April 15, 2021. 00:10. Vancouver.
I stare at him—the freakishly large cyborg—in disbelief.
Not gonna lie, while Blake's voice is strange, there's something soothing about it.
It scratches at my ears in an oddly pleasant way. The women beside him say nothing, clinging to him like trophies polished for display.
Tetra's eyes widen as he takes in Blake's hulking frame.
"Is he even human anymore? Damn…" he mutters.
Azure tilts her head, studying the chrome and steel that make up his body. "Barely. That kind of build's for heavy lifting—or combat. Nobody implants that much hardware for decoration."
Mister clears his throat, breaking the tension. "Blake, thank you for seeing us. We're here on business, so I'll get right to it. The Autumn Blade railgun—we know the Dead Kings have it, and I'm prepared to negotiate a trade."
Blake leans back, the faint red glow of his eyes narrowing as he processes Mister's words.
Then, slowly, he stands. The room seems to shrink around him as he rises to his full height—a towering seven feet of cybernetic muscle and steel. Beneath the armour plating, I catch the faint whir of mechanical joints coming to life.
"Ahhh, I see." Blake's lips curl into a faint smile as he gestures toward a nearby bar. "Before we do—how about some drinks first?"
The group exchanges uneasy glances, most of us politely declining.
Azure shakes her head with a polite smile.
Tetra stammers, "Uhh, I'll pass."
Shock hesitates, thinking it over, then shrugs. "Nope! I'm good."
Mister remains calm. "No thank you."
I stay quiet, giving a small shake of my head.
Just when I think we're about to move on, Remi grins like an idiot. "AYOOOO! I'll take one. Somethin' strong, boss."
I have no idea how Remi isn't losing his mind—considering he's probably on the gang's watch list. But judging by Blake's reaction, maybe Remi isn't as infamous as I thought.
Blake chuckles, the mechanical rasp in his voice adding weight to the sound. "I like this one," he says, moving to the bar with surprising grace for someone his size. He grabs a bottle from the shelf and pours a drink.
I watch him carefully. Despite his accommodating tone, Blake radiates danger. This man—if he even is a man—wasn't someone to trifle with. I've got nothing that could put down a cyborg like him.If things go south, I'll have to rely on my team—assuming they can even help.
That fragile hope dies the moment I notice Shock practically drooling in awe of him.
What is she, a high school fangirl?
I elbow the starstruck hacker lightly, and she snaps back to reality.
"H-Huh? W-What?" Shock blinks at me with doglike innocence, earning a soft giggle from Azure.
I turn to raise an eyebrow at her, but she just keeps laughing, hand covering her mouth.
Then I hear it—beneath the laughter and the clink of glass—the rapid thud of footsteps.
My body tenses. I face the doors we entered through. Tetra does the same.
The doors swing open, and two more Dead Kings step inside.
My heart skips a beat as memories from earlier that day flood back. It's the same pair I fought this afternoon.
For a moment, I freeze, mind racing. My disguise and makeup are top-tier, altering my features just enough to make me look like any other woman in the city. But is it enough?
Surprisingly, they seem fine—well, alive at least—despite me kicking their asses. They definitely look worse for wear. The perverted dreadlocks guy is wrapped in bandages, bruises marking every spot I struck, while the buzzcut guy's head is swathed in a thick white dressing.
I'll admit, part of me still feels bad—mostly because my pride's still nursing the bruise from that colossal screw-up. I got sloppy, barely put any effort into taking AXIS' ride, and these guys ended up as collateral. Still, I don't owe them a damn thing.
I start inching backward, trying to melt into the group, shrinking my presence as much as possible.
Dreadlocks scans the room, and his gaze lands on Remi. His expression twists into a snarl, and he jabs a finger toward him.
"What the fuck is he doing here?"
And just like that, I brace for violence. My arms cross slowly, my dominant hand inching closer to the holster at my side.
Buzzcut's posture stiffens. "Remi, you've got some nerve showing up in our HQ after what you pulled."
Interestingly, Blake doesn't move to stop them. Instead, he leans against the bar—calm, composed, and faintly amused, like he's just waiting to see who bleeds first.
Mister raises his hands, trying to de-escalate. "Gentlemen, we're here on business. Let's keep this civil—"
Of course Remi cuts him off, flipping both middle fingers. "Stop riding my dick, assholes. Every time something happens to AXIS y'all blame me!"
Even with the tension, Remi is ridiculous—part animal, part circus act—yelling like some enraged primate while everyone else watches. The only thing stopping me from losing it is that my mission and my life are on the line.
