descend into the chaos.

 4.2 - STREET RULES

    I come back twenty minutes later drenched in sweat and roaring applause. The sound chases me all the way back to the streets, deafening and overwhelming. A familiar call that I haven¡¯t heard in years. It doesn¡¯t lift my mood to hear it now¡­ but it does take the edges off.

    I¡¯d almost forgotten what it felt like, that little surge when the crowd explodes to their feet and your heart leaps with them. There¡¯s no feeling like it.

    No one notices me slipping out in the tumult. They¡¯re too caught up in staring at the projector screens blaring instant replays in the lobby and out on the towerside, listening to the local shoutcaster try to weave some coherent storyline out of the fact that a nameless nobody just walked up and wiped the bloody floor with the best fighter of the night. Much less a martial artist. I hear no shortage of doubt in the people I pass. Fingers on lips, hands on hips, narrowed eyes rewatching clips of the moment my black aether painfully ignited and the single-digit seconds after that my opponent, a tech-armored Gunslinger with two extra arms and two extra pulse pistols, managed to survive.

    Outside, the loan shark is already being swarmed by fresh marks; moths drawn to the explosive echoes of support for my performance. I can see the opening combo mirrored in a projector screen floating above his table. Still fired up from the brief exertion, I don¡¯t even notice the biting cold. Nor do I care how people stare as I stride up and toss a bag stuffed to the seams with credit chits down on the table.

    ¡°Take your six, greaser.¡±

    His eyebrows raise under his cap. Whistling a high-low tone, he starts counting out his cut. ¡°I shoulda known you were trouble.¡±

    I flick one of the thousand-credit chits off his forehead.

    ¡°-ow! What the fuck was that for?¡±

    ¡°Poker,¡± I snort. ¡°Find me another fight if you want more. Someone better than the trash they had on the main card here. Low-profile.¡±

    That gets a chuckle out of the greaser. A silvered metal chit tumbles through his thick fingers like a used-up lighter. More dexterous than he looks on the surface. Ex-fighter quick. ¡°Met a couple salties in my time, Blanco, but ain¡¯t none had attitude like you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hereditary. Blame my dad.¡±

    He motions for my JOY. I toss it over the table and let him tap the shell against his JOY, exchanging contact info. It slaps back into my palm with a reassuring weight.

    ¡°Aight. Something discrete it is. Where you holed up at?¡±

    I lug the bag of credits over my shoulder. ¡°None of your business.¡±

    ¡°You were rock bottom and borrowing money you didn¡¯t have twenty minutes ago.¡± My eyes flash. He huffs out another cloud of smoke. ¡°I ain¡¯t that dull, chica. You don¡¯t have a place. Do you?¡±

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    ¡°I¡¯m sure I can find one just fine on my own.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m offering to make that a little less painful, unless you enjoy getting swindled by the landlords down here. Vents ain¡¯t like where you came from. Different rules.¡±

    ¡°And there¡¯s always a catch,¡± I growl.

    ¡°Lucky for you I have a thing about helping strays.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a stray.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh.¡± Not believing in the slightest, he fishes an oldTech keychain from his pocket. ¡°If you feel so inclined, you can give me a bigger cut of your winnings, which I have a feeling are going to be very substantial. In exchange? A whole pad for you. Lowsector. Away from the lights.¡±

    Greed. Greed is the catch.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a friend too,¡± I say, snatching the key.

    ¡°A whole pad for you and your friend. Sure. Ain¡¯t my business.¡± Easing out of the chair, the greaser nods to some street kid and says something to him in a language I don¡¯t understand. A hundred-credit chit changes hands. The kid nods and slides into the chair. Then the greaser sidles his not-inconsiderable bulk out of the stand and motions for me to follow.

    I adjust my grip on the credits and fall in beside him, faking confidence despite the staggering pain that comes with every forced step. Teetering in a fugue. But I can¡¯t collapse yet. Being trapped in the Vents doesn¡¯t change the reality of my world. It just changes the consequences.

    This guy might talk smooth, but that only makes me trust him less. Fortunately, I don¡¯t have to trust him at all. Just the gleam in his eye when he saw my credits hit the table.

    We leave the surface-connected districts and head back towards the deeper layer I left Cal in. Worse part of the Vents, further from the lights and crowds, darkened streets and quiet, windy towersides. Can feel the wary eyes watching us, even though I can¡¯t always see them. Doesn¡¯t seem to bother my new companion. He just tugs his cap lower and keeps smoking.

    Twenty minutes later, we veer under a neon sign marking the street where I left Cal. Just ahead, a tattered awning shields the rickety stools lined along a streetside noodle bar. All but one of the stools are empty in the late hour. A girl with familiar black hair occupies the last. She¡¯s stripped down to a black singlet, the remains of her dress shirt immobilizing her shattered shoulder in a jury-rigged sling- not an easy feat with one arm.

    My temper cools as I watch Cal chatting up the young cook and digging into a bowl of udon like she didn¡¯t just pay a brutal toll to save me yet again. And the long wound throbbing down my forearm is proof that she could have easily paid worse.

    Where Thane betrayed my father and left me to die, Cal betrayed her only family to keep me alive, even though she must have known I would never trust her. I don¡¯t want to keep questioning her reasons. I¡¯m tired of the lies. I want to believe her. The why of her help doesn¡¯t matter to me. The fact that she¡¯s here now does. She¡¯s being more than her family. More than an assassin. And she¡¯s choosing to be broken and waiting for me in a slum alley in the middle of the undercity, despite everything it¡¯s cost her. That¡¯s good enough.

    The greaser tosses me a small JOY-compatible dataslip, still eyeing Cal. ¡°You keep some dangerous company.¡±

    I snatch the wafer from the air. ¡°You know her?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t take a snake charmer to recognize those colors,¡± he grunts, departing with a two-finger salute. ¡°Follow that to a shooting range in the lower layers. Place is yours, Blanco.¡± He nods at the noodle bar. ¡°And make sure Feint doesn¡¯t wander. There¡¯s longer grudges and shorter trigger fingers than mine down here.¡±

 4.3 - CHOICES

    I slump down next to Cal. Eyelids heavy. Carbon-fiber fist curled against my head. Utterly and completely drained, brutalized, and nerve-burned from the inside out. Wavering on the edge of consciousness. This city has been setting records for how many injuries I can carry at once and still keep going. Seeing where I¡¯m at now, I¡¯m not eager to find the limit.

    Cal takes my return in stride, keeping up her talk with the young cook. How fast and far we¡¯ve fallen from high society galas and banter over breakfast. Her arm is missing a flap of skin and bleeding from beneath a double layer of torn bandaging. There¡¯s a notch in her ear dripping red down onto her shoulder. Hair unbound and spilling down her back and shoulders, shaggy bangs draping over her forehead like wide jungle leaves. A sheen of grime and smoggy sweat glistens in the pale light.

    ¡°¡­and so there I am just watching it go down, right?¡± she¡¯s saying to the chef. ¡°This guy just had his ass handed to him publicly, knows she let him off the hook easy, and still decides to start shit in the middle of downtown. And I¡¯m like, well clearly, she can handle herself. But,¡± pause to slurp, ¡°she¡¯s also new to the big city. Really testy village type, like a dog that secretly likes to be petted but doesn¡¯t want you to pet her, you know?¡±

    ¡°¡¯Course,¡± the kid nods along, already prepping a second bowl.

    ¡°Throw some extra meat in there, please. She eats like an animal.¡± Cal clears her throat. ¡°Anyways. Where was I?¡±

    ¡°The girl?¡± Fake proteins sizzle on a gas grill.

    ¡°The girl. Way out of my league. Way.¡±

    ¡°Only way they make ¡®em out there.¡±

    ¡°Right? You get it. And I¡¯m like half the size of either of them. So what do I so dumbly decide to do?¡± Cal points her chopsticks at herself, and is about to speak when I finish for her.

    ¡°¡­You stand right between us and drop the innocent act,¡± I say, resting my butchered forearm on the bar.

    ¡°Well. Can you blame me?¡± Cal takes a heavy bite, then goes on with her mouth full. ¡°No manners. Very attractive. Abandons me on a whim. What¡¯s a girl supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°Come to my rescue again, I guess.¡± I look up as the chef passes my bowl through the window. Thing¡¯s half meat. Not that I¡¯m complaining. ¡°Makes me wonder what I¡¯ve done to earn such dedication.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve done enough to deserve the opposite, really. But I just so happen to have a weak spot for thorny personalities.¡±

    She says it like a joke, but I know better by now. Her head dips towards her food as she keeps shoveling the greasy street slop down. I take the hint. We slurp and crunch without talking until Cal pauses to reach for the water jug. ¡°I would ask if you lost your mind back there, but I already know the answer. What on earth ever made you think you had a chance at beating my brother?¡±

    ¡°I know his weaknesses better than anyone else. He¡¯s not as invincible as people think.¡± I stab at my food, mind wandering elsewhere. ¡°I thought I could do it.¡±

    Cal side-eyes the massive cut down my arm. ¡°That certainly worked out well.¡±

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    ¡°It¡¯s just surface damage. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Surface damage, she says with a hole in her shoulder, two broken ribs, and an arm nearly cut off. You think you would¡¯ve been fine if I hadn¡¯t decided to intervene?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But you weren¡¯t going to let me die. Not after putting in so much effort to keep me from your brother.¡± I reach forward and grab the salt.

    ¡°Hold up. You picked a fight with Thane assuming that I¡¯d pull you out of the fire?¡± Cal sits back and lets out a genuine laugh. ¡°You bet everything on my pity. That¡¯s so underhanded. And crazy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m learning from the best.¡±

    ¡°Aww. Little baby pulled off her first blackmail and thinks she¡¯s hot stuff.¡± Her eyes lid halfway in threat as she steals the salt back. ¡°Go ahead then, Tay. Tell me why I should keep helping you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still here, aren¡¯t you?¡± I pause, snort a glob of blood from my nose, pick my chopsticks back up. ¡°But if you¡¯re so bent on staying with me, we¡¯re going to do this on my terms. No more secrets. No more lies. Just the truth.¡±

    ¡°Might as well start with the most obvious, then.¡± Cal wiggles her Relic. Or tries to; her wrist is barely able to twitch. The bangle''s pink glow doesn''t activate. ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself. I know exactly why you want me. What I¡¯m questioning is why I should continue to indulge in your eccentrically abrasive definition of company.¡±

    ¡°Thane sent you to capture me, and you did the exact opposite.¡± I finally look over to find her head tilted back, moonlight coloring her face, eyes tracking a faraway seam in the crust of the city. ¡°You tell me.¡±

    In the undercity night, her yellow eyes are nearly as deep a gold as her brother¡¯s. Moody and drifting as she watches the metal sky. Stars shine through the gap. A faint smile plucks at her face. ¡°Would you believe me if I said, I don¡¯t know why?¡±

    ¡°Maybe if I were a moron.¡±

    ¡°When Thane sent me after you, he told me enough to get the job done, like he always has. He said he needed you as an insurance plan against Gami. But I don¡¯t believe that¡¯s the truth. And¡­ it wasn¡¯t the first time I didn¡¯t believe him.¡± Her despondent eyes drink in the stars. ¡°I trusted him for a long time, you know. Thane is my big bro. The brother who taped my knees when I scraped them as a kid. The brother who would write lullabies and sing them to help me fall asleep.¡± Her lips twitch. ¡°The adults always liked him best. He always knew what to do. Always was liked. Always was right. And I didn¡¯t think twice about it. Because that¡¯s what he¡¯d always been.¡±

    Cal keeps watching the sky; I only see half her face. Humid, grimy wind stirs her hair over her sling as she talks.

    ¡°But somewhere down the line, I don¡¯t even know when, I started noticing the holes. Differences between the person he was becoming and the version I¡¯d been preserving in my head,¡± she murmurs. ¡°He stopped being kind. He hid stuff from me. He manipulated. He did things Thane would never do. And even then, I wanted to believe it was just me.¡±

    She leans back, shifting her weight on the stool.

    ¡°Before Jolie found us, when we were in the system, we were all we had. We swore to always protect each other first. Thane watched out for me when we were little. I¡¯ve been wondering for a while now if it¡¯s time I repay the favor.¡± Her eyes drift down, the moment of openness fading. ¡°When I found you, this girl Thane used to love like the moon loves the sun, I knew I finally had a chance. If he would even try to use you like a tool, I¡¯d know for sure. The brother that I made that promise with wasn¡¯t the person I was talking to.¡± Finally, she glances over at ne. ¡°I had to know. Sorry for using you as bait.¡±

    ¡°I used you too. We¡¯re even.¡±

    I hold out a closed fist to bump.

    ¡°Even.¡± She thinks it over. ¡°You¡¯re sure? I am supposed to be your assassin, after all.¡±

    ¡°Pretty bad at your job,¡± I chuckle.

    ¡°Hard to be good when you¡¯re such an interesting enigma.¡± A small smile, weary and genuine, sneaks out for me and me alone. ¡°I just couldn¡¯t bring myself to off you before I got a chance to see what you¡¯re really like.¡±

 REALITY.00

    Curtains of downpour scald the white tarmac nestled within the sprawling Imperial Complex, sweeping over my boots as the gunship¡¯s rear ramp lowers. I linger in the shelter of the cargo bay while the tempest rages. Hand resting on a hydraulic strut. Opposite shoulder bound in a sling. Watching my breath freeze in the air, watching the droplets boil and rain slough off the white stone like dead skin, watching anything I can just to delay my entrance.

    Grey of the morning, city blanketed in dour colors that will persist the entire day, the Imperial Complex is a quiet shadow of a bygone era. Thick fog obscures the hedges of skyscrapers that normally loom behind its sprawling forests, cultivated guardians, and high bastion walls. Heavy rain batters the trees and koi pounds and low buildings; archaic relics of our Section¡¯s ancient roots. Icy wind rips through banners of Champions past that rise along the perimeter of the empty square tarmac. Empty poles quietly await the mementos of the future fallen. Fittingly morose, given how the city has changed around us. This place is more a grave to the past than a waiting home of future rulers.

    The last to hold residence inside it was Rex Fang, the Champion before Mars, and his granddaughters and their families. Mars kept residence in the Metro Blockhouse itself, absconding tradition to instead continue living beside his peers like he never stopped being a league fighter. He only visited for formal tournaments and coronations. And his iron successor would never inhabit a place like this. Too much nature, too much greenery, the nearest metal nearly half a mile distant where the Imperial Complex¡¯s bounds press against the streets of the Glass District. Gami has taken to building his own citadel in the industrial districts anyways, exhuming the bones of a half-finished martial temple and combat university once intended exclusively for rehomed young of the Vents.

    When Tetsuka finally moved to the capital for university, this was to be our home. All the space she needed to sprawl, all the nature and life energy she needed to thrive. But there will be no camaraderie waiting beyond those stone torii gates. No packs of students training in the public dojos or wandering the gardens. My sister will not be yawning as she comes through the door, just back from work. Jolie won¡¯t be sipping black caf and reading romance novels by the fire. Mars won¡¯t be jostling my shoulder as we return from training, both of us thinking of the same house and the same girl.

    I will enter alone. Still thinking of her.

    Unanswered messages blink for attention on my JOY, shaking me out of my thoughts. Shutting down the sphere, I bare myself to the elements and stride into the rain, crossing the vast expanse of white stone as I head for the largest building in the heart of the Imperial Complex. Unused refueling stations for Mecha affinities and launch catapults for ki fighters flank the edges of the tarmac like dormant gargoyles. Black hair quickly plasters to my forehead. My shirt sticks to my skin. Rain drips down my nose. Distractions that cannot occupy my mind.

    I glance up as her white hair, once gold and silver, brushes across my nose. It¡¯s just an early snowflake. A memory, fleeting in passing, but one that steals my momentum all the same.

    Fake blue eyes burning like coals. The overwhelming force of her soul screaming into mine through the connection we¡¯ve always shared. Her voice cracking not with love or joy, but a hate that only wanted to kill. All her gentle quirks and smiles, all of the girl I used to love and know for every waking minute, gone. And there¡¯s no one to blame for that but myself. Gami might be sitting on the throne, but he didn¡¯t kill her father. He didn¡¯t upend her entire world, strip away everything she¡¯d ever known, cast her away for dead, then bring her back and push her mind to snapping just to reawaken what I¡¯d already broken.

    I did.

    If only Mars could see me now. If only he could look upon what became of the boy he loved as a second son. That boy grew into a murderer who thought he could change the world. A slave to his own conviction. The very thing he always feared he would see in the mirror.

    That boy was a fool.

    And still I hesitate to do what I know I must. I had Tay within my palm. Only time will tell if I made the right choice in letting her go, betting that she might rediscover her strength if she continues to remain in hiding, just with the pressure wrenched higher. One brush against her destructive potential was all the glimpse I needed to know exactly what will happen if it is wrenched from her by force. Better for that butterfly to stretch its wings, thinking itself free, not knowing the cage has merely expanded.

    My stage is set now. A stiletto gap between my master¡¯s wary eye and the last loose end of the hero he replaced. Already Gami suspects Tay wasn¡¯t disposed of in the villages. His instincts, that  decades-trained tuned sense for danger that every fighter possesses in some amount, will never let him rest easy as long as she continues to live. I can only delay so long. Better to start moving pieces now.

    I do not go unnoticed as I stride the simple gravel path to the large central residence. External hallways flank me on both sides. Traditional outskirts style, they are lined by small pillars of dark wood and weary stone and left open to the elements. My hand returns to my JOY as I ascend the slick, rocky steps to the villa¡¯s rear entrance. Three copies of the Shifter class return at the touch of a holographic key. I tune them to the situation at hand, one primed in Psi to insulate my mind from wandering telepathic eyes, the other to Martial Artist. Passive augments of the class lighten my steps and ease the ache in my shoulder as I use a telepathic nudge to slide open the huge paper doors patterned with the clover sigil of our Section¡¯s first Champion, Gage the Wise.

    Two women and one animal are waiting in the vast wooden antechamber on the other side. Simple support struts rise around them to support a high ceiling of thatch and rafters. Flames crackle in a fireplace ringed by crimson couches and pillows for sitting. Leaning against one of the struts, Valance, pink and black skinsuit still glossed with rain, shifts her hips to a vaguely more sensual tilt as she sees me enter. She raises a curious eyebrow at my sling-bound shoulder.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    We¡¯re joined by the Mobiak as it crawls off its perch out on the tiled roof with the languid grace of a xenomorphic bulette, rain still dripping off its black carapace. The creature is an eight-legged centipedal nightmare of slavering fangs, razor-sharp digging claws, spine-covered tail, and chitinous armored skin; over a thousand pounds of grisly fighting potential in total. Raspy, hissing breaths and acidic drool trail from its split jaw as it follows me inside.

    Many would make the fatal mistake of assuming the feral, unspeaking beast a pet controlled by the Tamer class. Its true nature is far more grisly. Most people use JOYs to augment their natural potential and reach for new heights. Rare few are the useful deviants who reject their humanity and use the technology to delve downwards instead.

    The Mobiak is one such monstrosity. Valance and I are well adjusted to the uniqueness of the Modd-classed behemoth, but even we react more to the beast¡¯s rasping presence than the last woman in the room, who sits by the fire with a politician¡¯s poise. She¡¯s waged entire wars against monsters far worse than a Venter nightmare-maker, and she¡¯s been doing it since before I was even born. She doesn¡¯t even flinch at the sight of it.

    She does flinch when she sees me.

    I bow low to her in a level of respect usually only afforded the Champion. ¡°Jolie.¡±

    Jolie Mons stares silent death at me. Her fingers tense around a ceramic mug of caf like they¡¯d want nothing more than to hold my throat instead. The woman is a rakish shadow of her world-famous twin, narrow and cold with the hawkish frame of a mountain bird. Her crimson hair is pinched in a high formal tail. Innovator hololenses perch above the crown of her forehead, plainly baring the tired marks of her forty-five years of war and love. She¡¯s not the type of woman to find easy description. Those she favors would call her matronly. I prefer effective.

    Realistically, I shouldn¡¯t be afraid of Jolie. She¡¯s just a woman twice my age with half the agility and muscle mass. She doesn¡¯t even use a JOY. I¡¯ve spent my whole life training under the most powerful legends in the Section. Yet somehow, it¡¯s the weakest of those legends that reminds me most of my own mortality.

    ¡°Keep an eye on Director Mons,¡± I tell the Mobiak. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    It rasps some animalistic noise of understanding. Shirking the needling hatred of Jolie¡¯s gaze, I crook my head for Valance to step outside.

    We look out at the rain and forests from the shelter of the porch.

    ¡°My bed was a little cold last night,¡± she purrs in a pure penthouse accent, eyeing my wounded shoulder. ¡°Seems you didn¡¯t get much rest either. Too much foreign stock at that damnable party to pass up a taste of something new.¡±

    I sniff out an amused note of laughter. ¡°I¡¯ve no time for such things. Nor the inclination.¡±

    ¡°You say that as I stand right here.¡± Valance fakes a slighted scoff. ¡°Really, you¡¯ve always confused me there, Thane. Half of our peers in the leagues would bend over backwards to lay you, and the other half lie when they claim they wouldn¡¯t. Yet you¡¯ve no interest in women. You enjoy them, but you don¡¯t love them.¡± Her tone turns truculent. ¡°There really is only room in that hidden heart of yours for one lucky girl, isn¡¯t there? One you already found and lost.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been reading where you shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Her pink, catlike eyes narrow. ¡°I was an Iros of Dynasty, Thane, lest you forget it. I do not need psychologist drivel and therapist reports to know the thoughts of the boys I bed.¡±

    I lean against a wooden railing with a smirk. ¡°Elaborate then, if you know me so well.¡±

    ¡°Your mind does that enough on its own. You think of her every night. That girl with the freckles.¡± She arches an eyebrow. ¡°You just thought of her again.¡±

    She can¡¯t feel a single thing from my mind; I¡¯ve been using her own class to block her out before this conversation ever began. Clever, really. Using the most minor visual cues and guesses to make it seem like she¡¯s still trawling my surface thoughts. Something only an Iros would be good enough to do. Especially as it¡¯s founded in reality. Either she did browse my files, or my mental wards have been slipping at night.

    ¡°I only ask because you make such a secret of it. There¡¯s something so¡­ quietly tragic about the way you carry her in your thoughts even now,¡± she yawns, turning back to the forest. ¡°Where did you flitter off to after the gala, Thane? One of the icepicks challenge you to an honor duel?¡±

    ¡°Something of the sort,¡± I mutter, conceding the verbal spar in her favor.

    ¡°Must have been quite the show if someone managed to actually tag you.¡±

    I force a light laugh. ¡°Too light a crowd to be a show. You didn¡¯t miss much.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me, darling. Shepherding our dear Director Mons around like a common tower lackey is the most boring waste of my talents Gami could think up.¡± She sighs sensually, glancing back at the villa. ¡°I swear, your sister picks the most convenient times to vanish. Lucky for her she started cavorting around with her new girlfriend right when this drama at the M kicked up. I¡¯d have thrown the grunt work on her instead.¡±

    ¡°Convenient indeed,¡± I murmur, flashing back to last night. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware Jolie was being removed from her offices.¡±

    ¡°Gami didn¡¯t tell you?¡± Valance arches a curious eyebrow. ¡°He personally ordered me to relocate her last night. And he¡¯s tasked me with expanding our roster of Shadows, given the increase in recent security breaches. I think he has some new counterespionage tasks in mind.¡±

    What a clever master I have.

    I cross my arms under my jacket, carefully listening as Valance begins to unspool the first threads of the plan I¡¯ve been weaving behind my master¡¯s back since before she was ever made an apprentice. She takes the revelation of her newly growing favor with the Champion entirely in stride. But I know the fiend of a mind at work behind those full lips and taunting, catlike irises. A court servant of the Dynasty syndicate doesn¡¯t become the apprentice of a Champion by chance. She sees the momentary rift between me and Gami. And she sees an opportunity.

    Valance launches into a cover about where she might look for new additions for the Shadows. I recalibrate the pathI walk. Murmur a quick response when she asks if I have any recommendations. I do. Volatile ones, but ones I can control. So long as I keep the blinders on them.

    ¡°Assuming we¡¯re still hosting that dinner in two weeks, I¡¯ll invite them to the penthouse then,¡± I tell her, rising from my thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m a little busy at present.¡±

    Valance hooks her head at the waiting villa. I nod.

    ¡°Jolie won¡¯t speak a word to you, and you know it,¡± she says.

    ¡°Fortunately, her willing cooperation isn¡¯t my concern.¡± My eyes narrow. Fingers brushing over the half-melted datapad in my pocket. The griptape tag on its back emblazoned with the word DELFINA. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here for forgiveness.¡±

 4.4 - CALIBRATION

    Over the next two weeks, I get back up again.

    It¡¯s not easy. Starting from zero in the hostile undercity of a metropolis a world away from home, twenty thousand credits and one injured assassin weighing me down, a physical and mental wreck from my encounter with Thane- you could say I¡¯ve been better off. I certainly would. But, at least I have Cal with me. She and my new loan shark friend weren¡¯t wrong about the Vents. The undercity is completely absent the Champion¡¯s influence; the last place anyone would come to look for me. For now.

    Every night, I leave Cal at the shooting range and sneak onto the metros that snake through the Vents, joining the legions of runaways and renegades who ride the roofs for free. I pick a different arena every time I go. Small or large, fancy or little more than a hollowed out factory with fireflies for spotlights, it doesn¡¯t matter to me. I conquer them all. I return to the range only long enough to study fight tapes and devour theory books during meals. My time is spent in grungy gyms, underground fight clubs, showering, or crashing for a scarce few hours of sleep. Nothing slows me. I¡¯m chased by the fate that awaits me the next time I face Thane. And I will face him, whether when we make a move to free Jolie or if we try to escape the capital.

    If I¡¯m not ready, if I¡¯m not at my old strength and even further beyond, there will be no second chances. I will lose.

    I have to be able to beat him before I make a move to rescue Jolie. But how do you fight someone who was trained by legends and uses all eighteen of the JOY classes together?

    Cal¡¯s Relic is the one thing I know can overcome him for certain. The Relic¡¯s suppression field is the perfect anathema to Thane. The ultimate trump card. But it¡¯s also no guarantee. He knew exactly how to neutralize it before it could even become a factor in our fight. Not to mention the question of what happens should we manage to get Cal close enough to use her Relic. In an even fight without access to classes, just on a biological level, Thane would easily overwhelm us. I¡¯ve seen him manually spar against Dad and go toe-to-toe for minutes straight- and that was three years ago. He¡¯s equally competent fighting at any range and against any classes, with or without a JOY.

    Thank my father for that one. Dad knew how to raise monsters of combat. Now it¡¯s on me to find a way to defeat his best.

    As hard as I try to improve, I¡¯ve only been clutching at smoke. Any progress eludes me. The ki I manifest is still dark and painful, physically tearing at my body¡¯s seams whenever I ignite. The pain is unreal. Unsustainable, nothing like the giddy flow it should be. I rarely touch the power, only using it in the thick of combat when absolutely necessary- a far cry from the days where I¡¯d be radiating literal tides of ki throughout the day. No amount of shaky meditation can stabilize my soul, not that I even have time for it. And my skills in the martial arts are rusty as hell. I smash through every challenge the undercity can give me, but only because I¡¯m faster and stronger than them.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    I¡¯m spinning my wheels in search of a miracle.

    Two weeks after the gala, I sit alone on the ringside bench of a bloodstained sandstone octagon, deep in the heart of one of the fancier undergrounds I¡¯ve been in. This one let me in with some grumbles. It¡¯s a floral cavern of pink and orange that looks like it would be more at home in a district like the Glass, not knee-deep in one of the crime-ridden Vents sector close to the surface. Artificial rivers and vibrant displays of imported, JOY-altered flora crawl along the different corridors. Slim water Elementals for waitresses, skin rippling with pink currents under their dresses.

    Some of the shiniest fighters on this side of the undercity populate the regular roster here. It¡¯s no wonder the management dragged their feet on giving me a fight. I¡¯m just a rat with a reputation, still ragged and sweaty from getting out of an undercity gym not half an hour ago. Utilitarian sports bra, baggy black pants and a winter jacket discarded on the floor unzipped. White hair in a loose tail with my flower-petal bangs still on display. I strip off a JOY-linked filtration mask- everyone wears them due to worsening smog in recent years- and drop it in my gym bag.

    Out comes the griptape, my old friend. I rip off a length and wrap it around the raw knuckles of my left hand while I look out across the fighting square, gauging my opponent of the night. Some Saboteur-Duelist hybrid with a whole crew of Innovators and Biohancers running pre-fight diagnostics. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s a bigshot here. I wrap another length of tape.

    The underground¡¯s shoutcasting duo wind their preamble tale like they¡¯ve been practicing it for a week straight. They say I¡¯m an upstart vagrant. They say the crowd might have heard of me. Oh, they have. There are entire boards on the Net dedicated to people trying to get tickets to where my next match will be. They call me the Ghost of the Vents. Those who followed me here roar. The locals jeer. The casters rail about my showing up out of nowhere demanding a fight with the best of the best. I smirk and kick up from my bench. At least they got that right.

    The rest; they should have known better.

    I don¡¯t even need to try when this is the challenge. This fighter, like the others who fell before him, is no Thane. So I end him like the rest.

    It¡¯s over just as we hit double-digit seconds. I¡¯m panting over another unconscious body, carbon-fiber hand dripping a stranger¡¯s blood, wilted flowers falling over my shoulders as they¡¯re thrown from the stands. I look to the empty booth where I left my gear. I can almost see Dad standing in the tunnel, shaking his head in disappointment.

    Another night, another fight, and I¡¯ve changed nothing.

    Something has to change.

 4.5 - CHICKEN AND RICE

    I take the long way home, riding the metro in the dead emptiness after the morning commute. Yes, morning. I didn¡¯t go home. A skull-deep ache pounds behind my eyes, as it has since I hit up a highlayer gym after last night¡¯s fight and spent the next hours venting my frustrations into iron weights. I left somewhere in the darkest hours of the morning, bouncing from a caf bar, to a depressing empty park with a single rusted swing set, to the undercity metro, where I¡¯ve been aimlessly riding to pass the time.

    I cup my JOY in one hand and cradle my gym bag in my lap, scrolling through the latest deposit of credits into my blank-named bank account. The numbers glide past in a bleary haze. It¡¯s just more zeroes. Money can¡¯t give me the answers I need, though Cal certainly gets a draconic gleam in her eyes whenever she sees me dump a fresh slush of credits on the kitchen table.

    My nails scratch a groan-inducing line along my scalp. I run them through again while the metro rattles on to its next stop and I search for my next mark. The one I have a fight lined up at in just over twelve hours, give or take. Darkened blocks of the undercity flash past outside. Rusted dirt-lot parks. Venomous green-tainted fires burning in steel trash bins. Trash piled and scattered. Pale streetlamps flickering and dying. And that¡¯s just on one side. On the other, through a haze of lighter smoke made by the metro¡¯s other occupants, shadows crawl and eat through the crumbling concrete foundations of entire blocks and towers that have been abandoned in years past. The Shocks, the Venters call those places. Entire sectors that have been condemned to disrepair and left to the things that lurk in the dark. From what I¡¯ve heard, the Shocks is larger than the Vents itself these days. Darkness growing as the lights shrink and die off, power shunted to more overcity corporations, none of those credits trickling down to help restore what¡¯s crumbled. Forcing the people stuck down here into smaller and smaller spaces.

    It''s unimaginable that in a world like mine, with technology like JOYs, a place like this could be let to exist. The desperate aura of this urban hell eats unendingly at my sixth sense. Coming from a home like mine makes the contrast even worse. The Vents is so wrong on such a fundamental level. There¡¯s no sun. No wind. No life. Nothing green but the oil and the neon. And the people who live down here just accept it. They can¡¯t change it. They¡¯re beaten down, and they¡¯ve forgotten that this isn¡¯t the way things should be, because they¡¯ve never been given a chance to know better.

    I know Dad must have felt the same when he saw first this place. His heart bled for these people. You can see it in the graffiti that rages from the sides of the upside-down towers. Can hear it in the grumbles at the bars. Venters have been forgotten by the overcity, but they have not forgotten the man who gave them a reason to believe things could be better- and more than that, that they should be better. He¡¯s beloved down here, far more than even in the villages. It makes me feel a little more at home when I brush against the coals of fires he stirred.

    Those coals still exist in the Vents, waiting for a breath of hope. But I¡¯m not the kind of person who could reignite them. Dad did. He knew what to say to this dismal, lifeless underworld so direly in need of a light. But I am not my father. I can¡¯t smile like him. Or laugh, or talk like him. I had to watch that answer take him from me time and time again. And then it took what little I had without him.

    Still. Seeing the sadness flashing past, even I feel the call.

    I snap off the projector screens and shove my JOY into my pocket. Thinking about fighting again already leaves a sour taste in my mouth. This makes a week straight of pushing my limits on four hours of sleep. The toll¡¯s coming; I just haven¡¯t paid it yet.

    Glumly anticipating the smog and grime waiting when the metro doors open, I fish one of dad¡¯s tank tops out of my bag and tug it on. It¡¯s two sizes too big, like everything of his that I wear. I pull the fabric higher and take in a long breath through my nose, trying to remember how he smelled. I always remember apples. The shirt just smells like sweat.

    Working downlayer from the metro stop, I wind my way down criss-crossing concrete paths that descend towards the blocks closest to the reach of the Abyss. Without a sun to go by, there¡¯s no way to tell that it¡¯s even supposed to be midmorning down here. Just my body¡¯s seesawing circadian rhythm. The towers holding each layer at the core grow thinner the further I descend; undercity blocks separated by wider and wider gaps. The Abyss looms wider, growing from a sliver of darkness between the bridges to a looming expanse of black that waits no matter where you look. Stifling cold leeches humidity and heat from the air. One layer above the dimly-lit block where Cal and the shooting range are waiting, I detour towards a very specific set of coordinates that end in a mom-n-pop takeout restaurant that¡¯s up and running in the early morning.

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    A slow trickle of patrons enter and leave the shop with brown paper packages of food in hand, perfectly timed so there¡¯s never enough people around to make trouble. Wary of the hooded and smoking Venters who linger on the towerside, I shoulder open the front door, ignore the little bell that rings to announce my entrance, then slip through the plastic tarp blocking the kitchen from the empty front lobby. The cooks and clerk don¡¯t even look up from their work. First door on the right takes me to a small dining room with yellowed wallpaper and a silenced stream screen playing high in the corner.

    My exhaust hits rock bottom when I see Nabuna sitting at the table, already digging into a manhole-sized plate of mixed rice and meat. The hairy, middle-aged loan shark has lost a little weight in the past month. Not enough that most people would notice, but I can see it. He eyes me from under the brim of a square-shaped cap, then goes back to watching highlights from my less-than-legal showstopper earlier in the night. The clips play on repeat while he eats.

    ¡°You don¡¯t look happy, Blanco.¡±

    I sling my bag over the chair next to him and drop into it with a grunt. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°Shame.¡±

    ¡°The real shame is your ability to find a good fight,¡± I growl, resting my cheek on a curled fist. ¡°These Venters you keep digging up aren¡¯t worth the seconds it takes to beat them.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me for not being able to convince the cream of the crop to visit the dumps you decide to fight at, princess.¡± Still watching the streams, he pretends not to notice when I hurl a quick glare at him. ¡°You don¡¯t need Venters, anyways. I ain¡¯t dim enough to miss that. You¡¯ve been trained. Got that E-Town blood.¡±

    ¡°So what? If Venters aren¡¯t good enough, then get me something better.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m working on better.¡±

    ¡°Work a little faster.¡±

    ¡°Not all of us are living life like we got a gun to our head, Blanco. What¡¯s got you so crazy? You beat three of the top ten Venters in a single week, and you¡¯re still sulking around like it wasn¡¯t good enough.¡± He sighs when I don¡¯t respond, dipping his spoon again into the mound of food. ¡°You said you wanted good. Good takes grease and a hot second for gravity to get the ball rolling. Might as well get off my ass and take it easy. If you gotta burn off steam, go do it at the Orange. Go find yourself a boy and get it fucked out of your system.¡±

    He¡¯s going to eat all my goddamned food before I can even get a spoonful in. Fuming, I go grab a plate from the kitchen and come back to siphon off a fighter¡¯s portion from the mountain of chicken and rice. Stab my spoon into it like it¡¯s the source of my frustration.

    I watch Nabuna¡¯s eyes while he watches my replay. How he follows the action, what he pays attention to. Where he rewinds, and more importantly, where he freezes. He knows what to look for. I wouldn¡¯t have taken him on as a partner in crime if he didn¡¯t. And in a way, he reminds me of Aunt Jolie. There¡¯s more to this greaser than he lets on.

    ¡°Good food,¡± Nabuna says, resuming the replay. He saw me staring.

    ¡°I come here a lot.¡±

    ¡°This where we¡¯re meeting now?¡±

    ¡°As long as it stays quiet.¡±

    He nods and slows his eating, studying the brief conclusion of the fight. ¡°You go home last night, chica?¡±

    ¡°No. I was lifting.¡±

    The ice in my tone shuts him up until the replay ends. His JOY buzzes a few moments later. Making his excuses to leave, the shark drops a metal credit chit on the table as a tip for the house, tugging his cap a little lower.

    ¡°Still on for the fight tonight?¡±

    ¡°Mah. Yeah.¡±

    I don¡¯t even know if I want to. The idea of sleeping in for an entire day sounds more and more appealing the longer I stay out. I know it¡¯s just my body¡¯s way of grumbling. Staying at the range helps no one. It gives Thane or Gami¡¯s agents more time to track me down. And it stalls me more than I already have. Nabuna waits, browsing something of his own.

    ¡°Hey. Greaser.¡±

    His eyebrows lift. ¡°I¡¯ll pretend you said that with some decency. What?¡±

    I sink back in my chair, side-eye watching the wall. ¡°Say you had a gun to your head. And if you didn¡¯t figure your shit out and get way better at fighting in a very short amount of time, something really bad was going to happen. But you¡¯ve got no idea how to untangle it at all.¡± My nose wrinkles. ¡°What would you do?¡±

    He stays there in the doorway, striking up a lighter.

    ¡°You remind me of this girl I used to know,¡± he eventually says. ¡°She was a lot like you, Blanco. Had a chip on her shoulder you could see coming a mile away.¡± Puff of smoke. ¡°She had this gun. Beautiful piece, masterwork. It got cracked the day her old lady¡¯s luck ran out on a job. She kept shooting the damn thing anyways. Growing the cracks. Didn¡¯t have time to fix it, yeah? Streets were bad. Fire on her mind. So she shot and shot and shot that thing right up until she found the bastard who killed her ma. She pulled the trigger one last time. And it shattered in her hand.¡±

    ¡°¡­What happened to her?¡± I ask.

    Nabuna shrugs. ¡°She got lucky. Got a new gun. Got a new life. New dream. New things to fight for. Moved up and out.¡± Tired brown eyes find me through the haze. ¡°Some of us don¡¯t have that luck, chica. I don¡¯t recommend pushing yours.¡±

 REALITY.01

    This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve stood before the remains of a house Mars Mons built.

    Midmorning in the University district, a heavy gray billows through the streets as I emerge from the rear doors of a sleek black autocar, showering me with snowflurries as I look upon Mars¡¯ fabled gym. Behind me, the driverless vehicle hums back off towards the Electric Town. I glance over my shoulder just as it reaches the next intersection, shift a class to Innovator, and fire off a memory purge to clear the trip from its data logger before returning my focus to the front.

    Not so long ago, this gym was a proud warehouse that once kept its doors open at all hours of the day and night; the unofficial second home of the university league¡¯s top warriors. Now its carcass curls above of the district¡¯s brick roads like the burned-out chest cavity of a fallen giant. Blackened ribs of support pillars claw up at a caved-in roof. Small avalanches of brick and mortar pour into the surrounding alleys. Snapped lumber juts out like broken teeth. Woodsmoke clings to the air. And that¡¯s just the recent damage. Time has left her corrosive presence on the place as well. Grime-coated windows, faded and vanished paint, warped wood.

    Bereft the man who built it, the empty building¡¯s purpose is painfully clear. It was a place to bring people together. Unimportant compared to the bodies that filled it. Now the lights are off. The magic dimmed. A neglected mirror of the city that surrounds it.

    Seeing this place again, I¡¯m stung like I¡¯m standing over the grave of the man I killed all over again. I let the feeling exist. But I do not let it own me. Conviction, not emotion, is the hand that guides the bow.

    This is my handiwork, too. Another wrong to right.

    I take in a cold breath. Purging my doubts, sharpening my awareness to the smallest details of my surroundings. Let the ice of the morning fill my lungs, then scatter the idyll snowflakes that flutter near my face.

    No more dallying. There¡¯s work to be done.

    Passing the gym¡¯s shuttered front doors, I enter instead through a gaping, blackened hole that looks right out onto the sidewalk. A shiver crosses the back of my neck as I duck through. My danger sense triggering. It warns right as I come through the hole, microseconds before a massive log swings towards my head.

    I smoothly duck under the lumber, the movement as natural as my stride. The densely muscled Martial Artist carrying it doesn¡¯t even notice my entrance. I glance over the rest of the main floor, noting first the extent of the carnage, then the surprising number of university students working on repairs or carrying more raw material. I vaguely recognize a few from the lower ranks. Most are fistfighters, but there¡¯s a scattering of other classes as well.

    Closest to me is a straw-haired boy kneeling beside the stump of a fallen support pillar. He ignores the small red-furred fox that stirs from its nap at his side just to growl up at me. He¡¯s palming over the shredded wood with his eyes closed. Brow furrowed in concentration. Sweat on his forehead despite the winter chill in the air. Sawdust and plaster dot his half-up hairstyle. Calm as a surgeon, he reaches one hand towards a piece of wood another uni fighter left nearby and places the other on the stump that remains of the pillar.

    As I watch, the lumber roils and melts like liquid, slithering across the floor in a serpentine stream. It pools into the pillar¡¯s base and grows vertically, solidifying to form a perfect replica of the aging support. Four long planks all vanish in the same way to finish off the repair.

    ¡°Apologies for Bastia¡¯s rudeness,¡± he says without looking, pausing to scratch the fox behind its ears. ¡°She¡¯s usually fond enough of strangers. And you¡¯re not even that, Thane. She should know better than to growl.¡± He bops the fox on its tiny snout. ¡°What brings you out of the M?¡±

    ¡°Looking for Aurix. I haven¡¯t seen him since the beginning of the semester.¡± I crane my head up, searching the open space for one worker in particular. ¡°He¡¯s usually hounding me about training with the team. I take it something silenced him?¡±

    ¡°Muzzled him, more like. Though if you ask me, I think the break will do him good.¡± Felix Fang, jade-eyed grandchild of one of the Section¡¯s older warrior families, rises and brushes the sawdust from his knees. ¡°He¡¯s been intransigent as of late. Ever since he got shown up a few weeks ago by some drifter from the coast. That and forced bedrest have had him up the wall. I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t hear his brooding from the street.¡±

    Past Felix, I finally spot my quarry near the way to the dusty front lobby, speaking in low tones with a willowy younger woman who¡¯s as out of place here as I am. Minor league second rank, the archangel tech-sniper Sasha. Streaks of crimson and fall colors weave through the pro fighter¡¯s brown hair, high ponytail reined in by a tattered red bandana. Late twenties, dented gold armor packed into a duffel bag, forearm gauntlets the only outward accoutrement of her Innovator class.

