We sprinted through the labyrinth of the undercity. The air was thick with the smell of burnt plastic and ozone. Every time I turned a corner, I felt a strange tug in my mind—a ghost of a memory. A white room. A man's voice. Someone screaming.
"Stop thinking so hard," Jax said, glancing back at me. "You're spiking your neural load. If you push the mods too hard without a stabilizer, you'll blow a fuse before we even hit the clinic."
"Why are you helping me?" I asked, breathless.
Jax stopped abruptly, pulling me into a dark alcove. He was so close I could smell the cheap energy drinks and stale coffee on him. He leaned in, his goggles reflecting the neon signs of the district.
"Because," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, "I've been trying to crack the Olympus core for three years. You're the first piece of their tech that actually walked out the front door. You're not a girl to me, 042. You're a master key."
I felt a surge of disgust. "So I'm just a tool to you. Great."
"Better a tool than a corpse," he countered. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the mod in my arm. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a sharp contrast to the cold rain starting to mist around us. "Now, be a good little weapon and keep your mouth shut. We're almost at the safehouse."
He led me through a series of unmarked doors and flickering corridors until we reached a room that looked like a surgical theater crashed into a computer lab. Wires hung from the ceiling like mechanical vines, and a massive, outdated server hummed in the corner.
"Sit," Jax commanded, pointing to a reinforced chair.
I didn't sit. I stood my ground, eyes scanning the room for exits. "What happens if I don't?"
Jax sighed and stepped toward me, his presence suddenly more imposing. He didn't use force, but he used the space, crowding me toward the chair. "What happens is you keep standing there for another six minutes, and then your brain liquefies. I can't do the bypass while you're dancing around the room."
I looked at the timer.
[00:04:30]
I sat.
Jax moved with surprising speed, snapping a series of neural leads onto my temples. The cold metal felt like ice against my skin. He leaned over me, his face inches from mine. I could see the golden flecks in his eyes, the intensity of someone who had spent too much time staring at code and not enough time staring at people.
"This is going to hurt," he warned. "A lot."
"Just do it," I snapped.
He slammed a switch on the console.
White noise exploded in my skull. I screamed, my back arching off the chair, but Jax's hand slammed onto my shoulder, pinning me down. His grip was bruising, desperate.
"Stay with me!" he shouted over the screech of the system. "Don't let the wipe take you back! Fight it!"
Images flashed—blood on a white floor, a man with a scarred face laughing, the feeling of a knife sliding between ribs. It wasn't just memory; it was muscle memory. I knew these kills. I had done them.
Then, the noise stopped. The silence was worse.
I gasped for air, my chest heaving. The red HUD was gone. In its place, a single, steady green line pulsed.
"Did it work?" I whispered.
Jax didn't answer. He was staring at his monitor, his face pale.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to stand.
"The bypass worked," Jax said, his voice trembling. "But the system didn't just wipe your name, 042. It left a backdoor. And something just walked through it."
Suddenly, my ear implant crackled. A new voice—cold, precise, and utterly devoid of emotion—echoed inside my head.
"Target acquired. Asset 042 is active."
I froze.
"Jax?" I asked, looking at him.
He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was looking at the door.
"Run," Jax whispered, his eyes widening. "Run, or you're brain-dead in ten."