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Ryan woke up on a medical bench with his port still jacked in.
The cable ran across his shoulder to a wall rig humming like a bad refrigerator. His left leg was numb again. He tried to sit up and the room tilted hard.
"Easy." Natasha stepped into view, holding a slate. "Your core temp spiked twice while you were under. I had to cool the line or you'd have fried the interface."
He yanked the cable out. His neck sparked and his vision whited out for a second. When it cleared she was still standing there, not even flinched.
"You done?" she said.
Ryan swung his legs off the bench. His boots hit the floor and his knee buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the bench and stayed there, breathing hard.
"What did you put in me?"
"A cooling protocol. I told you that."
"Bullshit. Erica said there's code in my port that wasn't there before. Code that moves."
Natasha set the slate down on the counter. "Erica Shea sells intel to whoever pays. You trust her more than me?"
"I don't trust either of you."
"Smart." She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "But you're still here."
Ryan straightened up. His leg held this time. "I'm leaving."
"No. You're not."
He looked at her. She didn't move. Didn't reach for anything. Just stood there like she'd already won.
"You can't keep me here," he said.
"I don't have to keep you. You'll come back."
"The hell I will."
"You will. Because in three days your regulator's going to fail again and when it does you'll cook from the inside out. The only thing keeping you stable right now is the protocol I installed."
Ryan felt the spark in his chest. The one that'd been there since he woke up. He'd thought it was residual discharge. Now he wasn't sure.
"You're lying," he said.
"Am I?" She picked up the slate and turned it toward him. The screen showed a live readout. Voltage, core temp, neural load. His numbers. "Your baseline's already climbing. Another two degrees and you'll start losing motor control. Four degrees and you'll seize. Six and your heart stops."
He stared at the readout. The core temp line was rising. Slow, but steady.
"That protocol's the only thing cycling the heat out of your system," Natasha said. "You pull it, you're dead in seventy-two hours. Probably less."
Ryan's hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. "So what. You own me now."
"I need you functional. That's all."
"For how long."
"Until I have enough data to crack the hardware I'm working on. Could be a month. Could be six."
"And then?"
"Then I pull the protocol and you walk."
"Or I'm dead."
She didn't answer. Didn't have to.
Ryan turned toward the door. His leg was still numb but he could move. He made it three steps before the room lurched and his vision went grey at the edges.
He caught himself on the wall. His palm left a wet print. Sweat. His core temp was spiking.
Natasha didn't move. Just watched.
"You can leave," she said. "But you'll be back here in two days, begging."
Ryan pushed off the wall and kept going. The door was right there. He could see the hallway outside. Concrete floor, fluorescent lights, exit sign at the far end.
He got his hand on the door handle. His fingers wouldn't close. The current was backfiring up his arm, locking the joints.
He let go and stepped back. The current eased.
"There's another way," Natasha said behind him. "You fight. I pull data. You stay stable. When I'm done, I fix the regulator. Permanent. You walk out of here better than you came in."
Ryan turned around. "You can fix it?"
"I can. But I need the burnout data first. Your body's spitting out edge cases my simulations can't replicate. I get enough samples, I can map the failure points and patch them."
"And if you can't?"
"Then you die on my bench instead of in an alley. At least here you'll be sedated."
He laughed. It came out bitter. "That's the pitch?"
"That's the truth."
Ryan looked at the door again. His hand was still shaking. The current was building in his chest, looking for a way out.
He thought about the contract Erica had shown him. The one with his ID on it. Property. Inventory. He'd been a piece of hardware three years ago and he was a piece of hardware now.
"How many fights," he said.
"As many as it takes."
"And if I burn out before you get your data?"
Natasha picked up the slate and swiped through a few screens. "Then I find someone else. But I'd rather not. You're the best sample I've had."
Best sample. Not best fighter. Not even best candidate. Sample.
Ryan's chest sparked. The current jumped up into his jaw and his teeth buzzed. He tasted copper.
Natasha saw it. "You're spiking. Sit down before you seize."
He didn't sit. He turned toward the corner of the room where a second bench sat with restraint straps hanging off the sides. There was a dark stain on the floor underneath it. Old blood, or worse.
"Who else have you run through here," Ryan said.
Natasha didn't answer right away. When she did her voice was flat. "Four. Before you."
"Where are they now."
"Two walked. One bought out his contract. One didn't make it."
Ryan looked at the stain again. "Didn't make it."
"His regulator failed during a fight. He seized on the cage floor and didn't stop. We pulled him out but he was already gone."
"You killed him."
"His hardware killed him. Same hardware that's killing you."
Ryan's vision went grey again. The current was climbing. He could feel it in his teeth, his fingertips, the base of his skull. His leg gave out and he went down on one knee.
Natasha moved fast. She was next to him with a handheld interface, jamming the contact against his port. The current surged and then dropped. The grey cleared.
Ryan sucked in air. His chest was on fire but the current was cycling down. Manageable. Barely.
Natasha pulled the contact away. "That's what happens when the protocol lags. It'll get worse."
Ryan stayed on his knee, breathing hard. He could still see the stain on the floor. Could still see the guy seizing in the cage, body arcing, crowd screaming.
He saw himself there. Saw his own face locked in a rictus, eyes rolled back, current cooking him from the inside.
"Get up," Natasha said.
He didn't move.
"Ryan. Get up."
He looked at her. She was holding out a hand. He stared at it.
"I'm not the enemy," she said. "Your body is. I'm the only reason you're still breathing."
He took her hand. She pulled him to his feet. His leg held this time.
The speaker on the wall crackled. A woman's voice came through, clipped and cold.
"Run, Ghostline."
Ryan froze. Natasha spun toward the speaker.
"Who the hell is on this channel," she snapped.
The voice didn't answer. The speaker went dead.
Ryan's port buzzed. Not a surge. Something else. A ping. Foreign code knocking.
"What was that," he said.
Natasha was already moving toward the wall rig, pulling up diagnostics. "Someone just breached my network."
"Who."
"I don't know. But they know you're here." She looked at him. "Who the hell is Ghostline?"