    She¡¯s the first of the two to feel my gaze. Those Metro Blockhouse instincts. It¡¯s just a quick check in the corner of her eye, the mutual glance of a passing battleship that doesn¡¯t want to spark a fight this early in the morning. Nearly nine years her junior, Aurix only senses my presence through her, making a far more obvious look my way.

    ¡°Sasha¡¯s here,¡± I note.

    Felix nods. ¡°She¡¯s been here every day. Not for long, but she¡¯s one of the few pros who came to help fix up the gym when the news broke.¡±

    ¡°Very noble of her.¡±

    ¡°I think so too.¡±

    Sasha gives Aurix a commiserating pat on the shoulder and departs, deer-thin limbs carrying her quickly outside. I catch Aurix¡¯s eye through the milling workers and nod up at the roof. He silently agrees and heads for one of the rear exits. I part ways with Felix after a final quip and a question about his family¡¯s health, then find my way out the western alley exit, shift a class to Air Elemental, and easily surge up the ten-meter jump.

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    Aurix is already doing the exact same thing, shooting out of the eastern alley half a second slower and far less gracefully than I do. The flames that launched him airborne flicker and fade from his hands. Landing at a jog, he looks out over the district in the general direction of the Electric Town and the Metro Blockhouse. Mist blocks the view.

    Dense and powerfully muscled, Aurix is a panther of a Martial Artist with a body built for slingshotting potential energy into kinetic violence. A messy mane of orange and red colors rages to the middle of his broad back. The width of his arms is obvious even beneath an overlarge sweater. He moves like a magazine being loaded. Each step emphatic. A wrecking ball that doesn¡¯t tend to stop for interruptions to the path gravity would pull him down; face sharpened by a prominent, narrowed brow and lips that seem only capable of frowns.

    In so many ways, he¡¯s a color-shifted shadow of the faded pictures down in the lobby. A little shorter, certainly moodier, but just as capable of charisma; when he bothers to leverage it. And he has the natural athleticism and tenacity of a born warrior. Fighting is in his blood.

    If only it weren¡¯t paired with a temper like his.

    ¡°I thought I heard the sound of your ego coming down to rejoin the plebians,¡± Aurix says. He shoots me a corner-of-the-eye look when I come up beside him. ¡°Take it you didn¡¯t come here to help with the work.¡±

    ¡°Not today, no. I¡¯ve more pressing matters.¡±

    ¡°Always keeping to your schedules.¡±

    I stifle a noise of disagreement. ¡°Unlike you, who skips classes just to pick fights in electroclubs?¡±

    ¡°Lot of good those classes are doing you,¡± Aurix counters. ¡°You¡¯ve been stuck at tenth on the boards since last year.¡±

    Our school¡¯s internal ranking, he means. For the starving wolves trying to springboard from university fighting to the Metro Blockhouse minor leagues, the leaderboards are everything. Aurix places even higher than I do on them, despite being my junior by over a year. But he isn¡¯t the apprentice of the Champion. And despite my rank being the absolute minimum cutoff for Concordia¡¯s league team, despite the fact that I¡¯ve never once fought for said rank, not a single person has ever challenged me for that tenth-place spot. They gave it to me the day I registered for university, and it hasn¡¯t been contested since.

    ¡°I¡¯ll never understand why you don¡¯t want to move up,¡± he says. ¡°You could easily beat most of the top five if you tried.¡±

    I could beat them all if they fought me five against one, but I don¡¯t tell him that.

    ¡°There¡¯s more important things that require my attention right now,¡± I say, pulling out my JOY. A crisp holoimage springs to life in the air in front of us. ¡°Things like this.¡±

    Aurix bristles. ¡°You too?¡±

    ¡°You know her?¡±

    ¡°She was here, right before the semester started. Me and a couple of the guys came to check out an alarm on a broken window. We found her. Got into a fight. She¡¯s the one who burned this place down.¡± His face darkens. ¡°What do you want with her?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a wanted target and a skilled fighter believed to be working with Dynasty. I¡¯ve been hunting her, but I can¡¯t cover the whole city on my own,¡± I lie through my teeth.

    ¡°Why not ask Valance for help?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s need-to-know.¡±

    ¡°Need to know? She¡¯s your girlfriend.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re bedmates, nothing more. And I don¡¯t make a habit of pillow talk.¡± I wave a dismissive hand. ¡°She already has a full plate of her own duties, regardless.¡±

    Aurix snorts. ¡°Sure. Whatever. But you forget that I¡¯m a martial artist. I don¡¯t track down criminals like some bounty hunter from your undercity. I¡¯m not even from this city. And even if I was, how would you propose finding a single person here? There¡¯s what, fifteen million people living-¡±

    ¡°-Sixteen million,¡± I correct, curtly beheading his misinformation. ¡°The search has already been significantly narrowed. I have it on good information that this girl is currently working out of the Vents. She¡¯s aware that she¡¯s being hunted, and she¡¯s tried to assassinate me before, so I have no doubt that she¡¯ll be trying to improve her abilities before trying again.¡±

    He looks at the picture again. ¡°Fastest way to tick that box is¡­¡±

    ¡°The underground fighting circuit, yes.¡±

    Aurix nods as he grasps the next pieces. He can be quick when he feels like it. All it takes is a mention of brawling or powerful opponents to make him shut up and listen.

    ¡°She¡¯ll be on the lookout for you, but she wouldn¡¯t be looking for me. And neither will anyone else,¡± he mutters. ¡°Only problem is that I already fought her a tournament in a gym uptown.¡±

    I feign dismissive interest, already knowing the answer. ¡°How did you do?¡±

    ¡°Eh. She¡¯s good, I¡¯ll give her that,¡± he grunts. Understatement of the year, if Tay wreaked this much havoc even at a fraction of her old strength. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do. Poke around the undergrounds a bit, try and figure out where she¡¯ll be. Going to give that long-legged bitch plenty more too, the next time I see her.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯ll be time for that after we find her,¡± I say. ¡°For now, I¡¯ll need to introduce you to Valance and a few of the Gami''s other trusted servants so they¡¯re aware you¡¯ll be working with me. I want you to bring Felix, too- we¡¯ll need the extra help. We can do it at the party at the penthouse tomorrow. If anyone asks, this girl doesn¡¯t even exist. Officially, you¡¯ll both just be joining the Shadows as a trial run.¡±

    ¡°Felix, sure. But why the secrecy?¡± He looks over the image again. ¡°Is she something important to you?¡±

    ¡°To you as well, though not for the reason you think.¡±

    Putting the view behind me, I send Aurix a collection of identifying photos and pocket my JOY. Winter wind kicks over the rooftops. I blink against the cold and start toward the roof¡¯s edge. Behind, I hear the electric click-shiver of Aurix¡¯s JOY activating; a projector screen forming. The first picture in the album wavers to life. A family portrait from Tay¡¯s fifteenth birthday, taken during the fall equinox festival.

    Like that, the final piece falls into place. Aurix¡¯s eyes widen, then flash with fury. His fingers tighten around his JOY¡¯s shell till his knuckles turn white.

    ¡°She is the secret, adopted child of Mars. His bastard daughter.¡±

 4.6 - MEMENTOS

    For what it is, the range isn¡¯t the worst. Better than most roofs I¡¯ve slept under, that¡¯s for sure.

    Empty lobby, nothing but spent shells and cobwebs, a long concrete straightaway where targets used to hang. Scorches and ozone burns from the generations of firearms, a permanent tang of gunpowder in the air. Blank spaces and scuff marks where furniture and booths used to be. Up a small staircase in the back is a cramped intersection of second-story rooms that housed the shop¡¯s previous owner. There¡¯s a kitchen, armory, lounge, office; all branching off from a central dining room with a creaky plastic table yellowed by spilt beer and lighter smoke.

    Cal and I took the lounge for ourselves, rearranging the couches so we could sleep side to side with a view of the door. Didn¡¯t feel right to stay anywhere else. Like sleeping in someone else¡¯s bed. It feels like the owner could come walking back in at any moment, leave her keys and boots at the door, and saunter over to the kitchen for a cold beer. Which is why I¡¯m surprised to find Cal in the office today.

    She¡¯s slouched behind the old wooden desk at the end of the room, concentrated expression lit from beneath by an electric-blue holoscreen. An ancient terminal built into the desk responds to the clicks and clacks of a physical keyboard as she works. She doesn¡¯t even glance up when I enter, a storm of unanswered frustration driving my footfalls.

    Decades of undisturbed dust shake off the blinds like snowdrifts as I peek a quick view of the nearby alleys. Slits of dim neon light cut across the bottom half of my face. Dark as night out there, yet it¡¯s not even noon. Letting the blinds slap shut, I shift back to Cal and give her a quick up-down look.

    The Vents hasn¡¯t been kind to either of us. Small wicks of black hang down past her ears, drifting with her head while she nods to herself. Her skin is sheened by a grime that no amount of washing can clean, just like mine. Her arm healed enough to stop using slings just a few days ago, fingers only recently regaining their typing dexterity. And somehow, she¡¯s even paler than when we first met. But it¡¯s the haggardness to her gaze that speaks the loudest. She¡¯s been working in this dark room for hours. She blinks quickly and rubs at her eyes, uncurling from her hunched position when I finally reign in my still-lingering anger and ask, ¡°How¡¯s your arm?¡±

    ¡°Get me a shot of stims and it¡¯ll be good as new,¡± she grunts, cranking down the screen¡¯s brightness. Her elbow joint pops loudly as she stretches. One golden eye peeks open when I drop my bag atop a threadbare carpet in the middle of the office and take a seat on the desk across from her unprompted, brushing aside a bullet press and framed holographic photos to make space.  ¡°You didn¡¯t come home.¡±

    I rap my knuckles against my skull. ¡°Had some stuff to work through.¡±

    ¡°Get any of it figured out?¡±

    ¡°I think I feel worse, actually.¡±

    ¡°Pulling all-nighters tends to do that, I would know,¡± she solemnly agrees, reaching by my leg to open a drawer. Starts rummaging around inside and pulls out an Innovator¡¯s manual multitool. ¡°You¡¯re going to break down if you keep pushing yourself.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t break. Not as long as there¡¯s something I can do. We can¡¯t stay in this place hoping for miracles forever.¡± My feet kick aimlessly. ¡°We¡¯re cut off from the outside world. Jolie¡¯s been moved to the Imperial Complex, and there¡¯s no way to get in there without going through an army. So while I¡¯m stuck down here spinning my wheels and getting no closer to fixing myself, he¡¯s up there making moves right now, just waiting for us to resurface.¡±

    Rolling closer in her chair, Cal takes my carbon-fiber hand inside hers, holding it while she begins probing the mashed-flat knuckle plates with the multitool. The minor maintenance is like a chew toy for her brain, and one she commonly indulges in. Occupying her immediate attention while she continues to talk. I don¡¯t mind. It doesn¡¯t bother me like other people touching my arm does. It always works smoother once she¡¯s done with it, anyways.

    ¡°Have you considered what will happen when my brother gets tired of waiting? If that happened tomorrow and he threatened to kill Jolie unless you came to him?¡± Cal shakes her head. ¡°You¡¯re in no condition to fight anyone, must less one of Gami¡¯s personal cabal- and definitely not Thane. I¡¯m with you as much as you are with me. So take it from a place of friendly concern, farmgirl: you can¡¯t keep going AWOL like this.¡±

    We¡¯re close enough by now that her criticism doesn¡¯t spark nearly as much fight in me as it used to. I can¡¯t exactly refute the point, either. She¡¯s not wrong.

    She pats my leg. ¡°Make some space.¡±

    I smirk. ¡°Chair not good enough?¡±

    ¡°Your knees keep bumping me.¡±

    I doubt that¡¯s everything, but I don¡¯t protest when Cal hops up to sit beside me, flopping my right arm out across her lap. The company is nice. And she¡¯s an easy person to sit beside. I scoot over to make a little more room for her. Pick up one of the holographic photos from the desk while she messes around with the twitchcircuits in my finger joints, turning it over in the faint light. It¡¯s a captured moment of a woman with scarred lips and a little girl with burnt orange hair. I set it down gently, pick up another. Same story, more scars, the mother¡¯s smile prouder and softer, the girl now a vivacious, fiery Gunslinger closer to my age.

    My eyes wander. Leather boots by the door. Furred capes and flaired coats hanging from hooks. Dried-up datapads in the desk. Wall-mounted maps of the Vents detailing sectors of the undercity and the crime lords who once ruled them. Ancient ash in the tray. Like a snapshot of that mother¡¯s life, immortalized in a frame of dust.

    A fingernail trailing up my prosthetic hand drags me back into the moment. ¡°I take it yesterday was as unproductive for you as it was me,¡± Cal says. She taps the center of my palm; all five fingers twitch inwards at once.

    ¡°I wish. Had to meet with Nabuna.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Boy trouble. Does it every time.¡±

    I wince, and not just because of her work.

    ¡°He giving you a hard time?¡± Cal asks.

    ¡°Mah. He¡¯s not the problem.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± She shrugs. ¡°Give me a day. I¡¯ll make him apologize for whatever he did.¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not going to kill him.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you doing anything to him; not when he¡¯s the one putting a roof over our heads.¡± I roll my eyes dramatically. ¡°Besides. He already knows who you are.¡±

    ¡°Does he? That¡¯s funny.¡± Her tongue sticks to a corner of her mouth while she moves on to prying back a reinforced plate near the ulna. ¡°I guess I¡¯m not unknown down here.¡±

    ¡°You have such a way with words, Cal.¡±

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    ¡°Hah. Please. Don¡¯t patronize me, Tay. You are terrible at lying.¡± She chuckles, arm brushing against mine. ¡°I¡¯ve done my fair share of work in the Vents. There was that Dynasty lieutenant, some terrorist who was holding a power grid hostage¡­ even crossed paths with the Armiger once. You wouldn¡¯t want to meet that piece of work.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of him.¡±

    ¡°Her, if the Counterespionage Division¡¯s intel is right. And it¡¯s probably for the best. She¡¯s a vigilante zealot who¡¯s got some real strong opinions about your dad.¡± Cal nods to herself, caught up in investigating the puzzles of my prosthetic¡¯s inner workings. ¡°All that Gami¡¯s people have to do to get order down here is dangle the threat of me stopping by for a visit. I have no idea why a Venter would help us knowing who I am, but if he¡¯s taken a liking to you, I guess it¡¯s not the worst.¡±

    ¡°I guess not.¡± I keep still, unsure of how to react in the closeness. Awkwardly reaching for a conversation because it seems the natural thing to do. ¡°What about you? Anything new?¡±

    ¡°I told you that Relics don¡¯t just grow on trees,¡± she says, draping her left arm over my shoulder so she can look me in the eyes. ¡°I still think your idea is a shot in the dark, being honest. But I¡¯m game for it. We could use some more Relics if we want a fighting chance of beating Thane.¡±

    She leans back, spine arching in a catlike stretch. Head cricking from side to side. I get a close look at the lean muscle of her arms; the hard definition of a lifelong fighter. An assassin. A killer with blood beneath her nails. It¡¯s easy to forget sometimes. Despite being the same age, despite how nonchalant she can act, we¡¯re worlds apart in the lines we¡¯ve crossed. She¡¯s just as dangerous as I am, in her own way.

    ¡°¡­still. Between you and me, I doubt there¡¯s even another Relic in this Section, much less the capital,¡± she¡¯s saying. ¡°I switched to running a query on the M¡¯s mainframe yesterday. Maybe it¡¯ll pick up a lead that¡¯s not kept under lock and key. But that lead being acquirable, fixable, and useful against Thane is an even longer shot than you figuring out your ki.¡± She glances over with a halfhearted smirk. ¡°No offense.¡±

    ¡°Say we find one, because I¡¯m not a pessimist.¡± She rolls her eyes, I keep going. ¡°What¡¯s stopping you from making it work like yours? Figure out some way to insulate me from the suppression field when you turn it on?¡±

    She squints at me. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not how Relics work. You can¡¯t just change them to whatever you want; they¡¯re not like JOY classes.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be way more helpful if they were.¡±

    Cal pats my cheek and laughs. ¡°Why don¡¯t you focus on more useful things, like why the sky is blue.¡±

    Still shaking her head in amusement, she nudges my arm off none-too-gently. I curl the fingers inwards one at a time. Smoother than they did before she touched them, true to form. The aches and resistance in the knuckles are all gone.

    When I glance over, her yellow eyes are fixed on my hand, a contented quirk to her mouth. She takes her time in wandering back up to meet my gaze. Hard to avoid noticing when we¡¯re this close. Mutually exhausted, yet neither immune to the fact that we¡¯re both still sitting here.

    It''s just a glance, really. A slide of the eyes, low to high. Nothing more.

    Cal pulls away from the moment first, sliding off the desk and leading the way to the kitchen. ¡°This place is stuffy. Let¡¯s get some fresh air.¡±

    I don¡¯t protest.

    Five minutes later, we¡¯re crashed on the couches in the lounge with tumblers of cheap alcohol potent enough to clean toilets. A huge old stream screen fizzles on the wall. Crackling noises emanate from the speakers when I plug my JOY into a manual port and set it to pick randomly from the endless library of fight tapes I¡¯ve downloaded. Most of them are from Dad¡¯s matches in the pro leagues. Today¡¯s another classic. Metro Blockhouse, championship level. The only battlefield open to the sky. It¡¯s dusk. A crowd of tens of thousands, the entire tower packed top to bottom with people watching on every screen they can. The grandstanding voice of Greggus Rebun, Aunt Jolie¡¯s old boss, cuts on halfway through his grand intro for Dad¡¯s first official fight as Champion.

    Cal actually sits up, pointing at the screen with the same hand she¡¯s using to hold her drink. ¡°Holy shit, I actually know this one.¡±

    I glance over. ¡°Were you in the crowd?¡±

    ¡°Me? Hah, no. They had it on at the house¡­¡± She pauses to sip. ¡°¡­the group house. All of us were watching.¡±

    ¡°I was too. Jolie and I watched it in the living room. By the fire with popcorn.¡±

    ¡°Jolie was with you?¡± Cal asks incredulously. ¡°That can¡¯t be right. This was Mars¡¯ commemoration fight; the biggest moment of his career. She would have been in his booth with all the other bigshots.¡±

    I look down at my drink, rubbing a carbon-fiber finger against the beading condensation. ¡°¡­It was my birthday.¡±

    Cal says nothing. Lets the tape continue to run, eventually winding down the volume once the action starts. Both drinks low now, leftover takeout from my earlier stop strewn across a low table between us. The tape ends with two quiet clicks right as my father stoops to help his fallen opponent up from the ground. I¡¯m too busy repacking my bag for tonight to notice the tape that gets randomly pulled up next. Only when Cal stiffens beside me do I look up at her, see the reflection in her eyes, and then look to the screen, where a knife to the heart plays in near silence.

    It''s a video I took myself.

    Even without the date stamped in the corner, I know it by heart. Thane is older, late into his teens, dark and quiet and inquisitive as he pours over the chessboard between him and Jolie for the tenth time. We¡¯re in the kitchen. Noon, doors thrown open, Thane fresh from the pool with a towel over his shoulders and Jolie¡¯s shirt opened three buttons down from the collar. The board is old, the pieces clumsily carved from wood, a small stone from the garden replacing the kingpiece on one team. A small clock on the windowsill keeps ticking up, just past five minutes.

    Jolie yawns. Eyelids heavy with pretended boredom. But she never does anything without a purpose. She¡¯s the furthest thing from bored. The boy in front of her is the best challenge she ever found. I never cared much for the game. So it was natural, of course, that her love of it would infect Thane instead. They were always close; two minds that operated on the same calculating wavelength. The game between them a whetstone shared.

    Thane¡¯s fingers touch each piece, hands moving in vague paths as his mind plays out the individual futures. You can see everything of him in the moment. The gliding grace of a killer inherited in his genes. The patience of my aunt as he weighs every option. The mirth of my father as he notices I¡¯m recording. He can¡¯t resist glancing over at me anyways. Just a flick of the eyes.

    It''s a whole story in a heartbeat. Rather than turn it off, I let it play out, not shutting myself to the pain it brings. It hurts. So, so badly. Worse because of how sweet those days were.

    Life was so much simpler then. I had so much more to live for. So many better things to fight for. All I have left now is the illness inside, and it¡¯s no wonder my heart is so polluted that it serrates me when I call upon it. Deep down, I know how badly I need to change. I need something new to fight for; something to replace the pain with a better well to draw on. Hate and anger is anathema to my nature. Yet it¡¯s all that I have left.

    The tape ends. Another plays, back to the fights. My heart¡¯s still in the past. So is Cal¡¯s. She¡¯s propped up on her elbow. Serious for a rare moment.

    ¡°Why lie for him?¡± she asks. ¡°After everything Thane has done to you, you still told me that it was Gami who killed your father.¡±

    ¡°Because he did. Not Thane.¡±

    I ball Dad¡¯s tank top up in my lap, squeezing it as tight as I can.

    ¡°It was¡­ supposed to be exile,¡± I say. Faltering at first. ¡°Thane was going to help Gami force Dad to step down and leave the Section. I was taken for leverage.¡± I force it out mechanically, the only way I can. ¡°There was a standoff. Dad thought they were going to kill me. He tried to get me away. He was never going to hurt Thane, but when he lunged at us¡­ there was no way to know. It happened so fast. That¡¯s how it is in a fight. You can¡¯t hesitate.¡±

    Cal¡¯s hand twitches like she wants to reach out. I sag into the couch, settling my right shoulder in the cushions on instinct. The rest comes out in low tones.

    ¡°Thane tried to protect himself. Just like we¡¯d been trained to do. He switched from holding me to bracing with the point forward to meet the lunge and¡­¡± My whole body locks up as I fight to hold back the mental image. ¡°¡­it was an accident,¡± I whisper, dry-eyed. ¡°It was an accident.¡±

    ¡°An accident.¡± Cal¡¯s voice cools. ¡°Is that what you tell yourself? So you can sleep?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth. Whether I want it or not.¡±

    ¡°The truth sure didn¡¯t seem to stop you from trying to kill him.¡±

    ¡°I lost control. I¡¯m not going to let it happen again.¡±

    ¡°And if we have to fight him?¡± she asks. Waiting to see if I¡¯ll lie. ¡°Were you going to ask me to kill my own brother? Or are you planning on doing it yourself?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± My fingers tighten in the couch. ¡°Try staring down someone you¡¯ve loved with all your heart through half your life. Someone whose mind and body you know every piece of. Your one and only. Your person. A person who then betrayed everything you¡¯ve ever known, betrayed you, betrayed that love you share, destroyed everything you had, and cast you away to rot.¡± I look at nothing, thinking of years ago, that garden in my mind¡¯s eye. ¡°Put that person within arm¡¯s reach after everything they¡¯ve done; and think about what you¡¯d do.¡±

 4.7 - PLAN OF ATTACK

    I wake on the third buzz that shakes the couch. Still in the darkness, all lights off and all doors shut. My eyes creak open, crust in the corners. Sheets scatter nearby as Cal jolts upright a moment later, muttering curses while she paws around blindly. Her crawling brings her closer my way, drawn to the next pair of buzzes that emanate from somewhere nearby. Her hands pat their way along the cushions, over my face, then back away and down into the gap between our lounges, before she finally straights up with her JOY in hand, silhouetted by a fire alarm¡¯s faint bead of illumination.

    My eyes slam shut just as she makes the mistake of flipping open a projector screen.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Flashbang brightness. The light dims to a lamprey glow once she navigates to the brightness controls. Blue colors illuminate just her face from the neck up, squinting and bleary-eyed. I roll over onto my side with a groan, so much more groggy than I should be. ¡°What time is it?¡±

    ¡°Four¡­ in the afternoon,¡± she yawns, now paging through her messages. I can see them in reverse through the translucent holoscreen; most left unread. ¡°You passed out while we were watching vids.¡±

    I flop back onto my back, hair pooled around me like water. Run my real hand through my bangs to move them away from my eyes. ¡°¡­I¡¯m gonna miss my fight.¡±

    ¡°Good. We¡¯ve got bigger problems than which Venter¡¯s ass you¡¯re going to kick tonight.¡±

    Scooting from her couch to mine, Cal nudges me over with her hip, then wiggles her way down into a comfortable curl. Her screen floats in front of us split right down the center. I use my elbows to start sitting up. Side by side, eyes jumping between the two halves of the screen.

    ¡°My query came back from the M,¡± she says, pointing at the left side. A sea of file names and types scrolls slowly downwards, dissolving at the bottom of the projection. ¡°Looks like Jolie had an idea we¡¯d go poking around. She gave my intern ID access permissions to all of her personal files. She¡¯s got a lot of stuff in here.¡± Her voice trails to a murmur as she keeps scrolling, using casual thumbstrokes on her JOY¡¯s shell. I squint to read the files in the dark. Too many to count. They scroll past in a blur. Photo albums, something called ZONE A, digital libraries of her books to read while abroad. Then folders stuffed with spreadsheets for every year she¡¯s worked in the M, dating all the way back her earliest days as a clerical intern for Greggus Rebun. Over twenty years of history.

    The query already pulled up a docket nestled deep inside Jolie¡¯s records, beside a folder called CHIMERA. Inside the docket is a personal list of every Relic she must have known of, each logged with a timestamp and exact geographic coordinates of each device¡¯s current, or then-current location.

    ¡°Huh. There¡¯s mine,¡± Cal says, paging through the list. ¡°JOY suppression, bracelet style, owned by yours truly. And look, right below it. There is another Relic in the city. Not a lot of details on it, though.¡± She squints. ¡°I knew she was hiding another one.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not hiding it. Those coordinates, the y-axis is-¡±

    ¡°-negative, which means it¡¯s-¡±

    ¡°-in the Vents, yeah.¡± I start to sit up while she pulls up the specific coordinates. The screen displays a map that¡¯s a flat black square. ¡°That can¡¯t be right.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s right, alright,¡± Cal sighs. ¡°It¡¯s in the Abyss.¡±

    She zooms out, pages around in search of some recognizable part of the undercity, sees nothing, then eventually shifts the 2-D map of the Vents upwards, slowly drifting towards the crust like an x-ray scan. Grey, indistinct charts of undercity layers begin slowly blooming in the darkness. She scrolls further. The undercity layers grow and pass by with each thumbstroke before hitting the metal crust of the city, then continuing up into the Electric Town. Dead in the center of the ring of streets that swirl outwards from the Metro Blockhouse.

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    ¡°Half a mile beneath the M itself,¡± she mutters. Her scrolling takes us back down to those undercity layers. ¡°It¡¯s hours away from us through the Vents. Shit. And not even in settled territory. It¡¯s out in the Shocks. Somewhere way back where people used to live.¡±

    Goosebumps rise along my shoulders. Still. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be a problem for us. Pack your stuff and let¡¯s get out there.¡±

    Her head dips towards the unread side of the screen. ¡°Us, is what I¡¯m wondering about.¡±

    On the other half of the split screen wavers a text chat between Cal and Valance, with the latest exchange just a few minutes prior. An invitation- a pointed request, really- for Cal to attend some gathering up in the Electric Town where the Shadows will be welcoming some new members. Tonight.

    ¡°Nah. You can bail on them,¡± I growl.

    ¡°And you can police your own life,¡± Cal casually snips back. ¡°Fortunately for you, we¡¯re in agreement this time. I¡¯ve been avoiding the other Shadows for weeks now. Valance already knows something is up. But I wasn¡¯t talking about the party.¡± She glances over, half her face lit in blue. ¡°If all the Shadows are going to be over in E-Town for the night, the Imperial Complex will be wide open. It¡¯s the perfect chance for me to spring Jolie.¡±

    ¡°You to spring Jolie?¡± I emphasize the singular.

    ¡°Stealth isn¡¯t exactly your thing, and you know it. Springing Jolie became a solo job the moment she got sent to the Imperial Complex. Lucky for you that you¡¯ve got an expert assassin with a soft spot for you tucked somewhere deep inside her cold, murderous chest.¡± She leans back, resting her weight on her hands. ¡°We can waive the usual fee if you do me a favor tonight too. I make a move for your aunt, and you go get me that Relic.¡±

    ¡°Not going to do it out of the goodness of your heart?¡± I jokingly ask.

    ¡°Since you apparently need another reminder, Tay,¡± She leans over, so close her hair drapes over mine, close enough to breathe for each other. ¡°I was never helping you out of the goodness of my heart.¡± Her breath grazes my lips like the edge of a knife. Deadly and daring to as she says, ¡°And I don¡¯t work for free. We just happen to want the same things.¡±

    I arch an eyebrow. ¡°Seems to happen pretty often, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t asking.¡± She focuses on the cut on my nose, eyeing the healing scar. ¡°You really give my intentions too much credit. Or did you suddenly forget who my family is?¡±

    I scoff quietly. ¡°You try so hard to seem like you¡¯re just like Thane, but you two are nothing the same.¡±

    She smirks back. Meaning well, but I can see her suddenly going cold to me in real time. She leans away quick, about to escape the conversation until I put a hand on her wrist.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep faking it around me,¡± I say. ¡°I mean it. What¡¯s the harm in saying what you¡¯re really thinking?¡±

    Cal snatches her hand back a little too quick, not meeting my gaze. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Try me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not really in the mood to open my heart to you, Ms. Altruist.¡±

    Slipping off the couch, she pads over to her gear and starts rummaging through the miscellaneous equipment we¡¯ve scavenged over the weeks. A pack of credit chits gets shoved in her pocket as she jogs up a pair of tight black pants, secured with a double-cross belt over top. Already focused on the coming night. Though she¡¯s turned away, I can see the conviction in her slender shoulders. The same I remember so vividly from Thane, when I¡¯d watch him wake on the morning of a tournament.

    Letting her have the separation, I swing my legs over the couch and fish my bag out from beneath, tossing it atop the blankets. ¡°If Jolie gets hurt, I know where you live.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten how important she is to you, Tay.¡±

    ¡°Just making sure.¡±

    We keep preparing, back-to-back. I pull up Nabuna¡¯s contact info on my JOY and start it ringing, still replaying the last exchange in my head. ¡°You promised not to lie,¡± I say, letting the wall rebound my voice. ¡°I¡¯ll find that Relic tonight. But when we get back, I want to know what you¡¯re holding out on. I want to trust you. Not just the parts of you I know.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve seen the best parts already.¡± Coldly professional, Cal throws on her jacket, straightens the collar, then reaches for a threadbare scarf. ¡°I doubt you¡¯d like the other ones.¡±

 4.8 - NECROPOLIS (I)

    I stand at the edge of a precipice, staring at the darkness.

    It yawns in front of me, just beyond the last lights of eerily quiet neighborhoods and shuttered storefronts that make up the edge of the settled Vents. Deep in the lowest layers. Hours of foot travel from the surface. It¡¯s night up there, somewhere. Though the last seam through the crust of the city is so far back that the sky above is a pure veil of black.

    The bridges that extend from the towerside into the darkness hang in a tenuous state of collapse. The last of the lamplight dies halfway across. I stand alone in the artificial twilight, tiny in the mortuary silence. Staring at the forbidden forest of derelict, upside-down undercity. Gauging it for myself.

    The lamplight flickers. Returns.

    Thirty meters are all that separate me from the Shocks. A chasm just like every other in the Vents stretches to either side of the bridge I stand on. Beyond it looms an abandoned city that only exists in silhouette. I wasn¡¯t afraid of even the roughest neighborhoods behind me. I could protect myself from anything the Vents has to offer. But I have no idea what lies ahead. The paranoia of the unknown is worse than any monster reality could cook up.

    Instinctively, I want to return to the lights. Shy from the Shocks and close the doors to it, just like how I would camp in the living room when I was little and alone in an empty estate made for a sprawling family. Nabuna feels it, too. That¡¯s why he lingers off the side of the bridge, and I on the first step across.

    I¡¯m wearing a blackmarket skinsuit that clings to my body like an oil slick, stretching up to the scar over my nose. No extra weight, nothing that could snag on undercity debris. A small comm unit worms into my ear, giving me a hands-free link to Cal until she went dark just a few minutes ago at the Imperial District metro stop.

    Now it¡¯s my turn. The fingers of my left hand curl in and out, testing the stickiness of the gecko pads on my fingertips. A small light rides on my left hip beside a magnetic plate for my JOY and a tiny emergency beacon. Nabuna¡¯s insurance policy. He made me take it; wouldn¡¯t say why. Seeing how wary he is of the Shocks, I accepted it without question.

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    The greaser lifts his cigar with a wavering hand and takes a heavy drag. ¡°This is a bad idea, Blanco,¡± he grunts.

    So he said five different times on the ride over. I don¡¯t take my eyes off the darkness, in case it decides to leap at me the moment I stop watching.

    ¡°What¡¯s really out there?¡±

    My voice does not echo. It goes across the bridge and does not return. I speak normally, but the sound is like a whisper compared to the necropolis that stretches ahead. The wind is cold, no longer humid, icy like that of winter on the mountains. Nabuna¡¯s reply is no less quiet in its grasp.

    ¡°Nothing good,¡± is all he says at first. Then, ¡°You sure you thought this through?¡±

    ¡°Sure enough.¡±

    ¡°Once you cross that bridge, ain¡¯t no one coming after you, chica. You on your own.¡± Another drag. ¡°If you have a death wish, I would recommend jumping instead.¡±

    I lean to the side, looking over the edge of the bridge. Incomprehensible, endless abyss.

    ¡°Whatever you¡¯re looking for, it ain¡¯t out there,¡± he says.

    ¡°I know. But something else I can use might.¡±

    My gaze returns to the front. The taboo undercity and its miles of lightless, abandoned cityscape that cling to the bottom of the capital without power or light or human presence, separating me from my target. Like the world¡¯s largest cave, stalactites of towers, the crust of the city its roof nearly a mile above. I check Cal¡¯s coordinates one more time before stepping further onto the bridge. Twilight cloaks my shoulders, drifts down my back, devouring the contours of my body on a path to my heels as I leave the light¡¯s fading touch.

    One final call gives me pause.

    ¡°Hey. Blanco.¡±

    I turn. He¡¯s holding something in his hand. Vial-shaped. Shimmering liquid inside.

    ¡°You ever use stims?¡± he asks. I shake my head. He tosses the vial to me in a low arc; I catch it with my left hand. ¡°This ain¡¯t stims. Don¡¯t pop it unless the alternative is dying.¡±

    I slide the vial into a slit high on my left arm. Look back up to say thanks, but he¡¯s already tugged his cap down and turned back to the undercity, thick hands slipping into weathered leather pockets. I watch him go. Wait an extra moment. Wish instead that it were someone else entirely with me, and that she were coming, not leaving. The shadows are deeper, less permeable when she¡¯s not around. No snarky comments to watch my back now.

    Bereft my guiding light, bereft the shadow that¡¯s come to take its place at my side, I turn and head into the abyss.

 4.9 - NECROPOLIS (II)

    Imagine the breadth of the Vents. The incoherent chaos of its layers and grime, the messy sluices and rivers of downtrodden humanity, the neon and the smog and the people who profit from it, all stitched for layers upon endless layers into a lawless basketweave. Then unravel it one strand at a time. First the hope. Then the homes. Then the people, and the ground they walk on. And only then, once the last stragglers have been forced from the layers by gang wars, unrepaired corrosion, and fires that consumed whole sectors of the undercity, one by one, the lights wink out. The air cleaners stop working. The water quits running. No more trash scatters across the streets, because there¡¯s no one left to make it and nowhere left to sell it. There is nothing but the darkness.

    The Shocks is a graveyard of what was. City blocks crumble around me in the shadows, cloaked in lightlessness so complete that I can only see small glimpses of them with my palm light and the faint illumination that comes from my JOY. I peer through my tiny cone and wonder at the loss. How many people once existed here, to leave behind this sprawling necropolis? I walk in one layer of one block of the Shocks. There are countless others around me in every cardinal direction, each cut by streets that once had names, lined by buildings that once had purpose.

    Liminal silence fills every empty space I pass. Windows are blown out. Metal doors hang  ajar, locked open by failsafes when the power cut. Scars of ancient fires and explosions darken the bricks. Snowdrifts of concrete pour into the roads. A child¡¯s desiccated stuffed animal lies in a pool of its own stuffing, fallen from a fifth-story apartment with a bombed-out wall.

    I understand now why the Venters don¡¯t leave their lights.

    This place is not a place for the living.

    It unsettles me at the most basic, human level.

    My legs start moving faster of their own accord, spooked by primal instinct. My animal mind thinking against reason that there will be some light ahead where I can take shelter. The gravity of the Abyss sucks me forward into its embrace. I reign in the adrenaline, slowing the beating of my heart as I lope slowly through the cryptic emptiness. I spring across gaps in the bridges and push deeper into the Shocks on a straight-line drive to my destination.

    Like a cosmonaut crossing an asteroid in deep space, it¡¯s just me and the sound of my breath. Shattered glass twinkles like distant stars. Everything sounds underwater, deep-sea muffled.

    I pass through several city blocks that way. My route takes me through the widest boulevards, under sagging archways of fallen towers and through snowfields of ash, heedless of the state of collapse or the number of craters that litter the roads. I soon shut off my palm light and navigate only by a small map that cascades from my JOY¡¯s projector. Try to separate myself from the uneasy feeling low down in my spine; that old instinct that I am being watched. It¡¯s just the dark. The tinkles of falling glass are just that. The odd clicks and clacks of rubble just the wind.

    The further I go, the worse the collapse and devastation become. As I draw within a few blocks of Cal¡¯s coordinates, the streets turn black and flaky beneath my feet; covered in heavy layers of char and soot that I kick up like fall leaves. I can still smell the smoke. Don¡¯t need a light to know what my other senses tell me. This place was burned. A fire, an old one, compressed like a pressure cooker by the crust of the overcity, turning this block and the ones around it into a crematory furnace. Melted electrical cables and data wires worm between the bricks in alloyed veins.

    When my path takes me to a fully collapsed bridge that would normally span the chasm between me and the block I¡¯m looking for, I mutter a curse and follow those veins back towards the husk of a metro station that they originally came from. I flick my light on while I walk, trying to see across the chasm, but only see the shattered teeth of the bridge¡¯s other side. Too far. In the past, I could have crossed a thirty meter gap like that with ease using my ki. But even though I can barely stomach the pain of my black aura now, I can only direct it into a loosely-controlled eruption; not nearly well enough to fly.

    So I head into the train station. Past the tatters of grimed-over posters for Metro Blockhouse fights from back when Rex Fang was still Champion, then shoving aside a collapsed Shimano Industries vending machine that blocks the tunnel. I vault the depowered turnstile in the lobby and head to the tracks. Toss a chunk of metal on the rails to see if they spark. All clear.

    Before I hop down onto the rails and start tightrope-walking my way across the chasm to the next block, I dare to stretch my sixth sense of ki in a brief search of the nearby area. The sense is painful even to touch, tenuous and wavering, but I can reach out enough to know I¡¯m in a void in more ways than one. There aren¡¯t even the tiny sparks of animal life my mind expects to feel. No sparkrats, no vermin.

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    I strike out across the warped metro rails, arms outstretched for acrobatic balance. The Abyss yawns beneath me like a black hole maw, clutching at the underside of the layer ahead. The city beneath it must have crumbled and fell into the void some time ago. There¡¯s only small, spindly remnants of jagged towers and broken bridges stabbing downward. I can¡¯t see much. Nor can I spare the brainpower on it. Away from the undercity infrastructure, freezing wind tries its best to batter me off-balance, though I¡¯m nothing if not a match for its strength. I was running on the estate¡¯s walls when I was five.

    Creaks erupt in the metal underfoot as I near the other side of the chasm. I burst into a sprint, legs eating up the last meters. Shoes slamming lightly against the metal as I hurl myself forward. Metal warbles. The collapse reaching its tipping point. At the last instant, I jump off the rails and hit the towerside in a roll, tumbling through the snowy ash that coats the concrete walkways.

    Alloyed metal creaks, groans, and snaps behind me. The noise is titanic in the silence. I spring back to my feet and watch the rails plummet into the dark below, panting for breath, stamping down on the fear. One path doesn¡¯t matter. All that matters is where I¡¯m going. Once I get there, I¡¯ll figure out another way back.

    Easy to say in my head. Hard to believe when I can watch the exact moment my way back disappears into the void.

    The Abyss. The end. To the Venters, the void is a permanence in their lives. Things that fall in do not come out- not even people. And plenty have tried. I shiver as I force myself to look away, returning my gaze on the rest of the darkened block.

    Frigid wind moans through the hollow cityscape. Snowflakes of ash tickle my nose as they drift past. Shielding my eyes from the blizzard, I pull out my JOY and open the map once more. Cal¡¯s coordinates dead-end at this block. The Relic I¡¯m looking for, if it¡¯s here at all, is somewhere within these four corners.

    Toggling the sphere to a scouting mode, I cup it and sweep it in a slow arc, having it run penetrant tests in search of materials with a composition like Cal¡¯s bangle. The JOY picks up the trail fast. Gives off a two-note tone, then repeats the notes every so often, and it¡¯ll increase the speed of the repetition as I close in. Right on cue, a small dot of light appears on the map. The Relic¡¯s signal is coming from somewhere behind the scorched apartment complexes that front against the towerside. Deep in the heart of the block.

    I close the sphere¡¯s projector and slap it back against my hip. The bwah-bwah ringtone pulses at near-silent volume as I cross a silent highway littered with husks of autobikes punctured by bullet wounds. The ash I kick up joins the eerie blizzard swirling around me, barely visible even without a running light. Faint, silvery illumination filters down from somewhere far above. I crane my head back and spot the tiny seam in the city¡¯s crust nearly a mile up. A narrow, circular chasm. Just a large tube for air and runoff water, really. Maybe a rain drain for the Electric Town. The diffused moonlight coming through it suspends this entire block in an oceanlike twilight layer. Neither enough light to see by, nor enough darkness to blind.

    My JOY guides me towards the southern face of the block where I find a warehouse with the bay doors rolled open, stripped barren by its old occupants. That¡¯s about when the little sphere decides to finally give up on me. Too much interference coming from ahead. Concrete, mazed hallways; could be anything frizzing the trail. Could be nothing. Could be something. My kinetic sense says it¡¯s the first. That I¡¯m the only spark of life for miles around. My gut isn¡¯t quite so certain.

    Swallowing, I take one last look behind me before heading deeper inside. Huge ceiling, pillars evenly spaced, concrete once polished to reflect spotlights now smeared in black and debris. Two chains holding the last splinters of an advertisement board drift soundlessly outside. A small arrangement of chairs and countertop, mostly slagged by heat, lurk in a faroff corner of the warehouse. There¡¯s another machine by the doors that survived a bit more of the fire. Some kind of ancient data-access device surrounded by a litter of melted metal discs.

    My eyes catch on a lifeless shape in the middle of the warehouse floor. A body- a very dead one, at that. An evaporated bloodstain pools around the flaking tatters of the robes it must have worn. Not much is left of the skeleton itself. I kneel and rifle through the robes just in case it has a clue of the Relic I¡¯m looking for. There¡¯s only a few plates of armor, each of a different make and style. Hand-forged. Expensive stuff. If they¡¯d been made by a JOY, they would have disappeared when it shut off. No weapons though. Strange.