"I didn't kill AXIS, all right? How many times do I have to tell you that?" He puffs up, then sneers at the pair. "Besides, whoever beat you did you a favor—now you can pass for joytoys."
Buzzcut steps closer to Remi, jabbing a finger in his face. "Fuck. You." His glare hardens, teeth clenched. "You think you, of all people, can walk in here—on our turf—and run your mouth?"
Out of curiosity, I glance back at Blake and his entourage. They stay silent, watching the chaos like it's a live show. Part of me wonders why Blake doesn't step in to keep order. But if he's not stopping it, that probably means he doesn't see it as serious. Probably.
I snap back just in time to see Remi throw his hands up, exasperated.
"I'm just saying, I wouldn't have beat the shit out of Kevin if he hadn't started acting like a little bitch. He's fine, all right? You think I'd kill the guy?"
Dreadlocks snarls. "You don't just throw a bunch of eggs at AXIS—and us—because you feel like it!"
"HE DESTROYED MY BIKE! ALL BECAUSE I FUCKED HIS EX! IT'S NOT MY FAULT MY DICK'S BETTER THAN HIS!"
Mister tries to step in, gripping Remi's shoulder. "Remi, ple—"
But Remi shrugs him off and takes a step toward the fuming gangster, ready to escalate.
"NAHHH, YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M FUCKING GLAD AXIS DIED!" Remi sniffs theatrically and tosses his head. Just when we think he's done, he hammers the point home. "That guy made trash music compared to me, had terrible taste in drip, and lived a shit life compared to me!"
Azure stifles a laugh behind him—probably the only one on the team amused. I'm not. It was funny at first, but now? Pissing off gangsters in their own HQ without my heavy hitters—great plan. Dreadlocks' hand creeps toward his holster. Remi, please stop.
Of course he doesn't. He points at me like it's a mic drop, and life drains from my face. "Besides, she's the one who killed him."
You have got to be kidding me.
The room goes ice-cold. Every eye snaps to me; my blood runs cold as the guards zero in. Inside, I'm shrieking and imagining very specific ways to throttle Remi. Outwardly I straighten, lower my voice, and try to push the panic away. "That's ridiculous."
Remi squints, confused. "Wait, what's with your voice, choom? You're talking kinda weird."
I glare so hard I could burn a hole through him. My makeup was flawless—made to erase any trace of me from earlier—and Remi, bless his idiot heart, just threw it all away.
The gangsters don't completely buy it, thankfully.
Dreadlock pulls a gun I recognize in a flash—a Smith & Wesson Model 686—and levels it at Remi.
"You've got one chance to explain yourself, asshat."
Buzzcut steps between us, eyeing me with suspicion. Shit—does he recognize my voice? He doesn't act on it yet, though; he turns his attention back to Remi.
Remi smirks. "Damn, you two always together? You know what people might say about that, right?"
What follows slows down like someone hit the brakes on reality. Footsteps echo from the hall; Dreadlocks' grip tightens, finger hovering over the trigger. The buzzcut's face twists in rage, fists clenched. The air is about to snap.
I skim the exits and everyone's positions. If Blake won't move, then I will.
"Fuck it," I mutter.
Shock and Tetra freeze for a beat, then I surge. My knee drives into Buzzcut's groin—he folds with a strangled grunt.
In one smooth motion I wrench the Model 686 free from Dreadlocks' hand and clamp my other hand over the cylinder.
With Buzzcut collapsing to his knees, Dreadlocks—clearly panicking—pulls the trigger. The revolver falls with a dry click, unable to index. Before he can do anything else, I jam my pistol under his chin, pinning him.
Chaos explodes as more Dead Kings pour in.
I disarm the nearest thug and lock him in a chokehold, the world blurring around the edges. This was supposed to be a negotiation, not a brawl. Shit—rushing in like that definitely made it worse.
Screw it. I double down and keep my captive as a shield, pistol pressed to his throat as I edge for the main doors.
"Enough." Blake's voice cuts through everything. He steps forward with a drink in hand, towering at full height. The amused smirk slips from his face as more Dead Kings jam the doorway.
His implants hum with every movement, a low, unsettling whir. With the casual grace of someone used to having people obey, he gestures and the room finally slows. "Stand down," he says flatly, his red eyes sweeping the room and settling on me and Remi. "Let's not turn a conversation into a combat zone." He chuckles—low, resonant, like a machine clearing its throat.
