Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"Don't you fucking move."
The muzzle grinds straight into the soft spot behind my skull and my whole stitched-together body locks up.
Cold steel. Shaking hand. But the pressure? Steady. Professional.
"You twitch, I core you," she snaps. "You breathe wrong, I core you. Got it?"
I got it. I got it so hard I can't even swallow.
I'm face-down in pit-muck, cheek in the slime, some guard whimpering two feet away holding his busted wrist. And this hunter — this woman — has her knee on my back and a rifle jammed into the base of my head where the System says my core is.
My core. My reset button. My everything.
"Vera Quinn, Rift Hunter, license seven-nine," she barks, like she's reading me my rights. "You are unregistered stitch-class, pit-born, property of Vane Farm. You will not move until collection."
Property. Yeah. That's what Hector calls me too.
I try to make a sound. It comes out as this wet, clicking growl. Not human. Not even close.
"Oh, hell no," she mutters. "Don't you start with the death rattle."
She jams the gun harder. I see her boots, black, laced tight, caked in pit blood. I see the guard's blood on my claws. I see the little rat-tail I ate still twitching in my gut, giving me that weird night-vision buzz.
"Please," I try to say. It doesn't sound like please. It sounds like "Grr-lease."
Her knee shifts. Just a fraction. She heard it.
"What did you say?" she says, voice dropping. "Did you just — did you just talk?"
I force it. Every stitch in my throat screaming. "Don't... pull... it."
The gun freezes.
For a second the whole pit goes silent except for the guard hyperventilating.
"No," she whispers. "No, no, no. Stitches don't talk. You don't talk."
"Please," I rasp again. My voice is shredded glass and wet meat. "Don't."
She yanks my head up by the scruff — by the actual stapled skin at the back of my neck — and flips me over.
And then we're eye to eye.
She's not what I expected. Late twenties, maybe. Scar through her left eyebrow, hair pulled back so tight it has to hurt, eyes this crazy pale grey. Hunter eyes. And she's close. So close I can feel her breath, see the sweat on her upper lip, smell gun oil and cheap coffee.
Her rifle is still on me. Right between my eyes now. Her finger is white on the trigger.
"You think?" she hisses. "You actually think in there?"
I nod. Just once. The staples pull.
"Bullshit," she says. But her hand is shaking now. For real shaking. "Vane's stitches are dumb meat. They don't beg. They don't —"
"I... was... guy," I choke out. "Lab... blew..."
Her eyes blow wide. "What did you say?"
"Jace," I get out. "Name's... Jace."
That does it. Her whole face does this little flinch, like I slapped her.
"Stop it," she says. "Stop talking. Stitches don't have names."
"Then... shoot," I say. And I mean it. My heart — this patched-together heart — is hammering so loud I swear she can hear it. "If I'm... just meat... shoot."
She doesn't. Her finger tightens, then loosens. Tightens again. She can't do it.
"Fuck," she breathes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
She looks over her shoulder fast, like she's checking if anyone saw. The guard is still on the ground, staring at us like we're both ghosts.
"You tell anyone you heard that and I will feed you to him myself, understand?" she snaps at the guard.
The guard nods frantically. "I didn't hear nothing! I swear, Quinn!"
She looks back down at me. Her gun is still on my forehead but her other hand — her free hand — is hovering near my face. Not touching. Just... hovering. Like she doesn't know what to do with it.
"You're not supposed to be like this," she whispers. More to herself than to me. "You're supposed to be a clean kill. Fifty credits a head, in and out."
"Not... clean," I rasp. "Help... me."
Her jaw clenches. "I don't help stitches. I harvest them."
"You... don't want to," I say. Because I can see it. In her eyes. That hesitation. That human part fighting the hunter part.
She bares her teeth. "You don't know what I want."
"Then why... haven't you... pulled it?"
That hits. Hard.
She jerks back like I burned her, but she doesn't get off me. She can't. Because if she gets off me, she has to decide what I am. And if she decides I'm a person, her whole job falls apart.
Alarms explode.
Not the little pit buzzers. The big ones. City-level. Wailing, screaming, red lights strobing across the whole farm ceiling.
"Shit!" Vera snaps, head whipping up. "What now?"
The guard screams, "Breach! It's a breach!"
The far wall — the huge rusted gate that leads up-top — slams down with a BOOM that shakes slime off the ceiling. Dust rains. Then the inner doors. Then the side doors. One after another, CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.
We're sealed in. The three of us, in a ten-by-ten concrete box with one flickering light.
"No, no, no, no," Vera mutters, scrambling off me but keeping the rifle trained. "Vane, you cheap bastard, you said this sector was clear!"
I push up onto my elbows. My claws scrape concrete. Everything hurts.
"Forced proximity?" I wheeze, trying to joke and failing. "Really... not my... type."
She stares at me, then at the locked doors, then back at me. "You think this is funny? We're locked in a kill-box, stitch."
"Jace," I correct her.
