《Neon and Ash》


 The Weight of Metal

    The rhythmic clang of metal against metal filled the dimly lit workshop, accompanied by the low hum of flickering neon signs outside. The scent of oil and rust clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of something fried wafting in from the street vendors outside. Wesker wiped the sweat from his brow, his synthetic arm whirring softly as he tightened a bolt on an old engine block. Even after years of using it, the weight of the arm still felt foreign¡ªlike an extension of himself that didn¡¯t quite belong.


    His uncle, Garrick, stood across from him, hands buried deep in a tangled mess of wires and circuits. The old man¡¯s goggles reflected the soft blue light of a holo-screen displaying schematics. ¡°You¡¯re still gripping that wrench like you¡¯re afraid it¡¯ll bite ya,¡± Garrick muttered, not looking up. ¡°Loosen up. That arm of yours is strong, but if you don¡¯t get a feel for it, you¡¯ll keep stripping bolts.¡±


    Wesker exhaled sharply. ¡°I *am* trying, you know.¡± He switched the wrench to his left hand¡ªhis natural hand¡ªand adjusted the bolt again. It felt easier, smoother. But that wasn¡¯t good enough. He needed both hands working at full capacity. He needed to prove that he could do more than just think his way through problems. In four months, the trial would decide his future, and if he failed again, he wouldn¡¯t get another shot.


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    Garrick finally looked up, scrutinizing Wesker with those sharp, calculating eyes. ¡°Four months ain¡¯t a long time,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re improving, but those faction reps? They don¡¯t care about improvement. They care about results.¡±


    Wesker clenched his jaw but said nothing. Garrick wasn¡¯t wrong. The expedition factions had their own standards, their own preferences. Some sought those with cybernetic enhancements; others demanded magic potential. Wesker had neither. Just a salvaged arm, a sharp mind, and a body that still hadn¡¯t caught up to his ambitions.


    A loud *clang* from outside interrupted his thoughts. The workshop¡¯s rusted-out door shook as something heavy slammed against it. Wesker and Garrick exchanged glances before the old man sighed and shuffled toward the entrance.


    ¡°If it¡¯s another drunk looking for a cheap tune-up, tell ¡¯em to piss off,¡± Wesker called after him.


    Garrick ignored him and pulled the door open. A figure stumbled inside, dressed in the tattered remains of what had once been expedition gear. Their breathing was ragged, eyes wild with exhaustion. ¡°Help¡ª¡± the stranger gasped, clutching at their side. ¡°They¡¯re coming¡ª¡±


    Before Wesker could react, the night outside erupted in flashing red lights and the distant sound of approaching boots. A low, electric growl rumbled through the air, sending a shiver down his spine.


    Something dangerous had followed this stranger here. And it wasn¡¯t going to knock before barging in.

 The Stranger at the Door

    The workshop lights flickered as the heavy door groaned shut behind the stranger. Their breath was ragged, and blood seeped through their fingers as they clutched their side. Wesker could see the torn remnants of expedition gear¡ªa deep blue jumpsuit, scratched and dirtied, marked with a faction insignia too tattered to identify.


    Garrick grabbed a rag from the workbench and tossed it to them. "You¡¯re bleeding all over my floor."


    The stranger pressed the rag against their wound, barely acknowledging the remark. Instead, their frantic gaze locked onto Wesker. ¡°You need to hide. Now.¡±


    Wesker¡¯s heart pounded. ¡°What? Why¡ª¡±


    BOOM!


    The street outside exploded in flashing red lights, and the low hum of power armor thrusters sent vibrations through the ground. The sound of boots¡ªheavy, deliberate, and far too many¡ªclosed in fast.


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    Garrick cursed under his breath. ¡°Hell no. You brought CorpSec to my shop?¡±


    The stranger tried to push themselves up but stumbled, their strength failing. ¡°Not CorpSec,¡± they gasped. ¡°Worse.¡±


    Wesker didn¡¯t wait to find out what worse meant. He rushed to the front window and pulled the blinds apart just enough to get a look outside.


    His stomach twisted.


    Through the neon haze of the streetlights, five armored figures stalked toward the shop. Their exosuits gleamed with sleek, high-grade plating¡ªnothing like the standard-issue security forces. These weren¡¯t officers. They were hunters.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Wesker turned back to Garrick. ¡°We need to move.¡±


    But Garrick was already ahead of him, wrenching open a hidden hatch in the floor. ¡°Get in.¡±


    The stranger hesitated. ¡°If they find you helping me¡ª¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for debates, kid,¡± Garrick snapped. ¡°Get your ass in there, or we all die.¡±


    A second explosion rocked the street. Dust and debris rattled from the ceiling. The shop¡¯s door handle glowed red¡ªsomething on the other side was heating it up, preparing to melt straight through.


    Wesker grabbed the stranger and shoved them toward the hatch. ¡°Move!¡±


    As they dropped into the hidden tunnel, the last thing Wesker saw before pulling the hatch closed was the door bursting inward¡ª


    And the thing stepping inside was not human.

 Into the Tunnels

    The hatch slammed shut just as the first heavy footstep hit the workshop floor above.


    Wesker barely had time to catch his breath before Garrick yanked him forward. ¡°No time to sit around¡ªmove!¡±


    The underground tunnel was narrow, carved into the bedrock beneath the shop. It smelled of old oil and damp earth, and the flickering emergency lights lining the walls barely pushed back the darkness. Wesker had been down here before¡ªGarrick used it to store less-than-legal parts¡ªbut tonight, it wasn¡¯t just a storage space. It was their only chance to survive.


    The stranger stumbled beside him, still clutching their side. Wesker reached out to steady them. ¡°You good?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been better,¡± they muttered through gritted teeth.


    Above them, the sound of metal scraping against metal made Wesker¡¯s skin crawl. It wasn¡¯t footsteps¡ªit was something sharper, heavier. A guttural, mechanical growl rumbled through the ceiling, followed by a sound like a blade carving into steel.


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    Wesker¡¯s heart pounded. What the hell is that thing?


    Garrick moved fast, reaching a rusted control panel embedded in the tunnel wall. With a few quick button presses, a whirr echoed through the passage. Somewhere above, a heavy crash followed¡ªprobably the shop¡¯s emergency lockdown system kicking in. Reinforced shutters, blast-proof plating. It wouldn¡¯t stop whatever was up there, but it might slow it down.


    Might.


    ¡°Down here.¡± Garrick motioned to a side path, one Wesker didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°Where does this lead?¡± Wesker asked as they hurried through.


    ¡°Away from that thing,¡± Garrick shot back. ¡°That¡¯s all you need to know.¡±


    The walls narrowed, and the tunnel sloped downward. It was getting harder to breathe¡ªthe air was thick with dust and something else, something old.


    The stranger stumbled again, and this time they collapsed to one knee.


    Wesker stopped. ¡°We have to get them help.¡±


    Garrick grimaced but didn¡¯t argue. ¡°There¡¯s an exit up ahead. We get topside, and we find a doc.¡±


    Wesker nodded, slipping his synthetic arm under the stranger¡¯s shoulder and helping them up. ¡°Almost there.¡±


    The sound of metal twisting violently above made his stomach drop.


    Then came the worst part.


    Silence.


    The thing upstairs had stopped moving.


    Wesker didn¡¯t know what was worse¡ªthe sound of its pursuit or the realization that it had just changed tactics.


    They weren¡¯t out of this yet.


    And whatever was up there?


    It was still hunting them.