Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"Jump now or wait three minutes." The system's voice cut through the rail yard noise like it owned the inside of my skull.
"Three minutes puts me past curfew," I said. Talking to a ghost chip probably meant I'd lost it, but here we were.
"Current risk coefficient: 0.73. Potential payout: insufficient for stated objective."
I looked at the gap between platforms. Twenty feet, maybe twenty-five. The express to the medical district screamed through every eight minutes. If I timed it wrong, I'd be paste. If I timed it right, I'd have enough credits to buy one—maybe two—oxygen refills for Danny.
"How much for the jump?"
"Calculation requires measurable risk. Initiate action for assessment."
"That's a scam answer."
The chip didn't respond. My wrist itched where the metal had fused to skin. Forty minutes ago I'd been a broke courier with a dying brother. Now I had a death timer, a rogue system, and apparently a new career in stupid decisions.
I checked the time. Two minutes thirty.
The platform across the gap was empty except for one guy in a maintenance vest, head down, welding something that sparked white-hot. He wouldn't see me. Wouldn't care if he did. Rail jumpers died every week in the sublevel stations. One more body wouldn't make the morning log.
Danny's last message sat unread in my peripheral vision. I didn't need to open it. I knew what it said. The same thing it always said lately.
Can't breathe. Need the scrubber fixed.
"Fine," I said. "Track the jump. Pay me when I land."
"Acknowledged. Risk coefficient will adjust in real time. Higher danger yields higher return."
"You're telling me if I make it worse, you'll pay me more?"
"Correct."
I stepped to the edge. The rail below hummed, magnetic current building. Sixty seconds until the express came through.
"You're a nightmare," I told the chip.
"You are the host. Parameters reflect optimization for survival."
"Survival doesn't mean playing chicken with a train."
"Current credit balance: insufficient for medical-grade oxygen refill. Risk elevation required."
It had a point. I hated that it had a point.
The hum grew louder. Forty seconds. I could see the light now, cutting through the tunnel from the north. Fast. Too fast.
I should wait. I should take the local, pay what I had, tell Danny to ration the air he had left.
I didn't move back.
"Risk coefficient rising. Current projection: 4.2. Payout scaling."
The train's headlamp flooded the tunnel. Thirty seconds. The maintenance guy looked up, saw me at the edge, and went back to his welding. Guess I looked committed.
"Tell me when," I said.
"Optimal window: nine seconds before rail intersection."
"That's insane."
"That is the requirement."
The train was close enough now I could feel the air pressure shift. My coat whipped back. The noise swallowed everything—screaming metal on metal, the magnetic whine, my pulse hammering in my ears.
"Now," the system said.
I ran.
Three steps and I launched off the platform edge. For one long, weightless moment, I saw the train nose cutting into the gap below me, close enough I could've spit on the windshield. My coat dragged, caught the slipstream, and I felt the pull—gravity and velocity trying to decide who got to kill me first.
Then my boots hit concrete.
I rolled, slammed into a support beam, and stayed down. My ribs screamed. My shoulder felt wrong. But I was on the other side, and the train was a blur of red light shrieking past where I'd just been.
"Risk assessment complete. Coefficient achieved: 6.8. Payout: nine hundred twenty credits."
I pushed up to my knees, gasping. Nine hundred twenty. That was two refills. Maybe three if I went to Jon's contact instead of the clinic.
"You—" I had to stop, breathe. "You nearly killed me."
"Incorrect. Probability of death was 32%. Well within acceptable risk margins."
"Acceptable for who?"
"For a host requiring rapid credit accumulation. Secondary benefit: neural pathway reinforcement detected. Future risk calibration will improve."
I dragged myself up, leaning on the beam. The maintenance guy hadn't even turned around. I checked my wrist. The credit balance glowed soft blue under the skin. Real. Not a glitch.
I could get Danny what he needed. Tonight. Right now.
My hands were shaking.
"What's the death timer at?" I asked.
"Sixty-one hours, fourteen minutes."
I did the math. I'd lost almost ten hours since the chip locked in. Ten hours for one jump. At this rate, I'd be dead in three days unless I found a way to shut the countdown off.
"How do I stop it?"
"Objective unclear. Specify query."
"The timer. How do I stop the timer?"
"Death timer termination requires host to fulfill contract terms or achieve system removal."
"What contract? I didn't sign anything."
"Chip activation constitutes agreement. Terms embedded in original host's biometric lock. You bypassed authentication. Penalty clause is now active."
I stared at the glowing display. I'd stolen a dead man's chip, and he'd left me his bill.
"What were the terms?"
"Restricted. Access denied."
"That's my death sentence and you won't even tell me why?"
The system didn't answer. I took that as a yes.
I pulled up the map overlay, found the nearest gray-market med depot, and started walking. My shoulder hurt bad enough I knew something was torn, but I could move it. That meant I could work. That meant I could buy time.
The depot was six blocks south, down past the old factory stacks where the surveillance nets had gone dark two years ago. I kept my head down, stuck to the maintenance lanes, and didn't look at anyone. At this hour, the only people out were the ones who didn't want to be seen. I fit right in.
Halfway there, my wrist flashed red.
"Alert: hostile tracking signature detected. Designation: Hunter Kael Voss. Distance: four hundred meters. Approach vector: northeast."
I stopped. Looked back. The street behind me was empty except for a row of parked cargo shells and one burnt-out streetlamp.
"Who's Kael Voss?"
"City-registered hunter. Specialty: recovery and termination. Current contract status: unknown."
"Is he after me?"
"Probability: 91%."
I ran.
The depot was two blocks. I could make two blocks. I cut through an alley, hurdled a trash compactor, and came out on the service road behind the old canning plant. The depot's sign flickered ahead—red cross, half the bulbs dead.
My wrist flashed again.
"Hunter Kael Voss: three hundred meters. Trajectory adjusted. He is tracking you."
"How? I'm not tagged."
"Chip signature is broadcasting. Cannot suppress without full shutdown."
"Then shut it down!"
"Shutdown will terminate payout systems, navigation, and threat monitoring. Death timer will continue. Recommend maintaining active status."
I hit the depot door and slammed my palm on the buzzer. A camera swiveled, scanned my face, and the lock clicked open. I shoved through into the dim, chemical-stink interior. The guy behind the counter didn't look up from his screen.
"Oxygen refills," I said. "Medical-grade. Two units."
"Six hundred."
I transferred the credits. He slid two canisters across the counter, still not looking at me.
I clipped them to my belt and checked the door. No one outside. Yet.
"Back exit?"
The guy jerked his chin toward the rear hall. I took it, pushed through a fire door, and came out in the loading bay. Empty. I pulled up the map, found the fastest route back to my block, and started moving.
My wrist flashed red again.
"Hunter Kael Voss: entered your residential block. Current distance: seventy meters."
I stopped breathing.
Danny was home. Alone. And someone who killed people for a living had just walked into our building.