    I rise, dust off my hands, and head further inside.

    The rubble in the back of the warehouse blocks a series of passages heading deeper into the buildings at the heart of the block. My JOY thinks the Relic is down one of them, though it¡¯s not sure which. I close my eyes and clutch my left hand tight, holding back the instinctive impulse to draw on the black aura to carve a path forward. I don¡¯t need to use it. Some of that rubble looks passable if I really squeeze.

    Stale, lifeless breaths echo as I inhale deeply. Tenuously bottling up the malevolent power that lurks just beneath the surface of my skin. It waits patiently. Knowing one drop of lethal emotion is all the fuel it needs to ignite. I refuse to give it that. Pure stubbornness, maybe; or just knowing exactly how Cal would look at me if I fully gave in. If I went back to the way I was when I saw Thane.

    These days, I almost can¡¯t see a path forward without that black aura, even though it crucifies me to draw upon it. I¡¯ve spent so long searching for a way back to my old strength, to no avail. Maybe the answer¡¯s been with me the whole time.

    Maybe that¡¯s why I can only think of her as I push forward into the dark.

 REALITY.02

    I stand on the edge of a penthouse roof deep within the Electric Town. My wine glass tilts from side to side, aimlessly moving the golden liquid inside like a fluid joystick. Violent rain lashes the invisible repulsorfield that forms a bubble over the rooftop. Horrible night for a party, really. Which is exactly why I chose it.

    Five streets away, the Metro Blockhouse spears out of the Electric Town skyline. My master looms somewhere in its highest layers. There are pro fights tonight, as there always are, but he doesn¡¯t deign to watch the smaller fish of the major leagues. If they want his attention, they have to earn the right to stand on his doorstep and meet him on the field of battle.

    Few have ever had the bravery for that.

    Far fewer the idiocy.

    Back in the warmly-lit pavilion at the center of the rooftop, Valance cajoles Aurix and Felix into a toast to the nearby throne of our world. Other university fighters from our classes at Concordia populate the rest of the party, watching the two boys with envy. Valance¡¯s attention is freely given, but her toasts are a far rarer treat.

    I glance over my shoulder and watch without joining as the three tilt their glasses back. The city silhouettes them with neon brilliance, small haloes of color highlighting their features. Valance is the center of attention- it¡¯s a rare night that she isn¡¯t. Her languid steps draw every eye as her dress shifts between her legs. It¡¯s a vicious cut that only a woman with hips like hers could manage.

    It''s hard to look at her any other way than the one she invites. Rather than spurn her upbringing as one of the elite courtesans who belonged to the undercity syndicate Dynasty, Valance embraces it. She draws strength from a past that would horrify others. A child of the Orange¡¯s brothels, she was elevated to one of the highest positions an indentured servant can hold- and even then, she was little more than a glorified gift for the influential figures Dynasty needed courted. That changed the day I found her during one of my raids for Jolie.

    Valance may be the most eyecatching figure in attendance, but there are absences that are even more notable than her presence. Gami¡¯s higher freelancers currently staying in the capital, who would help evaluate the new additions to the Shadows- the Titan pilot Kalavakus, and Aster, the assassin who helped train my sister- are missing, as are the Mobiak and Cal herself; the last to no dismay of those smitten by her eternal aloofness. Our peers from the university league make up the entire party. We drain glasses full of glowing golden champagne, a gift from the champion, like it¡¯s liquid fire. Some more daringly than others. Though we all split into laughter when Felix can¡¯t stomach more than a sip.

    The party retreats to a hedge-lined plaza of fire pits and string lights near the edge of the roof when the celebrations begin in earnest. I must lag too far behind, or perhaps there¡¯s some slip in my mind¡¯s protective walls, because Valance falls behind the others and purposefully slips her arm inside mine.

    ¡°Quite the view, isn¡¯t it?¡± she says, taking another sip from her glass. ¡°Growing up in the Vents, I never imagined I¡¯d see the city from a penthouse.¡±

    I disguise my mood with a raised eyebrow. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for the sentimental type.¡±

    Valance hooks her wizarding hat on one finger and rakes the other hand through my hair, pressing close. A frisky smile playing along her lips.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t take me for a lot of things.¡±

    We sit with Felix and Aurix around one of the crackling fire pits that lights the rooftop. Warmth spills over the party in waves of orange light, illuminating pockets of cordial laughter and murmured conversations. It¡¯s an easy mood tonight. The university warriors who aren¡¯t here to curry favor with Gami¡¯s prized disciples are no strangers to gatherings like these. Valance¡¯s telekinetic control passes out more drinks. When she makes a pointed nudge at the glass I hold, I finally cast my thoughts aside, testing the golden liquor with a grimace.

    It¡¯s worse than I thought it would be. Expensive things always are.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shame the Mobiak couldn¡¯t join us,¡± Felix says, looking out over the cityscape. ¡°I was hoping to pick its brain a bit. So many Venter legends about that thing. Does it even speak? It doesn¡¯t seem like it does.¡±

    Valance dismisses his worries with a casual wave. ¡°It¡¯s making a little detour on my behalf, is all. It¡¯ll be here. Though its ability to communicate depends entirely on your ability to handle canines.¡±

    My ears perk up as she plucks the rest of the drink from my fingers, sliding into the chair beside mine. Felix passes a small tumbler to Aurix and slumps into the couch beside him. The two boys couldn¡¯t be more unalike if they tried. One thin and slight, a poet¡¯s grace to his fingers. Noble green eyes that belong in the highest levels of the Metro Blockhouse, just as his grandfather¡¯s did. The other looks so uncomfortably out of place in his stuffy formal shirt that I¡¯d chuckle if I weren¡¯t relying on his silence.

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    Aurix is a pendulum of charisma. Attractive yet surly, compelling yet awkward. Tonight is no exception. This party is his first real taste of the capital¡¯s higher society. An outlander by birth, he plays well enough with the jocular behavior of our university peers, but the silver-tongued barbs and clever retorts are completely lost on him. Still, I¡¯m surprised at how well he plays to our ruse. Stealing the others¡¯ attention by genetic virtue, like a noble-bred lion who landed in a pack of jackals. As personable as his father, though only when he¡¯s elbow-deep in describing the nuance of battle. You can see the kind of man he¡¯ll one day be in the college boy he is now.

    Aurix¡¯s story is interrupted when the penthouse door creaks open on the other side of the rooftop. Heads turn. I alone watch the fire.

    Wet slaps echo up the stairs as the bedraggled, water-soaked shadow of my little sister climbs into view. Cal wears an undercity rendition of her usual boyish fashion, jacket and slacks clinging to her slight frame. Black hair plasters to her face. Yellow eyes gleam with lethal determination beneath her bangs. Her ponytail droops low. Her usual meticulousness and care for appearances is all but gone; her knifelike personality on full display tonight. Dumping the rainwater from her boots, she squelches her way over to join us by the fires like she owns the entire skyscraper, only belatedly stopping to trade a formal peck on the cheek with Valance.

    ¡°My, if the cat didn¡¯t drag herself in after all,¡± Valance leadingly says. ¡°I was starting to think you weren¡¯t coming, Cal.¡±

    ¡°You thought I¡¯d miss this big of a night? That¡¯s sweet.¡± Cal drops onto the couch beside Felix, ignorant of how the smaller boy squirms awkwardly to make space. She rakishly loosens another button of her shirt as she meets my gaze across the fire. ¡°I always make time for family.¡±

    Ironic.

    The others talk and crowd around her, but she has no patience for them. No interest. Her answers are mere formalities, laughter and smirks that reassure and flirt while saying nothing at all. Her true focus is narrowed only on me. Waiting for a gap to corner me in some break during the party. Driven like a bullet in the chamber. She spares a modicum of her attention for Aurix as she kicks her feet up on a small table, investigating the familiarity she no doubt senses in his smaller aspects. The way he sits with one arm thrown back. The pattern his fingers drum when they tap on the arm of his chair. All pointless minutiae individually, pieces of a puzzle she shouldn¡¯t understand. They haven¡¯t met before.

    Yet she does understand. Or she senses something off about him, and he her. They start smiling daggers at each other while Cal carelessly insults Aurix to his face by asking how he managed to get invited to the party, and he responds with a tiny shrug.

    ¡°Thane and I are training partners,¡± he grunts. ¡°Though I still find it hard to land a hit on him. You and I might be a better fit. Or maybe that friend of yours? The one you brought by the gym the other day.¡±

    And there it is.

    So Cal was there too. Conveniently unmentioned, just like most of the things she did with Tay before bringing her to the gala. Seeing the potential disaster incoming, I silence Felix with a single look. He blanches straight to white. Aurix is another story. He¡¯s not bad at verbal fencing. But compared to an enigma like Cal who lives her life wrapped in more half-truths than full ones, he can¡¯t help but arouse suspicion in the other people listening. He¡¯s a bull in a china shop who could give away every one of our plots with the wrong word.

    Cal sidesteps his query and pilots the conversation back to a course that won¡¯t get a second glance from Valance- her only real threat at this party, given that I can¡¯t finish our little sibling dispute in front of witnesses. She plays it smartly, giving nothing away that Valance might pick up on as being unusual. She takes her time untying her scarf and starts wringing it out like a human neck as she responds to Aurix.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯d be a terrible training partner. I¡¯m on the admin track. I can¡¯t even fight,¡± Cal cheerily lies through her teeth. Poking the bear. ¡°Must be quite the jump for a low ranker like you, going from dorm life to this kind of party.¡±

    ¡°Only in your city,¡± Aurix fires back. ¡°My mom¡¯s a bigshot back home. I have to go to plenty of this kind of thing.¡±

    Valance interrupts them by delicately floating a glass of liquor to her own hand, taking it over to Cal on foot. The two girls exchange quick looks. Valance¡¯s more curious, Cal¡¯s more guarded. I prod along the conversation so my silence doesn¡¯t draw suspicion.

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d recognize him sooner, Cal. I¡¯m disappointed.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t pick on her too harshly, Thane. Cal is quite busy with her roommate these days,¡± Valance chuckles. She sways back and settles on the arm of my chair, looking to Aurix. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to hear some confirmation from the lion¡¯s mouth myself. Heaven knows Thane wouldn¡¯t tell a secret to an empty room if it didn¡¯t tell him one first.¡±

    I don¡¯t stop her from asking. I¡¯m interested less in Aurix¡¯s response, more in how quickly Cal¡¯s attitude changes. My sister finally deigns to give a more analytical look to the muscular fighter, trying to match pieces to his puzzle at a rapidity only rivaled by my own mind.

    Her eyes narrow in recognition after only a few moments. There are few in the capital who wouldn¡¯t at least recognize the colors of Aurix¡¯s eyes if they paid the dark hue any attention. And I know Cal saw that same shade of midnight blue every day of her internship.

    Aurix¡¯s chagrin, carefully poised between embarrassment and rankled pride, follows an acknowledging dip of his head. ¡°It¡¯s not some secret that only Thane knows. Just something I don¡¯t like making a big deal out of. My father was-¡±

    ¡°-Mars Mons,¡± Cal sighs.

    He nods, and I watch as my little sister¡¯s stomach drops straight to the Abyss.

 4.10 - NECROPOLIS (III)

    Clock¡¯s ticking.

    Feeling the pressure of the invisible timetable Cal set, I manage to find a single tunnel out of the warehouse that isn¡¯t fully blocked by rubble. There¡¯s enough room for me to squeeze through without needing to draw on my ki. With some finessing, at least. I wriggle through the small gap headfirst and drape my upper body out the other side, clearing the next hall with upside-down vision. Nothing leaps out of the dark at me. Not wasting time, I twist my hips to the side and squeeze through the crevice, rotating nimbly to land on my feet.

    Another JOY scan confirms I chose right. A damascene signal pings back from somewhere ahead. Not that I needed the extra confirmation. I already know I¡¯m on the right track.

    I¡¯m in a place that doesn¡¯t belong. This hall and the rooms that split off from it, they¡¯re subtly wrong in a way I can¡¯t put my finger on. It¡¯s too tall for the Vents in here. Too thin to be comfortable for humans. Old stone, not concrete or metal, makes up the bulk of the superstructure. Doorways meld flush to the ceiling, yet have small stumbling blocks along the bottom of the frame. Like the whole tower was built upside-down.

    I didn¡¯t think my body had it to feel even more apprehension, yet it manages to surprise me. I have to force myself to take the first step forward into the dark. Force myself to ignore the weird ways my handheld light catches on the rubble and the corners, ignore the click-clack echoes of rubble stirred by the city above. It¡¯s just the paranoia playing tricks. The shadows are only terrifying because the imaginations it spawns aren¡¯t bounded by reason.

    Still. I peer cautiously around every corner as I follow the thin halls deeper inside, forcing open old hydraulic-powered blast hatches by hand when I must. This place is a maze. And a stronghold of some kind, going by the number of dust-coated crates of munitions and expired food my light reveals in the rooms I pass. There¡¯s more skeletons, long decayed, no smell, just fallen across the halls where they were shot down or slashed apart. My lips tighten as I step over them.

    My JOY¡¯s connection to the outside world fully gives out just as the two-note ringtone reaches its quickest intensity. I¡¯m standing outside a thin doorway barred by a half-stuck blast sheathe. A thin gap lets me peer through into the dark. Some kind of office is on the other side, and the source of the damascene signal is in there. My JOY is going berserk. Wincing at the noise it¡¯s making, I shut off the scanning mode and shove the sphere away before firming my fingers inside the door¡¯s gap.

    I reach within and tentatively prod my battered soul, grimacing at the electric shock pain that crackles through my nerves. Wisps of black ki sizzle and leak from my pores. Desperate to form an aura just above my skin. Pulsing through my veins, pushing at my fingertips, hungry to be released. I only let the tiniest flow escape through my real hand as I wrench the door open with a colossal burst of strength only possible with a microinfusion of ki. The door squeals apart. A red-hot handprint burns on the metal, the skin of my palm singed a darker shade.

    Behind the door is an office of plain, utilitarian style not unlike the cramped space Cal has spent so many nights working in during our time at the shooting range. A mural of children¡¯s handprints spans the long right wall and dusty shelves of books the left. Up a small set of stairs, there¡¯s a large desk backed by a shattered triangular window that would normally look out over the next block over, but now holds only a view of the dark necropolis. An ammunition cylinder for a hi-tech revolver lies on the floor behind the desk. I step carefully over it as I wander around, looking for anything amiss. My palm light¡¯s cone sweeps from the desk to a tousled little bed tucked into a corner by the window, then back to the centerpiece of the room. I hit paydirt once I start rifling through the drawers.

    Data wafers. Small holodiscs for storing messages in the palm of a hand. No Relic, though. Cal said they always look like jewelry. Maybe there¡¯s a clue in the electronics. While I focus on brute-forcing one of the more stubborn drawers, I activate one of the holodiscs and toss it atop the desk so it has room to project. A fountain of blue light splays outwards from the disc, slowly tightening into the conical base of the projection.

    Snowflakes and distortion warble through the electric-blue light as the device chokes from a lack of power. Still has a little juice, though. The pixels gradually tighten towards a humanoid shape. Audio coughs and catches. I jerk open the troublesome drawer.

    ¡°I always thought I¡¯d be the last person to see this place.¡±

    A voice raw with static stops me on the spot.

    It speaks so close to my ears that for a moment I¡¯m transported to my home. To a crackling hearth and the smell of rain in his hair. My head whips up and I jerk away from the desk, back pressing against the shattered window. Eyes wide with fear and disbelief as the all-too-real projection of a martial human takes a tired seat right on the edge of the desk.

    My heart hammers inside my chest, desperate to flee. I try to think of something to say. Anything at all.

    In the end, only one desperate word shakes itself out of me.

    ¡°¡­Dad?¡±

    He¡¯s everything I remember. Broad in shoulders, wide in smiles, and wearing that faintly amused grin I remember so well. All of him is rendered ion-blue in the projection, but I can still picture every color of his being, from the shades of crimson in his hair to the scar tissue on his hands. He¡¯s happy in this cruel image. Leaning back in casual repose, searching the darkness for something. Not speaking back to me.

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    I creep hesitantly around the desk, circling the wavering image of my father. Still he does not react. I see more details of him now that I¡¯m closer. His face is younger than the one I remember best. His body is lighter. Less wrapped in the heavy muscle that he built in his later years. His voice is the same, though. That¡¯s all that matters. So real and clear I break at hearing it for the first time since the day he left me.

    I stand in front of him, vision glassing over with sudden wetness. My hand reaches out to try and touch his face on reflex, bringing a horrible noise I can¡¯t fully choke down.

    ¡°If you¡¯ve come all the way down here, that means someone¡¯s finally done a better job cleaning up the Vents than I could. Or you already know what you¡¯re looking for.¡± Dad pauses and looks solemnly at the mural of handprints. ¡°I was searching for something too. I still don¡¯t know if I found it. Maybe that¡¯s for the best. If I¡¯ve learned one truth out in the world, it¡¯s that some things are buried for a reason.¡± He smiles wistfully to himself, looks down at his hands. ¡°Of course, there¡¯s always things you have to see anyways. Even if you know they¡¯re going to hurt. This was one of them.¡±

    He hops off the desk then. The disc still manages to capture his movement. He must have recorded it right here in this room, sometime in the distant past.

    Dad slips his hands in his pockets and wanders briefly, trailing an ethereal finger across the edge of the desk. Holographic dust clings to his fingertip. I sink to my knees in front of him as he sinks to sit on the steps leading up to the desk. He shoots a sad smile at the space he must have thought another person would be sitting, just a few inches above the top of my hair.

    I would give anything to let him reach out and ruffle it one last time.

    ¡°Emmy told me I wouldn¡¯t like what I found here,¡± Dad says. ¡°It¡¯s funny. You spend so long getting to know someone in every moment of their life from the quietest to the busiest, but even after years together, you¡¯re still learning new things about them. For the longest time I¡¯ve only known who she is. But who she was is important too. Her past is as much of her life as I am.¡± He rests his chin behind steepled hands, elbows on his knees. ¡°She was right, in a way. I didn¡¯t like what I found here. But I do understand it. It doesn¡¯t make me love her any less. It makes me love her more. The Vents is a cruel place, but it¡¯s people like her who have to suffer in it. This was her home. And now¡­¡±

    I glance at the window and shiver.

    ¡°...now it¡¯s just ash,¡± Dad sighs. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of good and a lot of evil that¡¯s happened here. A lot of dreams. A lot of love. A lot of anger. A lot of righted wrongs. This room is the price for not breaking the cycle the Creators put us in. Someone has to do it. Someone has to step up before-¡±

    He winks out of existence, scattering into static and embers.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go!¡±

    The cry rips out of my chest as I scramble forward, clutching at the fading particles that flit through the air like fireflies. Every one of them slips between my fingers before evaporating into shadow. I sit there on my knees for a moment, trembling as the silence and dark closes back in. Still trying to summon back the image in my head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­¡± I gasp, nails grinding against the stone. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me, Dad¡­¡±

    He was so close. So real I could almost touch him. I swear loudly and slam a hand against the floor, listening to the gurgling sound of sparks and melting silica from up on the desk as the holoprojector breathes its last.

    I rise, shuddering out a breath, and wipe a hand across my face. Sniffle loudly. Just a stupid, taunting machine. That¡¯s all it was. He¡¯s gone. It was just a video, a fake hope that wasn¡¯t even meant for me.

    I turn and put him behind me. Bitter as the wind that moans through the shattered window as I start to search the rest of the room.

    I stop three steps from where I started, ears twitching at some subliminal sensation. The rest of my body listens and freezes. Shock-still, I peer into the shallow shadows of the office, seeing no reason to be suspicious, nothing to be afraid of. My mind finally catches up and tries to dismiss the twitch as imagination. Something to fill the silence.

    My instincts disagree.

    Heat flushes my skinsuit as my aura throbs towards ignition, manifesting in a single drop of sweat that trickles down my jaw. I zip down my collar. Let the heat vent. Let my chest contract as I breathe out and tentatively extend my weakened kinetic sense into the halls outside the office.

    There¡¯s nothing. No movement, no lights of other creatures, not even an insect.

    Plop.

    My ears twitch again. A second drop of liquid slaps into the carpet beside me, fainter than a rat¡¯s pawprint.

    Plop.

    On instinct, I look down. Then left, right, behind. Up.

    I see the fangs slavering in the darkness.

    And shadows made manifest surge down at me, clawing at my throat.

 REALITY.03

    Cal holds her composure through all the banter, barbs, and friendly teasing from Valance about her absences. Those yellow eyes, purer and less muddied in color than mine, glare death through the fire. I stare right back. Waiting just like she is for the break in the festivities. It comes when a simultaneous alarm squawks from every JOY on the rooftop.

    Uneasy murmurs replace the previous conversations. Whispers I need not strain to hear. Seismograph alarms. Earthquake tremors. Utter nonsense- there haven¡¯t been quakes since before the Creators.

    But then a violent shudder runs through the entire city, shaking its way even up to our rooftop. Like some ancient leviathan chained beneath the city has suddenly begun to stir and cast off the surface world. Another seismic shudder comes quick on its heels, this one even stronger. Everyone stares as a wave of flickering lights pulses outwards from the Metro Blockhouse.

    I make my excuses and head towards a quiet nest in the corner of the rooftop. I don¡¯t have to wait long.

    I feel Cal beside me before I ever hear or see her. A shiver goes through the back of my brain as my JOY¡¯s neural link fades.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you¡¯ve finally decided to crawl out of the Vents, Cal. I thought you¡¯d never be done hiding.¡±

    She comes right up beside me to check out the view, hands in her pockets. ¡°Not even a thank you for handing you a chance to be decent to your ex? Come on now.¡±

    ¡°It would be rude to thank you for tricking me at the gala.¡±

    We both pause as another earthquake shudders through the Electric Town. Cal snorts under her breath.

    ¡°If you¡¯re tired of deception, then let¡¯s cut the games. Where¡¯s the Mobiak?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have more pressing concerns? You¡¯ll blow your cover if you wait here much longer.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re awfully concerned about my wellbeing, considering how you had no problem nearly killing me a few weeks ago.¡± Her eyes narrow. ¡°If you think you can still use Jolie as a bargaining chip, that card¡¯s out of the game. I freed her on my way here.¡±

    She¡¯s cold to me in a way she¡¯s never been before. Vicious, her patience evaporated now that the object of her nascent feelings is threatened. Standing beside me like we¡¯re enemies, staring down at the city like it¡¯d try to kill her too. One of those, I suppose, is true now.

    I brush my hair to the side, letting the wind catch in my cloak. ¡°There¡¯s a better alternative for both of us than you blowing your cover tonight. Given your recent fascination with Tay, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d like nothing more than to have Valance¡¯s eyes off your back- something that¡¯s mutually beneficial for the both of us.¡± I look up at the Metro Blockhouse as the posters on its glass side shift. ¡°You don¡¯t even have to bring Tay to me. Nor do you have to stop her from believing you¡¯re her friend.¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Just so you can keep the moth flying into the fire? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°And why am I the worse alternative to Gami or Valance? I didn¡¯t instigate that fight at the gala, Cal. Or did you already forget which one of us buried a blade in Tay¡¯s gut just a few weeks ago-¡±

    A cold platinum blade slams to a stop a micrometer away from my jugular. Cal¡¯s eyes burn up at me. A wild, dangerous venom in her eyes. Protective rage in her grit teeth.

    ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to do worse to you, Thane.¡± She growls like the safety of a gun clicking off. ¡°You told me that I was the only person you trusted to keep you honest. I was the only person you trusted with the one thing that could beat you. I gave you plenty of chances to be honest. Time¡¯s up, brother.¡± The blade pushes against my throat. ¡°Where is the Mobiak?¡±

    I shrug her anger away, not reacting to the blade¡¯s cutting edge. ¡°If I had to guess, I expect it¡¯s hunting down Tay on Valance¡¯s orders while you¡¯re up here playing with knives.¡±

    Her blade withdraws. She starts to turn back to the party when I catch her by the forearm.

    ¡°I¡¯ve already lost Tay¡¯s trust. I don¡¯t want to lose yours too, Cal.¡± My voice cools. ¡°We don¡¯t have to fight each other. We¡¯re not enemies. I¡¯m not doing any of this for myself. I¡¯m correcting a mistake. Making the best outcome out of the worst situation. This is for Tay¡¯s sake more than it is mine.¡±

    ¡°For her sake?¡± Cal snatches her arm away with a laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that drivel. You really are drunk on yourself.¡±

    She strides to the edge of the tower, examining the power grid in the next lot over. Crisscrossing electric lines, massive conduits trailing like jungle vines into a dark and gaping hole that bridges the crust of the city. She¡¯s so small against the gleaming metropolis beyond. But her shoulders have never been straighter.

    ¡°Let me tell you something, Thane,¡± Cal murmurs. ¡°I make mistakes. Just as you do.¡±

    She shuts off her Relic.

    ¡°But sometimes, I wonder where it was along the way that you forgot you were supposed to learn from them.¡±

    Her hand draws a gleaming silver sphere from her pocket while her boots toe the edge. Calculating the suicidal math of the fall to the power grid.

    ¡°Maybe you really do think you¡¯re still right. But maybe, just maybe, you only say the things you do because you¡¯re afraid that someday soon you¡¯ll start seeing what you really are in the mirror.¡± Her eyes narrow. ¡°Someone no different than Dad.¡±

    ¡°Before you burn this bridge, I hope you know fully what you¡¯re choosing.¡± My heart cools as I stand there watching her back, worlds apart. ¡°It¡¯s a long way down.¡±

    Without hesitation, Cal replies, ¡°She¡¯ll catch me.¡±

    She powers on the JOY and drops off the edge with an acrobat¡¯s grace, disappearing into the storm like a seraph cast from heaven. In the blink of an eye, she¡¯s dived thirty stories and flashed down into a vast air shaft in the center of the power grid, falling towards the undercity.

    I watch for another moment longer before turning from the view and meandering back across the roof. Valance meets me with a curious eyebrow. She glances past my shoulder. ¡°Where did Cal go?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°To make a mistake.¡±

 4.11 - SUPERNOVA

    A thousand pounds of carapace muscle and animal ferocity crash into me. I¡¯m bowled head-over-heels across the office. Razorblade fangs the size of my forearm snap for my head. Flecks of burning drool splatter across my face as I hurl myself to the side in an evasive tumble. Raspy, bestial screams chase me.

    I barely see the monster as it blurs into pouncing motion, claws chewing into the stone for grip. Hardened, bonelike carapace the color of the void. Fins and spikes and a slavering split jaw dripping with acid. A JOY-powered nightmare made for burrowing, hunting and eviscerating, and one I¡¯ve seen before. Valance¡¯s pet. The Mobiak.

    But this thing is no pet.

    The office is its killbox. The damascene was the bait. I¡¯m the prey.

    There¡¯s no room to flee. It¡¯s already on me. The shattered window is the only way out. Still tumbling, I spring backwards and kick off the wall, rebounding over the monster¡¯s head as it crashes into the handprint mural. I hit the ground already diving away. Throwing myself towards the steps leading up to the desk and the window behind it.

    A sledgehammer of chitin makes my entire world bend as the monster lunges after me and smashes its armored head into my spine. Air ejects from my lungs. I sprawl forward, head cracking against the side of the desk. Bone against solid wood. My ocular nerves explode with light. I hit the floor just shy of the window. Dazed, barely able to see through the stars. The monster¡¯s already pounced to follow. It¡¯s on top of me before I even finish hitting the ground, dragging me back into the darkness. I throw my hand out to grab hold of the desk and it stamps a huge clawed paw onto my forearm, pinning the limb flat to the floor.

    My heart kickstarts without conscious thought. Black ki erupts from my pores, flashing to a jet-engine shriek within my palm as I twist around and slam the blast into the creature¡¯s blunt head with an open-palm strike. The thunderclap of explosively releasing power nearly snaps its neck outright. In my hands, that quick a charge normally contains enough power to turn anything organic into a crayon smear of dead meat. The beast barely even looks dented as its head cranks back to me.

    An alien, ear-piercing scream saws against my eardrums. Its jaw splits and it snaps down at me. Huge fangs diving for my jugular. My right arm flashes up to intercept like hound and bone. The monster crunches down with impossible force. Piercing the limb in six different places. Then its head rips to the side, tearing the artificial limb halfway out of me. The biocircuits slither and jerk out of my body like ripcord. Agony like a heart attack seizes my chest with crushing pressure. I don¡¯t even have a chance to scream. Its head whiplashes back down and slams me into the floor like a chew toy. Again and again it repeats the motion, ripping out more of my arm each time my body slaps limply into the stone.

    A molar cracks in my mouth and blood gushes through. Bones creak. That old gut wound reopening. I can feel my consciousness being ragdolled out of me. Eyes lolling. Going limp. Dust and stone against my tongue as it pauses for a reprieving second to reaffirm its fangs around my prosthetic arm. I lay there half-dead and let the thing have its way. Focus on groaning air back into my lungs while claws scrape around my head. Warbling, animal growls come from inches above me. One huge paw flips me over. I just have to hang on. One more slam. That¡¯s my chance. I can feel the last of the biocircuits about to tear out of my shoulder. Hidden beneath me, my left hand sneaks up to disengage the prosthetic¡¯s failsafe lock.

    The monster rips back in the first half of the whiplash motion. But only my prosthetic goes with it. The rest of me is bodily flung away as the limb disconnects. Tumbling wildly, I hit off the top of the desk and shove myself straight out the smashed window, freefalling into the streets below. The escape taxes me with a parting shot as glass slices over my sides. But I¡¯ve bought myself a breath. Distance, precious seconds, and new terrain.

    I hit street level like a limply thrown rock, breaking the fall with a rough roll on my left shoulder. Stabbing pain drives into the flesh as I land. Surface damage. I glance down in a panic as I scramble to my feet. Nabuna¡¯s not-stims were smashed straight into my bloodstream.

    Nothing happens at first. Maybe it was a dud. Maybe I¡¯m immune to it. Maybe it¡¯s-

    It¡¯s not a dud.

    A surge of insane stimulation flash-fries every particle of pain in my body into nonexistence, and holy shit am I not immune to it. It¡¯s like being kicked in the back by a horse. My eyes jolt wide open. I don¡¯t realize I¡¯m fifteen meters down the street in two seconds until those seconds are already behind me. Shudders wrack my entire frame. And my heart keeps going faster, faster, faster. Going to blow. Everything¡¯s hot like the worst summer day and there¡¯s a vice grip tightening around my chest and I¡¯m going to die I¡¯m going to die I¡¯m going to die unless I get it out of me.

    The energy has to go somewhere. It picks my legs. I sprint through the darkened undercity faster than I¡¯ve ever run before in my life. My aura erupts from me as my feet fly across the concrete; a pillar of black fire burning twenty, then thirty feet high. The superseding high insulates my nerves from the agony of pushing my polluted ki so far. It burns and burns and burns and I feel none of it. Supercharged energy sizzles through every limb, so much that I don¡¯t even have to make myself move. I just think it and it¡¯s already happening. For a moment, it¡¯s like I¡¯m nearly back at my old strength. Black starlight follows me like a comet trail as I blow past building after huge, abandoned building.

    My right shoulder drips through the pinholes where the prosthetic¡¯s biocircuits were connected. More wounds drip and ooze across my body. But it¡¯s my heart that¡¯s the real danger. I can feel the crushing pressure continuing to build like a distant ache. A tightening vice, I can¡¯t even imagine what¡¯s actually happening to my body on the inside. Drawing on the smallest slivers of black ki already felt like dragging my nerves across nails. This is going to ruin me the moment the high fades. My skin is already starting to turn a scorched color.

    Warbling, alien howls echo from the office as the beast gives chase. Glass smashes somewhere behind me. I curse and whip my head around, peering back at the darkened side of the building through a curtain of white hair. But there¡¯s no monstrous shape hurling itself down to the streets to give chase. If not there, then-

    The reflection in the storefront I¡¯m sprinting past ripples, movement in the shop behind. My hand flies up. A huge beam of black ki kicks out with a feral flash and melts the entire place into a molten slurry. In the last collapsing stream screen, the rippling reflection continues to solidify. A huge dark shape not in front of me, but behind-

    I whip around, scything the top carapace off the monster¡¯s snout with a ki-infused kick. Serrated claws rip a trio of jagged, bloody lines across my stomach. The impact force scoops and hurls me into the molten store. I bend the momentum into a one-handed handspring and launch off the floor just as I touch down, firing another trio of compact blasts while I¡¯m flipping upside-down. Two dorsal spines and meters of undercity streets disappear in the blasts. The monster¡¯s already diving low under the blast and blurring straight at me.

    I throw my arm over my chest and ball up. Armored carapace jackhammers into me. Carrying me forward like a jet-powered battering ram. My back smashes into the wall of the store. Something cracks low in my spine. Brick and mortar explode over me. Then the plaster of the hallway behind the store. A stick of rebar punches through my abdomen from behind and sticks wetly in the muscle. I choke. Then a second deluge of brick adds to the snowball of collateral damage as we crash into a vast plaza right near the center of the city block.

    Concrete rushes up to meet me. I smear across the abrasive surface, half-broken but still somehow able to move. I rip the rebar out of my side with an insane burst of energy, heedless of the damage. Chasing me out of the collapsing store, the monster leaps and dives down at me at the exact same moment I roll over and drive my knee through its belly armor, sheathing the limb in ki so it can punch deep into its guts. It takes the hit without flinching and forces itself further down my bent knee, internal organs pulsing against me with sickly heat. Every bestial breath sucks at my leg and sloughs it with a wave of acidic blood. Then it screams. Horrible and eyeless and all fangs from centimeters away as its maw resumes course and snaps at my throat.

    My left hand shoots up to grab the largest of the fangs. Halting its bite just as its mouth opens widest. Black ki sizzles and crackles up the limb, burning ravenously to fuel my struggle. My arm trembles. Fingers slipping in the saliva. The maw inches closer. Vibrating with killing intent. Scraping my skin. Corded neck muscles straining against me with animal strength. Acidic drool splatters and drips down my face. A horrible growl begins to build in the beast¡¯s chest cavity as I deny it another half of a second. A barbed tongue snakes out to grab my face and circle my neck. It forces itself down further. Crushing me against the floor, uncaring for the knee that¡¯s now melting its internal organs like a black nail. Pulsating blood burns my leg through my suit.

    The jaws jerk down again. I scream as the fangs enter my torso, pushing for my heart. I strain to hold the monster back with my one arm, but it¡¯s not enough on its own. Not even the stims can give me what I need. Only my class can.

    The black aura screams to assert itself fully. I¡¯m going to die unless I fully give into it. But I¡¯m going to die if I do give in.

    Slavering fangs part my flesh a millimeter at a time as the beast sinks more of its maw into me. I start disappearing inside its mouth. Dozens of razor teeth stabbing through my torso from end to end. One caresses my heart with a millimeter graze. Blood bubbles out of my lips from a punctured lung.

    My body chooses for me.

    The current pouring from me multiplies twenty times over in a heartbeat. A lethal amount of energy shoots through my left arm, enough to pry the split jaws out of my body with a horrible ripping noise. Chunks of my flesh stick to the fangs as I pull them free millimeter by bloody millimeter. Crying out in pain. My hand shakes uncontrollably in the final inches, almost unable to fully unseat the bite. One final push of adrenaline pries it out. The instant I¡¯m free, I release my grip on the largest fang and twist my body to the side. The monster resumes its course so fast that it snaps two teeth  against the concrete. My free hand flashes up and back, palm flattening against the ground.

    The energy building inside me discharges like a static shock. One touch to release. Black light shears through the city itself and splinters into the whatever remains of the layer beneath the plaza, lighting the Vents with an atomic flash in the frame it takes for the ground to evaporate into rubble.

    A sound like a mountain splitting open erupts as the entire layer breaks from the center outwards. Apartment buildings and city superstructure groan and crack and shift and plummet and pour into the growing hole. We fall at the fore of the concrete tide. Dropping into the next layer down. I¡¯m the first to react, jerking madly and ripping my knee from the monster¡¯s belly while claws the size of my hand ravage my legs in an attempt to keep me contained. Black ki burns through my left hand as I smash back with a carapace-cracking blow and finally kick away. The barbed tongue rips from my neck as we fly apart, slashing a nooselike circle around my neck and tearing off my ear.

    No floor comes rushing up at me through the billowing ash. My stomach lurches in freefall. I adapt to the changing battlefield and cut the last shackles off my heartwithout hesitation. A part of me dies inside as my ki leaps with giddy joy to finally fulfill its purpose. Damn the consequences or the color, my heart is a fusion reactor that has no peer, and it just hit its final runway. It doesn¡¯t care that I¡¯m already a dead girl walking. Nor do I. If I don¡¯t survive this on my own, I die either way.

    Black aura howls into the cold world. My ruined body is just a vessel for the flow, the incinerator burn just a tingle behind a shield of stims. My sixth sense of ki slithers out and floods into the air, backfilling my mind¡¯s eye with an ethereal picture of debris pouring past. The layer below this one, and all beneath it, were partially collapsed into the Abyss. But enough of the skeletal undercity remains below where we¡¯re falling.

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    I plummet through the darkness. Collapsing towers drifting past like weightless leviathans. Twenty stories of apartment windows blur into rivers of dark glass around me. Freezing wind rips my hair into a comet¡¯s tail. The world keeps breaking open above; a meteor shower of undercity pouring downwards.

    My kinetic sense continues to bloom. Locking onto the monster as it tumbles away in the opposite direction. The streets rush up at us, ten stories below now. Rotating in midair, I plant my feet against another piece of falling rubble and spring away in a bolt of blurred motion. I twist feetfirst through a spiderweb of data transfer cables and slam my shoes against the brick side of an apartment complex at terminal velocity. Friction fires ignite beneath my feet for the fraction of a second it takes to redirect and blink down to the street level like chain lightning, beating the collapse to the bottom with seconds to spare.

    I touch the ground and ricochet forward faster than light off a mirror. Annihilating the distance to the monster like I¡¯m pressing a delete key. No grace or technique. I¡¯m into it and through it and done. A nuclear payload of kinetic energy goes from my hand through its body and flings it into a nearby building. It rebounds off the concrete and tumbles back at me at nearly the same speed. My leg ends it like a scythe, cleaving through carapace, flesh, bone and blood like they¡¯re all wet paper. Vertebrae and fins keep the two halves of its body connected by a bloody string as it hurtles off into the city behind me.

    I let out a single gasping breath before my body rips to the side on instantaneous instinct. My kinetic instinct reacting to a ripple of motion. I pivot just as one of the creature¡¯s dorsal spines arrows out of the darkness a millimeter away from my head. Brutal edges slash across my face. What little I can see vanishes as the darkness begins to pool.

    I freeze in place. Venting ki as I start to stumble, unable to see a thing. Meteors of debris rain down around me, obliterating the remains of the undercity layer and crashing down with cataclysmic eruptions of sound. Metric tons of falling concrete take out whole buildings like hammers against brittle glass.

    I see none of it. Warmth, dripping and sticky, bleeds from my forehead. I can¡¯t see through it. My head whirls as I spin around, trying to find my place.

    I can¡¯t see.

    I wipe at the blood and throw my ki out as far as possible, diffusing my strength just to cover a wider area. Through it, I feel the vague sensations of debris raining down in every direction. All I have to pilot with is the last glimpse of the street I landed on-

    I dive to the side just as a meteor obliterates the space I was standing. I throw myself into a run. Springing in a zig-zag as if the crumbling undercity is a sentient foe. I almost make it to safety, too. I can just barely feel the first kiss of fresh air as I near the towerside before a piece of rubble slams into the small of my back, snapping what the monster¡¯s rampage already injured.

    I go down hard. The raining debris consumes me like an avalanche. Hundreds of pounds of concrete scree burying me alive. A manic rush of adrenaline and stims just barely gives me the strength to worm into what feels like a nook between two large slabs before I¡¯m flattened by the collapse.

    I¡¯m entombed in moments. Trapped and gasping for breath in a lean-to of stone while my heart tries to tear itself out of my chest. The top of my shelter cracks dangerously. More weight pours above. I cough and snivel as I gag on blood. Half my body feels like it will peel away at any second. Blood pumps endlessly from the myriad puncture holes in my torso. I¡¯m choking. Teeth chattering. Groaning as the worming tendrils of pain force their way through the haze in my veins. Closing in on my heart.

    I paw up at my cheeks, only belatedly remembering that my right arm no longer exists. Bloody pinholes ooze down the nub of my shoulder. Black ki sizzles and burns. The horrible stench of melting flesh warning me that my end is fast approaching; my body literally incinerating itself with every passing breath. It¡¯d be ironic if I weren¡¯t about to die. The only thing propping me up is also the one that will kill me most surely. I wipe at my eyes over and over again as I look around the tiny shelter for a way out, but the blood won¡¯t stop coating my eyes. It¡¯s already congealing.

    Deep thunderous booms echo in the dark as the concrete rain slows. My lungs are heaving now. Breathing my own air, all the oxygen used up. The scent of adrenalized fear mixing in with the noxious aura I exude. I slump against the stone, collapsing as the manic strength lent by the stims drains away with my blood. Head lolling, mired in a daze. Hallucinations and reality blurring into a fractious soup of contradictions and disconnected pieces. The burning of my skin, a raw red sunburn on my blistered palm, Dad wrapping it with aloe as he chides me for using my own power in the wrong way. My back against the trunk of the Lungracian in the garden, not concrete.

    It only burns because you¡¯re forcing it, he¡¯s telling me. When you call on it for the right reason, you¡¯ll know. You won¡¯t even have to think about it. It¡¯ll just¡­ bubble out of you. Like a smile. He sinks to his haunches in front of me, ruffling my hair. I know it¡¯s easy to get mad, Tay. But you were made to love. Not hate.

    Beyond my shelter, a terrifying shriek of alien rage screams out through the void.

    It¡¯s still alive.

    The beast lets out a freakish bellow as it begins clawing and tearing through the rubble, hunting for where I fell. I feel its tremors coming. But the fear doesn¡¯t clutch at me like it did moments ago. I drift on the edge of consciousness, bloody hair draping low as my head hangs. My JOY rolled away from my hip and splays glitchy pixels into the air. Watery, squawking audio bleeding into my one ear.

    ¡­I know it¡¯s rough, Butterball. But no matter how much we lose, we can¡¯t forget the reason we get back up again. He touches his head to mine while we sit on the roof, a week after that damn winter tournament. We don¡¯t do it to prove a point, to get revenge, or to hit back. We do it because they¡¯re counting on us. The people we love, and the people who love us.

    ¡°It hurts,¡± I cry through tattered lips. ¡°It hurts so bad, Dad.¡±

    It¡¯s hard sometimes. It¡¯s hard to keep going, he gently says. Yet even if these burdens are heavy, those who are blessed with strength¡­ have the duty to shoulder them for those who are not.

    I paw forward, clutching at the sphere with a gasp. Tears tracking down my face unbidden.

    Those we love.

    My weight carries me forward. I collapse in a limp pile over my JOY, trying to shut it off. Dad¡¯s voice keeps drawing the monster like a beacon. Its dread howl reverberates through the rock. Claws rattle as they churn through the rubble like meat.

    Those who love us.

