"Stop staring at it like it's a holy relic and start moving, Kane!" Lyra's voice snapped through the air, sharp enough to cut glass.
She didn't wait for him to respond. She grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin, and yanked him toward the rusted bulkhead of the scrap-city's lower ward. Kane didn't resist. He couldn't. His mind was still buzzing from the kill—the raw, electric rush of stealing that hunter's energy. It felt like liquid gold pouring into his veins, a high so intense it made the world around him look gray and pathetic.
"I can still feel it," Kane muttered, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "The way he just... emptied out. Like he was never even there."
Lyra stopped dead. She spun around, her boots kicking up a cloud of metallic dust. She stepped into his space, her chest nearly brushing his. She was smaller than him, but in this moment, she held all the cards. She knew where the exits were; he barely knew how to breathe without instinct taking over.
"That's the problem," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "That 'high' is a beacon. You didn't just take his power, you lit a flare in the middle of a dark room. Every Imperial sensor within ten sectors just pinged. You're not a ghost anymore, Kane. You're a target."
Kane looked down at her. He could smell the ozone and cheap engine oil clinging to her clothes. He felt a strange pull, a magnetic tension that had nothing to do with the void energy. He stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head back.
"And you're the one who told me to fight," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Now you're scared?"
Lyra didn't flinch. She leaned in, her breath warm against his jaw. "I'm not scared of the fight. I'm scared of the cleanup. If you get caught, they don't just kill you. They dismantle you. Piece by piece. While you're still awake."
She pushed him back with a sudden, forceful shove to the chest. "Now shut up and follow me. We need to get to the Archive before the perimeter locks down."
"The Archive," Kane repeated, walking beside her. "You keep mentioning it. What is it? A library?"
Lyra let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "A library? This is a scrap-heap, you idiot. It's a data-vault. The Empire dumped all the 'failed' project files there decades ago. Your blueprints, your original directives, the reason why you were scrapped—it's all in there. If we find your core file, I can unlock the limiters on your absorption. You'll stop being a glitchy weapon and actually become a god."
"I don't want to be a god," Kane said, glancing at his shaking hands. "I just want to know why I remember the smell of burning rain but not my own name."
"Same thing," Lyra replied, not looking back. "Truth is power. And right now, you're the most powerful thing in this slum, which makes you the biggest liability I've ever had."
They dove into a narrow alleyway, the walls closing in like the throat of some metal beast. The ground was littered with discarded circuit boards and shattered glass. Every few steps, Lyra would pause, pressing her back against a wall and listening.
"Anything?" Kane whispered.
"Static," she replied, her voice tight. "But the static is getting louder. They're narrowing the search grid."
Suddenly, a high-pitched whine echoed through the alley. It wasn't a siren; it was the sound of a localized warp-jump. Kane felt the hair on his arms stand up. The air grew heavy, charged with a static that made his skin itch.
"Get down!" Lyra screamed, tackling him.
They slammed into the grime-covered floor just as a bolt of crimson energy tore through the space where Kane's head had been a second ago. The blast vaporized a pile of scrap metal behind them, sending a shower of molten sparks raining down.
Kane rolled, coming up on one knee, his eyes scanning for the source. At the end of the alley, a figure emerged from a shimmering rift of red light. He wasn't wearing the standard Imperial armor. He wore a long, obsidian coat that seemed to swallow the light around it. His face was a mask of cold precision, his eyes glowing with an artificial, predatory gold.
"Specimen Zero," the man said. His voice was smooth, devoid of emotion, like a recording played at the wrong speed. "You've caused quite a stir in the waste-bins."
Lyra scrambled up, her hand diving into her jacket and pulling out a jagged, homemade EMP pulse-mine. "Run, Kane! Now!"
Kane didn't run. He stepped forward, his fists clenched. The void energy in his chest surged, reacting to the presence of the man. It wasn't just a fight; it was a resonance. The man—Vargas—smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing Kane had ever seen. It wasn't a smile of joy; it was the look of a collector who had finally found a missing piece.
"You're faster than the reports said," Vargas noted, stepping forward. Each footfall sounded like a death knell. "But you're still empty. A hollow shell. Do you even remember what you were built for?"
"I don't remember anything," Kane spat, his voice trembling with rage. "And I'm not a specimen."