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"Don't move, asset. Hands behind your head or I'll blow a hole through your shoulder," a voice barked, cold as a morgue slab.
I didn't have time to breathe. A heavy boot slammed into the small of my back, pinning me face-down against the grimy floor. The metallic click of a rifle safety being switched off echoed in the small room. My cheek was pressed into a puddle of something sticky—probably rat blood—and my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Easy on the merchandise, boys," another voice said. This one was deeper, smoother, with a low rasp that felt like sandpaper on silk. "She's a Level 1. Rare for a vat-grown. Don't scratch the paint."
I twisted my head, squinting through the grit. A man stood over me, silhouetted by the flickering neon of the hallway. He was huge—broad shoulders, tactical gear that looked like it cost more than my entire neighborhood, and eyes that scanned me not as a person, but as a piece of hardware.
"Get off me!" I snarled, trying to buck my hips.
"Wrong tone, sweetheart," the guy with the boot said, pressing his weight harder into my spine.
"Shut up, Tiny," the leader snapped. He stepped closer, the toe of his combat boot inches from my nose. He reached down, grabbing the collar of my shirt and hauling me up with one effortless jerk. He didn't let go. He held me pinned against the wall, his forearm pressing into my throat just enough to make my pulse thrum against his skin.
He smelled like ozone and expensive tobacco. His eyes were a piercing, artificial amber.
"You're Maya Kade," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Who cares?" I gasped, clawing at his arm. "Let me go, you oversized thug!"
From the floor, a high-pitched, obnoxious voice piped up. "Oh, look at her! Trying to play the fierce little kitten while she's literally dangling. It's adorable, really. Truly a masterclass in futility."
I looked down. Pip, the raggedy plush bear, was sitting upright on the floor, staring at the mercenaries with a smug expression stitched into his face.
"The toy talks," the mercenary with the boot remarked, raising his gun toward Pip. "That's a new one."
"Put that pea-shooter away, you Neanderthal!" Pip yelled. "I'm a high-tier tactical interface, and you're... what? A glorified babysitter for corporate scrap? Your gear is three seasons out of date, by the way. Embarrassing."
The leader—the one holding me—didn't look at Pip. He kept his eyes locked on mine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. The proximity was suffocating. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a predatory energy that made the hair on my arms stand up.
"I'm Jax Rho," he whispered, his voice vibrating in my chest. "And you just lit up the sky like a flare, Maya. Every scavenger, every corporate hit-squad, and every mutated freak in the Underbelly knows exactly where you are. You're not an asset anymore. You're bait."
He let go suddenly, and I slumped against the wall, coughing.
"So what? You're going to kill me?" I spat, wiping my mouth.
Jax stepped back, crossing his arms. "Killing you is easy. Keeping you alive is where the profit is. You've got combat genes that shouldn't exist in a courier. That makes you valuable. But right now, you're broke, hunted, and probably about five minutes away from being eaten by something with too many teeth."
"I don't need your help," I snapped, though my legs were still shaking.
"You're lying," Jax said, a small, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And you're bad at it. Look at your hands. You're still shaking from the level-up. You can't even stand straight, and you think you're taking on the city? Cute."
"He's right, Maya!" Pip chimed in, hopping toward me. "You're a disaster. A walking, breathing catastrophe. Please, for the love of all that is digital, let the big scary man save us before we become rat snacks."
"Shut up, Pip!" I yelled, then looked back at Jax. "What do you want?"
Jax reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a small, shimmering data-chip. He held it between two fingers, dangling it like a carrot.
"A contract," Jax said. "I provide the protection. I provide the gear. I get you out of the kill-zone. In exchange, you work for me. Every credit you make from deliveries, every piece of loot you find, fifty percent goes to me. And you follow my orders. No questions, no side-quests, no trying to run."
"Fifty percent?" I gasped. "That's robbery!"
"That's the 'I'm-not-letting-you-die' tax," Jax replied. He stepped forward again, closing the gap until we were chest to chest. He was so tall I had to crane my neck. He didn't touch me this time, but he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, commanding hum. "Take the deal, or I walk out that door. And the moment I do, the Bloom-hounds will be through that wall in sixty seconds. Your choice, Maya. Freedom to die, or a leash that keeps you breathing."
I looked at the chip. Then at Pip, who was nodding frantically. Then at Jax. His eyes were cold, but there was something else there—a challenge. He didn't just want a worker; he wanted to see if I'd break.
"I hate you already," I whispered.
"Get in line," he smirked.
I reached out and snatched the chip from his fingers. The moment my skin brushed his, a jolt of static electricity snapped between us. I flinched, but he didn't move an inch.
"Good girl," he said, and the way he said it made my stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip. "Now move. We're leaving before this block becomes a crater."
He grabbed my wrist—not gently, but not painfully either—and yanked me toward the exit. I stumbled after him, clutching Pip under my arm. As we hit the hallway, the sirens outside began to wail, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Wait," I said, stopping short. "Why me? There are plenty of vat-growns in the Underbelly. Why go through the trouble of hunting a broke courier?"
Jax stopped and turned. He didn't answer immediately. He looked at me, really looked at me, his gaze lingering on the mark on my neck where the combat genes had flared.
"Because," he said slowly, "you're not just any vat-grown. You're a glitch in the system. And I've always liked breaking things."
Before I could snap back, Pip suddenly went dead quiet. The plush bear's eyes flickered from blue to a sharp, warning red. He stiffened in my arms, his voice losing all its sass and turning into a flat, mechanical drone.
"Maya. Stop moving," Pip whispered.
"What now?" I asked, glancing at Jax.
"The Bloom just tagged you," Pip said, the red light in his eyes pulsing like a heartbeat. "Your signature is public. The Nest is hunting you now. And they're already in the building."