    I¡¯m on the marble. In the garden. Fallen again. Alone again. Training by myself. Again.

    ¡°Get up!¡± I scream at myself, driving a fist into the concrete. ¡°COME ON!¡±

    Nothing answers. Neither in the hallucination nor reality. My ki fizzles and gasps its last around me. Dad was right. My heart is empty. Stripped of the love that once filled it. All that¡¯s left was the dregs of hate. Hate for myself. Hate for my father, for leaving, for the legacy he left me and that I scorned ever since. Hate for Thane. For Gami. Hate for anything and everything that crossed my path. Hate, and hate, and hate. But now even that¡¯s gone. Spent just to kill a monster that¡¯s trying to kill me. To survive. Nothing more.

    In the end, I¡¯m always alone. Even as I die.

    But then an electric sound pierces through the darkness.

    My eyes blink against their bloody crust. Trapped in a red-hued void, huddled like a dying spider on the blood-wetted floor while the monster nears. My last heartstring trembling an inch from snapping. My JOY vibrates in my hand, pulsing a calm bwah-bwah tone. Then again. Repeating quicker than before. And even quicker the third time, like it¡¯s warning me of an incoming missile. Shaking up through my arm like a hand on my shoulder.

    Her hand.

    And the damascene bangle on it.

    For so long, I¡¯d forgotten the reason I ever started fighting.

    There, on the brink of death a mile beneath the city, buried under a mountain of rubble, it returns to me like sunlight through a thrown-open curtain.

    Light blooms. First a drop, then all at once as my aura spirals outwards in true ignition, banishing the darkness into oblivion. Superheated ecstasy sings through my wounds; blessedly relieving the pain. The heat keeps rising. Melting away the blood over my eyes and letting it run freely down my face. A hurricane roar builds in the confined space. I spit out a glob of red and a broken tooth. I raise my hand to a sky I can¡¯t see.

    And I get back up again.

    The energy building around me obliterates the rubble avalanche in an exothermic eruption. A circular crater appears in the eye of the cyclonic torrent. The world outside is transformed into a magma field of molten and cooling concrete that swirls with embers. Hellish and shaking, the layer far above still collapsing in a manmade meteor shower.

    I unravel from the rubble to stand in the epicenter, chest heaving. Hidden beneath skin burnt into a nearly unrecognizable shade of char, a miniature sun¡¯s glow pulses within me, painting the undercity in the colors of raw daylight. Superheated aura the same color slashes out like the opening shriek of a violin, forming into a roiling column of untamed kinetic energy. Pale gold hair flaps wildly around me in the molten current.

    Veins of white dye sluice down my body. Blue ink drips from my eyes as my disguise melts away like watercolor to reveal the true crimson beneath. So much ki pours into the atmosphere that it begins condensating into physical motes, sweeping into the hurricane like cherry blossom leaves. Then even that is superseded. Too much rising power for the air to contain, the whole of the undercity begins to shudder from violent quakes as I assert my power.

    It doesn¡¯t matter now if Gami feels the quakes. If he knows that I still live. Better that he does. That he hears the seismic message I send shuddering up the city towards his throne:

    You¡¯re next.

    As the city rains down, I sweep the darkness and find my prey. The beast watches the cataclysm erupting from me and sinks low into a guarded pouncing position, spined tail wavering like a stinger over its head. Mortally wounded, yet no less lethal.

    I¡¯m teetering one pixel away from death. Swaying on my heels. Broken, injured beyond human limits, yet still hanging on in spite of it. I can¡¯t feel anything below my neck except my fingers. I shouldn¡¯t be living, much less standing. But Cal is coming. I can hold the line.

    It might be the last bluff of my life, yet I manage to stay on my feet, maintaining the illusion of perfect control. One attack, and I¡¯m dead. I can¡¯t move my legs anymore. It takes every once of willpower just to wipe the back of my hand across my mouth with all the confidence I now feel, smearing the blood like a brushstroke. On the other side is tight-lipped determination. Furious eyes narrowing on the monster as chatters and snaps.

    I steel my voice and raise my hand. Golden aura siphons into my outstretched palm with a supersonic shriek. I cock my head to the side.

    ¡°If you thought I¡¯d go down that easy, you¡¯re about to learn how wrong you are the hard way,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m what happens when the stars align. You¡¯re just someone in my way.¡±

    Facing down the nova of energy erupting from me, even the monster¡¯s feral instincts stall.

    Then my knee buckles.

    It lets out an alien howl and rushes forward. Tail blurring in whiplike motion as it slings a spine the size of a rapier straight at my heart. A blurred silhouette sweeps in from the corner of my vision, throwing an arm in front of me at the last instant. She made it.

    Sharpened chiton impales Cal¡¯s arm from front to back. Black venom floods into her pale skin, claiming the limb to the elbow. The damascene bangle on her wrist glows like mad as it wrenches the poison to a halt.

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡±

    The monster lunges. Cal holds me steady so I can aim true and buries her head against my chest. Trusting the rest to me. In my outstretched hand burns a new future for us both. And as death leaps to steal it away, I fire the very idea that it could ever succeed right back with all the strength I have. Blasting, and blasting, and blasting, until the beast finally disintegrates, the city melts, and golden brilliance scours away every last shred of darkness.

    Only once it¡¯s done do I let myself die in her arms.

 5.0 - THE AUSTRINGER

    I¡¯m not exactly sure what happens next, though I¡¯m fairly certain that it takes place over the course of days. The traumatic fragments that I¡¯m conscious for are as hallucinatory as they are disordered. They begin with my bloody left hand reaching up to touch Cal¡¯s face while she runs. Feathers of light cocoon us. She really is an angel. I think I must mumble it out loud, because she glances down at me with the most worried expression I¡¯ve ever seen her make. I try to smile and tell her I¡¯m fine. But the world has already moved on.

    Blurs of neon lights, acrid smells, tense voices and terse grunts. Cal hands hold me steady all the while, just as she did for my final attack. My whole body¡¯s still buzzing like the battle only ended a moment prior. Blissfully painless ecstasy courses through me like the purest river on the planet. My head must loll to the side at some point. I see my arm, glowing warmly through a volcanic field of charred skin. Kaleidoscope reality smears around the limb in watercolor motion. A hand reaches out of the chaos to clutch my fingers tightly. A band of Lungracian silver around the wedded finger.

    Then my head bounces. Cal¡¯s hands no longer hold me. Metal, cold and unyielding, beneath my back. I¡¯m still staring down the length of my arm, now a patchwork quilt of pink flesh and veinlike stitches that melts across the steel tabletop, writhing in serpentine shapes. Everything¡¯s writhing faintly. The small room¡¯s paper walls bend and twist weirdly when I¡¯m not focusing on them. I¡¯m back home. Sunrise peeking over the fields, orange light glowing brighter through the paper. The scent of sizzling bacon fills my nostrils. An alarm clock buzzes like a saw. Must¡¯ve slept in. Thane will already be out there training and Dad¡¯ll¡­ he¡­ I need to¡­ I need to go find him.

    I¡¯m so sleepy, but helpful ki floods me with strength the moment I think to start moving. Warm summer wind stirs my hair across my pillow, casting away the mosquitos nipping at my legs. Pleasant voices shout oddly panicked words that carry on the breeze from somewhere far down the street. Shut her down, She¡¯s waking up again, the like. Cobwebs stick to my arms and legs, snapping free as I start to sit up. Aunt Jolie rushes through the slid-open bedroom door. She gently takes me by the shoulders and starts lowering me back to the bed.

    ¡°I have to find Dad,¡± I croak at her. ¡°I have to tell him it¡¯s not in the rice.¡±

    She makes quiet shushing noises and pulls the sheets back up, smiling despite the tears that suddenly form in her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s okay, honey. I¡¯ll tell him for you. You¡¯re tired. Go back to sleep.¡±

    My fingers clutch powerlessly. ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡­But Jolie shouldn¡¯t be here. She shouldn¡¯t be home at all. She¡¯s in the Imperial Complex, where Thane moved her. And Cal was supposed to get her. But Cal¡­ where is she? I have to tell her something too¡­

    The fragments continue skewing further from reality. Slipping in and out of my brain like needles pinned to hold sticky note thoughts, then plucked out one by one. The notes flutter away, and all that remains is the punctured corkboard of my consciousness. My mind chooses which pieces it remembers seemingly at random. Overwhelming itchiness, a neverending need to piss, a throat so dry I almost wish to drink my own blood just to whet it. Orange is the color I remember most. And it¡¯s the one I see first as I finally stir awake on my first day of sanity since the ambush in the Shocks.

    Orange. It colors the back of my eyelids while I lay there on that cold metal table, sorting out the tangles of my brain. I take in a shallow breath through my nose, noting the resistance in my chest. Cataloging the pains that form up and down my body, tracing them to the sources. There are so many. I try to twitch my fingers. Those work, albeit rustily. One, two, three, four and a thumb on the left. Nothing on the right. And nothing but vague sensations below a certain lump in the small of my back. When I try to wiggle my feet, my ankles feel they¡¯re tied down with weights at the bottom of the ocean. I¡¯m not even sure I am moving them. The thin sheet draped over me doesn¡¯t shift much.

    I don¡¯t need my eyes open to know exactly how much of a wreck I must be. I remember every wound that put me on this table, even if Nabuna¡¯s not-stims made sure I couldn¡¯t feel them at the time. I''m paying the price now. I might be a cripple for life.

    Climate control units gush quietly in the high corners of the room. Somewhere off in the distance, insulated behind paper walls, I hear the sounds of home. Rickshaws and shifting silk robes. But I can¡¯t actually be home, can I? Might as well believe I was actually riding that sky dragon in my drug-induced delusions, too.

    My ears perk up as wood creaks to my left. A paper quietly flaps. Real paper.

    No, Cal didn¡¯t somehow take me home. She brought a piece of it to me instead.

    That piece sits coiled in a rustic chair beside the table I lay atop, glass spectacles perched on her nose, a sling around her arm, and a belovedly dogeared novel folding shut in her lap. Strands of rusty red hair drift over the woman''s shoulders. That stern ponytail I always remember her with is let down, probably around the time she finished the fifth empty cup of caf stacked precisely beside her chair. Her sharp cheeks bear the hollow shadows of too many nights spent testing just how little sleep she can survive on. Perhaps she didn¡¯t even sleep at all. I¡¯d believe it. An impossible weight rests on the woman¡¯s slumped shoulders. But her eyes tell me everything I really need to know.

    Two pools of indigo blue, the same color as Dad¡¯s eyes, look down at me through those old glasses with so much hesitant, motherly love that I can¡¯t stop the tears that come. An entire soliloquy of emotion passes between us in that silent exchange. Three years of thinking everyone she loved was dead. Trapped in that tower beneath the foot of a tyrant. Regretting every choice she¡¯d ever made. And then to be given another miraculous chance at hope, only to find me lying dead on this sanisteel table¡­ it would break anyone else. But Aunt Jolie is even more resilient than I am.

    She scoops me up in the gentlest hug. A heavy exhale shudders out of her. Red hair brushes my nose. I don¡¯t say anything. Just let her hold me and submerge in the embrace. Nestle my head into her shoulder while the tears flow. I can¡¯t return the hug; a handcuff clanks around my wrist when I try.

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    Jolie doesn¡¯t sob as she holds me- she¡¯s survived too much for that. But she does cry. Silently, her relief falls from her cheeks to mine, then in droplets to the hospital sheet. Only after a long minute does she finally lean back, meticulously wipe the wetness from her face and mine, then sink back into her chair.

    Jolie fiddles with her glasses. Awkward while she continues to watch me. Dad once said that human interaction was never her favorite. She preferred the distance of a keyboard and the separation of a screen. To be the one writing the speeches, not giving them. Still, she¡¯s a politician. Setting her book on the edge of the metal slab I lay upon, Jolie clears her throat roughly and smears flat a final tear with her thumb.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡±

    My lips part and close, a thousand things I want to say all crowding my throat at once. I lift my shoulders as much as I can and croak, ¡°¡­Better.¡±

    Her hand cups mine. ¡°You had us all scared.¡±

    ¡°Was¡­¡± I have to pause to swallow. ¡°¡­that bad?¡±

    ¡°Your heart having to be restarted four times was one of the lesser complications.¡±

    I focus on the lack of feeling down low. ¡°My legs¡­ I can¡¯t move them.¡±

    ¡°Your back was broken when Cal got to you. Fortunately for us all, your greaser knows some names in the Vents. And he¡¯s unusually protective of you. He was able to find a very talented Biohancer.¡±

    ¡°Nabuna is here?¡±

    Jolie makes a pointed glance at the slid-open door across the room. A thin, orange-lit hallway extends beyond it. Robed silhouettes move in the distance. Far closer, a cabal of aging Venters leans against the sides of the hallway, deep in conversation. Nabuna, cap off, down to a sweat-stained tank top. Some fighter wearing a bronze jackal helm leans beside him. Across from the two stand a grizzled, grey-haired man with a father¡¯s powerful build and a dour older woman with pale, rainbow-hued hair. Some kind of needle and thread hang from her hip. The blood sheeting her forearms marks her as the Biohancer.

    ¡°They''re still working on your spine. As hard as I know it will be, you¡¯re on bedrest duty until she¡¯s done and you¡¯ve fully healed.¡± Jolie keys something with her JOY, closing the door. ¡°Even with therapy, you may not walk again, Tetsuka.¡±

    I grimace. ¡°At least you¡¯re here now. Wherever here is.¡±

    ¡°The Orange. Your greaser also has some¡­ dubious connections.¡±

    The Orange. I don¡¯t know much more than hearsay from the Vents, and those rumors never painted the most morally upright picture. The sector is a spider¡¯s web of brothels and electroclubs that slakes the worst of the capital¡¯s thirsts. Not to mention it¡¯s a parodical ripoff of my own home. The old-era brothels, paper walls, orange-hued lanterns, and silk-robed servants are just an illusion of a fantasy to cover the unsavory truth of this place¡¯s indentured slaves. Not to mention, Thane once mentioned to me that the Orange is the last bastion the intersectional crime syndicate Dynasty has in the capital. Both he and Jolie played their part in kneecapping the syndicate¡¯s presence in our Section.

    Which means we¡¯re shacked up with more enemies of enemies. Again.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the best,¡± Jolie sighs, ignoring a distant moan that echoes from the corridor. ¡°But it¡¯s doable for now. Better than the alternatives.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t like him. Nabuna.¡±

    ¡°That greaser?¡± Jolie scoffs under her breath. There¡¯s a history behind the sound. ¡°He plays enough poker with syndicated criminals to squeak us shelter behind lines that not even Gami would dare cross. Heavens know the kind of dirt he must have to pull a Biohancer of the caliber your reconstructive work needed- and for free, no less. If you¡¯d asked me, I would have told you not to touch him with a ten-foot pole. He used to be one of the trainers we kept on retainer for the minor leaguers.¡± She leans back in the chair. ¡°Used to be, being the operative term. Nabuna was fired for betting on his own fighter¡¯s matches- I had to sign his pink slip myself. At least he¡¯s cleaned up his act for you.¡± She looks past me at something I can¡¯t see. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly found some unusual friends on your own.¡±

    I already know who she¡¯s looking at. A small, nervous smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I settle back in the bed. ¡°They¡¯re not all that bad.¡±

    ¡°I suppose not.¡± Her eyes drift up to trace the sanitized ceiling. ¡°We have a lot to catch each other up on, and not a lot of time to do it. Things are still moving even if we¡¯re not. But you¡¯ve earned a stop, Tetsuka. Take it. Rest, focus on healing, and let others carry the weight for now.¡± She grips my hand tightly and stands. ¡°Things are going our way.¡±

    Jolie leans low and pecks me once on the brow, brushing an errant strand of hair away from my eyes before she goes. I call out after her.

    ¡°¡­Jolie?¡±

    ¡°Mhm?¡±

    As she turns back, a shadow of my father¡¯s mane swirls around her thinner shoulders. My throat tightens.

    ¡°I love you,¡± I say in that wary, tentative way it would when I didn¡¯t know if Dad would still be around when I woke.

    Her heart breaks for me. ¡°Honey¡­¡± She strides back over, hugs me to her chest, and gently smooths out my hair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispers. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Tetsuka.¡±

    She does sob then. Just once, but it¡¯s enough for her to remove her glasses so she can press her lips to my hair. We rock back and forth until the tears fade to sniffles, and the sniffles to soft looks of reassurance.

    ¡°I love you too,¡± Jolie says, ruffling my hair like Dad used to. It¡¯s not perfect, but she doesn¡¯t know what she could say to salve our shared grief, and neither do I. It¡¯s selfish of me to I lean on her so heavily. Whatever I have felt since Dad died, she must suffer unimaginably worse behind her faultless composure. They were twins who lived within shouting distance of each other from first breath to forty five years of age.

    Rather than let the awkwardness settle, Jolie sidesteps it by giving one last hair ruffle and starting to get up. I lift my handcuffed wrist and flash her a limp, apologetic smile. ¡°Please? I promise I won¡¯t run away.¡±

    Jolie glances at the table beside mine, already making assumptions. The wrong ones, I¡¯m sure. I just want to roll over and talk. Can¡¯t do that with cuffs though. She opens the manacle with a tap of her JOY and a mother¡¯s sigh. ¡°Only because you¡¯re my favorite.¡±

    She rises and leaves me to my business.

    ¡°I suppose I can give you two some space. But no leaving your table.¡± Her glasses flash as she glances back, raising a finger in warning. ¡°Rest, Tetsuka. Don¡¯t forget. That¡¯s an order.¡±

 5.1 - SECOND CHANCES

    ¡°You can quit pretending to be asleep,¡± I say as I settle back against the table.

    There¡¯s a shuffle of sheets and skin from my right. A girl¡¯s yawn that melts right into a playful, moody voice, dancing against my eardrums in a way I¡¯ve grown unusually attached to since I started spending more time around it. Her cadence is nothing like her brother¡¯s. Nor is the casualness with which she lays atop a sanisteel operating table just like mine, hands hooked behind her head like she¡¯s sunbathing at the beach.

    Freed from the cuffs, I¡¯m able to shift over enough to watch just as Cal waves a sarcastic, dismissive hand at the ceiling. ¡°No no, please, finish the tearful reunion with your aunt. I see where I rank now.¡±

    She¡¯s smiling faintly with her eyes closed. Not just smiling. Giggling, and doing a shit job of hiding it. Like me, she lays on her back and is covered up to the chest by a white medical sheet. She still wears her Relic, and she¡¯s almost entirely undressed. But the arm that Relic is attached to makes me flinch as I see it.

    A blackened infection of color-sapped skin rages from Cal¡¯s wrist to her elbow like a parasitic tattoo sleeve. Her Relic glows faintly with electric-pink light, activated even now to keep the poison from spreading. She took the last attack that was about to hit me on herself instead. The monster that ambushed me was kitted to the fangs with natural weapons. Not hard to imagine that it saved a toxin as a last-ditch weapon in case the hunt went as far south as it did.

    Cal doesn¡¯t seem phased by the venom eating up her arm. She plays it off easily, like it doesn¡¯t hurt enough to need the IV drip of pro-grade narcotics plugged into her shoulder. She does her best to not draw attention to the wound. Nor let me become mired in guilt over seeing what it cost her to keep me alive. Telling me through actions, not words, that it was a price she would gladly pay again. And that she doesn¡¯t want me to worry about it.

    My eyes still flick to it sometimes, drawn unconsciously to the pitch-black color and the way it surges back and forth through her veins, waging a constant war against the Relic¡¯s influence. But I respect her focus instead on the sight before me. The little way her shoulders lift as she chuckles. The way her bangs drift near her eyes. The animated twists and turns of expression her face makes as she gabs on and on and I¡¯m not really listening to any of it, just watching her go, enjoying it, enjoying us, this lighthearted banter and the comfort it instills in my soul, the old-friend familiarity we have after everything we¡¯ve been through together, and you know, it¡¯s probably rude that everything she¡¯s saying is going right over my head, but I don¡¯t really think she minds it because she totally just caught me staring and she¡¯s looking right at me. And now she¡¯s smirking. And my face is flushing. Great. Great job, Tets. Very covert of you.

    Peeking open one yellow eye, Cal looks right at me, that knowing smile still tugging at her lips. Heat spreads through my cheeks.

    ¡°¡­but really, I¡¯ve hung around Jolie a lot, and I¡¯ve never seen her like that,¡± she goes back to saying, as animated as ever. ¡°Not even around Mars. She¡¯s so¡­ gentle with you. Not that I blame her. I¡¯m soft on you too.¡±

    I shoot her a raised eyebrow. ¡°I guess I just have that effect on people.¡±

    ¡°Between you and me, I think it¡¯s the small town girl energy that does it. Or the freckles.¡± Her eyes softly inspect the parts of me that aren¡¯t covered by the sheet. Slowly, minding her poisoned arm, she shifts on her side to face me.

    Holding her gaze, I¡¯m lost in my own head, replaying the last moments of consciousness that I remember. ¡°How did you even get back to me? I must have been hallucinating. There were wings, feathers¡­¡±

    She tilts her head at the two spheres resting on a table between us. ¡°Just because I choose not to use a JOY doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t. I¡¯ve got classes too- Assassin, Light Elemental. They don¡¯t work when my Relic is on, though.¡± Her wrist trembles faintly. ¡°You doing okay?¡±

    ¡°Better inside. Worse outside.¡± I grimace as I try to mirror her position, but my right shoulder feels like it¡¯s being stabbed with needles the moment I put pressure on it. I stay on my back. ¡°Jolie said I might not walk again.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯re too stubborn to be a paraplegic.¡± She winces at her own joke. ¡°Did give me a good scare though.¡±

    I swallow hard.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen that much blood,¡± she continues, scratching at her poisoned arm. ¡°It was like looking at a slaughterhouse. I almost didn¡¯t even recognize you. I don¡¯t know how you weren¡¯t dead already.¡± The breath she was holding leaves in a resigned exhale. ¡°You can¡¯t do that to me again. I thought you were actually going to die.¡±

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    ¡°If you hadn¡¯t come, I would have.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. You look like a zombie under that sheet.¡±

    I groan and try to fight upright. Damage-bleached white hair spills down my shoulder. The strands glow with an internal light. As do my chest and stomach as the sheet falls. A pale, celestial glow illuminates the mottled map of pink and vat-grown skin grafts that coat my body. Cal¡¯s feet are already swinging to the floor. She¡¯s over and beside me just before my strength fails, catching me before I can fall. Laying me down, she carefully pulls the sheet up to my chest.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear your aunt? Your back is broken. If you need something, just ask for it like a normal person. Geez.¡± She talks like she¡¯s mad, but she still fusses with tucking the sheet in. ¡°What were you even getting up for?¡±

    ¡°I was going to thank you.¡± I mutter, not meeting her gaze. ¡°For this. Me, you, here. The fact that we¡¯re even still talking.¡±

    ¡°And you couldn¡¯t have done that without moving?¡±

    ¡°Not, like¡­¡± I grapple with the words, ¡°Not in a way that means what my heart wants to say.¡± Her head tilts quizzically to the side while she keeps tucking. ¡°Because of you, I just hugged my aunt who I haven¡¯t seen in years. I am alive in a way I haven¡¯t been for years. My heart isn¡¯t hurting me. My ki is fixed. I¡¯m me again.¡± My fingers clutch against my chest. I open my eyes to find her looking down at me, just like the day we first met. I don¡¯t look away this time. ¡°You saved me, Cal. I owe you my life.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ it''s not as serious as you''re making it,¡± she says, defaulting to deflection. Caught flat-footed by the sudden honesty. She lets go of the sheet and starts to turn away. ¡°Anyone would have done the same.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not just anyone. Not to me.¡±

    Bracing for the agony I know is about to come, I reach out, snag her by the arm, and pull her back. I drive my index finger into her sternum. Panting against the pain. Staring at her eye-to-eye.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you turn your back now,¡± I gasp.

    Her eyes narrow dangerously. Then I keep going, and slowly, they begin to widen.

    ¡°Before you got to me, I¡¯d already lost. That monster was gonna eat me or drag me back to Gami or worse. But you know what got me back up on my feet again, when I should have been dead ten times over?¡±

    Unsure of how to react, Cal stays completely still as if I¡¯m scolding her. I drive my finger weakly into her chest again.

    ¡°You did. I was alone in the dark. I was alone, and I was going to die. But then I heard a sound that reminded me you were coming. That I wasn¡¯t alone anymore. That I had you and you had me, too. I just had to hold on.¡±

    I fall back against the table, golden hair pooling beneath me. My hand drips limply off her and falls to the metal. Chest expanding and contracting with uneven rhythm as I fight for breath. My voice tremors with emotion. Skin flushing with full-body rosy color, the internal glow brightening with my feelings.

    ¡°I survived because of you. I hung on even when my heart stopped because I knew you¡¯d be waiting for me when I finally woke up.¡± My panting slows. I hold her gaze unblinking, a tired sliver of a smile daring to form. ¡°Because I knew you would never let me die. You¡¯re my guardian angel.¡±

    She leans back, face an unreadable mask of hesitancy. ¡°That¡¯s a cheap shot.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡± I wait, wordlessly asking her to look at me. ¡°Before I went into the Shocks, the only thing I could think about was that I wished you were with me. When I fought that monster, I would have died on my own. But I¡¯m not alone, not anymore.¡± When she starts to deflect the conversation with another joke, I shake my head, reach up, and cup her jaw in my palm. She easily catches my wrist. But she listens as I whisper, ¡°I¡¯m done fighting for hate or for the past. I want to fight for something better. And I want you with me when I do.¡±

    Slowly, Cal¡¯s fingers release from my wrist. The mask she dons when she wants to keep her distance has fallen to the side. In the orange-hued moment, so stripped of our walls, I see more of her depths than I ever have before. I see her hesitation. Her doubt that the little good she has done could outweigh the darkness she carries. The way her shoulders hunched protectively inward the moment I laid my feelings bare. She doubts I could mean what I say, because no one has ever said to her what I just did. No one could ever look at her like I do now. Seeing not the charismatic shell she faked until it became reality, but the self-consciousness she has kept so firmly buried: the deep-rooted fear that no one would ever see her as more than the sibling of someone else.

    But she is so much more than that. She is just and devoted and confident and a warrior all her own, one who reminds me even now that there are so many things in this life that are still worth living for. And she is first among them in my heart.

    Words cannot convey what I yearn to tell her. So I don¡¯t bother with them.

    I take Cal¡¯s fingers in my hand. I press them to my heart. And when she still wavers, I pull her to my chest in a desperate embrace. Eyes squeezed shut as shallow breaths tremor through my lungs. I clutch her tight there silhouetted by the colors of a sinful sunrise, and in the hospital quiet that follows, my heart whispers its thanks one tender beat after another.

    This time, she doesn¡¯t pull away.

 REALITY.04

    There comes a point where a man¡¯s influence stops earning red carpet entrances and starts earning fearful silence instead. When the Sectional Champion emerges from our vehicle at the steps of the largest operahouse in the city, even the rain halts its course and goes elsewhere.

    A small entourage of kowtowing managers and wide-eyed aides welcome my master like a dark angel freshly forged in the fires of the underworld, bowing profusely as they personally lead him to the most prestigious booth in the theatre. I follow in his wake, one of two in his company. Gami has never been one to care for menageries or harems or games of social politics. He¡¯s as iron in personality as he is on the field of battle. Why he bothers to regularly attend a social melting pot like the Keiza Operahouse at all is a mystery few in the capital truly understand.

    I am one of them. So I know exactly how dangerous his invitation to accompany him this evening, fresh off the heels of Tay¡¯s cataclysm beneath the Electric Town. But some invitations are more dangerous to decline than to accept.

    I¡¯ve rarely been on thinner ice than now. Valance¡¯s banter is static in my ears, a flirtatious distraction for my internal tension. We both wear black for the occasion. Gold accents the angles of my athletic frame, the same molten shade as the cracks in my eyes. Pink is her flair of choice. Lips glossed in seductive color, her dress a scandal in the making, one that she knowingly plays into. But it¡¯s her eyes that are the real draw. Colored like rose quartz, catlike, glimmering with subdued psionic potential. The trademark of an Iros of Dynasty. And those Iros eyes tell so many things to the media that us after Gami has already swept inside.

    Look at me, they say. The champion owns even his enemies¡¯ most treasured possessions. Nothing is beyond his reach.

    We flirt, smile, and jest as we head inside the vastness of the operahouse. Major and minor league fighters, heads of prominent families, and politicians all frequent this theatre on the regular, and I see many I recognize. Each bows or nods to Gami in accordance with the difference in their ranks as we pass them in the halls. Their apprentices favor me with deferent inclinations. The Champion never responds to the greetings, and I do the same. Attention is earned, not given. One of his earliest lessons to me.

    The further we ascend in the theater, the more exclusive the booths around us become. Our master has already headed on, so Valance and I follow a meandering path through the back halls of the operahouse¡¯s most exclusive levels, giving those eager-to-please managers something to sate their servitude. These halls are normally reserved for household names like Jolie or visiting Champions from foreign Sections. Lamps glow dimly around us, hiding wide shadows for the muttered conversations happening between lacquered-wood pillars. Servants and bodyguards of those dignitaries linger in doorways amidst the servants. Eyes on the corridors and those who pass, not the events on the stage below. Open passages to the booths ringing the operahouse give brief glances of their powerful occupants. Warriors with laugh lines and perfected forms, businessmen fat from commerce, both sunk in muttered conversations. Few in the upper levels can claim to have any interest in the night¡¯s events. For most, the theatre is merely an alternative place to host meetings; one far less monotonous than highrise offices.

    We arrive at the Champion¡¯s booth a respectful amount of time after Gami does. He broods atop a simple throne in the center of the booth, flanked by tiny chairs that look like they were made for toddlers compared to his colossal stature.

    A flicker of danger sense warns me just before I enter. A lithe woman already sits with our master. Dark dress that leaves her entire back exposed, draping high-tail hairstyle a flourishing gradient of cacao colors, milky skin. Heavy, sensual eyelids completed by masterful makeup. Pert features, prim nose, and a dangerous smile as she trails a nail off Gami¡¯s platinum shoulder and rises to leave.

    Aster, my sister¡¯s Assassin mentor, has drifted in Gami¡¯s circles since the battle for Olympus nearly two decades ago; though she¡¯s only a rare visitor to this city. She looks nothing of her fifty-odd years of life. She¡¯s almost as youthful as Valance, having spent no small amount of her fortune on kinetic rejuvenation and the work of master Biohancers to circumvent the natural aging process. Not simply to look young, but to be young, with all the lethal advantages that entails. A workaround of life¡¯s time limit that¡¯s lined Biohancer pockets for centuries.

    Aster favors me with those heavy eyes as she approaches. Running her gaze up me first, then a finger, grazing up my tie.

    ¡°The little Kyriaku, all grown up. Mars always had a talent for raising the handsome ones. I should¡¯ve known you¡¯d turn out twice the man Carra did.¡± She leans close to my ear as she brushes past, voice sinking to a mocking whisper. ¡°Your father sends his best.¡±

    Hair bristles dangerously across my neck. I narrowly restrain the urge to growl out a response as Aster leaves with another mocking chuckle, heading for a different booth. Valance watches me strangely as we find our seats.

    An early evening crowd filters into the amphitheater far below while the first actors begin their warmup scenes on stage. Soft conversations drift upwards through the air, gradually growing more silent as the last seats continue to fill. My master¡¯s attention is devoted entirely to the stage. He cares nothing for the other important names who whisper in nearby boots. I care for neither, only releasing my strangehold on Aster¡¯s parting words when Valance finally quirks an eyebrow at me.

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    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you react like that,¡± she says in a quiet voice. ¡°Who knew that was the combination to your vault of a temper. You never do talk much about your father.¡±

    ¡°I never talk much about anything in my past,¡± I counter, already done with the line of inquiry. ¡°Aster simply knows what to say better than most do. She¡¯s familiar with Carra. And she¡¯s the one who trained Cal. In some matters, at least.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I thought I recognized that cavalier attitude.¡± Valance turns her attention to the stage, two dainty fingers sliding over my shoulders. ¡°Where is your sister, by the by? I joked about her absence before, but I¡¯d be remiss if she¡¯s simply choosing to ignore me. There¡¯s work to be done with the Shadows¡­¡±

    ¡°Not just you. It seems she¡¯s taken to ignoring me as well.¡± I join her in watching the actors. ¡°I fear I will have to do something about it soon.¡±

    I don¡¯t have the time or the resources to track Cal down without causing suspicion, and Aurix is as helpful in the Vents as a sloop in the desert. Cal¡¯s words before our last parting left no uncertainty in our standing. She believes I¡¯ve lost my way. But her na?ve alternative to my plan to unseat Gami is just that: emotional and shortsighted. I may love my sister, but I cannot let her stand in my way. She¡¯ll return to me by choice or force. Just as Tay will, seeing that my gambit worked and her power has reawoken. But the window I left for her to make that choice has entirely eroded. We¡¯re on borrowed time. And judging by my master¡¯s continuing silence beside me, even that time has reached its end.

    <hr>

    The night¡¯s offerings come in three acts. Gami dismisses Valance at the beginning of the second to negotiate with one of the more prominent major league fighters in a lower booth. She hides how insulted she is by the dismissal, but she hasn¡¯t proven herself capable of contesting the Champion¡¯s orders as I have. Her departure leaves me alone at my master¡¯s side during the opening stanzas of the Scroll Gambit, one of the most famous plays from the villages. I¡¯ve studied the man enough to know that it¡¯s his only reason at all for coming tonight. He comes to watch the performance at least once a month, like clockwork. The Shakespearean dramas preceding the play are a mere garnish to the exotic actors who advance upon the stage in their wake. Garishly overdressed men in robes that drag like wedding trains behind their feet, absurd colors, and faced painted in cruel arcs of traditional white and red.

    I can almost recite the opening monologues word-for-word. One of the most prominent characters, a powerful and loyal retainer, defers to his young lord¡¯s planning in the center of the stage. The care between the two men is palpable, even from a distance. Yet dramatic irony will see the retainer beating his lord senseless by the end of the night, all in the name of a heart-wrenching, desperate ploy.

    Gami rumbles to me as the heroes confer amongst themselves, deciding on a course of action in the face of an unforeseen military checkpoint.

    ¡°Surely you are familiar with this script, Thane.¡±

    ¡°Of course, master.¡±

    ¡°It was brought to this city from your coastal villages. I imagine you would have had many occasions to see it in your youth.¡±

    I bow my head, mimicking deference. ¡°Some, yes. Theatre was never more than a passing interest for me. My sister, on the other hand¡­¡±

    Gami¡¯s silent amusement shakes the booth around us, respectful to the actors even in privacy. ¡°Do you know the history of the kabuki masters, the men who first brought this stagecraft to the capital?¡±

    ¡°Disciples of Gen¡¯ichiro, according to my school.¡± I feign disinterest. ¡°I¡¯m ever surprised at your interests, master. Studying the stagecraft of a land you don¡¯t even call home.¡±

    Gami seems to ignore my reply, watching with tidal interest as the drama shifts below. Art and theatre are but one of the many curiosities most people never see of our champion. They usually only see his shadow. The titan who casts it has a voracity for the arts that borders on an obsession. Like the play proceeding before us, he studies the art of his enemies with relentless repetition until he has dissected every useful drop of knowledge from its corpse.

    The particular enemy that inspired his devotion to kabuki is long since dead. The man himself wasn¡¯t even a native of the villages, nor anything close to one. He knew nothing of the language, barely remembered the bare minimum of traditions. Yet he was smitten enough by the esoteric culture of the villages to raise a daughter in the shadow of the rice fields. And now? My master watches this same play for the hundredth time with an ever-inscrutable expression on his featureless platinum face. Searching for any remains of his predecessor, any challenge left unconquered. Or perhaps merely trying to dredge up memories of a time when those challenges still existed.

    The events on stage slowly capture my attention as the young lord¡¯s chief retainer withdraws a garishly oversized scroll from his bag, holding it so the hostile guards before them cannot see it is completely empty. An extremely risky bluff. The retainer¡¯s next monologue, where he improvises the contents of the scroll on the spot, is still moving- even in the capital¡¯s warped translation of the tale. Cal once told me the mark of the best young actors is found in those who invent their own script for the gambit itself, surprising the audience with innovation.

    ¡°The history of this Section is the oldest among the gladiocracies, traceable directly to the times before the Creators. It is perhaps the only relic of the old era worth studying.¡± Gami leans forward to watch the monologue with a closer eye. ¡°A people¡¯s heart is found in their artistry.¡±

    In the play, the captain of the guard listens to the famous monologue until its end, knowing all the while that the scroll is empty. The captain is a man of an older time. A man of honor. Like the crowd, he will soon be moved by the lengths the young lord and his retainers go to in a bid to prove their ruse. In the end, he will take that honor to his grave in a ritual no capital native would fully understand the implications of.

    ¡°And how do you find ours?¡± I ask.

    Gami¡¯s iron gaze falls to me and me alone. Beneath our booth, the retainer begins savagely whipping his lord within an inch of his life, much to the dismay of the crowd.

    ¡°Ironic.¡±

 5.2 - OLD PATHS

    Jolie is the first to notice that something¡¯s changed.

    My aunt is too professional to let her inner suspicions slip before they¡¯re ready, so it¡¯s not anything she says. It¡¯s the fact that she doesn¡¯t say anything at all. Leaning against the scuffed counter of our temporary safehouse¡¯s kitchen with her back to a boiling pot, she watches, but she does not speak while I run her through everything that¡¯s transpired since I arrived in the capital.

    It¡¯s day four since I was moved from the impromptu operating room to a suite of surprisingly luxurious staterooms deep within the Orange¡¯s central towers. The reconstructive work in my back is finally beginning to show results, though I¡¯m still immobile. Being stuck in a wheelchair is its own special kind of hell- double that for a ki fighter, and triple that for me. Movement is who I am. I¡¯ve never been chained down like this before. Progress is small, incremental, and frustratingly slow. I only regained feeling in my toes yesterday.

    Cal is with me for every step. We¡¯ve been inseparable since I awoke on the operating table. Our closeness a thing of habit now, not a forced alliance. She could¡¯ve left and started sleeping in the staterooms with Jolie nights ago, but she only left the medical ward once my surgeries finished and we were moved here together.

    She¡¯s always near at hand, like I¡¯ll get ambushed again if I ever leave her sight. I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. Her protective presence was my anchor during the roughest nights of surgeries. When I reached out during the agony, her hand was always there to grip. Her yellow eyes become the first thing I expect when I wake. Her quirks and humor a constant companion. A blackbird perched ever on the windowsill of my mind.

    So much of our time alone in that cold morgue of a room were just spent telling stories to each other. Cal told me about her childhood in the public system- all sorts of stories from the group homes, the day Jolie found her and Thane, the first time she went to school- and I told her in turn about what it was like growing up in the Section¡¯s outskirts. The mountains, the forests, the fields, the seas. Now that we¡¯ve swapped the medical ward for more human surroundings, more often than not, I notice that our conversations will end and our words drift off to leave us stranded in each others¡¯ eyes till a joke or distant sound breaks the moment.

    I know where this path leads. I¡¯ve walked it once before with Thane. Yet as the days pass, I find myself toeing the first step every time I brush against Cal. My heart¡¯s compass pulls as it will. As a ki fighter, I know better than to fight against that tug. Especially when Cal is the one who brought back my light after three years of dormancy.

    The permanent, contented glow I now exude says everything.

    We¡¯re positioned around the scratched hi-top table in the stateroom¡¯s kitchen. Just the three of us. I¡¯m sunk comfortably in my wheelchair, blanket over my legs. Jolie alternates between watching me and laboring over a crock-pot concoction that smells better than anything else in the Vents. Smears of grease on her cheeks, Cal slouches on a bench beside me, taking a break from working on Jolie¡¯s skeletal replacement for my prosthetic. A smooth, palm-sized lump of raw damascene that Dynasty operatives managed to recover from the site of the Mobiak¡¯s ambush rests in front of her. I¡¯d be paying more attention to the way she¡¯s braiding and unbraiding my hair like she¡¯s practicing gallows knots if I wasn¡¯t entirely focused on Jolie''s ice-cold gaze as she watches what¡¯s happening in front of her.

    My aunt has all the same reasons I once did to despise Cal to her very core. Our closeness isn¡¯t something she¡¯s commented on during the times she stopped by the operating room. She just accepted it as a piece on the board and worked it into the grim arithmetic of our current situation. Until now.

    ¡°Everything Tetsuka says paints a very compelling picture of your altruism, I will admit,¡± Jolie says, a full minute of thoughtful silence after I recap the fight against the Mobiak. She runs a rag along the ladle¡¯s edge. ¡°I¡¯m inclined to trust her judgement given your track record for helping both of us, Cal. She has a sense of hearts that¡¯s rarely wrong.¡± Flicks off the red sauce at the end of the ladle, letting it fall back into the pot like a blood splatter. ¡°Rarely, being the operative term. I already made the mistake of trusting two Kyriakus on the word of others. One is now a criminal king who nearly murdered my brother on multiple occasions. The other fooled us all for the decade it took to finish what the first started.¡± Her indigo eyes are laden heavy with accusation. ¡°Even Thane had good intentions at first. I¡¯d have never helped mentor him if he didn¡¯t. But evil is in his blood, just as it is yours, Cal.¡±

    That heavy gaze falls on me next.

    ¡°No good man willingly sets foot on the path to evil, yet many have walked it to its end.¡± She quotes the old Champion Fang. ¡°Good intentions are no longer enough to earn my trust. And you should know better, Tetsuka.¡±

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°If I can trust her after Thane, you can at least stand her presence,¡± I say from my wheelchair. ¡°Cal¡¯s earned our trust ten times over.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a security risk. Her presence jeopardizes our safety as long as she stays.¡±

    ¡°And if she leaves?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Cal fought Thane for me. She broke you out of the Imperial Complex. If she shows her face in the overcity¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be perfectly fine,¡± Cal smirks, working at a small braid near my jaw. She unwinds it and starts over. ¡°It¡¯s cute that you¡¯re worried about me, though.¡±

    Jolie stirs something in the pot before turning back. ¡°If it¡¯s facts that you need, allow me to renumerate. Cal may have helped you against Thane once. She¡¯s also an assassin with blood on her hands. A social chameleon trained by the most dangerous murderers, courtesans, politicians, and saboteurs her brother could find. She is a Kyriaku. A direct clone of your father¡¯s greatest enemy, just as dangerous as Thane. And just like Thane, she maintains connections with every one of Gami¡¯s Shadows and servants. Those are people who will be looking for her. Wondering why she¡¯s missing. What she¡¯s doing. Who she¡¯s with. People who she likely is still maintaining communication with now.¡±

    Cal admits it with a shrug.

    ¡°She betrayed her genetic twin for you on a whim. What¡¯s stopping her from betraying us now?¡± Jolie¡¯s tone chills further. ¡°What if she¡¯s still working with them, and Thane or Valance or Gami let her free me? Her entire existence beside you is a risk. She could even be playing both sides just to gain your trust and use you as a fulcrum to undercut her brother. You trusted her blindly-¡±

    ¡°I trusted her because my heart told me to, and Dad told me to always listen to those feelings,¡± I say, voice quiet as a wave of weakness washes over me.

