January 6, 2069
Ebunike Metro Station
The first thing that hit me was the sheer number of bodies. Torn-up corpses were everywhere — civilians, cops, didn't matter. All of them dead, and not for long.
On the way in, I even passed a cop who was somehow still alive, clutching at the shredded mess of his gut, trying in vain to stuff his intestines back in. The sight turned my stomach. For a moment, I actually considered putting him out of his misery. But any rash move could blow my cover.
"Sorry, man. Just not your day."
I turned away, forcing myself not to linger. Sympathy was a luxury I couldn't afford.
I was on the station's upper level. According to the intel Galina sent me, Sasha was somewhere down below. Turret systems were down — good. Motion sensors were still active — even better. That meant no one would expect a stealth breach with sensors still live.
I vaulted over the turnstiles and headed for the escalators, moving slow, deliberate. I'd been here before — didn't need a map. Halfway down, something shifted at the edge of my vision. Movement in the shadows, right where a maintenance corridor met a dead overhead light. That's where they'd be dug in.
"Area's clear. Cops aren't pushing further, and MaxTac's tied up with calls citywide." A woman's voice. Filtered through a speech mod, barely above a whisper.
"How long until you flush her out?" That voice was male — tense, irritated.
"She's using some kind of custom defense grid. It's not standard. Feels like I'm fighting off three corp netrunners at once."
"She's just a girl! No implants! How the hell is she holding you off? You're supposed to be a goddamn walking supercomputer!" He was losing it.
"Shut it, Scarab. Let her work. If you're bored, go take Executioner's shift."
That was all I needed. Three posted near the maintenance hall. One on patrol. Maybe five total, assuming there was one I hadn't heard yet.
Priority one: eliminate the melee guy first. The girl — netrunner or not — wasn't a threat in close quarters. Killing her off right away would be a waste.
I moved with care, silent and sharp, like a scalpel through soft tissue. The trio had solid spacing — professional. The two guarding the netrunner had lines of sight covering most of the corridor. The one closest to the escalator was my mark. Take him down, and the rest would be boxed in. The moment I closed the gap, I kicked into overdrive. In a blink, Scarab was in a chokehold. He bucked, reflexively. Too late. A quick twist — his spine cracked, clean and final.
As his body crumpled, another one rushed forward. Fast — I'll give him that. A couple years back, he might've caught me off guard. But not now. Not after the upgrades.
I kicked Scarab's corpse into the oncoming attacker, throwing off his rhythm just long enough for me to pivot toward the netrunner. She was already trying to retreat — smart move — but my sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by her backup.
Still, it bought me a crucial second. Their rhythm cracked, and that was all I needed.
As I closed the distance, he lunged with wrist-mounted blades — one angling for my eyes, the other slicing for my throat. Classic feint. He probably thought I had backup and wanted the fight over fast.
Bad call.
I sidestepped the second strike, grabbed his wrist mid-thrust, and yanked hard, twisting his momentum out of alignment. Before he could adjust, I locked his other arm and shut him down.
Max output.
His elbow snapped with a wet crunch. I swept his supporting leg and fired my repulsor straight into his skull before he could react.
The entire fight was over in less than two seconds — barely enough time for the netrunner to blink.
"Another one down."
Good thing I'd upgraded my systems to handle thermal-resistant psychos like these. Watching both of her teammates crumple like broken puppets, the girl raised her hands, hoping for mercy.
Bad idea.
I wasn't in the mood. And sparing someone like her? That's how you end up dead. I dropped her with a clean repulsor shot before she could make a sound.
The last two weren't hard to locate. I jacked into the corpse of the first guy I dropped — his neck still twisted at an ugly angle — and pinged their last known positions. Both had already received the kill alerts. One was just a few dozen meters out, moving under some low-grade stealth field. The other was farther off.
Smirking, I activated my own cloaking protocol and scanned the area for subtle motion. The closer one wasn't dumb — he knew the net was breached. But knowing doesn't mean you're ready.
"Got you, asshole."
Grinning, I slammed my foot into the floor hard enough to shatter the tiles. Fractures spiderwebbed across the surface. While he reeled from the shockwave, I surged forward and slammed him into the ground so hard he cratered.
"And that just leaves one."
