April 15, 2021. 00:35. Vancouver.
The next few minutes are painfully awkward—at least for me.
After leaving Blake's room, a few gangsters escort us downstairs. Most of them give me and Remi strange looks, but out of respect for their boss, they don't say or do anything more.
Word spreads fast around here; by now, everyone in the building seems to know what happened.
It feels like every pair of eyes is on us.
I do my best to stay cool, keeping my composure steady. Remi, on the other hand, glares at everyone like he owns the place. Mister leads the way up front, while the rest of us trail behind. Not that I blame them—I wouldn't want to walk too close to Remi either. Thankfully, it isn't long before we're back outside, the cold air hitting me like a relief I didn't know I needed.
Mister stays behind to talk with a few contacts—including someone named Timothy—leaving the rest of us waiting by the entrance. It would've been a good opportunity to relax—if our group didn't immediately burst into conversation.
Shock taps me and Remi on the back, her face lit up with a mix of enthusiasm and concern. "Wooow! I, like, totally thought we were gonna get into massive trouble back there!"
Tetra leans against a nearby railing, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, so… is this kind of thing normal when working with gangsters?"
Azure chuckles, shaking her head. "No. It was just Remi being stupid."
Remi snorts, nostrils flaring. "BRO! I was just standin' my ground! Ain't no way I'm lettin' those gonks walk all over me."
"You're just lucky the solo over here," Azure says, jerking her thumb at me with a smirk, "was there to save your ass."
"Ey, I won't lie, she did come in a lil clutch. But nothing would've gone down if those chooms didn't start actin' up in the first place."
"Right…" Azure laughs under her breath, giving me a playful elbow. "Mind showin' me that move later?"
"Maybe." I shrug.
Tetra raises a hand like he's in class, looking genuinely curious. "Wait, Remi, why'd you even come in with us? I mean, you didn't have to."
Poor guy, he looks genuinely lost. Depending on how sad this gets, one of us might have to help him adjust to city life.
Remi shakes his head. "Aight, choom, lemme tell you somethin'." He gestures for Tetra to step closer, and he actually does. "Ain't nobody messin' with me, and I ain't about to be anyone's bitch."
Tetra tilts his head, skeptical. "Uh… I don't know, man. Sounds like you're just asking for trouble."
"Nah, I can handle it."
I snort loud enough that everyone looks my way. "Dude, you can't be serious. We almost got screwed over because of your 'beef' with them."
"Eh, we were fine."
"Based on what?"
"Just sayin', Blake was pretty chill. If the boss is chill, we're chill."
"That's… a massive assumption."
"It's called facts. Anyway, we've got a crew that can throw down if things go south."
"You haven't even seen all of us in action yet."
"I don't need to. Vibes don't lie."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"I just got the vibes, choom. You ever look at someone and just know if they're gonna be chill or a bitch? Yeah, it's like that."
"So you're saying you genuinely believe we could've won?"
"Yuh."
I roll my eyes, giving up on the argument. Tetra looks just as dumbfounded.
The rest of us, mercifully, shift the topic to Blake.
Shock elbows Azure in the side. "So anyway, what do you think of Blake?" She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, smirking. "His face, his voice—he's kinda… hot."
Azure furrows her brows but nods slightly. "I'm more interested in how implanted he is. The guy's a full borg, minimum. That's not stock—that's a heavily modded General Products FBC. Looks like it started as a construction frame."
Tetra blinks. "FBC?"
"Full-body conversion," Azure explains, glancing his way. "Basically, everything from the neck down is cybernetic. And that armour plating? Custom job. No way it's corporate standard."
Shock, meanwhile, looks like she's off in her own fantasy. "Do you think he's… natural down there? Or is he borged out completely?" She gasps, eyes wide. "How does he even use the restroom?"
I roll my eyes. "Girl, what do you even see in him?"
"A ride…" Shock mumbles, cheeks flushing as she looks away.
I blink, utterly flabbergasted. "I… see."
Remi shrugs. "Ey, valid, I guess."
Azure just laughs and shakes her head, while Tetra looks like he's trying to reboot his brain. The doors behind us open before the conversation can spiral any further, and Mister steps out.
He adjusts his coat collar, giving us a once-over. "I'm back. I know exactly where they are now. Did I miss anything important?"
Tetra shakes his head. "No, not really. We were just talking about what happened earlier."
Yeah. That's one way to put it.
Mister nods. "Understood. I went back to grab Blake's number in case anything went wrong. Also, the Dead Kings won't bother us as long as we don't start anything. You have my word."
His head turns to Remi.
The rocker smirks. "Good. If they don't start shit with me, then I won't either."
"Let's move, then." Mister gestures toward the van.