    Jolie¡¯s lips, frozen mid-sentence, slowly close. She breathes out carefully through her nose. Treading gently past the mention of my father. Water overboils behind her. ¡°Be that as it may¡­¡±

    ¡°Auntie. You¡¯re right. By the reasons, we shouldn¡¯t trust her.¡± Struck by more nausea, I slump back in my chair. ¡°But reason didn¡¯t get me this far. Cal did. She¡¯s had every chance to leave me. Hell, I attacked her, twice. I beat the shit out of her. But she stuck with me through everything.¡± Grimacing, I reach over and grab Cal¡¯s shadow-bitten left arm. Black poison still worms through the veins. ¡°This was for me.¡± I touch the still-healing flap of skin that Thane carved from her arm. ¡°This was for me.¡± My hand falls back to my lap. ¡°Cal is everything you said, yes. But she¡¯s also more than that.¡±

    Jolie picks up a half-cooled cup of caf, takes a quiet sip. Evaluating again the yin and yang that she sees before her. The blooming intimacy. The honesty in my voice. The protectiveness with which Cal guards me even now. In it, I¡¯m sure Jolie sees a piece of herself. I¡¯d like to think my words are what make her relent, but I know my aunt better than that. She is a mother hawk, a watchful lioness burned by the world one too many times. So far are the lengths she will go to to protect her flock that even my insistence won¡¯t budge her. But seeing that same sentiment mirrored in Cal- that, I think, is what pushes her over the edge.

    Her paper cup comes to a firm rest on the counter. She turns and adjusts a knob on the stove. ¡°And what do you have to say, Calliope? You¡¯ve been quiet.¡±

    Cal looks me in the eyes while she talks. ¡°Tay said it well enough. You can listen to her. Or you can not. Either way, you should get cozy with seeing me around. I¡¯m not letting her leave my sight again.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s what I want to do.¡±

    The sentence seems to strike Jolie, though not in a way I fully grasp. ¡°Then you have no intention of returning to Thane?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Oh, I have every intention of returning to Thane. We¡¯re not done yet. Not until I¡¯ve kept my promise.¡± Reaching up, Cal slides out the screwdriver holding her ponytail and returns to fiddling with the half-finished prosthetic. Voice a comfortable, easy low against my ears. ¡°But I also have every intention of getting Tay back on her feet in fighting shape first. And I have every intention of getting both of you out of the capital. Having a ki fighter as powerful as her at full strength is the kind of firepower that makes escape possible.¡±

    ¡°In that, we are in agreement.¡±

    Sheathing her distrust for now, Jolie scoops up her empty cup and heads past me towards the caf brewer, ruffling my hair on the way by. ¡°If Tetsuka wants you, I won¡¯t say otherwise. But you have one strike. Don¡¯t waste it.¡± She comes back with a fresh cup and sighs into a seat at the table. ¡°I suppose if I¡¯m already working with a Venter like Nabuna, keeping you around may actually be an improvement. I could use another pair of eyes on this.¡± She taps a nail against the prosthetic.

    Cal smiles to herself at the backhanded compliment. Probably the best she¡¯ll ever get from Jolie.

    ¡°Nabuna¡¯s still around? What¡¯s he doing for you?¡± I ask, shifting a little so I can lean more comfortably against her.

    ¡°Not for me. For you,¡± Jolie corrects. A projection screen blinks to life above the table. My ghost bank account, once filled with piles of winnings from my undercity fights, recently dented by the loss of a not insignificant number of credits. All to the name of a no-good greaser.

    Cal groans when she understands. ¡°¡­You gotta be kidding me.¡±

 5.3 - THE DEBONAIR

    ¡°Door.¡±

    At my word, Cal slings a credit chit at the keypad by the stateroom door without even looking. Over-the-shoulder throw, perfect aim, chased by an appreciative high-low whistle as the metal hisses open to reveal an ornately appointed hallway and Nabuna¡¯s familiar bulk. The greaser¡¯s finger is paused just above the pad on the other side.

    He huffs a hazy cloud of smoke as he eyes us from the doorway. Eyes me in particular. Noting the glow I exude, the illuminated skin and hair. The fact that I¡¯m standing at all, just two weeks after my last surgery. Then his eyes trail down to the silver credit chit that bounces between his feet. By the time he looks back up, I¡¯m already limping to get past him with Cal¡¯s help. She bears the weight of my left arm as we sidle by and into the hall.

    ¡°Been waiting on you, greaser.¡±

    ¡°Good to see you too,¡± Nabuna says with no shortage of sarcasm. He takes a slow drag on the lighter, shoves his hands in his pockets, and follows us into the tower¡¯s interior. Kicks a foot through the gentle aura of ki that gushes quietly around me. ¡°This is looking better than that black shit you were using at the undergrounds. What¡¯s your range?¡±

    ¡°Felt you when you got to the block.¡±

    He does the mental math of the distance to the Orange¡¯s outer border. Follows it with a quick guestimation of how many people fill the towers, brothels, clubs, and offices between here and there that I had to pick through to recognize the uniquely sleazy signature of his ki. The amount of concrete and hard metal separation. ¡°¡­And not even a thank you for busting you outta this joint.¡±

    I chuckle. ¡°Where¡¯s Jolie? She said she¡¯d be coming to rehab today.¡±

    Ecstatic energy pulses in my veins, a poor fit for the creaky and battered vessel it currently inhabits- though that¡¯s quickly changing now that my ki has reawakened. My body is reknitting at a ravenous pace to keep up with the state of my soul, feasting on the excess spiritual energy I create just by existing. I create more than anyone I¡¯ve ever met. Other ki fighters don¡¯t glow like I do. They don¡¯t walk off injuries like mine. They have to strain their souls to generate even a single ki blast of the caliber that I release simply because I¡¯ve got too much power swirling inside me.

    Gripe all he will, even Nabuna is shocked by my progress. Another week¡¯s healing has me on my feet in control of my legs, albeit shakily. But my body is still a lockjaw mess ravaged top-to-bottom by tiger stripes of scar tissue. No part of me was left unscathed by the ambush. I¡¯m scarred up worse than my father was by his second decade of rule. Restorative work was only that. I insisted on the fastest recovery possible, meaning zero cosmetic treatments. It¡¯s not the smoothest or most aesthetically pleasing solution. I think it fits me better, though. Sends a message that I like.

    I¡¯ve survived these scars, I can survive you.

    I thought that Cal might think the scars were ugly. Stupid to worry about, in retrospect. She said so verbatim when I asked her in a moment of weakness in front of the mirror, the first day I was allowed to stand.

    Nabuna shrugs off my earlier question and slows his pace to match my limp. ¡°As for our mutual acquaintance, I don¡¯t ask and someone as important as Jojo don¡¯t fucken tell to people like me. She¡¯s probably talking with the Executor again. Hell if I know.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re here because you ran out of poker money?¡± Cal chuckles.

    ¡°That cuts deep, chica. But I respect it.¡± Nabuna chuckles under his breath. ¡°I see why Blanco keeps you around.¡±

    As we reach a cross intersection of wood panels and wine-colored carpets, Nabuna waves us around a hard left corner. We¡¯re deep in the heart of the Orange¡¯s central towers, the guarded towers where Dynasty conducts its clandestine deals with overcity corporations and prestigious clients. Leaguers who don¡¯t want to be seen visiting the undercity, rich members of influential families, that ilk. Muted wealth surrounds us beneath a veneer of dim lighting fit for the midnight hours. Corridors of wine-colored carpets, dark wood paneling, and brassy trim stand mostly empty. Only a handful of black-and-orange draped guards linger at rare open doorways, and only once do a pair of scantily-clad servants dart across our path. Nabuna spares a passing look at one of them.

    ¡°I coulda pissed off when I saw what kind of trouble you lot are tangled up with, but I¡¯ve got dirt in the game now. I¡¯m here until Blanco is back in fighting shape. Which means I¡¯m both of your bosses for the foreseeable future. Even you, Feint.¡±

    Cal¡¯s eyebrows raise dangerously. I glare down at her until sees me and rolls her eyes.

    Nabuna grunts. ¡°I¡¯ll pretend you weren¡¯t about to sass me for doing my job and instead remind you that I am perhaps the only person in this block who doesn¡¯t have a personal reason to take a swing at you, Goldeneyes.¡± He pauses and nods to a hulking Martial Artist who stands outside a massive lacquer-trimmed door, tugging his cap low while we pass. ¡°Hard as it may be to believe, I do in fact know what I¡¯m doing. I take pride in my work. That includes you two.¡± He looks over the scar tissue that mauls my glowing body. ¡°You been on your feet a few days already. Been itching to lift, I can tell.¡±

    I shoot a wild grin back. ¡°Been itching for a hell of a lot more than lifting.¡±

    ¡°Did you just start glowing brighter?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a ki fighter thing.¡±

    ¡°No shit. You got that much extra juice going through you?¡± His bushy eyebrows narrow as he waves a more cautious hand through my passive aura. ¡°Ain¡¯t never seen nothin¡¯ like that before. Hostia, how haven¡¯t you exploded yet?¡±

    I just shrug. He whistles and skips on to Cal.

    ¡°Okay. So we don¡¯t start on level zero for you. Feint?¡±

    Cal shrugs. ¡°Worry about her first.¡±

    Nabuna swears something I don¡¯t catch and crosses a finger over his chest. ¡°Shoulda known better when Jojo said she wanted me to run your rehab. Easy money, she said. My ass. You two are above my paygrade.¡±

    ¡°I already know where the gym is, if you want to leave now,¡± Cal sarcastically adds.

    ¡°Thank you chica, but I¡¯m on the clock and the Jolie Mons has me on a leash. I¡¯m about as free as a bullet in the chamber.¡± He straightens his shoulders as we head down more narrow corridors that take us closer to the edge of the staff-only areas, towards the loading docks that feed illegal drugs and more into the heart of the Orange. Wood paneling transitions smoothly into simple sheet metal. Brassy lamps and grandiose architecture to flat concrete utilitarianism.

    ¡°Normally I¡¯d have to yell at the boys I trained to keep pushing when it hurts, but you¡¯re the complete opposite,¡± Nabuna warns, coming to a stop before a massive hangar bay door. ¡°So if I tell you to do something, you don¡¯t do more. It¡¯s a process. Not a race.¡± Puffing a final haze of smoke, he extinguishes his lighter by grinding it against the steel walls. It¡¯s far from the only smudge. ¡°If I catch you two sneaking off to hit the gym when I¡¯m not around, I¡¯ll be having words with Jolie Mons. And we both know what she can be like when someone breaks the rules.¡±

    Then he ducks under the half-rolled bay door, and I¡¯m back in my element.

    Staring over a church of iron. Listening to the clanking choir of reracking weights. Hit by the humid incense of sweat and hard work in the air. Its warrior worshippers are Dynasty¡¯s off-the-clock enforcers and hired mercenaries. Its chapel an old covert shipping dock, one cavernous wall totally open to the Abyss, black-and-orange spray paint in lieu of stained glass. Pews of benches and hymnals of steel. And that¡¯s only half the space. Not one, but nine recreational fighting squares with top-tier repulsorfield boundaries fill the rest of the jury-rigged gymnasium. All but one of the squares are already taken by dueling pairs. Savage fighters with brutish technique meant for breaking bones and collecting debts. My eyes fix on the action.

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    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what I thought,¡± Nabuna chuckles. He motions for us to follow him towards the empty square, where a lone shirtless figure hot off a workout sits reclined on the sandstone steps. Vaguely familiar features. ¡°Jolie Mons wanted me to start you both on weights, but that won¡¯t get you in fighting shape. So I found you a bone to play with instead.¡± His battered shoes squeak to a stop. ¡°Blanco, Feint, meet Yuki.¡±

    Sweat drenches the young man who waits for us, yet that doesn¡¯t keep me from recognizing him. Long, straight blonde hair hangs almost to his waist; draping bangs plastered to his cheeks. Crystal-blue eyes like mountain riverwater flash with surprise when he sees me coming. An orange-colored pendant dangles above the thin, dynamic muscles of his chest. He¡¯s long and lean. A dancer, not a brawler. Two bladeless hilts hang on opposite sides of his belt, strapped securely above dark trousers that shift and fan around his legs like the traditional robes from my home villages. A blade bag rests on the floor beside him with a variety of manual training weapons. Duelist-classed, and going by the physically impossible chill of the bottle in his hands, an Ice Elemental too. High-bred looks that preempt the voice of an imperious prince of blades; yet the friendly cordiality in his tone is anything but.

    ¡°The Ghost of the Vents in the flesh,¡± Yuki says as he stands. ¡°I always thought you¡¯d be my airport girl, the one who got away. Never imagined I¡¯d see you again after that gala. Especially not so soon.¡±

    I clasp his forearm in fighting tradition, looking up into his eyes. ¡°Any of those pickup lines work out for you?¡±

    A wounded smile slashes his face. ¡°Gods, no. I¡¯m not that desperate. I hope.¡± He gives me a quick up-down glance. Faintly appreciative in the way all boys are with me, growing more respectful as he sees the extent of my scarring. ¡°All the hearsay about a white-haired prodigy roving around the Vents was your doing, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Mah, for the most part.¡±

    ¡°Love that accent, by the way. Reminds me of home.¡±

    ¡°Really? You¡¯re from the villages?¡±

    ¡°Some of my family was, generations back. Though I haven¡¯t seen them in ages.¡± Not bothering to grab a shirt, Yuki towels off his hands on his pants and starts fashioning his hair into a high tail. He nods to Nabuna. ¡°Apologies for dragging my feet. You should have told me it was the Ghost who wanted my time. And Feint.¡±

    Cal barely perks up at the mention of her alias. Dressed in a black-dyed clone of the stretchmesh singlet and loose fighting pants I wear, she keeps her hands cooly in her pockets as she eyes the murderous trail of stares that¡¯s been building behind us. A disdainful smirk flits across her lips.

    ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± she says, sparing a lazy glance at the free weights, ¡°I hate to bring up the elephant in the room when we¡¯re already neck deep, but the boys in orange aren¡¯t exactly my biggest fans after what I did to Gist last year.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re under strict orders not to kill you,¡± Yuki says.

    ¡°Plenty of wiggle room in wording like that.¡±

    ¡°Should push come to shove, I¡¯m sure a girl of your reputation can handle a beating or two.¡±

    That gets her attention.

    Eyes narrowing at the challenge in his tone, Cal shucks her jacket and tosses it to Nabuna. ¡°I¡¯m up first.¡±

    He steps aside with an alacrity I¡¯ve only ever seen Jolie inspire. ¡°You the boss.¡±

    Yuki¡¯s closed-lip grin is all primness as she stalks past, close to a foot shorter than him. A cold enmity there, that of professionals on opposite sides of the same industry. They might not have butted heads personally, but there¡¯s a history between their employers that they¡¯re both bound to.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard you and the Ghost have been licking your wounds in our staterooms for a few weeks now,¡± he says, watching Cal¡¯s back as she ascends to the square. ¡°Shall we take it slow? I wouldn¡¯t want to risk injuring you.¡±

    He arches an eyebrow as she keeps walking straight towards the still-on repulsorfield. The shimmering translucent barriers are capable of eating one of my ki blasts at full power without even flickering. ¡°You know, the barrier is still¡­¡±

    He trails off as an ellipsoid hole forms in the repulsorfield in front of Cal. She strides right through, waving her Relic for Yuki¡¯s benefit.

    ¡°Go as easy as you like,¡± she drawls, all business. ¡°Let¡¯s get started. Tay doesn¡¯t have all night on her legs.¡±

    Grabbing his bag, Yuki surges up the steps to join her. Nabuna comes back with two creaky folding chairs and plops down in one while they choose their armaments. Yuki draws the twin hilts from his belts and uses his Elemental class to solidify two blunted ice blades from the moisture in the air. Cal fishes through his bag and grabs a simple staff, favoring her right arm. The left is still recovering from poison and tremors faintly, as much a detriment to her as my legs still are to me.

    Nabuna fishes another lighter from his pocket, offers it to me, then strikes it after I decline. ¡°You fought with Feint much?¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡±

    ¡°She good as the news says?¡±

    I smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±

    They¡¯re already squaring off at the center line, ten feet apart. One of Yuki¡¯s blades balances upright behind his back. The other drops in a tip-drag stance as he spreads his feet, leaving a thin mark on the sandstone. A foreign duel-wielding technique I¡¯ve never seen before. It looks like what¡¯d normally be a disrespectful opening against anyone who knows how to fight, but the guise is just that. A cover that holds until the frame the duel begins.

    Yuki cuts the fa?ade and flashes at Cal in a blur of movement. A testing strike, a brazen litmus test of an attack delivered at top speed with zero finesse meant to gauge an opponent¡¯s capabilities faster than the traditional, circling dance of confined combat. His left-hand blade cleaves up from the ground in a diagonal slash. Faster than Thane, maybe. But even if he has a loose idea of how Cal¡¯s Relic works, that knowledge and the experience of fighting against it are entirely different things.

    A lesson he learns the moment his blades vanish mid-swing, not even a second into the fight.

    Cal upends him. She just kicks his legs out like she¡¯s scuffing something off her sneaker. Nabuna winces in sympathy as Yuki hits the ground. He gets up gracefully, face smarting while Cal throws me a coy smirk.

    ¡°That¡¯s only going to work once,¡± Yuki chuckles.

    Turning back to the square, Cal flips the staff in one hand like she¡¯s tossing a knife. ¡°Feel free to try a little harder. I wouldn¡¯t want to risk injuring you.¡±

    ¡°I was talking about the punish for rushing, but yes, you¡¯ve convinced me.¡± Conceding the fight with a curt bow, Yuki rummages through his bag and chooses a pair of handmade wooden training blades that Cal¡¯s Relic can¡¯t dispel. He flips one to a reverse grip and nods to Cal. ¡°Again?¡±

    He lasts a little longer the second time, at least. Small groups of Dynasty fighters slow their workouts to watch while Yuki shoves one of his blades against the sandstone, using it to push back up. Cold now, no longer mirthful as he wipes a loose strand of hair from his eyes.

    ¡°One more,¡± he says, shaking his head.

    Even using weapons Cal can¡¯t dispel, even in an environment and battlefield that an assassin would never allow to happen in the wild, I¡¯m struck by just how Cal manages to outmaneuver an opponent who is, in my pretty experienced judgement, a capable fighter. Her technique is like an extension of her personality. Misdirecting, toggling her Relic to upset Yuki¡¯s balance at seemingly random intervals by cutting off the passive enhancements of his classes, letting him overextend repeatedly while cataloguing his weaknesses until she chooses which to drive home. She takes no step without a plan for it in mind. The logical opposite to my instinctive style, mixed with her brother¡¯s seemingly breadthless mastery of weapons and logic. And then a flair all her own thrown over top.

    Soon, I realize she¡¯s not really fighting for herself. She¡¯s seeing if Yuki will be the grindstone we need. Pushing him until he reveals what¡¯s really beneath the swashbuckling charisma. The fifth time she drops the syndicate swordfighter, his fa?ade bares its first crack with an amused grimace.

    ¡°Again, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±

    And again, and again. Eight rounds, then ten. I¡¯m surprised Cal sticks around so long.

    ¡°That trinket truly is something else,¡± I hear Yuki mutter between rounds, splashing water over his face. ¡°Game for more?¡±

    She is.

    They¡¯re running each other ragged by the time the twentieth round starts. Yuki¡¯s long since shut off his JOY, finally pitting the human limits of his body against Cal, who¡¯s been doing it from the start. The packs of Dynasty enforcers stopping by to watch continue to grow in size. There¡¯s shouts of support and jeers for both fighters. Cal is no longer the focus of the crowd¡¯s derision. Barely breaking five feet tall, armed with nothing but her brother¡¯s signature weapon, she¡¯s almost an underdog. There¡¯s whoops as she dismantles Yuki with a flourishing dual-wielding sequence after disarming the Duelist of one of his own weapons.

    All the enmity between the two was sweated out at some point over the previous hour. Mottled with bruises, they chat amicably between the next round like they¡¯re catching up over caf. Someone tosses them jugs of water from the crowd. Cal take one and dump it over her head, ice and all. Hoots and hollers at that.

    More rounds. Twenty, twenty-five. When they just crest the thirtieth and Cal downs Yuki after a grueling fight that goes completely to its eight-minute time, he stays down for good, gasping for breath while the begrudging adulation of the onlookers washes over them. They clasp hands and she helps haul the taller fighter to his feet. The repulsorfield falls and she saunters down the steps on her own while Dynasty fighters jump up to clap Yuki on the back. There are whistles. Shouts of appreciation for Cal. Someone chucks her a towel. Another hands her a better jacket; Dynasty duroweave with orange highlights. She plays the attention off with her particular breed of charisma. Smirking smiles and coy humility that only end when she finds me in the crowd.

    She bumps my fist and nods back at Yuki. ¡°He¡¯ll do.¡±

 REALITY.05

    The world wears red today.

    Blanketed by snowglobe weather, the towering eaves of the Kingswalk forest shift in a winter silence. Carpets of white snow drape across the vast field at the heart of the forest. Flurries twist in the frigid air, sticking to the furred coats, crimson scarves, and frostbitten cheeks that wander down a stone promenade of massive statues on a mournful procession to the distant lakeside.

    Rose petals litter the way beneath the statues- each of marble, beginning with humble Gage at the edge of the forest. Between our first Champion and the lakeside stretches a martial history of the warriors who have contributed the greatest pieces of our Section¡¯s reputation. Few are anything other than human in shape. Many are fistfighters and brawlers. Yet of the hundreds of people who continue in the winding, silent procession beneath the statues, almost none stop to read the last words of those legends of the past.

    All who come to the Kingswalk today carry a red-colored offering towards the lone statue that sits overlooking the lake, where a burgeoning crowd has formed in a wide arc around a hastily-erected stage. Most bring rose bouquets or crimson flowers given away for free back at the forest¡¯s entrance. Others bring candles, clothing, or tokens of more martial nature. An angular, winged Mecha who towers above the crowd even bears a sword forged entirely from blood-colored metal.

    Late to the service, I do not rush as I make my way to the lakeside statue, patiently waiting to give my offering. Each person adds their own gift and words around the base of a statue depicting Mars Mons in his middle years. The artist of the piece, a master craftsman who journeyed from distant Olympus after the news broke, captured Mars not in the midst of glory or combat, but in a quiet moment no one in attendance today would otherwise have occasion to see. His stone image sits like he would on the back porch of his estate, eyes closed in rest, the faintest hint of a hero¡¯s welcoming smile playing on his lips.

    I am watched as I kneel before the statue. Friend and foe alike populate the crowd today. Minding myself and the time I take from the other well-wishers, I draw out a small knife and lay it across my palm over the still-healing scar left by Gami¡¯s tail. There I pause. Hand over the snow. Reflecting on what I would say to the man if I had just one more chance to see him.

    ¡°I am sorry, Mars,¡± I whisper to the white, knowing it will never repeat my words. ¡°I am a monster.¡±

    Wind howls.

    I cut my palm and let the blood drip into the snow. Then I rise and return to the crowd.

    <hr>

    ¡°It is with my deepest apologies that I stand before you, friends...¡±

    Flanked by ten representatives of the minor and major leagues, Sasha¡¯s frigid voice crackles over the assembly from a handheld microphone. A tattered red band encircles her head at the brow. She pauses to remove it and let her hair billow freely in the wind before continuing.

    ¡°I know many of you wished to give your condolences to Director Mons in person. Were she here today, I know she would be standing here until sundown to hear each of us tell of what a difference her brother made in our lives. I can only ask that you entrust those words to me, and I will carry them to her myself.¡±

    I can¡¯t tell if the wetness that stains her cheeks comes from the cold or emotion. Her voice sallies onwards unwavering.

    ¡°Three years. So short a time for him to be gone, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯ve had Champions with reigns a tenth that long in eras past.¡± Heads nod. ¡°My history with Mars goes back so much further, as I¡¯m sure does many of yours. It¡¯s still¡­ still hard to think about the future without him there like a beacon on the horizon. Like the Metro Blockhouse, Mars has been a fixture in our city since I was only a child. Something we could always look up to¡­¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    I pay less attention to the speech as Aurix stirs beside me. Wearing heavier formal outfits in similar shades of funeral black, we both linger on the back wings of the crowd, exposed to the wind. Despite the soft ban on media for the event, a few photographers still drift nearby. I can never escape the vultures for long.

    ¡°I never thought he¡¯d be so liked when all he did was leave for war,¡± Aurix murmurs, unnoticing of the media attention. He gazes out over the crowd with his chin held high. Thousands fill the promenade now. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ so many people here.¡±

    ¡°Sasha¡¯s story is one we all mirror parts of,¡± I say. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a child in my group home who didn¡¯t want to grow up to be like Mars. Myself included.¡±

    We both quiet respectfully as the speech begins to waver. Tears are shed freely throughout the assembly.

    ¡°Thanks for coming today,¡± he eventually says, once Sasha bows to applause and another speaker rises to take her place. His voice is thick with unwanted emotion. He swallows it down. ¡°I would¡¯ve felt awkward coming with anyone else. They didn¡¯t know him like you did.¡±

    ¡°No need to thank me. I come every year.¡±

    He grunts. ¡°Not the only reason you¡¯re here, I¡¯m sure. You never go anywhere with just one.¡±

    ¡°It can wait until after.¡±

    ¡°Go for it. I¡¯m getting tired of the cold.¡±

    I wait for a moment as I watch Sasha return to the crowd, where she begins to shake hands and commiserate with the well-wishers. As the next speaker begins, I crook my head for Aurix to follow me back down the promenade of statues. Within moments, we are alone amongst the titans of the past.

    ¡°Gami knows,¡± I say as we pass under the spear of Sonorious. A red flag billows from the pole. ¡°He knows your adopted sister still lives, and he knows I¡¯ve been hiding it. I¡¯m certain he¡¯s been instructing Valance to seek her out. They cannot be allowed to find her first.¡±

    ¡°I told you once already, you should have hired a Hunter,¡± Aurix growls. ¡°Subterfuge isn¡¯t my thing.¡±

    ¡°I take it vengeance against the tyrant who murdered your father is also outside your interests?¡± I don¡¯t even have to look over to know just how his lips curl into a sneer. ¡°And I thought you¡¯d be a touch more excited to meet the girl that stole your father¡¯s praise for so many years, too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to pay her back soon enough,¡± Aurix snaps. ¡°But I can only do so much. I¡¯m good at fighting, not crawling around the gutters. I don¡¯t deal with cowards like her.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me again that you¡¯ve found nothing. I¡¯ve scoured a quarter of the undercity myself. You and Felix¡­¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve found rumors, but that¡¯s it. Someone called the Ghost of the Vents who matches her description. And they¡¯ve been off the grid for weeks.¡± He glares over at me, shoes crunching through a snowdrift. ¡°We should have captured your sister then and there at the party- she knows where the bitch is. Why did you even let her go?¡±

    ¡°It was a tactical decision. I need Tay at full strength to have a chance at defying a Champion. She would never reach that if I forced her. She has to want it for herself. Cal is instrumental to that.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t need her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never seen Tay fight. Believe me when I say, if your father was the star, she is the supernova. She¡¯s necessary.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe you just want to wet your dick in a familiar hole. Valance-¡± He cuts himself off, but it¡¯s too late.

    My steps trail off. ¡°Continue, please.¡±

    The sudden tension that escalates between us could cut skin.

    ¡°I asked her about you.¡± Midnight blue eyes stare daggers into me. Searching as best as he can. He¡¯ll find nothing to latch his suspicions onto. I¡¯ve spent years wearing masks in the company of far greater men than he. ¡°She told me some things. You¡¯re more connected to this girl than you said.¡±

    My voice hardens to steel. ¡°I am. Just as you are.¡±

    I stride closer, a cold breath billowing from my lips. ¡°You forget your place in this game, Aurix. You were nobody until the moment you wanted to stick your hand in your pot. Now you¡¯re a piece on the board. Everyone is going to look at you for what you are: the son of the Showmaker. The son of our reigning Champion¡¯s greatest enemy. I hope I don¡¯t have to spell the rest out for you.¡±

    He fumes in silence, eyes narrowed by instinctive anger at the tone I wield. The silence is all the compliance I need. He¡¯s a hothead. Not a complete idiot.

    ¡°I am watched on every side. You still have the freedom of anonymity,¡± I say, striding from the snowfield. ¡°Do your job, Aurix. And do it quickly. We¡¯re out of time.¡±

 5.4 - FULL HOUSE

    My fingertips brush over anything and everything I can touch on our way to the gym. The grains in the doors. The smooth warmth of the lightbulbs and the clammy cool of the metal fixtures that hold them. The feathery texture of Cal¡¯s hair. The wet slipperiness of the iceball Yuki hands me. The roughness of my scars.

    I¡¯ve never felt so much detail, especially through my prosthetic. Between the regular scorching of ki blasts, the abuse I¡¯ve leveled on my nerves since arriving in the capital, and a fighting decade of sensory desensitization, I¡¯d never realized just how dull my sense of touch had become. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve been given a new set of eyes with my new right hand. My fingers curl and uncurl in every combination with perfect dexterity. The limb is smoother moving than my real left side. Faster too, and so durable that I can¡¯t even scratch it on my own. And believe me, I put that claim to the test when Cal mentioned it this morning. In her words,

    ¡°You could melt yourself into a puddle and we¡¯d still be able to pull this thing out of the goop.¡±

    Fresh, polished carbon fiber gleams as I turn my new arm back and forth. Built from the bones of Jolie¡¯s old schematics, powered by looted Shimano Heavy Industries tech in Dynasty¡¯s reserves, and reinforced in the knuckles by that recovered lump of raw damascene, the prosthetic is the technological apotheosis of three different schools of innovation.

    I never understood Jolie¡¯s insistence on carbon-fiber frames until after I was forced into hiding. Even a single drop of metal would be lethal in the presence of Gami. Damascene is the one exception- it can¡¯t be interacted with by any JOY class. It doesn¡¯t register as any Element, Guardians can¡¯t access it in their armory of materials, and it¡¯s not organic. Technically, damascene isn¡¯t even the real name of the material that reinforces my new knuckles- it¡¯s just the loanword that¡¯s been adopted over the years. In reality, the material is of an entirely different genre that¡¯s inordinately resistant to outside forces. Heat, pressure, gravity- there¡¯s few things besides more damascene that can leave a scratch on it. The material would make for the perfect armor if it weren¡¯t as rare as stardust and impossible to shape. Even though I¡¯d heard of it before, I¡¯d never seen any but the tiny amount used in Cal¡¯s bangle. The lump used to bait me into the ambush was inert in form, meaning it¡¯s not useful like a Relic. But it can certainly serve another purpose instead. Not even Dynasty¡¯s industrial forges could do anything to make it more shapeable, so Jolie worked the entire lump of ore into her design for the arm.

    Even Cal was stunned by that one.

    As nice as it was to have a chance to exist without an arm plugged in, I¡¯d be lying if I said it wasn¡¯t inconvenient. A new hand is the perfect way to cap off the end of my healing. Days of grueling weight training, dusting every meal with black market drugs and protein compounds that were banned in the overcity, sleepless nights of horrible sweating, and relentless conditioning with Cal and Yuki have reshaped my body into a working vessel for my reawoken ki.

    I¡¯ve started seeing myself in the mirror again. A sharper self, harder and more brittle than I used to be, but no longer powerless. My eyes are driven crimson. Hair a pale off-white color bleached by my injuries, perpetually stirring in the current of my passive aura. A storm that follows wherever I go. I miss the old color, but I¡¯m getting used to the new one. It fits me.

    I¡¯m glowing brighter than ever, this morning most of all. Giddy energy burns in and around me. It¡¯s even affecting the others. Yesterday they looked just as you¡¯d expect after the previous week¡¯s grueling regimen. Bathed in the aura I exude today, Nabuna¡¯s dark circles have faded, Yuki walks with a fresh spring in his step, and Cal- who¡¯s been existing beside me for seven days now- looks ready to take on the world after just five hours of toss-and-turn sleep.

    We¡¯re chumming it up like old friends hyped up on a gallon of caf the entire way to the gym. The first hour of weightlifting goes past in a blink. I don¡¯t remember the last time I was talking this much, grinning this much, or just having a goddamn good time. It¡¯s just a trip to the gym like any other, but my mood is infectious. Especially in Cal. She can¡¯t stop glancing at me during the monotony of the workout. I can¡¯t stop noticing.

    Lunch is the usual fare of rice and meats tossed in an illegal sauce of drugs and stimulants. Nabuna heads off to the open side of the hangar to have a smoke while us younger three commandeer a tiny plastic table off in a corner of the gym where everyone leaves their bags. Cal digs right into her food like we won¡¯t be alive tomorrow. I keep forgetting to eat mine. Nostalgia swirls inside me as I watch her sift through the rice to find the pieces of egg first; like the sugary bits in a bowl of cereal. Thane used to do the exact same thing.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I found you when I did,¡± Yuki mentions through a mouthful of food, pulling me back to their conversation. ¡°Heavens know the impression I¡¯d have of this city otherwise. Besides the gala, I¡¯ve only been cooped up here herding cats. Haven¡¯t had the freedom to venture out more. Very fortunate that adventure found its way to me instead.¡±

    ¡°If you want to watch the pros before you leave, don¡¯t let Tay swindle you into going to the M- there¡¯s this gnarly noodle bar across the street from it that gets way more wild than the arena itself,¡± Cal says.

    ¡°Sadly, I don¡¯t think more trips topside are in the cards. My master and I are only in your city on a temporary assignment. We¡¯ll be gone within the fortnite.¡±

    ¡°Huh. I always figured Executors were too busy for pleasure trips.¡±

    ¡°Just because we¡¯re bad guys doesn¡¯t mean we spend all our time twirling mustaches,¡± Yuki chuckles. ¡°In all seriousness, we¡¯re only here to extract a last few assets. Our operations are pulling out of the Vents. Business here has become more troublesome than the profits are worth as of late.¡± He shoots her a knowing look. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, and I do hear quite a bit, your brother is the main reason for that. He has a reputation.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an earned one,¡± I say, breaking my silence. ¡°Thane is very good at what he does.¡±

    ¡°Being the focus of the conversation?¡± Cal chuckles. Even I snort.

    Waving a hand for me to scoot, she moves her chair beside mine and rakishly kicks her feet up on the table. Everything wobbles. ¡°If you¡¯re not going to have another chance to get out of the Orange, you should come back with us after the workout. Jolie will be cooking dinner. She won¡¯t mind another guest.¡±

    Yuki¡¯s answering smile is all chagrin. ¡°I really couldn¡¯t intrude¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a special occasion. Trust me.¡±

    ¡°I mean, there¡¯s so much paperwork to be filling out and so little time to do it¡­¡±

    ¡°Make some time. Tay insists on it.¡±

    My freckles bunch in confusion. ¡°I do?¡±

    She shoots me a flirty smirk. ¡°Yeah. You do. Just relax and be pretty for a sec.¡±

    I shrug and resume chowing down on my carton of takeout. ¡°Anything Cal says comes from me. And Aunt Jolie¡¯s cooking is the best.¡±

    Cal tips her head in my direction. ¡°There you go. She insists.¡±

    ¡°Well, far be it from me to dismiss such a rousing caliber of recommendation.¡± Yuki lifts his eyebrows and starts rummaging for his bag. ¡°And you know, if the apple is anything like the tree¡­¡±

    ¡°Dude. She¡¯s adopted.¡±

    ¡°What? All I was going to say was that Director Mons must have great taste in¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t make me.¡±

    ¡°¡­in food. In food, Feint. In food! Come on. Don¡¯t look at me like that, Tay does it enough already. You¡¯re such a prude sometimes, you know- oh come on, there¡¯s no need for blades. It was just a joke. We¡¯re eating lunch. Feint. Feint? Tay, she¡¯s pulling a knife-¡±

    ¡°Not outside the square, Cal.¡±

    Cal files under her nails with a dark smile. ¡°If you insist.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    <hr>

    Our suite is in full holiday swing by the time Yuki and I get back, nearly an hour of sparring after Cal left early to help Jolie with¡­ something. She wouldn¡¯t say what. But I have a feeling I know what it is, judging by the smell emanating from deeper within the staterooms.

    Jolie and Cal must be in the kitchen with Nabuna; I can hear the three of them talking over frying oil, clanking pots, and the familiar scents of home cooking. Acoustics with a foot-tapping beat play from a speaker in the common room.

    I¡¯m almost drooling as I lope into the entryway, dump my bag, and start stripping off my shoes. Yuki stoops to remove his sandals with far more propriety. He lags behind near the door while I head on in, slow enough that I stop to throw a wondering look back over my shoulder. ¡°You coming?¡±

    He¡¯s paused in the open doorframe, an awkward, uncertain look on his face. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure this is a terribly great idea. Director Mons-¡±

    ¡°I what?¡± my aunt asks, leaning into the thin hall. She takes one whiff of me and says, no-nonsense, ¡°You need to shower. You smell like a locker room.¡±

    I roll my eyes and wave for Yuki to follow. ¡°Come on, they¡¯re waiting.¡±

    Jolie peers over me, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. First in suspicion, then confusion, then wrenching recognition. A breath catches in her throat. ¡°¡­Ajax?¡±

    Still in the doorframe, Yuki winces noticeably. His lips wrinkle in an awkward grimace as he finally steps inside. Taller than my aunt, he bows low to her in traditional village style, deeper than even conservative tradition. The bow folds to a kneel as he looks up, blue eyes catching in the light that comes from the kitchen.

    ¡°You do me an honor, Director Mons, one I¡¯m not very worthy of. I apologize if I scared you.¡±

    Jolie¡¯s gone pale as a ghost beside me. Recovering after a long breath, she steps past me and lays a hand on Yuki¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The scaring was all my doing. You look just like him.¡±

    ¡°Just like who?¡± I ask, cautious now.

    ¡°An old friend.¡± Jolie reaches up to hold a hidden heirloom that dangles from her neck. She breathes out hard. Steps to the side, motioning Yuki onward. ¡°It¡¯s good to see a familiar face, even in a place like this. Nabuna neglected to mention your heritage when he told me you were the Executor¡¯s apprentice.¡±

    Yuki shrugs apologetically. ¡°I¡¯m afraid he wasn¡¯t wrong to. I¡¯m not a Lionhart- not anymore, at least. Just have the looks. Not the name.¡±

    ¡°Interesting,¡± she muses. ¡°You¡¯re a long way from home.¡±

    ¡°Long story. Best saved for another day.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully you dropped the family appetite when you dropped their name. I cooked far too much for just us three.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that why you brought the hustler?¡± He pretends to peer deeper into the suite. ¡°In all honesty, I¡¯d love to join you for dinner. If you¡¯ll have me.¡±

    Jolie motions us on and leads the way inside. ¡°There¡¯s an extra shower by Tay and Cal¡¯s room. Wash up quick- food¡¯s almost done.¡±

    I spring past her and into the common room, about to ask what they¡¯re making when Cal slides smoothly in my way, barring my view of the kitchen. My eyebrows raise.

    ¡°Jolie¡¯s orders,¡± she says with a sardonic smile.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± With a hup of effort, I lift Cal off her toes and deposit her on the counter looking into the kitchen. Rather than protest, she slips her legs in a noose around my waist, ankles knotting to keep me from leaving. Those golden eyes smirk right at me. I lean left to try for another peek and she leans right along with me. Right, left, right. Ponytail flopping around, blocking me every time. ¡°If you really wanted to stop me from looking¡­ there are plenty¡­ of better ways.¡±

    ¡°Not as fun though. And what would you rather I do, drop a cup on your head?¡± Her finger flicks off my forehead in mocking reprimand. ¡°Not that I¡¯d mind. I¡¯ve always wondered if it¡¯ll sound as hollow as I think it will.¡±

    My stomach growls. I don the most honest smile I can, crinkling eyes and everything, trying not to look as ravenously hungry as I am. ¡°I can already smell it, Cal. Come on. Just one look. Honest.¡±

    ¡°Very tempting, but Jolie¡¯s orders were no peeking. Although¡­¡± Glancing to where my aunt and Yuki are still chatting at the cooler, Cal leans back and stretches her arm through the window, reaching for the pot bubbling just on the other side. Her index finger comes back covered in red-brown sauce. She holds it in front of my lips. Eyes provocative. Daring me. That little head tilt and a hint of a smirk as she says, ¡°She didn¡¯t say anything about tasting.¡±

    I¡¯m still beet red while I pull on fresh clothes after my shower, full minutes later. No one even would have seen, really. And the way Cal¡¯s eyes widened- she didn¡¯t think I actually would call her bluff. To be fair, I didn¡¯t either. It happened before I realized what I was doing. And that look, that lip bite as I pulled away. Her finger sliding from between my lips. My whole face is turning even redder just thinking about it.

    I bury my head in a damp towel and groan into the fabric.

    Forget it, Tets. Forget it. Just pretend it didn¡¯t happen. Yeah. That¡¯ll work. So what if she makes a bunch of innuendos over dinner? You can survive.

    I pop back out of the towel, nod at my reflection, then step out of the bathroom and almost trip right over Cal as she jogs past on the other side. She grabs my wrist before I can make it awkward, firm grip, a smile on her face as she yanks me towards the common room. She calls out ahead in a loud voice. ¡°Ready, Jolie?¡±

    We swing around the corner and I¡¯m thrust right into a waiting cup of sake and a peck on the forehead from my aunt. The suite completely transformed while I showered. A homemade feast is spread out across the floor-level table in the common room, pillows arranged for sitting around it, just like they would be home. Bottles of uncorked sake intersperse the food; a tiny bundle of flowers the humble centerpiece. Huge bowls of homemade curry steam into the air. Chicken cutlet, Jolie¡¯s recipe. Candles and stringlights surround a hastily-scrawled digislate propped up on the counter that reads Happy Birthday.

    I stand there stunned until Jolie says something I don¡¯t catch and Cal pulls me towards the table. Already seated, Nabuna and Yuki raise paper cups of sake in salute. I can¡¯t stop smiling as I drop down beside Cal, long legs curled beneath me.

    ¡°It¡¯s a little out of season, but I wanted to make up for three years of missed ones,¡± Jolie says, sinking onto the pillow to my right like metal into a mold. She grabs a whole bottle of sake to join in as we bump cups, then takes a healthy swig. Wraps an easy hand around me and pulls me close. Gives my scalp a deep scratch. ¡°Your father would be proud of you, if he were here.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Nostalgia tinges my aunt¡¯s expression as she looks over at the scene before us, cast in halogen hues. The laughter, the joyful mood, almost like a holiday. Scraping spoons and gurgling sake as the others dig in. It¡¯s a long look, tinged with bittersweet emotion. One that makes me wonder just how many of these kinds of celebrations she¡¯s sat through with other friends, other family; the people changing while she outlasted each in turn. The old pain in her eyes tells the number. Too many.

