My phone rang.
TRAD.
I answered.
"Mission details have been sent," he said without preamble. "Use the equipment we provided."
The line went dead.
A notification blinked on my screen.
MISSION BRIEFING
The job was… simple. Almost suspiciously so.Cross to the other side of town. Infiltrate an abandoned warehouse. Secure a crate. Do not open it. Do not tamper with it.
That was it.
I exhaled slowly.
I pulled on the spandex suit beneath my regular clothes, slung my old gym bag over my shoulder, and stepped out into the night.
It was still early—too early. The streets were empty, no taxis in sight. I walked.
Cold air brushed through my hair as I moved, but the suit kept me warm—warmer than any coat I owned. It fit like a second skin and felt alive with hidden compartments I didn't bother exploring yet. Above me, the full moon flooded the city in silver light, neon signs flickering beneath it like artificial stars. Annex City never truly slept—it just pretended to.
Fifty meters from the warehouse, I veered into an alley.
I dropped the gym bag, stripped out of my casual clothes, and sealed them inside. Then I fitted the gear: earpieces in, contact lenses on. A tap on my phone and the world changed.
Data shimmered at the edges of my vision—time, date, coordinates, directional vectors.
I stashed the bag and moved.
The warehouse loomed ahead, old but stubbornly intact. Rusted steel, cracked walls, holes in the roof where rain had claimed its territory. Rats scurried freely, long since declaring this place home.
I slipped beneath a half-open door and entered.
The interior was massive—far larger than it looked outside. Crates formed a labyrinth, shadows stretching between them like claws. I moved quietly, guided by the subtle overlays in my vision.
Then—
[CONTENTS FOUND]
The message pulsed softly as I approached a crate marked with a strange symbol: three triangles aligned below, one centered above them. Their outer lines formed a larger triangle, and between the lower symbols sat a diamond.
I had just reached it when—
BANG.
The warehouse door slammed open.
"We find the crate fast," a voice barked. "Before another faction beats us to it. The boss won't forgive failure this time."
My contacts lit up.
Three phones detected.Three firearms detected.
Three hostiles.
A jolt of surprise sent me stumbling back into a stack of crates. Wood slammed together with a thunderous thud that echoed through the warehouse.
Too loud.
"Hey—did you hear that?" one of them muttered, flashlight snapping on. "Came from over there."
"No, idiot," another snapped. "It was over there."
"You're both wrong," the third said sharply. "It was here. I'm sure of it."
They argued in hushed, irritated voices.
I ducked behind the very crate I was supposed to secure, barely breathing.
"This is why the boss hates us," the first groaned. "We never agree. Fine—split up. Cover more ground."
They separated.
I exhaled.
Sliding a hand into my arm pouch, I pulled out a location sticker and pressed it onto the crate. It hummed faintly.
[MISSION COMPLETE]
Relief lasted exactly one second.
Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate.
My vision overlaid data as the man drew closer.
[WARNING: ARMED INDIVIDUAL APPROACHING]Strong points: SMG, armored suitWeak points: Unprotected face and neckChance of victory: 34.45%
Thirty-four percent?
I smirked. I've survived worse.
Then—
A faint sound echoed from the far-right corner.
The man froze. "Nico?" he called.
No answer.
A thunderous crash erupted from the opposite side of the warehouse.
He spun toward it, tense.
[BACK-UP DELIVERED]
Back-up?
My brow furrowed. Who called for—
Movement from above.
A shadow dropped from the rafters.
The figure landed feet-first into the man's head with brutal precision. Helmet or not, the impact staggered him. She landed between us—graceful, controlled.
Female.
Curly chestnut hair tied back. Athletic build. Low-heeled boots clicking softly against concrete.
The man raised his weapon.
She didn't give him the chance.
She vaulted onto a crate, flipped, and kicked the SMG from his hands. The gun clattered away. A spinning strike followed—clean, devastating. He collapsed unconscious.
I stared.
She turned to me, eyes sharp, appraising—unimpressed.
She strode over, grabbed my wrist, pried my fingers open, and took the location sticker I was still holding. She slapped it onto the crate behind me.
"See that?" TRAD's voice crackled in my ear. "That's your new partner."
Partner?
Before I could speak, she yanked my head down. I resisted—then saw it.
A scorched mark on the ground.
"Be aware of your surroundings," she snapped.
She shoved me into cover and activated a baton that erupted into a glowing energy whip.
Four drones hovered in the distance—mechanical lotus shapes, laser cannons glowing red.
I drew my pistol. Which I had located in my pocket while wearing the suit. unluckily it could not deal with humans or anything organic but was a tech gun.
Empty.
I cursed silently, swapping in a blue magazine—anti-tech.
She moved first.
She leapt, rode a drone midair, and sliced two apart in seconds. Sparks rained as metal split. She flipped, cleaving another cleanly in half. The fourth fell just as easily.
Effortless.
Then more drones emerged.
"Look out!" I shouted, firing. Two dropped.
She dodged a laser with a cartwheel, shot me a look—annoyed, impressed—and kept moving.
[CHANCE OF SURVIVAL: 20%]
She grabbed my wrist.
"Not now. Run."
"Our mission—"
"Is done. Don't be stupid."
She sprinted. I followed.
We burst through the exit as drones hammered the door behind us. Lasers melted metal. The bridge to the docks lay ahead.
She grabbed my hand, then—without warning—slid a mouthpiece into my mouth and fitted her own.
We jumped.
Cold water swallowed us whole.
Two drones followed—fried instantly. Others hovered above, firing lasers into the water.
She swam hard toward a tunnel.
I followed.
We surfaced in the sewage system, gagging on the stench. She found a manhole, forced it open, and we climbed out into the city night—soaked, breathing hard, alive.
For now.
I stood there, chest still heaving, watching the water stream from her curls as she wrung her hair with practiced ease. Brown, thick, unruly—just like Jade's had been on nights we barely escaped with our lives. The resemblance unsettled me more than the drones ever could. Jade had always moved with that same certainty, that same readiness to burn herself so others could walk away. But where Jade carried warmth beneath the danger, this woman was colder—sharper—like a blade honed too many times to bother with mercy.
She pulled a phone from a neatly sealed Ziploc bag, perfectly dry despite everything, and tapped the screen with calm efficiency. No shaking hands. No nervous glances. Just control. Absolute control.
She wasn't like Kenzie at all. Kenzie laughed in the face of danger, turned chaos into a game, light shining through every reckless smile. This woman didn't laugh. She survived. And she expected everyone around her to do the same—or get out of the way.
As she spoke quietly into the phone, calling a taxi as if tonight hadn't nearly killed us, I realized something that made my stomach sink.
Kenzie was the reason I wanted a normal life.Jade was the reason I ran from this one.
And this woman—whoever she was—felt like the reason Specter might not stay buried for long.