"Stitch," she snaps right back.
The speakers crackle. Loud. So loud my new sonar ears ring.
"Hunter Quinn." That voice. Smooth, amused, like a guy selling knives on TV. Hector Vane. "And my lovely little stitch. How cozy."
Vera goes rigid. "Vane. Open the doors. You got a breach, you need hunters out there, not locked in here."
"Oh, but I need you exactly where you are," Vane says, and I can hear the smile. "You see, Vera, you owe me. Thirty thousand credits, due last month. And that stitch? He's my prototype. My one good one. The one that finally kept a human mind. I want him alive. Intact. Core unblown."
Vera's finger twitches on the trigger. "You want him alive, you come get him yourself."
"I would," Vane purrs. "But the pit is venting in ninety seconds. Automated purge. Everything in that box gets flash-burned unless..."
The lights go blood red.
"Unless what?" Vera snarls.
"Unless you bind him," Vane says. "Farm contract. Standard symbiosis pact. You share vitals, you share damage, you keep each other breathing till extraction. You sign, I pause the purge. You don't... well. You both cook. And I write off your debt with your ashes. Your choice, darling."
A holo blinks up between me and Vera. Green text, buzzing in the dusty air.
[FARM BINDING CONTRACT: SYMBIOTIC SURVIVAL PACT] [PARTIES: VERA QUINN + STITCH-07 (JACE)] [TERMS: SHARED VITAL LINK. IF ONE DIES, BOTH TAKE 50% LETHAL FEEDBACK. BREAK THE BOND = BOTH FLATLINE.] [DURATION: UNTIL EXTRACTION OR 72 HOURS.] [ACCEPT? Y / N]
Vera reads it and her face goes white. "Are you out of your fucking mind? You want me to link with it?"
"Him," I croak. "Say him."
"Shut up!" she snaps at me. Then to the ceiling, "Vane, this is suicide! These things eat hunters!"
"This one begs," Vane says lightly. "And you hesitated, Vera. I saw it on cam. You couldn't pull the trigger. So now you get to live with that soft heart. Literally."
The countdown starts on the wall. Big red numbers.
[ PURGE IN: 00:58 ]
Heat hisses from vents. The concrete starts to warm under my claws.
"We die," I say to her, fast. "Or we... link. I don't... want to die again."
"Again?" She looks at me sharp. "What do you mean again?"
"Just... trust me," I say. "Please. I can... get us out. But not... fried."
[ 00:42 ]
Sweat drips down her temple. She looks at the gun, at the contract, at me.
"If you eat me, I swear to god —"
"Won't," I promise. "Need you... to live."
"Fifty percent feedback," she reads, voice shaking. "So if you get shot, I feel it. If I get shot, you feel it."
"Yeah," I say. "So don't... get shot."
She lets out this choked, furious laugh. "God, you are such an asshole for a monster."
[ 00:21 ]
The vents glow orange. The guard is banging on the door screaming.
"Decide, Hunter," Vane sings. "Your debt or your life."
Vera drops to one knee, right in front of me, rifle still in one hand, and slams her palm onto the Y.
"Fine! Fine, you bastard, I accept! Now pause the damn burn!"
I slam my claw down on the Y too. The second I do, fire rips up my arm.
Not real fire. Something deeper. Like a hot wire stitching my chest to hers.
Vera gasps — actually doubles over — hand clutching her chest. I feel it too, this weird echo thump, her heartbeat slamming into my ribs like it's mine.
[ BINDING COMPLETE. LINK ESTABLISHED. ] [ PURGE PAUSED. ]
The heat cuts. The red lights hold.
We're both breathing hard, staring at each other, way too close. Her hand is still on the holo, my claw over hers. Her skin is hot. Mine is... whatever stitched skin is. Cold and buzzing.
She yanks her hand back like she got shocked. "Don't touch me."
"Didn't... plan to," I pant. But I can feel her pulse now, thudding against my own. It's fast. Terrified.
The speaker crackles again, but Vane's voice is different now. Colder.
"Good girl. Now stay put, both of you. Recovery team is coming. And Vera? If that stitch is damaged when we open that door, I take it out of your hide. Literally."
The doors stay locked. The holo contract fades. But another screen flickers on — the big bounty board on the wall, the one that usually shows pit prices.
It glitches. Then new text burns in, bright white on black, with a siren wail.
[ PRIORITY ACQUISITION: STITCH-07 — ALIVE ONLY ] [ REWARD: 500,000 CREDITS ] [ STATUS: CONTAINED WITH HUNTER VERA QUINN — CONSIDER HER EXPENDABLE ]
And under it, a fresh countdown starts ticking, not purge, something worse.
[ RECOVERY ETA: 71:59:59 ]
Vera reads it, and all the blood drains from her face.
"Expendable?" she whispers. She looks at me, then at the rifle in her hands, then at the locked door as boots start thudding on the other side. "Jace — they just put a price on both our heads and —"