The wind kept pulling at my jacket while I sat on the bike, trying not to think too hard. My finger hovered near the trigger guard of my Liberty, the cool metal warming under my touch. The engine beneath me purred like it was holding its breath, too.
Across the street, that building just sat there. Five stories of concrete rot, with half the windows smashed or covered with whatever scraps the tenants could find. Ugly place. The kind that gave you tetanus just by looking at it too long.
I counted six visible entry points earlier. Probably more. None clean enough, for me at least.
It was a Scav den. Padre'd confirmed. I'd triple-checked.
I took a breath and let it out slow.
The plan was simple. I'd run it through my head maybe twenty times. Go in from the top. Take out the leader. The rest would scatter or maybe get cocky. A bullet to the head has the same effect no matter how confident you are.
One mag in. Two more strapped inside the jacket. Backup knife. Light gear tonight — didn't need to sound like a drum kit when I moved.
Across the sidewalk, there was a busted flatscreen blinking from a window over the laundromat. Subtitles still crawling even though the sound was long gone.
"...James Norris. Former Militech enforcer. Suspected of cyberpsychosis. Incident ongoing…"
I couldn't help it. I smirked. Just a little.
Of course it was, Norris.
Just in time to drag MaxTac away from here, and maybe not pay attention to the hard-working EMT on the scene.
The final piece slid into place like a click in my head. I nodded. Okay. Time to go.
I stepped off the bike.
The past month had been enough training. I'd say I'm more than strapped for this kinda stuff, with the hidden learning boost, too.
But it doesn't keep the nervousness away either, even for how long I've been doing this.
——————
Getting in was easy. Easier than it should've been, which bothered me more than I let on.
The fire escape creaked under me like it was ready to fall off the wall. Probably would've if I weighed another ten pounds. My boots made too much noise. Every step mirrored a warning shot.
By the time I hit the roof, my pulse was steady again. I crouched, just for a second, taking in the city. The neon. The wind. A dog barking in the distance. Someone yelling about noodles.
I pulled up the heatmap I scraped earlier on my phone. Seventeen targets lit up.
Seven in the courtyard. Seven inside. And more in the basement.
A new victim? Or worse? And where the hell was the leader?
Then I saw him. Fourth floor, eighth room from the left. Big heat signature. Calm. Not pacing like the rest. Just… waiting.
That gave me a weird feeling. I didn't like that.
But I moved anyway, sliding down the stairwell. Stepping quietly.
I knew the window in 4C was half-boarded. I knew I could slip through without much fuss.
And I did. Busting through the boarding.
Landing inside was... a moment.
My boots slammed onto linoleum. The guy on the couch didn't even have time to turn. The knife went in under his jaw, soft part, quick and easy.
He twitched once and slumped.
The second guy turned just in time to see the barrel.
The first shot hit his chest. He screamed, on full volume, like a damn alarm bell. The second shot caught him in the head. But the noise was already out there.
I sighed.
Fine.
I'll just deal with it, I guess.
I heard them coming fast, their boots on tile. Yelling, like someone has caught them with their pants off.
"FOURTH FLOOR! SHE'S ON FOUR—"
I ducked just in time to avoid a shotgun blast through the wall. Plaster and dust sliced across my cheek.
Sloppy, he could've waited for me to come out. I kicked the door open and lobbed a cushion into the hallway.
They shredded it on instinct, making stuffing exploded into the air, clouding the space and blocking their own line of sight.
I rolled out and fired twice. First scav dropped mid-sentence, and the bullet punched through his neck. The second ducked behind a vending machine — clunky, makeshift cover.
It didn't matter. I moved fast, sweeping left to see more gunfire. Rattling and desperate. I dove, rolled into a doorway opposite of the room I was in. Bullets chipped the doorway behind me. Two more were coming from the stairwell. One had a nailbat, the other something that looked like a Unity.
I ducked back, taking a small stone in my free hand.
My grafted muscles coiled. Controlled, and I pushed into a sprint and slid low across the hallway, first shot going under the vending machine. Caught someone in the calf. The scream that followed told me I hit bone.
Another stepped out from a side door with a cleaver. I threw the rock in his face. He flinched just long enough for me to fire a round into his forehead.
Blood hit the wall like a red smear of punctuation.
Then I turned and offed the guy crawling behind the vending machine.
I paused.
Catching my breath, noting that the hallway smelled like piss and cordite.