Mister steps forward, raising his hands slightly in a placating gesture. "I apologize for the... enthusiasm of my team." I release Dreadlocks with a gentle shove while Mister lightly tugs Remi to step back. "We didn't come here looking for trouble."
Blake's lips curl into a faint smirk. "Oh, I have no doubt that was the intention. But trouble seems to follow you anyways." He lets out a deep laugh as he gets closer to Remi and hands him the drink he poured earlier.
"Nice moves," he adds, nodding toward me. I keep my weapon at the ready but slowly lower it.
Buzzcut tries to rise, but a sharp glance from Blake freezes him in place. "Take him out of here and leave us," Blake orders.
Two other gangsters step in to help their fallen comrade.
Blake then points at Dreadlocks. "Take him out too—he's had enough excitement for one night."
"But, boss," he protests, voice cracking like a kid begging for a toy. "They—"
"She could've killed you. Whatever you've got with Remi, we'll talk about it later. Leave."
Dreadlocks hesitates, then drops his gaze and backs away, shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir," he mutters.
The Dead Kings exchange reluctant glances, throw one last look of frustration at me and Remi, then comply—leaving the room as the heavy doors thud shut behind them. Blake turns his attention back to Mister.
"Well, you certainly have my attention now." He folds his massive arms across his chest. "I apologize. My men have been itching for action all night, and you picked an unlucky time to visit. I let it play out of curiosity—clearly not my best move."
Remi takes a long pull from his glass before setting it down. "Appreciate the save, boss man."
Blake chuckles, then coughs lightly. "You're bold. I like it." He waves everyone toward the nearby chairs and settles back onto the couch, surrounded by his entourage. "Now—let's talk business before someone else gets 'creative'."
It takes longer than I'd like to calm down. My heart still pounds; I breathe slow and controlled, forcing my nerves under the surface.
Shock nudges me, grinning. "Oh my gosh, girl. You're fast."
I nod and take a seat. "Thanks." Credit to Dad for teaching me that one.
Eager to move things along, Mister wastes no time launching back into the purpose of our visit. "As we discussed earlier, Blake, we know the Dead Kings were involved in a deal for an Autumn Blade railgun. We'd like to acquire it."
Blake reclines, fingers stroking his chin as one of the women leans against him. "I see. And you're willing to bargain for it?"
"That's correct. I have clients ready to pay."
Blake's expression softens into something like interest. "You're in luck, then. The team that took it went missing after a firefight. They slipped into Surrey—probably to throw pursuers off their scent."
I frown. The combat zone? Why there?
Mister tilts his head. "I assume they fell back to your old headquarters?"
"You've done your homework," Blake says with a smirk.
"I have." Mister's tone stays even. "It's abandoned, and they're being hunted by multiple gangs. They won't make it back without help."
"Yeah, I was thinking of sending some of my men, but you came to me first."
"I would advise against that. Sending more Dead Kings would only draw attention from rival crews."
"Fair point. So what do you propose?"
"Let my team track them down—in exchange for the railgun."
Blake's expression stays unreadable as he shifts in his seat. "Interesting offer. But I've also heard you're sniffing around for something else. Care to enlighten me?"
Mister nods. "I've heard you're looking to expand—maybe into something a little less... kinetic. Would you be interested in a bar in Burnaby, perhaps? They're hiring staff and security, and I immediately thought of the Dead Kings."
"I see…" Blake's smirk returns. "So you think you can walk in here, almost start a fight, broker a deal for my merchandise, and then pitch me a business venture—all in one night?"
"That's the idea—minus the fight, of course. I believe this could be mutually beneficial for you and your crew."
The tension in the room eases. Blake grins. "I like a man who knows what he wants. Fine. You find my missing men, and I'll hand over the railgun—no questions asked. We'll talk more after."
Mister extends his hand. "Done."
Blake's massive cybernetic fingers dwarf Mister's hand as they shake. "I'd also like to talk more about your crew once you retrieve the railgun," he says, his glowing red eyes cutting toward me and Remi. For fuck's sake, we're not out of the woods yet.
He shifts his gaze back to Mister. "For now, speak to Jimothy downstairs. He'll help you get your search started. You're free to go—I'll make sure none of my men give you trouble."
"Thank you." Mister rises from his seat and gestures for us to do the same.
I stand, my team following close behind. We head for the exit as Blake's women slip back into quiet conversation, the room settling as if nothing had happened.
A heavy thud echoes as the doors close behind us.