Chapter 26 · Neon Bloodbath

"Don't bother begging. It’s messy and it doesn't work," the man said, his voice a flat, corporate drone.

He didn't even look at me. He was busy checking the charge on his plasma blade, the blue light reflecting off the sterile white floor of the corridor. I was pinned against the wall, my left arm sparking, a jagged piece of plating hanging off my shoulder like a piece of rotten meat.

"I'm not begging," I spat. My voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "I'm just wondering why you're still talking when you could be bleeding."

"Vera," he sighed, finally looking up. His eyes weren't human—they were high-end optics, gold-rimmed and cold. "You were a masterpiece once. Now you're just scrap waiting for the incinerator. It's almost sad."

*He’s not just a cleaner,* Echo’s voice hissed in my head. *He’s a Model 7. Same series as your old squad. He knows exactly where your joints are weakest.*

"Shut up, Echo," I muttered under my breath.

"I can't shut up, Vera. I'm literally woven into your nervous system. Also, if you don't move in the next three seconds, he's going to take your head off."

The Model 7 moved.