    I lean in and nestle against her, letting her hold me close. ¡°It¡¯s been so long since I had curry.¡±

    ¡°That last dinner. Before we left for Z.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡± I take a small sip of the sake. Ice cold at first, yet pleasantly warm when it reaches my stomach. ¡°You never told me what Dad and Thane went out on the back porch to talk about.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not important anymore,¡± she says, taking another sip. Distant gaze, like she¡¯s seeing some faraway scene instead of the room before us. ¡°I should have seen the signs sooner. I did, really, and I chose to ignore them. Mars thought he saw the future in that boy. I told him he was blinded by it, but he always wanted to do better than the old man. Couldn¡¯t bring himself to be the bad guy. Especially not when it came to a kid who hadn¡¯t done anything wrong besides being born.¡± She favors me with a wistful smile. ¡°At least he was right about one of those kids.¡± She leans to look past me as Cal starts scooping me a plate of curry. ¡°Well. Maybe two of them.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not that bad, Auntie.¡±

    ¡°No. She¡¯s not. I always did like her better than Thane.¡±

    ¡°Because she didn¡¯t beat you in chess?¡±

    ¡°Among other reasons.¡± Remembering herself, Jolie pulls a lap-sized package out from beneath the table and hands it to me. ¡°Happy birthday, honey.¡±

    I carefully pull apart the string holding it together, already knowing the contents by the softness of the package. Scrap plastsheets unfurl like a blooming flower to reveal a familiar lump of midnight blue, crimson red, and snow white. Fresh stitching mends the old holes and fraying threads of Dad¡¯s college jacket. Like me, it¡¯s not good as new- still has that feathered zipper that never closes quite right- but it¡¯s been given fresh life. Tailored down to a cropped cut better fit for my dynamic way of fighting, no longer just an oversized keepsake of my dad¡¯s. I stutter as I brush away the extra paper.

    ¡°But wasn¡¯t it back in Cal¡¯s apartment?¡± I turn to look at Cal. ¡°Did you¡­?¡±

    She shrugs back. ¡°Jolie did the stitching.¡±

    The jacket falls to my lap as I look between them. Across the table, Nabuna¡¯s gut shifts as he reaches across to drop a dulled thousand-credit chip on top of the jacket with a backstreet grin. ¡°If you ever want to learn a different game than fighting, you got a free ante on me.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t aware of the occasion when I was invited, but¡­¡± Holding a palm up, Yuki breathes out and uses his Elemental control to solidify a gleaming necklace of pure ice out of the air. The links click like gemstones as he hands it to me. ¡°Sadly, it¡¯ll only be good for a very chilly event.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± I say with a genuine smile. As Jolie takes the necklace to the cooler, I thank them each with a humble bow. Lingering the longest on Cal. Once my aunt is back, I nod to food with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting years for this. Let¡¯s eat.¡±

    The night simmers on in a blurring rush of happiness. Plates are scraped clean and covered again. Cups never stay empty for long. A staticky stream screen plays pro fight footage quietly in the corner. I participate where I can, but there comes a point where I find myself leaning back comfortably against the couch with a smile on my face, like a campfire watching the piecemeal group that¡¯s come to gather around the light it sheds. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve never really had, growing up with only Thane for company.

    Over in the kitchen, I catch a glance of Cal pawning the last of the dishes off on Jolie with an apologetic grin, then going to grab her jacket from the entryway. She comes back around the corner wearing boots and a scarf too.

    ¡°Come on,¡± she says, tapping me on the shoulder. ¡°I have something to show you.¡±

 5.5 - TETSUKA

    Cal leads me to a shuttered garage on the layer just above the Orange. Late evening in the Vents, it¡¯s dark as ever and shiveringly cold as we follow the alleys around back. Winter reigns on the surface world. It must be snowing, going by the amount of melted rainwater that¡¯s drizzling its way down through the crust of the city. Shoulders warmed by the built-in heating of Dad¡¯s jacket, I wind around small puddles splattered across the concrete and follow quietly as Cal kicks open a rusted door and toggles on her JOY¡¯s light, illuminating a barren space draped in cobwebs and dust. A small toolbox and an Innovator¡¯s portable diagnostic tool lay on a smoothed concrete floor that¡¯s been entirely cleared to make space for a gleaming black autobike.

    The bike¡¯s polished frame shines in the darkness as Cal¡¯s light drifts near. Oldtech keys jangle in her pocket. She pulls them out, clicks twice, and the electric engine purrs to life with the trademark hum that I¡¯ve come to associate with everything built from old SHI tech. This one¡¯s a masterwork, a racer made to eat up kilometers in the blink of an eye. I can tell it at a glance, even though I know as much about the bikes as I do particle physics.

    ¡°Jolie told you the plan?¡± Cal asks, running her fingertips down the frame.

    ¡°If she¡¯s right about her old gunship being kept in the industrial district, we¡¯re going to need a ride like this reach it,¡± I say. ¡°Not like I can carry the both of you on my back.¡±

    ¡°This bike can beat a bullet train in a sprint. Even if we¡¯re spotted when we surface, it¡¯ll get us to the evac point faster than any of the Shadows can respond.¡± Spotting something in the machine that isn¡¯t quite to her liking, she grabs a hydrospanner and crouches down, adjusting a bolt in the front tire. My eyes linger on her hands as she says, ¡°It¡¯s Jolie¡¯s personal ride. Grabbed it from the Counterespionage impound lot when I went looking for your jacket.¡±

    I swing a leg over the bike and saddle up, hands in my pockets. ¡°Would¡¯ve been way more fun to take this to the gala instead of a limo.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t go showing off all my skills at once. You know me. All about that mystery.¡± She waves her hands like it¡¯s some spooky secret. Wiping her hands on a rag, she tips her head at the closed shutters. ¡°Want to take it for a spin with me?¡±

    ¡°Got someplace in mind?¡±

    ¡°I can think of one or two, yeah.¡± Saddling up in front, Cal slots her JOY into a circular hole on the bike¡¯s front console. One twist revs the throttle. Nav data appears in a small projection that wavers behind the windshield. Another click of her keys and the shutters groan open in front of us, just as a snow billow from the overcity dusts the towerside in white powder.

    We jet out of the garage with a burst of acceleration, carving through the white. Cal flicks on the lights as she banks to the right, taking the alley corner so fast and low I almost skin a knee on the concrete. Then we¡¯re cutting out onto a lonely thoroughfare and weaving our way into undercity traffic. Gentle ride, gliding through one of the Vents¡¯ few highways beneath a canopy of concrete and data cables.

    Neon signs pulse through the light snowfall. Other autocabs and hovertransports drift around us, halogen lights casting golden coronas across the ground. Cal barely has to touch the throttle for the bike to leap forward. Leaning from side to side, she guides us past the nearby traffic smooth as silk, only adding more power once we get away from the high-population blocks and enter quieter, more lived-in layers further from the popular descension points.

    I wrap my arms around her and huddle close against the cold. Puffs of breath steam from my lips. Silvery light paints the world as we zip across one of the bridges spanning the Abyss. I crane back and look up, peering through a distant seam in the crust of the city to see the full moon hanging above a sea of stars. But they¡¯re not stars at all. Myriad lights twinkle and gleam in the silhouetted skyline of the overcity. I swallow hard, reminded of home.

    Minutes later, we roll to a stop outside an unmarked alley nestled in the heart of a residential neighborhood. Quiet towers, cozy apartments with working lights and half-decent paint, electronic graffiti marking paths of acidic runoff in blazes of color. Small noodle bars open out of the walls of the towers with stool seats in the alleys themselves, adding to the honesty of the atmosphere. And there¡¯s actually people out on the sidewalks. Flame Elementals warming themselves with handheld campfires as they head out for weekend grocery shopping. A lone ki fighter soars down through a hole in the crust of the city, a comet of blue-colored aura that alights on a nearby balcony. Two bundled-up kids with the Magus class share spellbook notes on the front steps of a tiny building that must be a Venter school while their Gunslinger professor locks up behind them.

    It''s so normal, I could almost forget we¡¯re in the Vents. Never seen a neighborhood like this down here. There¡¯s scuffs and wear, of course. But it¡¯s living proof that not everything in the undercity is on a path to becoming another piece of the Shocks. Makes me wonder just what caused this part of town to be so different.

    Sliding off the bike and motioning for me to do the same, Cal props it up on the sidewalk, keys it locked, then takes a quick glance both ways down the street. My kinetic sense roves over the apartments nearby. The little sparks of light inside them don¡¯t feel very malicious. No more than the usual, at least.

    Cal skips across the street to go chat with an older man running a bakery and armory. I watch through the store¡¯s glass front while she points back at me and the bike. He nods. Asks something back. More talking. Cal leans against the counter like a native, getting more animated. My toes shift, cold nipping at my nose where my air mask doesn¡¯t cover. The guy laughs uproariously at something she says. He bags up two donuts and hands them to her without payment. A holiday bell rings as she jogs back across the street, cheeks ruddy from the store¡¯s warmth. She cocks her head at the alley we parked beside.

    ¡°That¡¯s where we¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°Into the unmarked alley where you¡¯re totally going to dump my dead body?¡±

    ¡°And here I was thinking you trusted me.¡± Grinning, she hands me the bag of donuts and fumbles her JOY out of her pocket. ¡°I had a lot of free time at the range; spent some of it digging through all those old papers that were laying around. I didn¡¯t find us a real Relic¡­ but this was a pretty close second.¡±

    Interest piqued, I tug down my mask and start eating one of the donuts as I follow her through the mouth of the alley. Thin brick walls soon open up into a square dead end walled by copper pipes ferrying gas, water, and electricity down from the overcity. Humidity and heat sticks to the air. Stepping past a leaking pipe that hisses cloudy gouts of steam, Cal counts her way around the space, stopping at one pipe that¡¯s got a plethora of scuffs near the base. It comes free from its clamps with a hard tug of her hands. A cleverly made fake. Behind it, a dark passage heads onwards into the concrete superstructure of the city.

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    My glow is the only light we need. There¡¯s enough room for us to walk side-by-side. Our hips keep bouncing off each other until we round a shallow corner and the tunnel begins to widen. The humidity of the pipe plaza quickly fades. In its place comes a sweetness I haven¡¯t tasted in ages: air, fresh and filtered of smog. Gentle eddies of an unseen breeze flow past from deeper within, rippling my hair out behind me. My steps come faster as my breath starts coming easier. Soft, silvery light beckons from around an upcoming bend.

    Around that corner is a pocket of paradise.

    Cold, clean air kisses my face and caresses my hair as I stare out over a sea of green. Raw moonlight shines inside the cylindrical walls of a vast intra-city airshaft, cascading down hundreds of meters from the surface of the capital to paint a hidden field of flora taken straight from my home. Lilies and sunflowers and daisies grow over a clover-strewn carpet of evergreen grass that covers the floor of the airshaft. Rising from a small clearing in the center of the circular field is a sight I never imagined could take root in the Vents. Its bark and boughs are wrought of pure silver metal. Its leaves are the colors of a sunrise to remember: pink, silver, gold, and the dawny between, rustling in the silent breeze. A living Lungracian tree.

    Overripe peaches hang from the tree¡¯s branches, and more lay scattered between its roots. If I didn¡¯t look beyond the tree to the metal wall that surrounds us, I could almost be back in the villages. Home. Even the air smells like I remember. Earthy, humid on the nose, interrupted by the buzz of a lonely pair of cicadas. I find myself walking into the field without thinking, my shoes lost somewhere behind.

    ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t think anything like this could grow in the Vents,¡± is all I can manage.

    Cal steps to join me on the grass. ¡°It doesn¡¯t show up on any map of the undercity that I could find. Just those notes from the range.¡± She walks out further, moonlight falling across her face. ¡°Whatever it is, no one¡¯s been here in years. I think we¡¯re the first ones to find it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°I knew you¡¯d want to see it.¡± When I glance over, she¡¯s already watching me with a small smile. ¡°Happy birthday, Tay.¡±

    I smile back. It turns into a happy note of laughter as I run a hand through the pale sunflowers. ¡°You don¡¯t have to call me that, you know. Tay- Taylor- is my middle name. Tetsuka is fine. Or Tets.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that rude where you come from? Using the given name.¡±

    ¡°Only if I don¡¯t know you well. We¡¯re way past that.¡±

    ¡°Tetsuka, then.¡± Cal mulls over the word. ¡°It¡¯s a mouthful. You make it sound so natural.¡±

    ¡°In the old language, it means metal flower.¡±

    She reaches up, trailing her fingers along the bottom of a Lungracian bough, a thoughtful cast to her eyes. ¡°It fits you.¡±

    We wander for a while before retiring to the softest grasses beneath the arms of the silver tree. Watching the moon, listening to the breeze, side-by-side to stay warm. The steam of our breaths evaporates like flash-fire ghosts.

    ¡°Thanks for bringing me here,¡± I eventually say, breathing in the quiet.

    Cal plucks a blade of grass and twirls it between her fingers. ¡°I figured you had to be getting homesick. Wasn¡¯t sure when the right time to bring you here would be until tonight.¡± She spins the grass into a tiny knot, unwinding it just as quickly. ¡°I wanted to give you a present you¡¯d remember. You¡¯re the first friend I¡¯ve ever done that for.¡±

    I shift onto my side to face her.

    ¡°Friend.¡± She lets out a light laugh. ¡°After meeting you, I feel like I¡¯ve never had a real one before. The people I used to call my friends only talked to me because of what I could give them, or who I was related to. You¡¯re different. You were the first person who¡¯s ever looked at me¡­ just for me. Just for Cal.¡±

    ¡°Took a while to get there,¡± I softly reply.

    ¡°But you did. Ever since we met.¡± She drifts off, staring at the moon. ¡°You have no idea how much it meant to me, that first night. I didn¡¯t care what I¡¯d been sent to do. It was so¡­ freeing, being around someone who didn¡¯t know a thing about me. I could be anyone I wanted. I could be more than someone else¡¯s little sister. Be my own person, flirt with someone, have her think I¡¯m cool too. Not a second-string sibling too shy for her own name.¡±

    I let her go on, silently watching. Not wanting to interrupt.

    ¡°I never thought I¡¯d be trusting you with my life. Much less the real sappy stuff like this.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not sappy,¡± I murmur.

    ¡°Not exactly Cal Kyriaku material, either.¡±

    ¡°Are you worried about something?¡±

    Cal lets the blade of grass fall. ¡°What we have is so¡­ fragile. I like it. I want to protect it. Being around you, I feel like I have a chance to start over. Like I don¡¯t have to be what I¡¯ve always been told to be.¡±

    She sighs.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t want to do something stupid and mess it all up.¡±

    ¡°If anyone¡¯s going to do something stupid, it¡¯s me,¡± I reply. ¡°Besides¡­ those things happen sometimes. We¡¯ve already done plenty of them. We wouldn¡¯t be friends if they made us split.¡±

    She breathes out and hops onto her back, nestling into the grass. ¡°Guess so.¡±

    ¡°Were you thinking of doing something stupid?¡±

    Cal keeps her eyes on the stars, refusing to meet my gaze. ¡°¡­No.¡±

    ¡°Because I was.¡±

    I roll so I¡¯m over her. Cocooning her in the light I shed over a carpet of sunrise leaves. Moonbeams cut through the branches above. Her golden eyes are wide. Her nostrils flared, a breath and a hope caught in the back of her throat. Shock still, running out of breath. That lie she¡¯s about to spin with her voice, reconsidering her choice, I see right through it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t change your mind now,¡± I say.

    And I kiss her.

    Right there on the grass, my head dips low and my lips press to hers. Softly, hesitantly, holding for the most vulnerable heartbeat of my life.

    Then her lips yield, tentatively fitting to the shape of my mouth. Growing hungrier and more fevered as she understands how it¡¯s done, the mechanics of a kiss. She¡¯s a fast learner. Arching up against me as our bodies pour against each other like holy water and black oil. Entangling with molten slowness. Then breathing quicker as the frenzy hits. Her hands find my flank, my back, then pull my hips to hers. Needy instinct rises inside. I nuzzle apart her lips and fill her mouth with the warmth of my tongue. Drinking in her sounds as my hips start to rock, grinding into her while her nails dig into my skin. Reaching for my belt.

    I pull away with a final bite of her lip, a string of saliva connecting us. Panting together in the moonlit glade. Beneath me, her face is flushed. Her hair a black river against the grass. Her chest rising and falling. Silver leaves surround her like angel feathers. A need she¡¯s never had filling her eyes, her hands. All that tension between us, those smirking smiles and coy looks, all to forbear from this moment that was never supposed to be. She wants me. She¡¯s always wanted me, her forbidden fruit.

    I am her rebellion against the only world she¡¯s known. She is the reason I burn again. Our world would tell us that all there is to our lives is to fight. That greatness, not goodness, is the ultimate purpose. But there in the shadow of the tree of silver leaves, I know there is another reason to it all; our rises and our falls. One I was born to fulfill.

    Not to break. Not to hate. But to love.

 5.6 - PROMISES

    I can¡¯t quite remember when I stopped counting the days.

    Used to be that it was the only thought on my mind when I woke. How long has it been since Dad left? A question I asked so many times in my smaller years, now one with no answer. Counting was my way of remembering him. Even though the memories started slipping through my fingers, his details becoming blurs half-remembered, I clutched onto that number with all I had, because it was all I had.

    Then¡­ Cal came. And she stayed. Back in the range, hidden from the sun, time started losing its significance. No longer trapped with nothing but my own thoughts for company, I forgot to keep obsessing over what was lost. I had Cal and her quips and her smirks, and she had a knife to my neck and my life in her hand.

    I think of her as we lay in bed together, half-woken from stirring, trying to pretend I¡¯m still asleep until my brain believes it and sends me back to the dreamlands. I remember the smell of her cologne. The desperation in her golden eyes, the want. The surprised blush as I kissed my way down her body and peeled off her clothes. That faded fast- the nervous part, at least. But finally being the one to make her blush was its own reward. She was pretty quick to figure out the rest. Skin to skin, sliding and entwining. Then the giggles afterwards when the cold caught up to us and we realized how stupid we were, the awkward smiles as we slipped our clothes back on. The walk back to the bike. The ride to the Orange. That moment in the entryway, head to the wall, fingers knotted in my hair, knees aching. I shiver.

    Hours after the party, it¡¯s somewhere close to midnight, according to my circadian rhythm. Our staterooms slumber in a quietness made of simmering fireplaces and extinguished candles. Yuki and Nabuna are long gone, the door to Jolie¡¯s room shut for an early bedtime. No one was awake to hoot or whistle or raise eyebrows when Cal and I slunk in way after night hours began.

    We curl together beneath the heavy blankets of my bed now. Cal¡¯s sleeping breaths brush against my ear, her chest expanding and contracting against mine. Slight limbs and warm skin coil possessively around my lanky frame. Our hair is a tangled mesh of black and white as we lay there in the dark.

    Deep in my head, there¡¯s a voice that wonders if I¡¯m making the same mistake I did with Thane. Even now he lurks in my thoughts. The darkest shadow of my life, trailing me at every step. I know him too well to believe that I¡¯ll just be able to walk away from the fate that¡¯s coming for us both. We¡¯ve always been binary stars; equal yet opposite. His vision of the future is one he would sacrifice anything for, even his own happiness. I will stop at nothing to preserve what¡¯s in front of me now.

    I¡¯ve lost so much, I didn¡¯t think I had it in me to feel again what I do as I watch Cal sleep now. Body and heart, I owe her mine, even if she doesn¡¯t know it yet.

    Even if she never does, that¡¯s all love is. A choice to give a piece of your heart to another. Unreciprocated and unrequited. What they do with it is up to them.

    Cal has already decided that on her own; chosen me in the way I chose her. My guardian angel. Even now her arm covers me like a wing. I nestle closer.

    Her left hand is tucked near my heart. No current of ki gets past the ever-running Relic there to cycle through the rest of my body. My skin is dormant of light, the internal glow suppressed. I lay there in the dark, mulling over melancholic thoughts with every strand of black hair that falls across my nose. My mind turns to the past, this familiar closeness.

    I wonder who he¡¯s with now. Where he sleeps, the view his window holds. Maybe he¡¯s already up by now, training in some empty battle hall in the depths of the Metro Blockhouse. As sleepless as I am now.

    It¡¯s strange, thinking about Thane without that hate I¡¯ve carried for so long. Some part of my heart still wants to believe he never meant for any of this. A limitless capacity for necessary evils runs in his blood, just as it does Cal¡¯s. The only difference is the purpose they¡¯ve put it to. Cal has drenched her arms to the elbow in blood to protect me. Thane putting the future over morality doesn¡¯t make him evil. It makes him wrong. Someone who made a mistake that¡¯s cascaded into a thousand choices between the lesser of evils, each just as logical as the last, carrying him further and further away from the person he wanted to be. But he¡¯s gone so far down that path that he¡¯s forgotten the reason he set down it in the first place.

    He is wrong. But he¡¯ll never understand that in the way he needs to if the blinders aren¡¯t ripped off. He may have abandoned me, cast me away, and tried to use me as a weapon, yet I can¡¯t do the same. I can¡¯t keep hating him. Not anymore. Even after all he¡¯s done to me, there is a piece of my heart that he carries too, and it still wants to believe there is something left of the boy I loved. Not to give him absolution, but a chance to tell me if he¡¯s really, truly lost his way. One chance.

    I nurse the secret, guilty thought in silence. Doubt runs circles through my head in the dark. My internal glow returns when I eventually shift away from Cal, still unable to fall back asleep. I stare at the ceiling for a good minute before finally sliding my legs off the bed.

    Plush carpet fills the space between my toes as I pad across the room and grab a blanket off the floor. Arms of soft fabric wrap around my shoulders. I glance to the side table where my prosthetic arm lies dormant, almost step towards it, but turn instead and leave it for the moment. Bleary eyed and guided by the light I shed, I wander out into the hall, quietly shutting the door behind. Lips wrinkled, freckles bunching, the future on my mind, a worried headache taking root. I snatch up a roll of griptape from a table in the hall as I wander out to the fireplace. A quick key with my JOY ignites the flames within. Grabbing a pillow off the couch, I sling it onto the floor and slump down cross-legged, front and center of the fireplace.

    Flames swell to fill my vision, crackling hungrily. Twigs pop. Logs shift, releasing a small cloud of embers. The roll of tape tumbles back and forth inside my hand as I sit there. Eventually, my eyes close. Not in slumber, but in concentration. Given only its senses of hearing and touch, my mind roams, drawn back to home. If I think hard enough, I can still remember the hush of the palm trees. The shaaa of rain over the fields. The cleanliness of the air as it curled through the thatched roof and darkened rafters. We used to sit by the fire just like this, he and I.

    I tear off a length of tape with my teeth, trap my left wrist against my chest, and slowly wind the tape around the fresh-grown skin of my left hand; the movement mnemonic and instinctual. While my fingers work, my kinetic sense stretches out beyond the common room, beyond the suite, spreading thinner and more immaterial as it reaches the edge of the Orange and pushes out even further beyond, like a telescope pawing blindly at the furthest reaches of space. Hunting for some faint echo of familiarity. Why, I¡¯m not even sure. Maybe just the loneliness of a comet amongst those stars, thinking of the one it orbited most.

    I shouldn¡¯t even be out here. Brooding and insomniac while the girl I¡¯ve just made good on my feelings with is sleeping a room away. God. If she knew why I left the bedroom, she¡¯d never let me live it down.

    Perhaps that¡¯s why she comes out to join me, minutes later. Or maybe it¡¯s just her perpetual knack for showing up at the exact moment you don¡¯t want her to.

    I feel the moment Cal stirs; a smooth, invisible patch in my kinetic sense. An oiled silence that drifts through the apartment without a sound. It¡¯d be shiveringly insidious if I weren¡¯t already relying on said silence to get a good night¡¯s sleep. There¡¯s few things more comforting than the protective streak of a professional assassin.

    Cal goes first to the kitchen, fetching something from the cooler unit and grabbing a cup of Jolie¡¯s caf from the brewer. Then to the space behind and left of my shoulder. Close enough that my glow flickers and fades, my kinetic sense drawing inwards till it can feel nothing at all. She stands behind me. Toes kneading the carpet while she sips at the simmering cup.

    ¡°Glad I¡¯m not the only one who couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± she quietly says, giving me the courtesy of knowing that she¡¯s actually standing to my right, not my left. A cold canned energy drink drops into my lap. ¡°My sense of time is going stir crazy down here.¡±

    ¡°I miss the sun. Miss waking up with it. Feeling its warmth throughout the day. Watching it fade from the roof at sunset.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to see your home sometime. Once, y¡¯know,¡± she waves a small motion at the roof, the overcity. ¡°It must be beautiful out there, to get you talking about it so romantically. You¡¯re not usually one for words.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°Raised alone, the capital¡¯s most wanted fugitive, sleeping back to back with the same assassin who¡¯s got orders to bring me in¡­  being reserved comes with the territory.¡± I roll my eyes when she starts smirking. Playfully, because I know she¡¯s watching. I glance over my shoulder as she sinks down behind me, then down at the drink. Yellow can. Of course it¡¯s my favorite flavor, despite the fact that neither of us have been out of the Orange long enough to stop by a corner mart in weeks. I know better by now than to ask how she got her hands on it. I¡¯m about to set it to the side when she waves for me to crack it open.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to want that,¡± she says.

    ¡°Am I?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t come out here because you¡¯re an insomniac.¡±

    Firelight plays across Cal¡¯s face, glimmering in her dour golden eyes. Her hair is down. A rare show of just how lowered her guard is. Jet black, it reminds me of a wolf¡¯s pelt; heavy bangs and an unruly cascade that pools over her hunched shoulders. Sweatpants, black strapless wrap around her chest, left arm sheathed in layers of self-applied medical tape. Casual, comfortable confidence exudes from her as she slouches back.

    I look down at my calluses. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be thinking about it,¡± I admit. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be thinking about him. You. Us. What we¡¯re going to do. But I am. I can¡¯t stop. Hard to sleep with all that rolling around in my head.¡±

    ¡°Your type usually has that problem.¡±

    ¡°And your type?¡± I ask.

    ¡°We just do something about it.¡±

    Setting her caf to the side, Cal pulls my blanket down past my shoulders, exposing my bare back in silhouette. Ragged scars wrap the skin like desert sands along the morning edge of a planet. She doesn¡¯t say anything more for a moment; just stares at the devastation the Mobiak left me. Then she brushes my hair to fall down one side of my chest with surprising gentility, waiting to see if I bristle at her touch before continuing. I don¡¯t.

    Cupping one hand over my left shoulder, Cal presses a thumb firmly into the nape of my neck. Her other hand kneads into the proud tension of my back until I relent with a sigh. Biting my lip. Unwinding into her grip.

    I turn my head to the side and murmur, ¡°What would you do, if you were me?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a cheap shot, making me be the one who answers first.¡±

    ¡°I had a great teacher in the art of cheap shots. Blame her.¡±

    ¡°Sadly, I can¡¯t blame myself for every good thing that happens to you, Tay. You¡¯re a pretty fast learner on your own.¡± She gives a playful tug at the base of my hair. The massaging slows as she takes a moment to think, putting more thought into her words than her fingers. ¡°The way I see it, Jolie needs to be moved from the capital, and you need to go with her. But that doesn¡¯t mean I have to. I¡¯m not important like you two are. And there¡¯s something I still have to do here.¡±

    Her hands stop working.

    ¡°I can¡¯t leave the capital and keep my promise with Thane. As much as I like you¡­ I can¡¯t turn my back on my brother either. I have to confront him. Hopefully it¡¯ll buy you and Jolie a chance to get out of the city too.¡± Cal leans back, eyes flickering downward; inward. ¡°I know you won¡¯t like it, and you¡¯re probably going to try and stop me from leaving. Do us both a favor and don¡¯t even try. I already know it¡¯s selfish. But it¡¯s what I have to do.¡± She breathes out through her nose. ¡°Someone has to.¡±

    My mouth works for a moment. ¡°I get it. More than you think, I get it.¡±

    She looks back up with a sad, faltering smile. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to get yourself killed while I¡¯m gone.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem. I¡¯m coming with you.¡±

    She sits up. ¡°No, you¡¯re-¡±

    ¡°-even if I could leave the capital tonight, I wouldn¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°I can¡¯t go yet. Thane is still out there, and he was as important to me as he is to you, Cal. We made a promise to each other too. Even if he broke it, I can¡¯t do it back.¡±

    Her head shakes in discomprehension. ¡°He¡¯s done so much wrong to you. How can you say that so honestly? Why do you keep going back to him? You¡¯re not going to change him.¡±

    ¡°But I have to try,¡± I stress. ¡°If I don¡¯t face him before we leave, it¡¯s going to haunt me forever. Even if it only comes down to a fight. If Dad were here, he wouldn¡¯t give up on Thane. I can¡¯t either.¡±

    A heavy breath leaves her. ¡°I really hate that about you,¡± she mutters. ¡°You¡¯re so goddamn stubborn. I¡¯m not going to change your mind by talking at you. Am I?¡±

    I grimace.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you just telling me you wanted to do the exact same thing?¡±

    ¡°I also like being the only one taking risks if it can be helped. You¡¯ve taken enough of them. I don¡¯t want you to take more if you don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re getting awfully close to sounding protective.¡±

    ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a sucker for your rustic charm.¡±

    ¡°Nothing more, surely.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the abrasive personality is a part of the draw, too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it that means you see things my way?¡±

    ¡°Take it how you need to. Just know that if push comes to shove, I¡¯m going to do whatever I need to to make sure that you don¡¯t get yourself killed.¡± Leaning forward, Cal taps her index finger against my chin. Her eyes lid dangerously. ¡°That¡¯s a promise.¡±

    ¡°Cal¡­¡±

    She cuts me off with a raised hand. ¡°Don¡¯t. I already know.¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡± I gently pry her finger from my jaw. ¡°There is a future out there where we have as many nights like tonight as we want. Where you¡¯re the last thing I see when I fall asleep and the first I see when I wake. Where we aren¡¯t always looking over our shoulders and you can show me around every corner of the capital. Where we can actually go out on a first date,¡± I chuckle. ¡°I want to try seeing what that future is like. No matter what it takes to get there.¡± I squeeze her fingers inside my real hand. ¡°That¡¯s my promise to you. If you¡¯re okay with it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I have such a hard time refusing you.¡± Rolling her eyes, Cal shifts back to her usual playful mood with a toss of her head. ¡°Even after that rousing declaration of romantic interest, you¡¯re still set on confronting Thane?¡±

    ¡°My life ended with a coup. As daunting as it sounds, the only way it¡¯s going to start again is with another one. Somehow, some day, Gami must fall. And I have a feeling that I¡¯m one of the few people who can do something about that.¡± I shrug, unsure of how to word the feelings in my gut. ¡°I have a feeling that Thane is a part of it too. I don¡¯t know why I think that. But I know that somehow, some way, he¡¯s important to it all. Just as important as you and me.¡±

    Cal cracks her knuckles with an extended stretch. ¡°We¡¯ll do it your way, then. Knowing how much you love improv, I assume you want to make this mistake tonight?¡±

    ¡°As soon as we can change.¡± I tug at the blanket that¡¯s been steadily slipping off my shoulders.

    ¡°What¡¯ll you tell Jolie?¡±

    I shoot a guilty glance back at my aunt¡¯s bedroom, JOY rolling through my fingers. ¡°Nothing. She¡¯ll¡­ she¡¯ll understand.¡±

    Cal doesn¡¯t question it, because Jolie will understand. She¡¯s too pragmatic not to. I still almost feel sick as I tear my eyes away, thinking only of how my father must have said the same thing all the times that he left me. Before the guilt can stop me, I pull up a projector screen and scroll to the bottom of my contacts, firing up a call. Cal squeezes my hand and heads back to the bedroom, already tying her hair into its usual tail. Fuzzy audio kicks on a moment later.

    ¡°Sorry to call so late,¡± I say into my JOY. ¡°I need a favor.¡±

    Yuki¡¯s voice crackles back in a tired chuckle. ¡°Ghost, has anyone ever let you know that you have an exceedingly enviable brevity of etiquette?¡±

    ¡°¡­No?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s captivating, I assure you. But continue. The favor?¡±

    ¡°Where are you?¡±

    ¡°Your hustler wrangled me into one of the poker tables down at the Seven Heavens. I swear his bad luck is infectious; seems I¡¯ve caught a case of it myself.¡±

    ¡°Nabuna is there? Put him on the line.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re already on speaker. Nabuna, goodman, you only have two cards. Quit pretending to read them and say something.¡±

    ¡°Go back to bed, chica.¡±

    ¡°Are you drunk?¡±

    ¡°He is,¡± both of them say simultaneously. ¡°Not enough, I assure you,¡± Yuki adds.

    ¡°Then sober up and get over here. I need Jolie¡¯s escape plan moved to tonight, and I need you two to see it through for me. Make sure she gets out of the city safely.¡± Someone curses on the other side of the call. Chairs scrape in a hurry. Shuffling interference takes over. I glance up as Cal comes back with skinsuits and our jackets, my prosthetic tucked beneath her arm. A tattered white scarf winds around her neck.

    ¡°Where will you be?¡± Yuki asks.

    ¡°Cal and I have another fight to finish.¡±

    ¡°Very well. It¡¯s a little late to be entrusting me with the safety of the most powerful- and wanted- woman in the Section. But for a friend?¡± I can almost hear Yuki checking his clock. ¡°Well, it isn¡¯t midnight yet. And I do owe you a proper birthday gift.¡±

 REALITY.06

    I wonder what her ceiling is like.

    Knowing the Vents, it can¡¯t be glamorous. Likely just a flat slab of crumbling concrete so low she can push her palm flat against it, viewed from a threadbare mattress thrown on the floor. Though even that would be a warmer sight than mine.

    Thirty cavernous meters above me, the featureless plane of the simulacra battlefield¡¯s roof connects with its eggshell-white walls so seamlessly that I can¡¯t even tell where one side of the vast cube ends and another begins. My eyes trail down as the battlefield¡¯s computer squawks for my attention. Heaving for air, chest bare, strands of black hair plastered to my face. I wipe the strands to the side and blink away the distracting thoughts. Ignore the annoying alert blaring from the computer. Return to the moment. Even my breathing and begin the command anew.

    ¡°Increase difficulty by ten stages-¡±

    Mid-breath, I pivot and cleave my staff through the featureless holographic fighter that leaps at me from behind, swinging hard enough for the weapon to carry on and bat aside the fencing blade hunting for my opposite flank. Three more of the projections dance around me in a loose alliance, electric-blue nanolines formed in the nondescript shapes of men and women drawn from the Metro Blockhouse¡¯s vast reservoir of combat data.

    The combat simulations are my only company in the vast white room. There¡¯s no limit to the shape, number, or proficiency they take. Nor are there breaks in the waves. With every onslaught I beat, the computer recalculates the challenge anew to draw ever closer to impossible, though it hasn¡¯t found my limits yet. An hour¡¯s worth of brutal, nonstop exertion taxes my movements as I whirl through the fading snowflakes of the destroyed simulation.

    ¡°Increasing challenge by ten steps,¡± the computer intones.

    I breathe deep. Center myself. First comes hands, always hands.

    And I flow back into the maelstrom.

    Drop the staff, swivel my hips, and kick it like a bullet at the Mecha dropping down from above; transforming the weapon into a metal javelin the moment my foot contacts the shaft. Duck the punch swinging at my skull from behind. Dive forward, shift to Magus, cast Gaseous Form with a flick of my hand as a spray of micromissiles chews the deck, shift again, a familiar falchion¡¯s grip fills my hand as I sweep up from the ground in a whirlwind crescent to hack two more bodies in half before landing with my staff behind my back once more. The severed torso of a minor league Duelist from five years back tumbles past, splashing and dissolving against the tiled floor. My ears twitch at the telltale gurgle of more projections forming.

    ¡°Increasing challenge.¡±

    Another wave. Another slipstream of chaos as I perfect my opening sequence against higher and higher calibers of opponents. I jumped straight to minor league warriors from eras past. They appear in ever-increasing variety and violence. Each a test of my mind¡¯s ability to react to an opponent, analyze, engage, and win the initial engagement in the span of milliseconds. The first strike is the conductor of a battle, and mine is a weapon all its own: a blinding exchange of slashes that harmonizes the offensive mantras of the Lungracian stance with my master¡¯s probing, methodical style. I plow through the simulations like slush pile homework.

    ¡°Increasing challenge.¡±

    Another wave falls. Then another, even faster and more dominantly than the last. Single leaguers no longer a challenge, the computer throws them at me in pairs, trios, quadras. Multi-dimensional problems that require ever-escalating adaptation. Major league silhouettes I recognize begin appearing.

    ¡°Increasing challenge.¡±

    I lose myself so thoroughly in the flow that I stop hearing the computer at all. Stop thinking of anything outside the moment, the rapid-fire exchanges too fast for my eyes to track. Stop thinking of how little a challenge the machine gives. Stop thinking of her. In the moment, there is only the physical. A flash of holographic blue, a sixth sense of a shape approaching, the gurgle of more projections forming, the glass-shattering sound as I smash through them.

    I don¡¯t even hear the computer call out the next challenge. I just feel it. A subtended tremor hits the air like a buzzsaw as another simulation surges into the fray, cascading from advanced Innovator tech hidden in the walls. Feral wind sweeps the field clear. Hairs rise down my arm. My heartbeat spikes in primal danger instinct. A ki fighter is coming. Can feel it in the battle¡¯s pulse. Like the tempo of the world itself was suddenly seized by a new force of nature.

    The moment of insight nearly costs me. Tall, powerful, and unbelievably fast, the ki fighter gapcloses with explosive speed, siphoning the energy for a blast from the air as it vaults the shoulders of another warrior. Rather than catch the beam straight on like another ki fighter would, I twist and let it harmlessly obliterate the air beside me, taking out the Tamer who just appeared across the battlefield while I shift classes to Gunslinger and Elemental. The light doesn¡¯t even fade from the air before it¡¯s on me. Not even a full second from appearing to contact. Driving down from above like a bolt of chain lightning. Too fast for me to summon a new weapon; just enough time to reshape my metal staff into a revolver as I whirl and draw.

    My eyes snap open. An ice-water shock crashes through my nerves. Crimson hair fills my vision like an incoming meteor. Recognition hits me like a gut punch the microsecond before I see the ki-sheathed fist driving for my head and my instincts pull the trigger for me.

    A bag-of-chains clang smashes across the battlefield.

    The closest thing I had to a father dissolves into a slurry of nanoparticles that sprays over my side, a smoking bullet hole in his heart. I stagger backwards. Thrown from my combat flow and hurled into the shellshocked past. Rain, not sweat, plastering my clothes to my body. A bloodied blade filling my trembling hand. Looking down at it, a muddy field under my boots, ears ringing in the gaping silence.

    My empty stomach lurches into my throat.

    I jerk away from the memory and plant myself back in the present. Shaking off the shock. Grasping for control as I gasp for breath, eyes stung by gunpowder, the revolver¡¯s orange-hot barrel trembling in my grip. The gun slowly lowers. I cast it away with a shaking hand. It clatters loudly across the tiled ground just as the computer chimes again and a slow clapping begins.

    Still reeling from the image of Mars, I almost think the computer used my own image to create the simulation that I turn to see standing behind me. It stares me down with a soulless, hungry gaze. I blink in confusion. The colors of the holoprojection are those I see in the mirror every morning. But the sardonic humor in its golden eyes belongs more to my sister¡¯s personality than it does mine, as does its middling height and slim, switchblade shoulders.

    ¡°You made that look easy,¡± the projection says, kicking through the dissolving particles of Mars¡¯ holographic body. Eating up the tight-faced shock that¡¯s still gripping me. Another clap echoes across the hollow battlefield. ¡°Not your first time, either. I know that look. You¡¯re mine, alright.¡±

    My knuckles turn sheet-white. The simulation¡¯s thin lips twitch towards a smile. Pleased by the flash of ire, or maybe just a carnivoric craving for a fight.

    ¡°That¡¯s no way to greet your old man,¡± he goads. ¡°At least I left mine with a reason to remember me.¡±

    He watches with a deviant killer¡¯s self-satisfied smirk as I throw a hand out at the castaway revolver. And he¡¯s still smirking as the familiar shape of a metal staff slithers back my hands, a snarl twists my face, and I cleave through him like a stubborn tree to the sound of glass and cannons.

    <hr>

    Steaming water crashes into the tub while I wander the depths of my suite in a rattled silence, picking through clothes until I find an outfit suited for the coming day. My fingers shake slightly as they sift through an old, oversized shirt to run up the dark fabric of a silken tunic. Luxuriously appointed, like everything I¡¯ve earned under Gami¡¯s apprenticeship. I¡¯ve grown used to the tedium of the tight fits and randomly draping accents; standard fare when appearing in public as a Champion¡¯s premier apprentice. Tay would hate it. Not just on herself, but me as well.

    She hated every small change the capital worked on me while we were apart. The changing styles of my clothes, my diplomacy, even the way I cut my hair. I asked why, once. It took her the entire day to find the words for the feelings that troubled her. She said it felt like the city was stealing me away. At the time, I thought it was a very her response. Impulsive and na?ve to the greater world; endearing nonetheless.

    These days, I envy her monochrome morality. How easily everything distilled to black and white. Good and evil. Liked and disliked. Rarely thinking beyond, never losing her way in the rabbit hole of questioning and doubts as I so often do.

    She would never wear something this expensive because it was expected. I don¡¯t have such luxury.

    The silk shirt joins the rest of my outfit in a loose pile atop the floor-height bed in the main chamber. Framed photographs turned towards the wall call out to me as I pass. I know each of them by heart, but I refuse to even glance their way. There¡¯s no escape in those memories that can replace the shaken feeling that¡¯s followed me up from the training rooms. Though I do stoop to check the end table. Top drawer, Mars¡¯ last JOY still lays perfectly preserved in felt, clunking faintly as I shut the drawer again.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Pale, electric-blue light from a wall-mounted projector beats an ungodly hour of the early morning against my retinas as I pass the floor-to-ceiling windows. Grey snow blankets the darkened metropolis below. Thirty stories up in the Metro Blockhouse, sequestered in one of the ill-charted levels between the minor and major league barracks, this suite is another one of those opulent trinkets I¡¯ve earned. One large chamber that holds five smaller rooms¡¯ worth of partitions within. Every personal memento is tucked neatly away in the closet- the first staff I carved, a haori Tay bought me at our first fireworks festival, my first trophy rope from a tournament. What remains is sterilized and sleek. There¡¯s more money under this ceiling than the quarters of most of the professional fighters on retainer here. I¡¯ve always felt a stranger inside it. Group homes and Mars¡¯ estate gave me a longing for the simple things that no amount of wealth can ever sate.

    It''d be ironic, if it weren¡¯t so empty in here.

    The washroom¡¯s tile is hot against my feet as I return to the bath, twisting off the faucet as I pass. A softly-voiced command shuts the door behind me. Steam builds in the confined space. I sink into the bubble-topped bath with a groan that¡¯s half soreness, half grateful release.

    Scalding water unspools the tension in my shoulders one knot at a time. My head comes to rest on the edge of the tub. Only for a moment do I allow my body to relent to the relaxation. Moisture beads and drips down my bare arms, my cheeks, my forehead. I count the droplets to pass the time. Stretch my legs. Blink slowly, still replaying those last moments in the simulacra battlefield. Mars. My genetic contributor¡¯s taunting voice. Only Jolie would know how the arena came to have his data on file.

    Gently, I scold my raven mind for wanting to reach for distractions mere moments after I escaped them. Instead, I rake my hair back, close my eyes, and breathe in the steam while I pretend I can sleep in the dripping quiet. These days, I rarely can manage sleep anywhere. Too much on my mind. Too many things that appear when my eyelids close; none of them fond.

    Not unlike the one that¡¯s been watching me from the moment I closed the door.