But I wasn't done.
The room was close now. The guy with the shotgun had disappeared until I spotted a cracked door ahead.
I slowed a bit to reach the door just as my leg came up.
Then he lunged.
Shotgun raised, half a second too late.
I ducked, kicked out his knee—
CRACK
–He screamed. I slammed his face into the doorframe, once, then shoved a round into his skull to make sure he stayed down, and then I kept moving.
The heatmap said the leader was still inside.
I stopped. Looked through the crack.
He had an SMG. Pointed at the door.
Amusement colored my face.
Didn't even want to talk?
Fine.
I shot through the thin door near his shoulder. He screamed and fell back and I pushed open the door slowly.
The smell hit me first, burnt rubber, and synth-blood. Don't even begin to ask me why all scav dens smelled like this.
He was on the floor, wheezing, holding his shoulder. His gun slung across the room.
"I figured they'd send a team," he said, spitting blood. "Not a girl."
I didn't respond.
"You here for revenge or a paycheck?"
I tilted my head, thought about it for a second. Then shook it.
It's not worth the time.
One shot through his skull.
He gurgled something but I didn't care.
The rest scrambled. I let some go. Shot the ones who got brave.
And that's when I noticed something wasn't right.
There are too many scavs, yet they're not doing anything. Like they were just waiting on something.
And that's when I noticed something wasn't right.
The hallway had gone too quiet.
No footsteps, no shouts. No reinforcements bursting out of doors. Just the occasional flicker from the busted lights above, and the low hiss of something mechanical — faint, distant.
Like they were fleeing from something, someone.
Not me.
I stayed still. Listened.
I felt my pulse in my ears.
Before, there were too many scavs, and yet they weren't doing anything. Like they'd just stopped. Like they were waiting.
For something.
A sudden chill crept in, despite the heat pouring off my skin. My back straightened. My hand shifted on the grip of the Liberty like it knew something before I did.
And then — a creak.
The basement door groaned open.
Slow. Heavy. Like something was being unchained.
I turned my head just enough to see it. My body instinctively lowered, tense as drawn wire.
Then came the sound — the one you never mistake once you've heard it.
Something metallic scraping concrete.
Long, slow. Like claws. Or a dragging blade.
Then I saw the silhouette.
Massive. Hunched. Some hissing somewhere I couldn't see.
He stepped into the flickering light. Every motion deliberate. Like he wasn't just walking — like he was arriving.
"Ohh, little kitten~" he grinned. A low, delighted purr wrapped around the words. His jaw plated by reinforced metal, bolted and grinning like a broken bear trap.
A heartbeat skipped in my chest — not from fear, but recognition.
That... isn't a borg.
That is a honest to god cyberpsycho.
Where did they even get this guy?
And they couldn't even knock this guy out?
What are they, Scavs?
I slid into cover just in time as something launched, a clunk and whirrrr followed by a tight, concussive BOOM that shredded the floor where I'd been standing half a second ago. Shrapnel peppered the walls, chipped my cheek, and nicked the side of my jacket.
My grafted calves tensed. My thighs coiled. Everything in my body pulled tight like I was wound on a spring.
I fired two shots around the corner as I stepped back, both hit. I could hear the thud-thud as they sank into him, but they bounced off like I'd thrown pebbles at a tank.
He laughed, deep and guttural, like it was vibrating through his ribcage, and then he came.
Through the goddamn wall.
Debris exploded outward as his frame barreled through like a charging truck. His massive fist swept wide, a blur of steel.
I ducked under, my Mantis Blade already springing out with a wet shhhhk as I swept it across his ribs, metal screeching as it caught. For a second I thought I'd just skated off him again, but then the blade slipped into the gap near his armpit.
But it was not deep enough.
I tore it free and jumped back, boots clanking on tiles. My tongue clicked inaudibly.
"Come onnn," the psycho crooned, voice almost melodic. "Don't make me beg~"
He stomped forward, fast, too fast even, for something that size. The ground shook with each step. Another whir — and then a tube on his forearm clicked and hissed.
I didn't wait. Threw myself behind a collapsed column as the second projectile screamed into the air.
It made me wonder as I hide behind the pillar, how many shots does this guy even have?
BOOM
The hallway trembled. Support beams groaned. The ceiling above cracked wide enough to spill dust like ash. Smoke and drywall choked the space. Could barely see.
I used it.
Under the cover of the falling dust, I sprinted.