While we played hide-and-seek, the last terrorist slipped into the maintenance wing, using his buddy's death as a diversion. He lunged at me from behind. Too bad I'd been tracking his every step — like a blinking icon on a HUD. I caught his mantis blade mid-swing, wrenched it back at an unnatural angle, and swept his legs. As he hit the floor, I finished it with a repulsor blast to the head.
Fast. Efficient. Done.
"Almost too easy. Creepy, honestly." I muttered it under my breath, hesitating before disabling combat mode. You never know.
"Sasha, it's me — Alex. It's over. Open up."
Just in case, I pulled off my mask and rapped twice on the armored door, locking eyes with the now-reactivated security cam.
"Shit, that gear you're wearing is nightmare fuel... Hang on."
Of course, she didn't make me wait. The door clicked open in seconds.
What I saw made my stomach lurch.
I'd expected a leg wound. Maybe a cracked rib, a concussion — something bad, but survivable. But Sasha? Sasha looked like she'd crawled out of a warzone. Not an inch of skin left untouched. Bruises, burns, blood. She couldn't even stand.
Mars' bioscan confirmed it — multiple gunshot wounds. And her left hand? Gone. Just gone. A clean cut, cauterized like someone had hacked it off and kept moving.
She was lucky to be breathing at all. At least she'd stopped the bleeding — wrapped the stump with what looked like a torn scrap of med cloth, probably scavenged from the room itself. How she hadn't blacked out from the pain, I couldn't begin to guess. Her face was pale, pulse faint, and her body temp was dropping fast.
And yet — somehow — she'd held off an armed assault team. In that condition… I couldn't believe it.
"I look like hell, huh?" She forced a crooked smile, then winced hard. "Let me guess. Mom sent you."
I nodded, already jabbing her with the regen-dose I'd brought — just in case. It wouldn't fix everything. Not even close. But it'd slow the bleeding, dull the pain, and buy us enough time to get her to surgery.
"Kiwi — prep the OR. Failsafe on standby." I sent the ping to Kiwi while easing Sasha down as gently as I could manage.
"Don't talk," I murmured. "You'll just make it worse."
The regen cocktail had a built-in sedative, but it would take a minute to kick in.
And the whole time… she'd been waiting. Knowing no one might come.
But she held on anyway.
I'd ask her later — how she pulled it off. How she survived when everyone else had been slaughtered. Everyone but that half-dead cop upstairs. But right now, the only thing that mattered was getting her out. Careful. Controlled. No more damage.
Because Sasha Yakovleva was hanging on by a thread.
"Vega, what's traffic like downtown?"
"No emergency declaration yet," the AI replied, "but based on Galina's intel, that could change any minute."
"Screw it. Worst case, I'll pull rank and use our favorite cop's clearance. We're not hauling just anyone — we've got her daughter. Her only daughter."
"Estimated vehicle arrival: six minutes."
"And that's with every traffic law shattered?"
"I accounted for exactly that."
"Still not great. If I carry her on foot across the city, we'll lose too much time."
I pressed my lips into a hard line, frustration bubbling up. Then I remembered the medkit in the glovebox — loaded with just the kind of emergency doses I needed. It wouldn't fix her, but it might buy Sasha a few more precious minutes.
"I'll get to you as fast as I can," Vega said.
"Thanks. I'll be ready."
"Alex."
The voice was faint. Sasha — curled in my lap while I patched her up with whatever supplies I could scrounge. Her skin was cold. She was fading.
"Don't talk," I snapped, meeting her eyes.
She let out something like a laugh. Dry. Weak.
"I'm just… tired. And thirsty." Her voice barely registered. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Shit.
I tapped her cheek, trying to keep her awake. Nothing. She'd lost too much blood. No time to think. I scooped her up and triggered my Sandevistan, pushing it to full throttle as I bolted up the escalator toward the surface.
"Vega, sync me with the vehicle. Give me the fastest route out."
No hesitation. Seconds later, my minimap lit up — vehicle inbound, closing fast.
I burst through the station doors, cutting between rows of stunned cops still holding the perimeter. Most didn't even have time to react.
Galina knew I had her daughter — I'd pinged her the second Sasha was stable enough to move. I didn't waste time with details.
"Alex, everything's ready. I'm standing by." Kiwi's message came through just as I cleared the final cordon.
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