    Weary resignation settles over my chest. I don¡¯t have to open my eyes to know I am no longer alone in the steaming silence. A familiar prickling feeling bores into the space between my shoulder blades. My instincts warning me that I am watched by something with a very real intent on killing me. A simple sweep of the suite with any expanded sense from a JOY class, one I was too tired and preoccupied to bother using earlier, would instantly have revealed its source to be the strange void sitting directly across from the tub. The fact that I can¡¯t use that sense now tells me everything of how the next moments are about to unspool.

    It¡¯s not the first visit Feint has paid the Metro Blockhouse.

    Most of those visits, I assume, started something like this. Peaceful and relaxed until the moment a familiar head of black hair taps her heel loudly, just once, and I look up as the fog clears to see my wayward sibling patiently sitting there on the closed toilet seat with elbows on wide-spread knees; a knife filing under her nails like it¡¯s hungry for a human sheath.

    My eyes slink to the closed door. Calmly taking in the variables. How did she get this far inside the M? Did Valance let her? And if she¡¯s here, where is Tay?

    Even when Cal confronted me on that rooftop in the Electric Town, she still pretended civility. Still wore that charismatic shell she always put on in public. Those smirking smiles and coy looks have finished their evaporation since I saw her last. The Vents has worn her shell down like an acid shore, stripping my sister down to her barest essence. But rather than weaken, her time in the Vents only revealed the iron lying beneath the nineteen-year-old prodigy. The face that stares back from atop the shitter is that of a stranger. A deadpan killer who no longer looks at me like family, but an enemy, an obstacle, devoid of personal attachment.

    Ten feet apart, the gulf that divides us now might as well be miles long.

    If any care for our siblinghood still remains in her, I¡¯d never know. She shows me nothing. I regard her carefully with one eye open. Don¡¯t even bother to look at my JOY. If she left it within reach, it¡¯s just a carrot on a stick. Instead, I study her.

    Though we¡¯ve never met the man whose colors stain us both, Cal and I were spun from the same strand of his genetic code. We¡¯re as close as twins despite the two years that separate us in age. Which is how I know exactly how tired and dangerous my little sister is. Her favorite boyish fashions have been exchanged for a blackmarket skinsuit the color of an oil slick on asphalt. Grime coats the undersides of her fingernails. Impact bruises mottle one side of her neck. Blackened veins of some old corruptive damage worm along the same arm as her Relic. She¡¯s been fighting. An old scarf, a weathered gift from Jolie that she shelved years ago, now curls around her neck like a declaration of war. It¡¯s her eyes that arrest me, though. Light, crystalline yellow irises narrowed by unmistakable, protective hostility.

    I know that look. And we both know what it means.

    I¡¯m threatening what¡¯s hers.

    ¡°Quit doing that,¡± Cal snaps, ending my visual dissection.

    Not so much my little sister anymore, either.

    ¡°I assume Tay¡¯s absence means you¡¯re not here to talk,¡± I say, legs shifting beneath the water. My mind races while I talk, searching my immediate memories of the room¡¯s features for any possible way to change the situation. A towel. Unconventional for a weapon, and just as unexpected. Enough material to slow a knife. One hangs above and behind me. I plot where I¡¯ll need to reach for as I continue to stall. ¡°That, I understand. You don¡¯t want to tarnish how she sees you, but you¡¯ll do whatever you think it¡¯ll take to protect her once the doors shut. Or did she send you herself?¡± Her silence answers for her. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you again so soon, sister. I would ask how you bypassed the arena¡¯s security this time, but that won¡¯t matter a minute from now.¡±

    Cal thumbs over the blade of her knife, letting my attempt at stalling fade into the steam. Her voice is low when she eventually asks, ¡°Would you ever kill me, Thane?¡±

    An honest pause stretches between us.

    ¡°You picked your side, Cal. What¡¯s been started, both of us aren¡¯t walking away from it. Maybe neither of us will.¡± I nod at where the chunk of flesh I carved from her arm would be. ¡°Confronting me here is suicide, even if you could beat me. But you already know you can¡¯t. You¡¯re not stupid. Yet you¡¯re here all the same.¡± I click my tongue. ¡°I expected better of you.¡±

    The knife twirls in her hand. ¡°Answer the question.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I would,¡± I shrug. ¡°Perhaps. If I had to. Maybe not even then.¡±

    ¡°Because I would kill you,¡± she replies, eyes as cold as a dead body. ¡°I¡¯d do it and I wouldn¡¯t think twice.¡±

    Hairs prickle along my arm.

    ¡°There was a time where I made a promise to my brother that I¡¯d keep him honest. I would protect him like he protected me. Even if it meant saving him from himself.¡± Those golden irises drift up, staring straight into me. Through me. ¡°But the funny thing is, Thane, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m looking at that brother any more. I think I¡¯m looking at the monster that replaced him.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re fit to be the judge of that? You, the assassin who had a change of heart?¡± I crook my chin to the side. ¡°Come on, Cal. Even you understand that sometimes, it takes a monster to beat one. You¡¯re sleeping side-by-side with the most dangerous one of all.¡±

    ¡°You made Tay what she is, Thane, whether you accept it or not. You betrayed her. You abandoned her and left her for dead. You tried to use her like you¡¯ve used everyone else- like tools, things to be picked up, used, and discarded. Even me.¡± She trails off with a disbelieving shake of her head. ¡°What happened to you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m doing what has to be done,¡± I say, dangerously calm. ¡°Mars was right when he said that our world is cruel. That good people aren¡¯t supposed to win, and it¡¯s the bad people who usually do, because they won¡¯t let anything stand in the way of what they want, even if it¡¯s something good. We can¡¯t all be heroes, Cal. We can¡¯t all be loved.¡± My face darkens. ¡°You would kill to protect Tay, even if she hated you for it. I would do worse to help more. Someone has to. Gami must be stopped. He is a monster and a murderer, and he¡¯s powerful enough that it will take a century for another person to be born who can claw him down. Every day he sits on the throne drives us step by step towards everything Mars stood against. A world where anything can and will be justified by might makes right.¡± My eyes bore into her.

    ¡°So I¡¯m supposed to believe that you¡¯re acting for what, the greater good?¡± Cal dismissively says. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that drivel. The day the ends started justifying the means is the day you forgot what Mars saw in you in the first place.¡±

    I say nothing, and in her eyes, I watch the last hope that I would listen crumble away like dust. How I hate the very words I say. How I wish I could turn back time before that day. How I just want to go back to that house by the sea and pretend it all never happened. But I can¡¯t. There¡¯s no changing the past.

    ¡°Go take a real long look in the mirror, Thane,¡± Cal says, voice dripping with contempt. ¡°Dad would be proud of you.¡±

    I flinch. Seeing that smirking, holographic visage behind closed eyelids.

    Masking the sting her words leave, I grip the sides of the tub and slowly begin to rise. Folding away the sorrow of knowing what I¡¯m about to have to do.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you, Cal. But I can¡¯t allow you to stop my plans, either.¡±

    ¡°Sit down.¡±

    Her knife smashes into the slit of space between my fingers, driving into the tub up to the hilt. Cal rises, takes three steps, and jams a boot down on the tub¡¯s edge, grinding Venter dirt from her soles into the water. ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn about why you think you aren¡¯t just as bad as Gami. There are exactly two things in this city that I care about, Thane and you¡¯re a threat to both of them. So I hope you understand exactly what it means that I¡¯m here speaking to you at all.¡±

    Leaving the knife in, she grabs the towel I was eyeing and throws it down at me.

    ¡°Tay doesn¡¯t want me to kill you,¡± she growls. ¡°She wants to talk.¡±

    I actually laugh, glancing to the side.

    ¡°And I suppose our father is with her, sharing a cup of tea? Tetsuka doesn¡¯t talk things out with her enemies, Cal. She destroys them.¡±

    ¡°She talked with me.¡±

    ¡°Then suppose I did believe you.¡± My eyes narrow, looking over those impact bruises on her neck with fresh awareness. Distracted for a moment by a fleeting suspicion. ¡°I killed her father, Cal. You may have an inkling of what that means, but I assure you that you¡¯ll never understand the entirety of it.¡± I shake my head. ¡°You saw how she reacted last time. What¡¯s between us can never be water under the bridge.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s up to you and her. Not me.¡± Her boot lifts away, and the sound of her steps heads for the door. ¡°She¡¯s waiting outside, right now. So we can end this.¡±

    What-if.

    The dangerous allure of the offer reaches out with a temptation I almost can¡¯t resist. A chance just to speak with her and put to rest those endless mornings of rolling over expecting to see her. A chance to convince her of the necessity of what I do, and how it hinges on her help. But I know exactly how that meeting will go; how those words will be received.

    Not well.

    The towel hits the floor with a dry thump as I release it. ¡°Tell her I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Cal¡¯s quiet steps pause at the door. ¡°If you really meant that, you¡¯d tell her yourself.¡±

 5.7 - THE MOST DANGEROUS CLASS

    I have no idea what to say to him.

    Knee bouncing furiously, my battered sneakers tap an agitated beat against the polished floor of the metro as it rides on a slow circuit around the familiar glass heights of the Metro Blockhouse. All ten fingers, five real five fake, mesh and unmesh in nervous fists while I wait.

    The Electric Town is cold and quiet beyond the train¡¯s frosted-over windows. Hunkered down for the winter, not even the most energetic fighters are up training in the pre-dawn hour. I¡¯ve never seen the metro so empty. All the way at the back of the train, I have an entire car to myself. While the train snakes through the Electric Town, I take in the view with enrapt eyes, locking in what might be my final glimpse of my Dad¡¯s home district before I leave the capital. Or before it claims me.

    Haven¡¯t decided which of those is more likely to happen, yet.

    I scuff my foot against the floor, hungry for some other sound. The clacks and clunks of the train make a dull backdrop as it circles the M from just a few blocks away. My eyes wander the arena¡¯s heights, roaming and imagining, picking one floor at random and wondering what it would be like to be inside on a prime time weekend. The masses filling the stands. The coaches and medics watching the action with attentive eyes. Casters at the small sideline table rising out of their seats when a hype play happens on the square. A tide of roars and cheers lapping against the repulsorfields, and within, two warriors who can¡¯t even hear the mayhem through their tunnel vision.

    I always wanted to visit the center of that maelstrom. To join the legends I¡¯d spent my whole childhood idolizing; maybe even fight a few of them. For so long, the Metro Blockhouse was the only goal I ever had. Carving out a place inside it would mean never being apart from Dad again. He¡¯d be sitting ringside at every one of my fights, and some day, I¡¯d climb high enough to take on the burden that he¡¯d been carrying since before I was born.

    My heart falls as I look out over the darkened city.

    ¡°Finally made it, Dad,¡± I say, voice faltering, bitten lip in my faint reflection ¡°¡­I miss you.¡±

    All I¡¯m waiting for is Cal to return, with or without Thane. We took a massive gamble going straight to the Metro Blockhouse, but it was the only way to reach out to Thane without tipping off the rest of the Shadows. We¡¯re tiptoeing around in the dragon¡¯s maw. Gami¡¯s residence is literally within eyeshot. Arena staff and league fighters allied with the Champion could be waking up and starting their morning routines at any moment, hopping on the metro and heading out into the city. Our insurance lies in the lunacy of coming to our enemies rather than running from them. The only true unknown is Thane.

    The na?ve part of me wants to believe that he feels the same compulsion I do, and it¡¯ll be enough to make him listen to my words. The realist has me taping up my knuckles in advance.

    Whether he¡¯ll come or not, I have no idea. Whether or not he¡¯ll kill Cal while I¡¯m not with her, I have no idea. Whether or not she¡¯s bleeding out in his room while I¡¯m sitting here trusting she¡¯ll come back, I have no-

    I stamp out the fears like the coals of a fire. Breathe out, shake off the nerves. Imagine Jolie¡¯s hands on my shoulders, firming me in place.

    Cal will be fine. She¡¯s Feint. The pro-killer. She can handle herself.

    I slump back into an empty seat and twiddle my thumbs, skinsuit unzipped to the breastbone, the inline heating on Dad¡¯s jacket cranked to the max. My real fingers brush over the stitches my aunt left near the feathered zipper. Thoughts trailing off to what she might be doing. What she¡¯ll think of me for leaving. The train accelerates as it pulls away from a station; bright lights outside fading to pre-dawn darkness. Neon advertisements scrolling down a skyscraper paint the car¡¯s interior in moody blue and purple. For a moment, I¡¯m tempted to pull out my JOY and message Yuki for an update. Where are they now?

    Where?

    I don¡¯t even know why the question pops into my head, but it does so with an unusual amount of urgency. Like my own brain is pressing itself for confirmation. But I already know Jolie is on her way out of the capital. The question itself doesn¡¯t even make sense, and neither does the quizzical impulse that chases it through my mind. A wormlike need to go over the details of my aunt¡¯s escape again, just to be sure. Untrusting of my own surety. I¡¯m about to shelve the weird feeling and go grab a handhold when the question hits me again, keeping me in my chair.

    Where?

    I can almost hear the question like it¡¯s talking directly into my head. My eyebrows narrow in confusion. Faintly, like the distant call of a voice I almost recognize, there¡¯s a part of me that realizes something¡¯s off about the feeling. I start to shake the worry off. But that moment of discomprehension costs me everything.

    The doors hiss open. My head snaps up, instinctively expecting Cal. And it¡¯s over like that.

    It¡¯s a lethal mistake to think that classes like mine are the most dangerous. I might be strong, but I¡¯m a quantifiable danger. The invisible threat, the threat you don¡¯t even notice, the one that doesn¡¯t even need to be near you to plant the seeds of its victory, that is the one that frightens the smartest warriors. It¡¯s the reason why Psis are almost universally loathed. Once they have you, they have you in a way that no amount of strength or talent can protect you from. A truth I understand all too clearly as a tall woman with the most entrancing catlike eyes sways into the car, and I can do nothing but watch.

    A jaunty oversized witch¡¯s cap casts shade over irises so sharp a pink they could cut stone, which dance over my features as she draws nearer. The rest of the woman is equally captivating. Dark blue dress that ends just past her hips, high-heeled thighboots reinforced with metal plating, a black-bound spellbook attached to her belt. Full-figured in a seductive way that would make even me take a second look in envy if my head could move.

    ¡°You,¡± I manage to snarl.

    Valance holds my gaze with slow blinks as she wordlessly makes a meal of mind. I can feel her up there, in my head, prying with the lightness of a spider¡¯s fingertips. The insidious feeling that¡¯s been trailing through my unconscious brain like a winding hedge begins to grow roots. Wrapping its way possessively around the stem of my brain. A groan rattles out of me. My JOY falls out of my hand and tumbles to the floor, clattering loudly as it rolls towards the back of the train. Electric-blue screens flicker wildly, Yuki¡¯s name still waiting to be called. When I try to reach down for it, an invisible force wrenches my limbs to a standstill like it¡¯s holding me back on puppet strings. Another none-too-gentle tug yanks me back into my seat.

    I collapse into the cushioning panting for breath. Shaking, holding onto the lip of the bench with white-knuckle grip as sweat beads atop my shaking arm. Valance¡¯s pressure spreads deeper into my head, worming into my consciousness. Fingering through the folds of my thoughts. A scent like the sweetest perfume clogs my nostrils as she draws nearer and I almost heave over onto the floor. All the while, the fog in my head roams further. I forget everything but the struggle it is to sit there unmoving while she slides her long-legged frame into the seat beside mine like wine into a chalice.

    Her voice speaks right into my skull.

    Thane. One word. Using it to draw out more information, bait in the chaotic ocean of surface thoughts. An amused snort tinkles through my ears as she notes the hesitancy his name spurs in me.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Cal. The mental image of lips pursing in interest, then narrowed surprise. Her mental touch grows nails, digging quicker. My throat scrapes out a soundless cry as my mind is turned-inside out by the psionic interrogation. I try to shout. Bash my head into the back of the bench. Reach for my JOY and warn Cal. Anything to break the thing that¡¯s taken root in my head.

    Valance slips a casual arm around my shoulders, petting my hair while she keeps digging. Jolie. Escape. Dynasty. The questions come faster, probing the first things that leap to my mind. Gunship. Gami. Escape route. Feint. Mars. Her curiosity piques on the last one, the color of purple flowers blooming in my narrowed vision. The link connecting us is a two-way street, and through it, I can feel the woman¡¯s growing annoyance as she churns through the slurry of my thoughts. She¡¯s not finding what she wants.

    Out the window, the Metro Blockhouse glides away at an agonizingly slow pace; the train¡¯s path carrying me further and further from Cal. The loop won¡¯t head back to the district¡¯s center for several minutes. Valance has nothing but time, and she barely even needs it. Thirty more seconds of tossing my mind around like a rollercoaster has it spilling out every last detail of the escape plan for Jolie. Finally satisfied, the Psi casts me aside and withdraws everything but partitions she set in my mind; barriers between things I am allowed to touch and things she controls. My body a puppet. My mind slaved to hers. Her tongue slowly wets her lower lip as she pulls her arm back.

    The fact that I can objectively recognize the exact danger of the situation at all should incite panic every danger instinct I have, but even my emotions are on lock. There¡¯s an odd detachment as I watch my frozen body vibrate in desperation to break free. I try to say something, but I just sit there mute, forced into silence as those Iros eyes continue to undress me. Drinking in my details. Lingering on my right arm first, then the petals of luminous hair that flutter at my brow, then finally to the heavy freckles painting my skin. Appreciation- no, recognition- settles over her.

    ¡°Fresh meat from the outskirts indeed,¡± Valance purrs. ¡°You cut such a figure with Cal that even I didn¡¯t recognize you at first. I hoped someday I¡¯d have a chance to really meet you. The girl with the freckles.¡± Her attention pours over me. ¡°I always wondered if Thane had a thing for them, but now I understand his fascination- you shaped his tastes. Left such an impression on his darling mind, too.¡±

    Her pink eyes sparkle with cruel humor as she shifts to face me, legs crossing just so. My skin crawls in revulsion.

    ¡°He still thinks about you, you know. As much as he tells me otherwise. Even when we sleep. Even when we fuck.¡± Her fingers trail along my metal arm, index and middle doing a small skip. ¡°Though I doubt you care who¡¯s despoiling your lover these days, hm? Not when you¡¯ve got a new bone to chew. No, don¡¯t try to keep from flushing. She¡¯s everywhere in your head. I¡¯m jealous of you, really. You¡¯re not the first to try plowing that rice field.¡±

    ¡°Did you come¡­ just to fuck with me?¡± I manage to snarl.

    ¡°No, darling. I¡¯m just having a little fun at this point.¡± She flashes a prim, coquettish smile. ¡°Some old friends of mine in the Orange helped point me in your direction, but waiting for Cal to leave you long enough to finally make a move? Dreadful. I was starting to worry you two had fused at the hip with how close she kept. She never struck me as the romantic type. That was always her brother¡¯s fatal flaw. Yet try all she might, she¡¯s still in his shadow. Making his mistakes. Following in his steps. Taking his women.¡± She pauses for a sensual sigh. ¡°Apples and trees, truly.¡±

    My face tightens in silent ire. Reading the emotion straight from my mind, Valance waves two fingers in a casual dismissal.

    ¡°Yes, yes, I already know. I¡¯m a deviant. A whore. A slut. A carnal, erotic, disgusting piece of gutter trash; a perversion of everything good in our gleaming world. You don¡¯t have to keep going. I¡¯ve heard plenty worse from plenty uglier people. And they were all right, of course.¡± She sighs back into the seat. ¡°I am a product of my upbringing, Tay. I hunger for power as a survival mechanism. My whole life I have only ever been a tool for others. Even now. Perhaps wanting to escape that cycle makes me evil to some. From one tool to another, I¡¯d rather hope it makes me relatable.¡±

    Her head tilts from side to side. Something clicks in my mind and my throat muscles release the tension that held them still. I clear my throat while she finishes.

    ¡°Relatable enough, at least. I¡¯m supposed to be hunting you for my master, of course, but his schemes can be so¡­ menial. Even Thane has a better use in mind for you.¡± Her eyes flick to the arena spearing from the heart of the Electric Town. ¡°Seems our whole world wants a piece of you. It¡¯s a shame the two at the top are incapable of seeing that you¡¯re clearly more than just a weapon.¡±

    ¡°But let me guess- you can.¡± I snort quietly. ¡°You¡¯re not the first to preach that sermon.¡±

    ¡°I take it Thane has already tried to woo you back,¡± she scoffs. ¡°If you think I care for him, allow me to disabuse you of that notion. He¡¯s a rung on a ladder I¡¯m going to climb,¡± she says. She leans closer, fingers gliding up the thigh of my skinsuit. Predatory like a shark, her perfume the blood in the water. Psi pheromones in the aroma. The scent is cloying. Overpoweringly sensual. ¡°Maybe he was special to you. You¡¯re defective, after all. I imagine a pretty boy like him made you feel like the most special girl in the world, wanting you like you are. But pretty boys are all the same. Sleep with one, you¡¯ve slept with them all. Everyone wants to use everyone for something. I¡¯m only where I am because it¡¯s convenient.¡± She looks down at me. ¡°Believe me, darling. If being good paid the bills, I¡¯d be on my knees in a church right now.¡±

    ¡°Get to the point,¡± I snap back.

    ¡°I know what Thane did. To you, to Mars.¡±

    I stiffen.

    ¡°I know why you¡¯re here¡­ and I know what you want. What you really want.¡± One dangerous fingernail traces up to my breastbone, cajoling the skinsuit¡¯s seam apart. ¡°I know Thane and my master killed your father. They think you¡¯re something special, something exceptionally dangerous.¡±

    The nail comes to a stop as she looks me in the eyes from beneath the brim of her hat. ¡°I¡¯m not certain of that quite yet. But you are strong. I¡¯ve seen enough of what you did to the Mobiak to know that together, you and I could topple them. Forget working with them or for them. You¡¯re powerful. I¡¯m smart. Either Thane or Gami are going to find you if you don¡¯t change the game, and you¡¯re almost out of options.¡± Her palm flattens against my chest. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like that? To have vengeance on the two men who have taken everything from you?¡±

    I flinch away from her touch. ¡°I would never help you.¡±

    ¡°No never lacks a price. Whatever it is, I can give it to you. Anything. Safety for Cal and that famous aunt of yours? Simple. Or is it power? Influence? The kind that can make sure what happened to you happens to no one else?¡± She leans closer. ¡°Something more human, maybe? Someone who knows how to play with power like yours?¡±

    ¡°Since I wasn¡¯t clear enough.¡± I manage to lean away, regaining a tiny portion of control over my body. ¡°Get out of my head, and get out of my sight.¡±

    Her voice hardens. ¡°Perhaps I should make myself a little more clear. Whether you listen to me or not, thanks to those well-remembered plans in your grey matter, in about twenty minutes, I¡¯ll be intercepting Jolie Mons with a strike force of her own counterespionage division and taking her into custody. Her and her escorts will never see it coming. They will be intercepted. They will be butchered, even that fetching duelist you have a fondness for. And both Jolie and you will be brought to my master¡¯s throne in chains. Unless you accept what I offer.¡± She glances at a timer on her JOY¡¯s projector screen, then rises to grip a handhold. ¡°I would rather have a willing partner or no partner at all, Tay. Understand that this isn¡¯t blackmail. It¡¯s two forks in a path, either of which can be taken.¡±

    The train slows as it coasts into a highrise stop on the edge of the Electric Town. Valance¡¯s petticoat swishes around her thighs as she heads for the station platform.

    ¡°Accepting my proposal is the best move you have,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve been in your head. I know you¡¯ll enjoy it once you get over that initial hump of morality. The world isn¡¯t as clear cut as you might believe. Compromise is just another tool for a different battlefield than you¡¯re used to. But if you need some encouragement to realize the gift I offer¡­¡±

    My body rebels against me and my head cranks towards opening doors. A groan rises out of me when the doors cut open and I see what¡¯s waiting on the other side. I shiver and strain, trying to brute-force rip myself away from Valance¡¯s mental stranglehold. But her grasp on my motor functions is absolute. Down to the individual muscles in my neck as she forces me to stare into a sneering face I thought I¡¯d seen the last of.

    It¡¯s my father¡¯s face. And the orange-haired boy who wears it looks like he wants nothing more than to rip me to pieces.

 5.8 - SPLIT ENDS

    An eerie stillness settles over me as I stare at the boy. Aurix. I remember his name. And I remember how his face felt against my knuckles when I humiliated him uptown, then again that night in the University district.

    Seems he hasn¡¯t forgotten, either. Thick, taped-up fingers knead prideful fists at his hips, like a panther who just had a rabbit thrown in its cage. Nothing but murder on the mind.

    When I first saw him, he was just another face to forget. I didn¡¯t have the time or care to notice the similarities he shares with the statues on the Kingswalk or the spray painted murals around the Vents. Prodded now by Valance¡¯s psionic grip, those similarities are the only things I can see. He¡¯s younger and stockier than the man those murals portray, stern face chiseled by anger. Got someone else¡¯s small nose, and her eyebrows too. But the sharp angles of his cheekbones, that heavy brow and eyes raging with tempestuous color. The burnt mix of orange-red colors that flow through his cometlike mane. Individually, the pieces would mean nothing to me. Together?

    It¡¯s like I¡¯m staring down the surly, spitting image of Dad in his college years.

    Seems Aurix has found some more fitting company since the last time I saw him. He wears black now. A fitting shade striped with Gami¡¯s particular shade of platinum, not the tri-color ensemble of a university student. His proud shoulders are dusted with snowflakes like a brick wall in winter; plain white shirt just waiting for fresh bloodstains.

    ¡°Worse than that, I assure you,¡± Valance says, shifting aside while Aurix jostles his way into the train. His eyes only briefly flick at her. Some sort of mental link between the two that lets them communicate telepathically while she steps out onto the station platform. ¡°I¡¯m glad you recognize him. Saves us all a lot of time.¡±

    Her control over my body manhandles me out of my chair and forces me down onto my knees like gravity¡¯s suddenly tripled. My legs buckle without a fight, leaving me heaving for breath as my body rebels against the extreme amount of outside influence. Skin flushed red from strain. Sweat streaks down my jaw. My shoulders shudder as I force my gaze up to Aurix.

    ¡°Came all this way for a rematch? I¡¯m honored.¡±

    Elemental fire flickers around his fingers, tapping against his leg. Outside, the departure tone rings out into the hollow station. He glances back at Valance. ¡°She¡¯s all mine?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be keeping her on a tight leash. Have your fun. But don¡¯t rush- she might change her mind yet.¡± Valance glances down at her JOY as she fires up a projector screen. ¡°The others are already intercepting Jolie¡¯s escort. I¡¯ll hop the southbound line and meet them midroute. Keep an ear out in the event we need more backup.¡±

    I can¡¯t even look high enough to see if we¡¯re back near the arena. Can only fight my head far enough over to stare Valance dead-on in her pink eyes, watching the mockingly apologetic look she tosses my way. Her lips remain truculently still as she speaks directly into my head.

    Honestly, I don¡¯t quite understand the appeal of beating a helpless opponent until her brains are painting the deck a very boring shade of grey, but that¡¯s what Aurix wanted in exchange for his aid. And who am I to deny a spurned brother his rightful reunion? Another chime echoes through the station, stealing her attention for a moment. Agree to serve with me as an equal, and I¡¯ll call him off.

    I chuckle darkly. ¡°If you think he¡¯s going to listen to you, you¡¯re dead wrong.¡±

    All the more reason for you to consider an alliance. But if you don¡¯t wish to entertain my offer? She shrugs. My master isn¡¯t quite as diplomatic as I am.

    The doors hiss shut. A light impact echoes through the roof. The station slides to the left and falls away to the darkened metropolis beyond, though the walls in my head remain. I¡¯m still a prisoner in my own body. Alone with the brute of a boy who reminds me so eerily of a younger, angrier version of my father.

    Twenty years of pent-up resentment boil in those dark, oceanic eyes. I learned the long way that there¡¯s no sandbag in the world that can salve that kind of anger. But unlike me, the world hasn¡¯t forced Aurix to overcome his rage. He¡¯s been handed a reason to focus it. Something that he can finally break, something that can give a point to those lost years.

    I¡¯d pity him, if he weren¡¯t so clearly thinking about how slowly he¡¯s going to kill me.

    He keeps tapping one middle finger against his leg. Tap-tap, tap-tap, like a countdown clock. Angry even in his patience. Counting out the slights I¡¯ve given him, both real and imagined.

    ¡°So you¡¯re the reason I grew up without a father,¡± he growls. ¡°My replacement.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know who you are.¡± I snort in contempt. ¡°In case it wasn¡¯t clear the last time I sent you to a hospital, you¡¯re no brother of mine.¡±

    ¡°The feeling¡¯s mutual.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ve sunk real far just to be disappointed.¡±

    ¡°I came to see if you were really more worth raising than I was.¡± His knuckles crack one by one. ¡°Seeing how this whole city wants a piece of you, I guess you must have been.¡±

    ¡°Whatever Thane or Valance told you about me, it was only half the story.¡± Pinned in place by the Psi¡¯s distant control, I barely can manage a shrug. ¡°Not that you¡¯re gonna care. You¡¯re just here to sandbag out those daddy issues.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°And you¡¯re just another slap in the face from dear father.¡± Aurix straightens slowly, right arm winding slowly, so terrifyingly similar to my father in silhouette as we pass a lit-up skyscraper. The neon fades. ¡°I thought it¡¯d hurt worse, honestly. Seeing the bitch that Pops picked over me. You¡¯re not even really his kid, not like me,¡± he almost laughs, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯re just some runt with a birth defect. He probably brought you home out of pity. And yet he ended up picking you over me anyways. That¡¯s some irony.¡±

    ¡°And here I was thinking there was nothing we could agree on.¡±

    He hits me in the face.

    Stars explode though my vision as my head hits into the floor. A rough hand grabs my collar and hauls me back up. Vaguely, I hear a slushy version of Aurix¡¯s voice ask in a dead cold tone, ¡°Still think you¡¯re better than me?¡±

    The metro is blurry and swimming from side to side as my eyes crack open. A brain-deep ache swells under my eye, already bruising. Blood oozes from one nostril. I can almost feel the knuckle imprint as I look back up with a pained sneer on my face. It¡¯s only going to bring more of those hits, but I can¡¯t stop myself from snorting a glob of blood from my nose. ¡°You hit like a bitch.¡±

    His fingers work. ¡°That the best you got?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say ask your dad, but-¡±

    He punches me again, holding nothing back. My blood spurts over Dad¡¯s jacket. My ribs creak. Insides groaning around the punch as I crack into the floor. I slump over the pain in silence, curling around it, still trapped in my own body. My next cough brings a mouthful of red, small dribbles spilling from the fresh split in my lips to roll across the deck.

    ¡°Dad didn¡¯t pick me over you,¡± I spit out. ¡°He left me behind, too.¡±

    ¡°And you idolize him like a dog for it.¡±

    The insult strikes deeper than the punches. I snap back in a cold fury, head fighting back up to stare death at him. ¡°He was the best father he could be. He was a good man. A hero. Ever taken a look outside? Seen those statues, seen the graffiti, asked anyone what the name Mars Mons means to them?¡± I hiss out a callous note of laughter. ¡°And you¡­ you have the audacity to think you deserve to criticize Dad just because you look like him in the mirror?¡± I glare through a mop of glowing white bangs. ¡°You¡¯re not his son. You¡¯re just an ignorant prick who¡¯s too dense to realize he¡¯s playing games he doesn¡¯t understand against people he can¡¯t match.¡±

    Aurix strikes like a snake in the grass. Plants a knee on the floor and wraps one killing hand around my throat, forcing me down against the deck. Anger twisting his face. ¡°You don¡¯t know a thing about me.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I hiss back. ¡°But I know plenty about Dad. And I know exactly what he¡¯d say if he saw a bully like you.¡±

    I stare coldly up at Aurix, watching my words wound him to the core. In some small way, I wish I¡¯d known him before now. I shouldn¡¯t want to fight him. Staring at him is like staring at a part of my past I¡¯ll never see again. But then his face hardens, and I know that pity would be wasted on him.

    ¡°Dad.¡± Aurix breathes out a heavy sigh. ¡°Isn¡¯t that just rich.¡±

    He squeezes. Everything in me spasms except my voice. I jerk against Valance¡¯s psionic grip, but my body sits statue-still as he starts choking me to death. My animal mind tumbles in primal panic. First goes the air, pinched off between thick fingers. My breaths fade from panting to squeaks to nothing at all. Then the muscles of my neck begin to bruise. Cartilage crinkles as it¡¯s made to bend inward. A void grows in my lungs. Like an industrial vice, Aurix doesn¡¯t relent, only tightens further. Wringing me out like an empty bottle.

    I stare up at him, eyes wide, unwavering like iron.

    If this is how I go, this bastard isn¡¯t going to have the pleasure of watching me squirm.

    With the last of my breath, I wheeze, ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight you.¡±

    His eyes flash in surprise as the doors cut open behind him. Another voice answers for him.

    ¡°Yeah. Well. I do.¡±

    My glow vanishes. The walls in my head evaporate. All ten fingers uncurl from my throat. Aurix¡¯s hand flashes up to intercept a blur of platinum that slashes for his jugular, catching the incoming blade with his palm right as it cleaves past his neck. A blur of black crashes into him with so much momentum that she hangs in midair, golden eyes dead cold.

    ¡°Get your filthy hands,¡± the blade pushes in, ¡°off my girlfriend.¡±

    Aurix gags, eyes wild, nano-edged metal sawn a quarter of the way through his shoulder. Blood sprays as Cal¡¯s blade redirects and rips down his chest. His reply is ice-shock fast, a thunderous punch that skitters off her ribcage as she twists and throws herself to the floor, sliding between his legs to reach my side. Her blade whips in a backwards arc at his calves. A crimson arc slaps the deck. His hand snaps back like serpent fangs as he tries to snatch her by the ponytail.

    He realizes the mistake one second after he takes his hands off me.

    I explode off the floor. No aura, but I don¡¯t need it. My shoulder drives into his stomach with the force of a ballistic sledge, hurtling him towards the door connecting us to the next car forward. I lunge after him. A powerful kick sweeps for my midsection as I dive into his range. My prosthetic arm nearly breaks his ankle when I block barehand. I spring off my feet with a kick of my own already chambered, heel snapping at his throat. A hand flashes up to slap my shin aside, but even if he¡¯s as fast as me without a JOY, he can¡¯t stop the right hook that follows.

    Three of his knuckles shatter against my damascene fist. Aurix crashes into the door hard enough to leave a dent in the metal. We¡¯re face to face. Orange against gold. And I¡¯m in my element. Left jab, left jab, let him throw a panicked punch that whistles through my hair when I lean back, then whip a right hook into his skull faster than he can blink. A full-body swivel into three-sixty snap kick ends the combo, jackhammering him into the door so hard the auto-failsafes kick in and open the way, letting his body plows into the empty car on the other side.

    Far enough from Cal that my glow has returned, ki swirls back into my body. My legs sing with the influx of energy. I burst after him. Still tumbling, Aurix hits expertly off the ground and somehow manages to flip up on a knee. Those Martial Artist instincts. Roiling Elemental flames reactivate and wreathe his forearms. He slaps a hand to his collar to cauterize the wound. Friction marks score the deck as he wheels back to his feet, head snapping up as I smash to a meteoric stop ten feet away from him. Burning with aura, I sway upright and cock my chin in the universal challenge.

    His eyes are wide. One hand halfway raised in instinctive defense as he sees the gulf that separates someone like him from someone like me. Against the roiling, twisting nova of energy that pours from me, Aurix¡¯s flames are like matches held to the sun.

    He¡¯s paralyzed by it.

    We¡¯re both panting as we stare off. My skin burns, lit up like a halogen bulb. Fingers itching to let it out. Invisible to my kinetic sense, Cal strides up beside me, blade smearing its bloody coating off against the windows. Before she can strike, the chime of an incoming JOY call erupts from Aurix¡¯s belt and Valance¡¯s penthouse accent cuts through the maelstrom.

    ¡°-complications escalating. We¡¯re on the primary target. Aurix, get out of there now. You¡¯re outmatched. Kalavakus is incoming for aerial pickup. Director Mons is the new priority.¡±

 5.9 - DAYBREAK

    My eyes widen. Aurix looks to his JOY. Back to me. A pleasant bell for an incoming stop punctures the standoff silence as Valance¡¯s call clicks off. Passengers further ahead are shouting as they flee the fight.

    A heartbeat passes.

    And he runs.

    Channeling his fire into an explosive burst, Aurix blows open a breach in the side of the train and leaps out the jagged hole into the winter atmosphere, gone in the blink of an eye. The city roars outside the breach. Wind shrieks and pours through the open wound.

    Cal snags my arm just before I can lunge after him, fighting me to a halt. I jerk out of her grip.

    ¡°Valance knows the plan, Cal. She¡¯s after Jolie. We have to stop her. We have to-¡±

    Cal snatches my collar and pulls me down to her height. My lips part in surprise as her lips push into mine. My heart skips a beat and my skin pulses brighter as her fingers slide further and firm inside my glowing hair.

    ¡°Calm down. We¡¯re going to get her,¡± Cal says, pulling back.

    My panicked heartbeat slows. Silhouetted before the breadth of the snow-covered capital, we linger for only a moment longer before her grip releases. Her eyes search mine as she slides back down, parting like a long-distance lover. Trailing two fingers down my bruised neck like her knife did so long ago. Then the human moment melts away.

    ¡°Thane?¡± I hesitantly ask.

    She grimaces and shakes her head. My heart sinks. Real fingers curling into a fist as I turn back to the city. Warning lights throb through the cabin as a horn bellows from the front of the metro.

    ¡°If he¡¯s made his choice¡­ we have to make ours,¡± I say with reluctant certainty, eyes narrowing on Aurix¡¯s distant halo of fire. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with Thane next. We have to peel the Shadows off Jolie first; buy her the time to make it out of the city. Valance already pulled the entire route from my head. Her escort won¡¯t know what hit them unless I get to them first.¡±

    Cal slips a jangling set of oldTech keys from her skinsuit¡¯s shoulder slit. ¡°You¡¯re faster alone. I¡¯ll get the bike and link up on the freeway.¡± She sends me on my way with a slap on the ass. ¡°Go get ¡®em, farmgirl.¡±

    A hesitant, hopeful smile flickers between us. I turn away from her and lean out the molten hole, into the cold. Aurix¡¯s familiar anger burns in the distance like a beacon in my kinetic sense. I can catch him. I know it.

    Sweeping a hand through the flood of golden ki pouring from my body, I take two steps back and blast the hole even wider. Electric Town rooftops roar beyond the breach. My aura redoubles around me, responding to the sudden adrenaline surging through my veins.

    I nod at Cal. She nods back, breaking for the back of the train. Before I can lose my nerve, I center myself on the hole, spring back to plant my feet against the opposite wall of the train, then burst forward and smash through the dripping metal wall like a golden bullet, launching over the Electric Town in a foot-first corkscrew. Molten globs of steel blast outwards like a nebula. Individual beads give chase in meteoric droplets. Twisting through the star shower, I look out over the city as it spins through my vision upside-down, a city of neon and hope oppressed beneath the looming night.

    Then the view rotates. My knees swing into view as I plummet from the metro''s raised rails and land on a terrace of the adjoining building. Shocked faces scatter and gape as I smash down into a table of bacon and eggs and coffee, ricocheting onward before they can blink. Ki surges into my legs. I flash after Aurix like a human javelin, zigzagging through the highrises of the Electric Town in strings of light as I fire from balcony to rooftop to the brick roof of that gym where I made the best mistake of my life, feet touching solid surfaces for the single frames it takes to redirect.

    A meteoric shockwave cracks the gym¡¯s roof as I break my fall with a roll. Dead ahead, the prideful boy with the face of my father whips around mid-stride, shock scrawled on his brutal features. And I hold back no longer.

    I shove so much aura into my legs that I catapult forward fast enough to sear a trail of pure energy into the air. Aurix reaches the edge of the building bare steps ahead of me and leaps off just as the huge, blocky silhouette of a Mecha titan roars up from an adjacent alley, lending a mechanical handhold for his outstretched hand before burning twisting in an evasive corkscrew and diving into a seam in the city¡¯s crust.

    My toes touch the edge and I launch off a half-second later, adding an acrobatic twist. Ki kicks out from my body and I slash down after them. Diving fearlessly towards street level. The seam in the city¡¯s surface swallows me whole. Golden light illuminates the crust of the city as it blurs past. Familiar smog and sickly neon bloom in my vision. Rather than cut my speed, I push my ki even harder and spear out the bottom of the crust at suicidal velocity, carving between the first layers of Venter bridges like an arrow of sunlight.

    The bulky Mecha, shaped like a tucked-up angular humanoid with twin ion engines burning blue-hot on its back, rockets ahead of me through the interwoven lattice of the Vents right in the middle of the morning commute, bowling right past other flying classes and hovertransports. Aurix hangs from its armored shoulder like a tagalong cicada. His hair billows in a shimmering gradient of fiery colors as he twists to look back. Our eyes meet. He roars something to the Mecha and a crack of thunder splits the air as the pilot cranks up the engines.

    I chase them like chain lightning. Hitting a block of midlayer streets in a rough roll, I throw myself into a ki-fueled sprint before launching diagonally upwards to snag a ride on the rattling side of an undercity metro. Humid, smoggy air whistles past. My hair cracks like a whip. Someone inside the viewport shouts it¡¯s the Ghost! and heads snap up, but I¡¯m already gone.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A wild exertion of my arms flips me up to the roof where I slide in with the free riders, right between an overall-wearing girl with dark-feathered wings sprouting from beneath her acidproof cloak and another ki fighter boy with pale blue hair. His jaw drops at the flood of aura pouring from me while I focus on the blocks above, lining up my path to catch the Mecha. A thump-thump heartbeat shoots through the metro as it skips over a gap in the rails, and I¡¯m off.

    Skimming across the roof of a hovertransport like the flourish of a signature, I twist through a thicket of data cables that dangle across a street of neon-decked tech shops, rebound off the side of a concrete bridge and flash off a stim shop / underground arena / the glass window of an apartment complex¡¯s lobby, where a little girl wearing the dirtied uniform of an overcity grade school walks herself to the metro. She gapes at my sizzling footprints.

    Somehow the Mecha manages to outpace me. There¡¯s an ace on the stick, a pilot even better than Jolie. Aurix hangs onto the machine with a death grip as they spiral through the last bridges in their way before rocketing back towards the surface without so much as a paint scratch. A ravine in the crust of the city looms above them, passing directly over a huge square pocket in the center of four undercity towers. Staccato explosions of Elemental fire snap at my heels as I leapfrog up the sides of the square in a geometric spiral. I trust my feet. Keep my eyes on Aurix as he fires from his perch. The world¡¯s almost a blur and I¡¯m nearly flying, shooting upwards from surface to surface in straight-line bursts. Drawing even with the Mecha just as we reach the crust again, I compress all my aura into my legs and launch at its back, snagging a handhold on a divot between its torso segments, feet kicking wildly.