My grafted muscles surged, thighs flexing and my body launched. My blade lashed out and caught his leg. I felt the metal snap and coil under it, catching in the tight mechanical tendons near the knee.
He roared. It wasn't pain. It was joy.
I clicked my tongue again, twisting just enough to dodge the fist that came down like a piledriver. It cracked the concrete, spraying gravel-like shards across my forearms.
I rolled away — hot breath burning in my lungs, heart hammering.
"Come on, kitten," he hissed, rising. Blood—maybe—dripped down his foot from the gash I made. "You can't just tease and run~"
He lunged.
I dove again, but not fast enough because his hand caught my ankle and slammed me into the wall. Pain lit up my spine.
My gloved bones held. Barely.
I lashed out with my blade, aiming for his eyes blindly.
I noticed it was some kind of optics but I didn't care.
The edge slice across his cheek — a line of sparks where the metal met dermal plating. His grip loosened. I dropped hard, rolling.
I skidded under a piece of debris sticking from the wall and used it to pivot, springing up with my other hand now. Duel wielding gun and Mantis Blade as I ran into his flank.
But he was faster this time, and turned into it.
His forearm blocked mine, the one which held the blade, and twisted it a bit. Sending a tremor up my arm that made my wrist go numb. He caught my other shoulder with his other hand and slammed me against the ground again.
Hard.
A noise left me that I didn't recognize — pain, frustration all wrapped into one.
I kneed him in the stomach with my right leg. Using it to make some space.
I shot him twice with the free arm, both in the face, before my I kicked off the floor with my remaining leg and tumbled backward. Scraping shoulders.
He laughed again, crouched low like some predator playing with its food.
I let out a sigh and then took in a massive breath. This was annoying, I needed something, anything to get his attention.
When I was under him, I noticed how under his reinforced jaw, there seems to be less protection than the rest of his body.
I just needed to get to it.
That's when I saw it — just behind him. A half-destroyed couch, in a room whose wall he just busted through not a few minutes ago. It was torn, stuffing falling out like it had been gutted weeks ago.
But it still had one thing.
A pillow. I smirked and lunged for it.
My hand snatched it as his launcher hissed again a click, whir and clunk.
I didn't think, I just threw it backwards.
The pillow flew mid-arc as the projectile launched.
BOOM
It hit mid-air. The blast consumed the space in feathers, dust, static discharge. The hallway filled with smoke and noise and confusion.
Perfect.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Counted the steps.
Three forward, lightly left, And I moved.
As silent as could be.
My grafted quads burned as I charged.
I ducked into the smoke, underneath the swirling mess, and saw it — a shadow just ahead. A glint of his jawline. His head tilted. He hadn't seen me yet.
Now.
I slid.
Came in low, fast, right between his legs.
My Mantis Blade roared out.
–before he caught it, a grin stretching across his jaw.
"Sneaky little kitty~" His head tilted with a twisted expression of joy.
What? Is that drool?
I jerked back, trying to yank my arm back.
He only laughed loudly and pulled me closer, catching my throat in his other hand.
"Finally got you, little kitten~! You fucking tease~" he brings his face closer, his teeth glinting menacingly.
I only gave him a furrowed brow.
–before I took out my knife.
And I drove it upward.
Right into the soft spot beneath his jaw.
Steel met resistance — then sank in.
There was a moment where he froze.
No sound. No movement.
Then the blade punched through.
All the way up. Into the skull. Through the brainstem.
His body convulsed — once, twice. Arms jerking. The hand on my neck tried to tighten, maybe to choke me out. Or maybe he just didn't know he was dead yet.
Then he collapsed.
All that weight hitting the floor in one awful thud.
I pried myself out of his grasp, panting hard.
The smoke drifted upward, exposing both of us — me, crouched on top of him, breath short and ragged. Him, twitching quietly like a dying bug.
I yanked the knife free. Staggered backward. My lungs sucked in concrete and dust and air that tasted like ozone and hot blood.
My legs felt like they'd give out. My side ached, and my shoulder screamed. But I was still standing.
Barely.
The hallway was a ruin now. Cracked beams. Bullet holes. Blood.
I wiped blood from my mouth. Flexed my fingers.
"I hate Scavs," I muttered.
But perhaps I got something out of this big lug yet.
His eyes are pretty good.
They even see me in all that smoke and burnt feathers after all.
I needed a new pair of eyes myself.