    The last of the Vents drops away and the overcity blooms like a field of metal grass. Dim winter sunlight clouds the pre-dawn sky in murky grey. Cold, beautifully clean air bites at my lungs and stings my eyes as we continue to rocket higher. Inline heating in my skinsuit kicks on to counter the sudden temperature drop. Wind beating at my face, I crane back and gaze over the gleaming breadth of the capital, which stretches almost to the horizon like a stippled carpet.

    My golden trail and the Mecha¡¯s ion wake burn out of a shrinking ravine that crawls through a roughened, rusty district devoid of the rest of the capital¡¯s trademark gleam. Derelict skeletons of unfinished and abandoned skyscrapers loom around us. Our chase took us all the way to the border of the industrial zones; the outer edge of the city just inside the fifty-meter storm walls. But the zone below me is on the complete opposite side of the capital from where Jolie¡¯s ride is supposed to be waiting- the same gunship she flew for Dad, now a museum piece being housed in Gami¡¯s half-finished citadel.

    I¡¯d wonder why the Mecha flew so far from the city center, but just as I look down, one of the high speed bullet trains snaking through the industrial district ripples with explosions across its roof. Tiny twinkles reflect from icy growths along the wheels. Yuki must still be on his feet. I breathe a sigh of relief.

    I glance back as the Mecha jerks violently beneath me, ripping to the side in a sudden evasive spiral as the pilot finally realizes my presence. My left hand slips from its groove and flies free. The fingers of my right dig in with an immovable grip. A huge metal limb with segmented joints sweeps at my skull to try and swat me off like a fly. I pull myself flush to the machine¡¯s back just as the arm swings past. Hanging on a death grip, I raise my real hand at the nearest ion engine and unleash a full-auto deluge of ki blasts.

    The Mecha bucks beneath me like a wild horse. Engines sputter as the fuel cuts. Our rocketing ascent slows. Hangs in a stomach-dropping moment of zero gravity. Then reverses like I¡¯m holding onto a bag of rocks that¡¯s trying its hardest to wriggle away from me.

    Bracing my feet against a metal armor plate, I ride rodeo and keep firing as we tumble end over end in midair. Thirty blasts a second scorch the skin of my palm black and paint the sky in scatter-cracks of light. My face sets in grim determination. Even when the Mecha¡¯s shell holds at first, I don¡¯t relent. They haven¡¯t made an armor that can stop me yet.

    I double the power of the blasts. Ki cracks the air like full-auto thunder, the strain to summon the energy jerking physically at my heart. My skin glows like a nuclear fuel rod. My whole arm starts to smoke, the palm smoldering with the scent of burning flesh. The nano-edged armor dents. Buckles. And melts into slag under my assault, just as Aurix¡¯s fiery hair ripples into view over the Mecha¡¯s opposite shoulder.

    Sliding recklessly across the machine¡¯s back, Aurix dives at me with an orb of molten elemental power gathering red-hot in his hand. I let go and kick away right when he releases the flames in beam form, using another surge of ki to launch myself in a high arc towards the apex of an unfinished skyscraper nearby. Beneath me, the mech glides downwards in limping flight, smoke trailing from its carapace. The penthouse level of my target rushes up. Tucking into a ball, I crash through a tattered blue tarp and tumble through a scree of sawdust and naked metal. I roll back up already running towards the tower¡¯s edge. Pulse pounding in my ears as the entirety of the capital comes into view.

    I trail to a stop and pull my JOY from my hip. Forty stories down, that bullet train cuts past a derelict station at triple-digit velocity just in time for the injured Mecha to drift down and snags onto its tail. The fighting onboard has intensified near the fore of the train. I lift my JOY and patch through to Cal, starting to run towards the dropoff on the skyscraper¡¯s opposite side.

    ¡°Good news only, Tets. I¡¯m driving very illegally.¡±

    ¡°Jolie is on a highrail in the industrial zone. Shadows beat us to her.¡±

    My light blooms through the tower¡¯s darkened skeleton. My feet hammer down without hesitation. The current inside refusing to slow. Winter howls through the flapping tarps. Cal¡¯s voice returns calmly in my ears, backed by the hair-raising roar of an electric engine.

    ¡°Give me the nearest freeway. I just hit the surface.¡±

    I squint down through the cold. ¡°EE-1. I¡¯m intercepting.¡±

    ¡°The Electric Town Expressway,¡± she whistles. ¡°Five by five. Let¡¯s race a bullet train.¡±

    Her voice clicks out. The capital gleams beyond the dropoff, a sea of lights stretching all the way to the shores of the Metro Blockhouse. My heart reaches for the nearing edge with an open hand. Singing through every molecule, spreading light like the sun. Daring me to reclaim my wings.

    Forty stories up, the edge drops out beneath my feet. Gravity takes hold.

    And silhouetted by daybreak, I ignite.

 5.10 - LINE IN THE SAND

    Terminal velocity grabs me like a rip current.

    Arms thrown wide, I plummet down the side of the skyscraper in a hundred-and-twenty mile an hour blur, a shooting star of white and gold. The skyscraper¡¯s glass sides smear into a solid surface beside me. I cast one last glance at the distant summit of the Metro Blockhouse, wondering if Thane is watching right now. Then I fight the roaring wind to bring my gaze to bear on the district below, where Jolie¡¯s runaway train shoots past the base of my tower without slowing.

    I¡¯m deafened by the wind and blinded by the icy tears glassing my vision. Frozen temperatures sting at my eyes and distends my hair into a rippling tail. Pure adrenaline keeps my heart locked in my chest. Propelled by the adrenaline high, my aura blooms outwards so forcefully that even the interns at the M will see the light on the horizon like a shooting star.

    Perched on the rear of the train like a geometric scorpion, the titan-tier Mecha- one of Gami¡¯s freelancers, not a leaguer- swivels around, registering my ignition with reflexes that would put our minor league to shame. Fast as a demon despite the size of the machine. Hundreds of meters away on the back of the bullet train, one of its arm-cannons raises. Light plumes from the barrel. For a second, I think nothing¡¯s happened. Then a thigh-thick streak of grey whistles out of the industrial zone and a ten-meter circle of skyscraper explodes beneath me, showering my path with a shrapnel spray of debris.

    No chance to dodge. Unfurling into vertical shape, I fire a blast of ki straight down and chase its tail through the molten glass.

    The industrial zone rushes nearer. Twenty stories between to the pavement. I snap-twist in a corkscrew and slam my sneakers against the skyscraper, spraying sparks as I surf the vertical fa?ade at terminal velocity. Twinned friction fires of aura build beneath my heels. Compressing like an air carrier¡¯s launch pad. Building, building, building. Pressure, energy, cataclysm charging into a jet-engine shriek. My eyes lock onto the train. One daredevil instinct triggers the eruption.

    A sonic boom erupts outwards from my launch, shattering across the skyscraper in a crystal-powder shockwave. My heart sticks to its downward beat. G-forces slam through me. Factories, chemical plants, power stations, and trainyards rip past like immobile icebergs. Splitting the line between two spiring towers pumping steam down into the Vents, I burst out over a huge retention lake and saw across the water from shore to shore, carving the air with twinned ocean sprays.

    Ahead, the drawbridge spanning another feeder river finishes lowering a second before the bullet train roars over it. That Mecha hanging onto the last car pivots with insane reflexes and fires a chaingun spray from a shoulder hardpoint. Plumes of water erupt around me as bullets chew into the lake. My heart thrums against my ribcage like an electric guitar. Twisting parallel to the surface, I cut under the bridge¡¯s pylons and shoot out the other side, narrowly dodging a beam of Elemental fire that carves across my path. Superheated vapor explodes into a smoky cloud. A swarm of micromissiles and point-defense lasers hound my trail as I fire through the cloud, bursting away from the river towards the curved edge of a radar dish emblazoned with the logo of the capital¡¯s most popular news stream. I surf the dish¡¯s curve with sparks flying beneath my feet and flash off the end at triple digit velocity, snaking in side-by-side with the bullet train just as it surges back into the industrial sector.

    Hazards flash past at mach speed. Girders. Railway crossings. Close-hanging pipes. Clouds of superheated steam. Death waits a microsecond slip away. Anyone else would peel off. But there¡¯s not a ki fighter on the planet who can fly like I can.

    The Electric Town Expressway rises on my left side as we hit a long straightaway with a prime view of the distant Shimano Heavy Industries headquarters. I dive into the single-meter gap between the rails and the hovertransports clogging the freeway, hiding in the shadow of the train, heart gunning at full throttle as I sink even with the wheels. Neighborhoods and districts blur beneath the rails. Gears and wheels thunder beside me. Highway on my left. Stainless steel machinery chugging like a meatgrinder on my right. An adrenaline grin overtakes my face. Juking around a girder for a railroad crossing, I surge up another train car and arc up past the roof, then cut my aura and let inertia do the rest.

    Two hundred miles an hour of physics hurls me like a slingshot at the back of the train.

    Hunched over the last car like a gargoyle, the titannic Mecha has no chance to see me coming. Twelve feet tall, couple thousand pounds, humanoid shape with the standard four limbs and torso cockpit- good at many things, but reacting to a nearly-invisible human bullet closing the distance at organ-splattering speeds is not one of them.

    My aura cuts back on and gathers in both hands as I slash over the Mecha¡¯s head, hurling twinned waves of bladelike energy into its arm joints. Both arms slide and fall free, snowballing into an avalanche of armored debris as they crash into the industrial sector. Rotating as I fly past, I flash right back at the disarmed titan from the opposite side, snagging onto a handgrip on its roof port. The train¡¯s velocity eases the strain from my heart.

    I spare a single moment to search for Aurix. A still-glowing hole in the roof of the train tells me where he¡¯s gone. My plan solidifies. Shuck this metal oyster, then stop the other Shadows heading for Jolie.

    Not even bothering to figure out the ejection port¡¯s release, I rip the mech¡¯s roof straight off its hinges, flinging it off the back of the train. A dark blur of human movement lunges out of the cockpit at me. Thin pain slices a vertical line from my neck to my jaw as I whip my head back, just barely dodging the extendable blade the pilot swings upwards. I fall back a step. Arms pinwheeling wildly. The pilot¡¯s already out, blade slashing for a followup. Dark jumpsuit armor and helmet. Staggering speed, completely unerring as he swings not for my head, but my legs, forcing a jump that¡¯ll get me sucked away by the wind. The kind of choice someone with Dad¡¯s experience would make to deal with a kid half their age before the vigor of youth can overpower the wisdom of time.

    Ki fires out my left hand on pure reflex, slapping his blade down into the mech¡¯s metal skin. Another blast from my pinwheeling right restores my balance and hurls me into the pilot. I make it fast. Five-hit chain ending with an open palm smash to the chest. Rather than get hurled off his mech, the pilot lets the final blow hit and crumples around it to disperse the energy, combat boot snapping up at my chest with steel-toe strength. I juke to the side, catching and trapping his leg under my arm. Supercharged by ki, I barely have to think to flex my arm and shatter everything from the shin down.

    The pilot grunts through his helmet as the bone breaks like brittle wood. But sacrificing an entire leg gives him a fraction of a second where I¡¯m held in place, and he does not waste it. He retracts his blade to knifelike length and drive it into my thigh with a reverse-grip strike, punching straight through my aura and into the muscle. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    My leg buckles. I go down hard and drag the pilot along with. He halts our fall with one hand, snagging a grip on the mech¡¯s shell. The gauntlet of his other hand fires a strand of grapple hook cable that nooses around my throat and cinches tight. Metal digs into my already bruised neck. I reach up on instinct, ki gathering to cut the hangman cable. He draws a wide-bore pistol in the moment it takes me to cut free. I look up into a barrel glowing with crackling yellow light just as I start to fall.

    The light expands and grows holes, stretching into a snaring net charged with stunning current that devours me whole. Paralytic electricity hits my nerves like a gut punch as I¡¯m hurled off the back of the train. I gasp in shock as my body contorts like a dying spider. I plummet towards the expressway. Wind whistling in my ears. Real arm bent backwards behind me. The prosthetic trapped across my chest. Falling, falling. Ki blasts poking useless holes in the mesh as I fire with everything I have, then resort to trying to melt it through sheer auric heat. Transports, headlights rushing up at me. Then a familiar comm click hits my ears. A platinum blur slashes through the net and rips it away, freeing me to burst sideways and slam onto the back seat of Jolie¡¯s autobike just as Cal gooses out from behind a hovertransport on the highway.

    I drop into the saddle behind her. The engine picks up beneath my legs and we spur forward, wheels skittering over the pavement. Cal puts us behind another transport before the mech pilot can line up a parting shot. Her voice rolls into my ears through the comm channel.

    ¡°Holy shit Tay, I didn¡¯t mean literally race a bullet train. How fast were you flying?¡±

    ¡°Not fast enough,¡± I grit out as a klaxon horn bellows from ahead. We pull out of cover to see the train surging away from us with renewed speed, the mech pilot nowhere in sight. The expressway curves ahead of us, diverting from the tracks. We¡¯re going to lose it. Chest heaving, I start regathering the strength to take flight again. Rip out the knife lodged in my leg; aura gushes from the wound like water into a sinking ship to caramelize the wound from the inside. My foot bounces from the pain. Jolie¡¯s train keeps pulling away. I start to rise just as Cal¡¯s fingers curl around the throttle.

    ¡°Grab me.¡±

    She rips the bike to the right, skimming over the harrowing gap between the expressway and its rickety service road. My hips groan as we slam down into the bumpy pavement at a hundred-plus, dodge two huge potholes in the unfinished surface, then gun for a curving offshoot that angles away from the industrial sector and back to the rest of the capital. The train roars away from us with another sound of the horn. I whip back over my shoulder, watching it shrink and disappear.

    ¡°We¡¯re going the wrong way, Cal! You¡¯re heading back towards E-Town!¡±

    ¡°Sit down, I¡¯ve got a plan.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the middle of the morning commute!¡±

    ¡°Really? You don¡¯t say.¡± She hunkers lower over the controls. ¡°We¡¯ll catch her. I promise.¡± When I don¡¯t sink down yet, she glances back with a smirk. ¡°Come on. When have I ever lied to you?¡±

    Letting my heart spiral back down, I tight my legs against the bike and duck into Cal¡¯s shadow. The offshoot road curls back into brighter surface districts, linking us up with the raised glass highway that bisects the city along its lateral axis. Shadows and spotlights sweep over us in alternating pockets. Five lanes of black asphalt spread out wide, dry as a bone. Cal leans harder on the bike. Sparks scatter over my feet. A wide, arched tunnel filled with golden-yellow light sweeps over our heads, gone in seconds. The autobike¡¯s engine revs like a blender, echoes hammering into my ears as Cal weaves past the other traffic and tears out the other side of the tunnel.

    Dazzling neon cityscape pickets both sides of the expressway. Highrises and cascading advertisements for the weekend¡¯s pro fights shower us with illumination. But the highway ahead glows red. Wall-to-wall red. Traffic light red in the shadow of the Shimano Heavy Industries tower. And we¡¯re racing towards it at two hundred miles an hour.

    ¡°Cal¡­¡±

    Cal just cranks the throttle harder. Her fingers dance over the central console. Lost in concentration. Face lit from beneath by holographic blue as she keys to activate something built into the bike¡¯s navigational hardware. The holoscreen lights up with the fishhook logo of the corporation that nearly ruled the capital. She presses it with her thumb, sinking as low behind the windshield as possible. A single-digit countdown flashes onto the screen.

    ¡°Hang on.¡±

    Without warning, the traffic lights ahead start cascading from red to green in a domino wave. The countdown ticks one second lower. Cal swings us into a lane-splitting position. Kicks a hidden release with her heel. Her hand twists. And

    the world

    smears.

    My stomach disappears. The speedometer flatlines. The Electric Town melts into a hyperdrive tunnel. Winging forward at heart-attack velocity, splitting the traffic-jammed lanes so fast my body locks in place on pure instinct.

    Entire neighborhoods flash past in the first second. The Metro Blockhouse is there and gone. The Electric Town runs from end to end in five seconds flat. The highway empties in front of us as we fly into the opposite half of the capital. Our path zippers closed and the traffic lights change back as the countdown ends. The industrial sector and the capital¡¯s outer storm walls swell on the horizon. Just in time, the runaway train pounds out of the industrial cityscape onto an arching bridge that crosses right in front of Gami¡¯s half-finished citadel.

    Aura surges down my legs. Cal slips her feet from the pedals and curls into my arms. The speedometer tumbles down from three hundred. Blinking through the wind, I line up the shot, grab Cal, and kick away from the bike, launching us like a cannonball at the citadel¡¯s huge front courtyard. The bike races off unpiloted. Balling around Cal in midair, I fire a ki blast and curl tight.

    We explode through the courtyard¡¯s twenty-meter walls like buckshot. Scorched ozone and slag shower the vast metal plaza leading up to the fortress itself. Huge, geometric monoliths cast hundred-foot shadows across the field. My body hits off one of them so hard it leaves a dent. Chunks and molten shards of metal rain around me. Somehow I stayed curled around Cal. I drip to the ground with a grunt while she rolls to her feet with a knife already rotating into hand. Boots spread in protective stance, facing down the remains of my aunt¡¯s escape and Valance¡¯s attempt to stop it.

    Trapped at the citadel¡¯s entrance with his back to a closed pair of massive doors large enough to admit a titan-class Mecha, an injured Yuki leans heavily on a blade of pure ice, barely keeping himself upright in front of Jolie. My aunt breathes out a sigh of relief as my aura washes over the field. The emotion isn¡¯t shared by the rest of the warriors who flank them in a trident formation.

    Aurix¡¯s broad shoulders shudder as his hair begins stirring in my current. The cracked helm of the limping mech pilot sags from exhaustion. And Valance¡¯s pink eyes narrow in cold calculation as she turns from the citadel¡¯s steps, the first words of a spellcast already formed on her lips.

 5.11 - HEIR APPARENT (BOOK 1 FINALE)

    Valance gets one syllable of her incantation out before a bone-deep tremor cuts her off.

    Behind her, the citadel¡¯s doors split down the center with a seismic rumble, groaning open to reveal a vast ascending staircase flanked by towering metal effigies with unfinished features. Her words trail away. All of us following her gaze towards the top of the stairs where a corridor stretching towards the breaking dawn bisects the entire fortress with winter light. At its distant end waits a gleaming speck of metal that rests in perfectly preserved condition atop the citadel¡¯s external landing pads. But it is not the door nor the dawn that gives Valance pause.

    A piece of my heart waits atop the citadel steps, facing that distant brushstroke sky of royal gold and purple. His eyes are dark. Brow furrowed. Defiant shoulders silhouetted so completely that only a halo¡¯s edge of sunset crests them.

    A cruel gust of winter wind flutters through the empty sleeves of the coat that hangs from his shoulders, twisting my heart to the breaking point.

    Once, long ago, he said he always wore his coats like that. Another lie for me.

    As long as his back is turned, I can believe the naive illusion before me. But as the callous shadow that replaced my soulmate finally turns the molten gold of his eyes on me after an agonizing pause for breath, I know that illusory future I always wanted was never going to be our destiny. There is only one end for dark stars and the comets they dance with.

    The fading boom of the grand doors is the only sound that fills the courtyard. The others are stunned by the sight of Thane. He pays them no heed, not even glancing at Valance when she stutters out his name in confusion. He only has eyes for me, and I for him. We speak without sharing words. Our communication an instinctual evolution of years, the slightest hints of body language. Regret. Certainty. Pain. The final vestiges of a bond that has suffered so long without breaking.

    No one dares move at first. Pretend all she may, not even Valance is stupid enough to test a reputation like Thane¡¯s when she doesn¡¯t know where he stands. Aurix¡¯s fiery aura gushes and roils in the quiet. Cal fingers a dagger. The mech pilot primes a small toggle on his gauntlet. Yuki wipes at his forehead and reforms his icy blades, glancing from Thane to the trio of Shadows corralling him on the other side. Jolie reaches into the interior pocket of her jacket. Her eyes narrow behind her glasses, darting from her nephew to the murderer of her twin brother, then finally to where the gunship waits beyond the opposite end of the citadel. Tension building like a lit dynamite fuse.

    Thane breaks the silence first, casting his voice at me. ¡°You saved me the trouble of coming to get you.¡±

    The coldness of his voice is that of a stranger; but I wonder how deeply he means it anymore. I still hear the loneliness in his words that no one else will. Desperation for what we should have been. But it does not make him any less determined. The man he thinks he has to become has long since buried the man he wanted to.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you stop us,¡± I reply, dangerously low.

    ¡°Because you think you can.¡± He looks to our right, to the ending night. ¡°Maybe you will. Maybe you won¡¯t.¡±

    Our eulogy is already written in his eyes. But even if I know it¡¯s pointless, I cannot stop myself from reaching out one last time.

    ¡°Tell me something, Thane.¡±

    He pauses. ¡°Anything.¡±

    My voice falters. ¡°¡­Why?¡±

    He cannot look me in the eyes.

    ¡°I am what I am,¡± he quietly says. ¡°Just as you are.¡±

    Horrible determination settles over my heart. My eyes close, lips pressing into a hard line. Fingers curling into fists while Valance¡¯s harsh voice steals into the frigid tension.

    ¡°You should¡¯ve been more careful in your choice of allies, Thane.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware,¡± he replies to her, coldly eyeing over the others. Lingering longest on Jolie. ¡°I see nothing but enemies here.¡±

    Hairs prickle up the back of my neck.

    ¡°Your game is up. The cards are on the table for everyone to see. There¡¯s only one way out of this mess now.¡± Valance tips her head from me to Jolie. ¡°Embrace that you lost your gamble, help us apprehend them, and I¡¯ll do what I can to assuage our master¡¯s wrath once we bring the prizes in. Or run your defiance to its dead end.¡± She unlatches the spellbook on her waist with one manicured finger. ¡°Your choice.¡±

    A simple wooden staff materializes in Thane¡¯s hands. A weapon only capable of admonishing blows on its own. The weapon of a master. Not a student.

    The weapon of someone who does not need it to secure his victory.

    ¡°Betrayal is natural in our world,¡± Thane says, idly rotating the staff with a lifetime¡¯s worth of grace. ¡°Gami won¡¯t care if he loses a pawn to gain a queen. Nor will he care whose hand plays the board.¡± The staff¡¯s end hammers once against the floor. ¡°Only that the pieces know their place.¡±

    Listening to the danger instinct crawling up my spine, I call on my heart again and push my aura out to its full intensity, casting long shadows across the plaza. Fresh pulses of ki push into my tired muscles. Burning away my exhaustion and propping up my already exhausted body. A scalpel¡¯s sharpness files my mind to a razor point.

    Realizing what they¡¯re trapped between, the mech pilot abandons the Shadows¡¯ trident formation to guard Valance¡¯s back instead, broken leg nearly buckling from the effort it takes to hobble sideways. Jolie whispers into Yuki¡¯s ear. Cal catches me with a side-eye glance. I respond with only a nod. Too focused on Thane as he shrugs off his coat. With him, even the slightest tell could spell instant loss.

    The currents of my aura stir through his black hair like a hurricane¡¯s omen. Eyes closed, he pauses at the wind¡¯s touch like the caress of an old friend. His hand tightens around the center of the staff. That dynamite fuse ticking, ticking away. Then his eyes open once more.

    Gold is all I see.

    For a fleeting moment, we¡¯re standing in the garden of my home, teenagers squaring off on the whitewashed marble for the ten thousandth time. Eyes locked, bodies tense, awaiting my fathers call. Bamboo and sunshine our only observers. A songbird chirps in the distance. The Lungracian tree shivers, wind plucking a pair of silver leaves from its branches and casting them spiraling down to the marble.

    The image burns away as the standoff collapses in a surreal silence. Crumbling one link at a time. Aurix wordlessly breaks formation and rushes forward. Then Valance and the mech pilot follow like the chains of an anchor being slurped into the sea, shattering the spellbound stillness.

    Only then does Thane move.

    Accelerating into a flow of motion without even appearing to step, he shifts a class and instantly puts himself in the gap between the Shadows and their quarry, throwing three nervekiller strikes at every corner of Aurix¡¯s body simultaneously. He goes down in a quivering mess. Jolie¡¯s hand flashes from her jacket. Metal sparks and peals as Thane bats her extendable blade to the side without even looking and sweeps his staff in a low crescent behind his back, clipping her ankles out from beneath her. Rather than strike in the momentary gap, Yuki sees through the bait and drops his swords to catch Jolie instead, spiriting her up the steps while a warding slick of ice spreads in his wake.

    Thane arches an eyebrow at the nonaggression. His hand lifts at Yuki¡¯s back, a Shifter¡¯s wind stirring his hair until Valance begins an incantation of her own.

    The Psi hisses out a curse and aborts the spell as one of Cal¡¯s daggers wings past her jugular, carrying on to miss Thane by a millimeter as he pivots to the side on unreal reflex. Cal hits the remaining Shadows like a rip current. Vaulting over the shoulder of the limping mech pilot, she saws her dagger across a gap in his back armor before whipping into an evasive roll as telekinetically flung debris from Valance blows past her head. The roll ends in a forward spring as she lunges up towards Thane instead. His focus flickers to her, already split in three different directions.

    I flash in.

    Bursting across the plaza in a bolt of light, I rebound off the citadel¡¯s huge doors and crash into Thane from a completely unprotected direction. Sheer kinetic momentum transfers from my body to his. We bowl off the staircase and into the grand central corridor head over heels. Limbs swinging, hands grappling, clawing at his throat. Trying to trap him down. We roll wildly again and I throw an elbow at his head. Point blank, but he¡¯s already twisted and kicked me away with a judo reverse. He cartwheels back to his feet and instantly lunges at me. Staff whirling, smashing through a brutal frontal assault ten hits long as he harries me down the vast atrium and towards the sunrise.

    Zero time to recover. Blow after blow rains into my arms and legs from every direction. Leaning hard on the principles of the negative edge; every strike firing with chaser already in motion. Hewing me down like an unwanted tree. If his patience is a dam, his skill is the avalanche that follows. A flood of oscillating techniques that never stops, weaving a roulette of momentum that drives me down the corridor in a rapid backpedal. It¡¯s like being plunged into frozen water. Thane swings with impossible force and unrelenting speed, constantly altering his physical properties or shifting classes right at the moment of impact to maximize stopping power. He¡¯s as fast as I am and twice as precise. A gardener trimming patiently away at the hedges until an opening appears.

    Anything less than a perfect defense will end me.

    I¡¯m locked into retreat from the very first instant. I can¡¯t even hit back. It¡¯s impossible that he¡¯s even better than he used to be, much less to this degree. But he is. Cal was incredible to even last six seconds against him.

    Once applied, Thane¡¯s pressure never releases. It only grows. His face is set, golden eyes narrowed in concentration as the staff continues its destructive path in an opening series I¡¯m starting to fear will never end. Yuki opened with one brilliant strike when we sparred. My limit is twelve. Thane passes twenty without even bothering to exhale.

    Every block I make is another lost foothold. The momentum shoving me back mounts into an unstoppable force in moments, blinding me to the bar of metal Thane ejects out of the pair of statues our fight brings us beneath. Blunted steel pistons into my chest, launching me away in a wild tumble right as Cal attacks him from behind. He changes targets with the mechanical efficiency of a bullet being chambered. Cycles a class and blinks away from her with a Magus teleportation spell, only to reappear beside me and cleave down with an overhead strike I almost twist an ankle kicking away from. A Mecha flechette shot chases me as I flip back to my feet, microfragments riddling my collar instead of my eyes when I jerk my head to the side. But he¡¯s just getting started. I gasp in pain and lock back onto Thane right as he shifts classes again, transforms his staff into a six-o-clock revolver, then twists and fires a seemingly random shot at an angled piece of architecture forming the foot of a ten-meter-tall statue.

    Cal grunts and stumbles as the ricochet slaps into her bicep. Her knife flails out of her fingers mid-throw and clatters awry into a corner. Just ahead of us, Jolie shouts out over the chaos.

    ¡°Help them! I¡¯ll make it!¡± she yells, shoving free of Yuki¡¯s grip.

    Before the Duelist can dash back to help, I throw a hand out and fire a ki blast into the roof of the corridor, triggering a collapse between us. Yuki¡¯s aghast face vanishes behind a wall of debris.

    ¡°Tetsuka!¡± he shouts.

    ¡°Go! Run!¡± I shout back. ¡°Take care of her! I¡¯m trusting you!¡±

    I whip my head back to the fight. Aurix and Valance are summiting the steps. Cal pants for breath, trapped weaponless between them and Thane. Blood oozes between the fingers she keeps clamped over the bullet hole in her arm. Knowing he can¡¯t beat me quick, Thane calls his staff back to his hand and bears down on her instead.

    I move without thinking. Protective instinct hurls me at Thane¡¯s just in time to eat the back end of his staff. Hard wood smashes into my stomach, resplitting my still-healing gut wounds. Bending with the blow, I force all of my ki into my leg and cleave at his neck with a cyclonic kick as I start to fall away. Thane catches my foot barehand and wrenches it to the side, twisting my ankle and throwing me away with a brutally fast exertion. My hands touch the ground and I fling out a microsecond blast at his legs, buying the moment I need to land back on my feet. My back slams into a hard wall. I grunt and fire again, forcing Thane to kick a defensive sheet of metal from the floor. It melts to slop when I put my heart into the next blast, collapsing the steel into a molten slurry at the same moment a firecracker staccato booms further down the hall.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Aurix flashes back into the fight like a fireball. Cal hurls herself to the deck as he swings out at her with a flyby punch. Thane doesn¡¯t even look up. Catching an incoming beam of elemental fire- hot enough to boil living flesh- in the palm of his hand, Thane snuffs it out with a snap of his fingers and grabs Aurix by the face mid-charge. He redirects the brawler¡¯s momentum like a pulley, sweeping him off his feet and smashing him facefirst into the deck with casual violence. Like he¡¯s hammering a nail into a board.

    ¡°Stop him!¡± Valance yells. My mind roils as her hostile takeover hits all of us at once. Violent impulse directed at Thane surges into my brain. ¡°Stop him now! I can¡¯t-¡±

    The only one immune to the Psi¡¯s control, Cal slips off her Relic and slings it at Valance with a backhand flick. The suppression field envelops Valance right at the moment of impact. Mental clarity rushes back. Perfectly synced with his sister, Thane ducks beneath another of my ki blasts so it slags the blockage between us and the landing pad, jams a foot into the deck to make a javelin-length bar of metal using borrowed elemental control, then swivels his hips and snap kicks it down the corridor like a spear shot from a magnetic cannon. It flashes perfectly past Cal as her Relic bounces back to her, firing into Valance¡¯s stomach so hard the gory, impaling tip protrudes half a foot from her back. Sheer momentum punches through the Psi like a second fist to the chest. She stumbles backwards and crumples with a bloody groan.

    Thane shifts to Ki Fighter and bursts through the open gap after Jolie. I follow a fraction of a step behind, forcing my heart to churn out even more aura to keep up. Shuddering amounts of power erases the distance between us. He whirls and throws up his staff in a defensive cross the moment before I crash into him. We strain against each other for a terrifying second. I in midair trying to force my leg through, he pushing back all too easily.

    Our warring auras blast through the corridor in a whirling maelstrom. At the top of my vision, I just barely see as Jolie and Yuki break out into the grey-clouded dawn and sprint across the landing pad. The waiting gunship¡¯s doors gasp open at a key from my aunt¡¯s JOY. She disappears inside at a full sprint. A braid of golden color ripples as Yuki twists back to see Thane slam me to the ground and launch me away with a brutal kick. My insides groan around the hit.

    ¡°Enough, Tetsuka.¡± Thane glances to the landing pad as the gunship¡¯s engines activate with a deep-throated rumble. ¡°You won¡¯t beat me. Put down the sword.¡±

    ¡°So I can be a prize for your master?¡± My chest shudders from a violent cough. Skin sparking to an even brighter glow. ¡°A prize for you?¡±

    He flinches.

    One by one, my fingers curl inwards.

    ¡°You think¡­ after everything you¡¯ve done¡­¡±

    One by one my limbs find their strength.

    ¡°¡­everything you¡¯ve taken¡­¡±

    Inch by inch I force up onto my knees, head hanging, gasping for breath.

    ¡°¡­that I¡¯m just going to give up?¡±

    I slam a fist into the metal. Seismic shudders begin to wrack the citadel. My gaze snaps up.

    And I snarl that word for myself.

    ¡°Think again.¡±

    I unravel from the floor. Smear the back of my hand across my face, streaking the glowing skin with sizzling blood. Cal jogs up beside me. Holding out a hand, she helps me up the rest of the way. We knock knuckles and stride forward side by side.

    ¡°Together,¡± she says, face set in grim determination.

    ¡°Me and you,¡± I echo.

    I glance over, catch her doing the same. She smirks away from the look and shuts her Relic¡¯s suppression field off with a flick of her wrist. A pair of long blades woven from pure light spool out of my aura and into her hands. They spin easily; the weight familiar, the balance perfect.

    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong,¡± she says. ¡°We can¡¯t beat him. Not like this.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have to beat him.¡± I nod at the gunship. ¡°We just have to buy time.¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m starting to realize that you always pick the worst places to start being a hero.¡±

    I swing my left arm in a small circle, reseating the shoulder joint with a grunt of pain. ¡°It¡¯s hereditary. Can¡¯t help it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t? You¡¯re the one who¡¯s always having to save me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s got its perks. Smokeshow girl who¡¯s always falling into my arms, more chances to flirt than the Varsity on a weeknight, a sweet-ass bike¡­¡± she shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s a nice change of pace, being one of the good guys.¡±

    Thane drops his staff to a horizontal plane behind his back, settling into the old comfort of the Lungracian stance. His eyes flick between us. Calculating. Then back to the landing pad. His final chance to force our hands. We can¡¯t let him have it.

    Cal and I lunge forward as one.

    Not alternating or flanking, but moving together side-by-side. I don¡¯t even have to think about syncing up. Cal moves like my own shadow. When she stumbles, I take the fore. When I overextend, she¡¯s there to shield me with quick toggles of the Relic. We grow smoother in seconds than I¡¯ve ever been with another fighter. Small jostles, quick words, a panting quip the only recalibration we need as we hound Thane towards the landing pad.

    We always knew he would be preparing to fight against her Relic. He gave it to her, after all. Our only chance to hold the line isn¡¯t to rely on it to make him weaker. It¡¯s to embrace what makes us stronger. Embrace the light that Cal brought back to me. The skin-tingling effects of the aura, energy overflowing from me to her, propping us both up longer than we should ever be able to stand against Thane.

    I don¡¯t know if I ever could beat him, even with Cal¡¯s help. But I don¡¯t have to. Thane may be the better fighter between us, but I have a monopoly on stubbornness. I just have to drag him down with me when I fall.

    Icy rain showers over us as we break out onto the opposite side of the citadel; fresh snowflakes melting into sleet when they fall into the heat of my aura. Weak winter sunlight fights to crack through the grey-enveloped sky. Blinking through the half-melted rain, outnumbered and unable to use his Shifter abilities for more than a moment without Cal¡¯s Relic interfering, Thane still manages to fight back at a backpedal almost better than he does on solid ground. Every movement he makes executes attack and defense in the same action. He analyzes our patterns and counters by breaking us apart individually. Dissecting my overreliance on Cal. Answering in a twisted helix of two champions¡¯ styles, singling me out time and time again. But even as he seeks to break me and I him, there is no hatred to us now. Not anymore. We are children again as we fight to the death.

    The last shift he manages changes his staff to the falchion he ended our last fight with. We never let him slip away again. I overextend to steal his attention and keep him from stopping Jolie¡¯s escape, even when his strikes start landing truer and truer.

    Every slash I intercept in Cal¡¯s place, every injury Thane leaves forces me to feed greater and greater rivers of energy into my wounds just to keep standing. I can feel Cal flagging at the same rate I am. Even with nearly limitless amounts of ki to draw on, I¡¯ve been pushing out fighting levels of aura since I started chasing Aurix. My heart is fluttering as it¡¯s pushed to the brink. My body, still repairing itself, can¡¯t sustain so long a strain without breaking down at the molecular level. Human bodies weren¡¯t meant for this. Yet mine devours the agony with an ever-growing hunger. My teeth chatter as flesh chars at the tips of my fingers. But I can take it. I can take it. I have to take it.

    I can see the gunship¡¯s engines spooling up. Blue flames ignite behind the turbines. The landing gear lifts up two inches from the tarmac as hovertech kicks on. Yuki waves from the open door, shouts drowned out by the roar of my aura.

    Far below, freight convoys and bullet trains howl through the industrial district like wind through a canyon. My body burns on the verge of incinerating itself while I chase Thane through a manic series of backpedalling defenses, following him right to the edge of the bridge connecting the pad to the main of the citadel. He makes enough distance to throw out a hand and seize the gunship itself by its metal hull with elemental control, wrenching its rise to a stop. A guttural grunt tears from his chest as he drags it back down to the landing pad by sheer force of will.

    ¡°Go!¡± I scream at Yuki. ¡°Go! GO, Yuki!¡±

    The Duelist¡¯s lips tighten in understanding. He vanishes into the gunship. I breathe out a silent sigh of relief.

    Still finishing the pre-flight warmups in the cockpit, Jolie suddenly glances up, finding me through the rain. Her palm presses flat against the viewport. Mouth opening in a shout. Eyes wide with panic as she sees Yuki rushing into the cockpit behind her. She reaches for her buckles to rip free. Then the doors slam shut and the gunship kicks away and Thane wheels around, his chance lost, dire reality sweeping back in as his falchion passes through my vision like a windshield wiper to cut Cal down.

    A red crescent blossoms on her chest as she¡¯s thrown to the side. I lunge at Thane with a wild cry locked in my throat, tackling him roughly to the ground. My hands find his weapon and seize it with an iron grip. Bladed metal bites into my fingers; I don¡¯t care. I force it down towards his neck. Jerking it closer one millimeter at a time. Aura melting the bridge around us. His skin starts sizzling with an acrid stench.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make me,¡± I beg. ¡°Don¡¯t make me do this.¡±

    ¡°If you won¡¯t,¡± Thane grits out, ¡°I will.¡±

    He starts to fight me off. My breath comes in ragged hitches as I scream out, straining the muscles in my arms and begging them for more. More. I push him to the breaking point, driving the weapon down within an inch of victory. The blade¡¯s edge trembles at his throat. His arms shake with tension. We both know the moment they stop moving is the moment he dies. I waver on that edge for the briefest moment. He forces right past it without slowing.

    Redirecting the downward force just as he releases the tension in his arms, Thane guides the blade to slam into concrete instead of his neck, then uses the moment of jarring recoil to shove me off. I hit the ground in a limp pile, heart seizing in my chest, a thermal runaway of crushing pain ripping through my body.

    Thane wheels to his feet like a drunk. Body pushed so far beyond the human limits of endurance. Golden eyes wide with adrenaline as they find me defenseless on the ground, paralyzed by heart attack agony. His hand snaps to the side, palm open. The falchion slithers back towards his hand in liquid form. Then he takes two lurching steps towards me before Cal crashes into him from the side, driving him off-course.

    Fresh to the fight, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to come within ten paces of him. But we¡¯ve wrung everything out of each other.

    She blindsides him.

    Hands braced like she¡¯s holding a spear, Cal drives one of her real, long knives straight into Thane¡¯s chest. Blood sprays. They go down hard atop the bridge. A fist hammers down. She fights her way on top. Blade pushing for the kill, arms shaking, straining with all the strength she has left. Somehow Thane got a hand in the way. I claw back to my feet.

    ¡°Cal!¡± I scream. ¡°Cal, stop!¡±

    The dagger jerks another millimeter closer to his heart. Deadly calm, Cal reaffirms her grip while Thane stares up at her with the same impossible calm. His fingers slip in their own blood as he clutches at the blade.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna hate me for this, Tay. And that¡¯s okay.¡± Cal¡¯s voice cracks. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have to carry this weight.¡±

    Thane¡¯s struggling slows. His eyelashes flutter. Sudden, lethal tiredness finally taking hold. And he lets it. He could strike back. He could struggle. Shout. Do anything other than fight slowly as the blade scratches on the doorstep of his heart. But as his head rolls to the side and his golden eyes meet mine, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that deep inside him, there is a cursed boy, scared of his own name, who wishes this day had never come. A lost boy without a father who believes he¡¯s destined to do evil, and hates every atom of the monster he has become. Yet no matter how much he tries to change, he knows he cannot escape what he is. So he embraces it and hopes instead that he can pave the road to heaven with the bricks of hell.

    And he is wrong.

    I crawl forward and put myself over him. My fingers wrap over Cal¡¯s, stopping her from pushing the blade home. Again my heart seizes in my chest. I nearly collapse outright, and it¡¯s only because she doesn¡¯t understand that she lets me lift her hand away.

    Aura chars and stings my skin with an internal glow as I fight to raise my head, searching the feeble dawn for the last trail of the gunship. It escapes the capital¡¯s border without contest. Headed north. Relief floods through me. And it evaporates just as fast when a tectonic rumble of a voice shakes through my very bones.

    ¡°Noble,¡±

    A single, titanic thump reverberates through the very core of my being.

    ¡°and naive.¡±

    The dagger falls from Cal¡¯s frozen hands. I sweep it off the freefall drop to the industrial district and rise with a fawn¡¯s shaking strength to see him there. A platinum colossus larger than life, towering over the three broken humans that limp out of the citadel behind him.

    Fifty bare feet are all that protect me from Gami. Fresh snowfall melts in rivulets down his featureless golem shape. His head doesn¡¯t even shift towards the Shadows as he growls again.

    ¡°Failure.¡±

    Gami¡¯s tail snaps out and obliterates the mech pilot. Gory shrapnel peppers Aurix and Valance. They hunch frozen in shock as his tail slithers back into place and the full, dread weight of a Champion¡¯s attention falls on my battered, glowing frame.

    I stand straighter beneath it, staring him down from across the bridge. The winter sun cracks through the clouds to bathe me in its light. An eastern wind hammers my side, billowing out my hair, carrying the howl of the trains on its breezes. I reach down and grab Cal and an unconscious Thane by their collars. Cal in my left, Thane in my right. I fight and drag them to the edge. The railyards roil hundreds of feet below. All the while, Gami watches me like he must have watched my father so many times before. An apex predator behind a pane of glass. So huge of a threat that I don¡¯t even think twice about the cowering people behind him until the last fading word of a Magus¡¯ incantation and a faint snap of fingers reaches me like a whisper on the wind.

    ¡°...electrum.¡±

    Valance¡¯s scornful eyes meet mine across the expanse. Her outstretched hand twitches. A snap of fingers I¡¯m too exhausted, too wounded to react to in time. Electric energy gathers in her fingertips and explodes past Gami with a clap of thunder. A bolt of lightning sears across the bridge and into my chest faster than a blink.

    White-hot shock explodes through my body, my brain. Electrical agony rips a guttural cry out of me as I¡¯m kicked back by the force of the bolt. Ripped sideways, my whole body spasms, smoke pouring from my chest. My right hand locks in Thane¡¯s collar when the prosthetic¡¯s failsafes kick in, dragging him with me as my heels slip off the edge of the platform. But the fingers of my left stutter out of control.

    Cal drops out of my grip. Twisting towards me with a shout, she lunges to try and grab my wrist, golden eyes widening in rabid desperation as the other Shadows surge across the bridge behind her. Her fingers brush mine in the moment before gravity takes hold. She screams my name as our hands slip apart.

    And I fall.