We all turn and make our way toward it, leaving behind the hum of the city.
Minutes blur together as everyone settles in. The van hums softly as we cruise down the highway, the bright lights of Vancouver fading behind us while Burnaby slips past our windows.
The ride is mostly quiet.
Shock sits near me, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. I clutch my duffle bag, eyes fixed on the night sky beyond the glass, watching the landscape shift with every passing minute. Remi sprawls out in the back, probably on his phone too, while Azure sits beside him, her gaze distant and unfocused.
Up front, Tetra listens intently as Mister explains the situation.
"So, to make sure everyone's on the same page," he says. "Carl—one of the Dead Kings' men who was part of the railgun team—retreated to Surrey. They were chased by a bunch of gangs from Richmond all the way to Burnaby. Getting back to their main base in Vancouver was impossible, so Carl and his team made a last-ditch retreat to Surrey."
"I overheard a bit, but was it just because Surrey used to be their old headquarters?" Tetra asks. "Why go back if it's such a bad place?"
"That's precisely why," Mister replies. "It's a combat zone—no law enforcement, overpopulated, and ruled by multiple gangs: the GTown Boys, Byte Raiders, Banshees, and Melders. Whatever happens there, no one asks questions."
"I don't get it. Wouldn't it make more sense to stay away from Surrey? Why go deeper into enemy territory?"
"On paper, yes. But consider this—Surrey's massive, sprawling, and effectively ungoverned. The gangs hold a lot of turf, but the borders are muddy: pockets of firm control sit beside neutral ground, and whole sections are so chaotic no one can or wants to rule them. If you're trying to disappear, the worst place to be might be the best place to hide. I don't agree with the logic, but I can see why they'd take that gamble."
Shock glances up from her phone. "Wait, so this place is, like… a total dump?"
"Most of it," Mister says with a nod. "Burnaby and Richmond are getting corporate-funded expansions, but places like Surrey and Langley are still lawless until Vancouver fully stabilizes. Beyond that? It only gets worse—whole regions that are practically unlivable because of the crash."
"Wait, rewind," Shock says, brows knitting. "What's the deal with this whole 'economic crash,' anyway? I keep hearing about it, but I've only been here a few years. From what I've seen, North America got hit way harder than we did. Back in Europe, we didn't really have a problem. Once the markets crashed, it took only a few weeks to reset and we were back up."
"The answer's simple—Canada didn't have the same corporate infrastructure Europe did. The country was built on old-school industries, and when the crash hit, those sectors collapsed—dragging a lot of cities down with them. Vancouver bounced back first because it was profitable for trade and tech. But the farther inland you go, the worse it gets—some places are still waiting their turn. The government just can't keep up."
He pauses, then adds, "And if it's any comfort, the States aren't doing much better. Most of their rebuilds stalled years ago."
I stare out the window as rows of run-down buildings blur past, their windows dark or flickering under weak streetlights. I'm half listening to the conversation, but the talk of Canada's finances barely registers.
It used to matter—back when I was broke enough to care whether the economy lived or died. Now, money stopped being my problem a long time ago.
A glint of broken glass catches my eye—shards scattered across a web of cracked pavement. We roll past a rusted sign half-hanging from its frame, the faded letters SFU barely visible beneath grime and rain streaks. Once, it marked Simon Fraser University's Surrey campus.
Something twists in my chest. I remember walking through the campus with a backpack full of textbooks and caffeine dreams, thinking I'd end up in sports medicine or rehab clinics.
Now I'm just another dropout, surviving on whatever pays—legal or not.
The van rolls to a stop at the edge of a cracked, sprawling road cutting straight through the combat zone. Barely standing apartment blocks and gutted storefronts loom on either side, their façades drowning in grime and half-dead neon. Broken streetlights flicker, throwing uneven pools of light over scattered groups of drifters moving in silence.
Shock wrinkles her nose. "This place is… not it."
"Yeah, no kidding." Tetra leans forward, peering through the windshield. "It's like the city just gave up."
Mister parks and adjusts his coat. "They did—at least temporarily. Surrey was abandoned to prioritize Vancouver's expansion. As I said earlier, the farther you go from Vancouver, the worse it gets."
"Gotta give credit where it's due—Gestalt's got ambition, I'll give them that," Azure says at last, her tone light, almost amused. "He's throwing corporations at the problem like they're miracle workers. His rivals call it overreach—maybe they're right. The local companies can't even keep themselves alive, let alone fix this place. It's… complicated."
I glance at a row of boarded-up windows tagged with layers of graffiti. "Complicated or not, this place is a shitshow."
"Focus," Mister says. "This used to be the Dead Kings' HQ before they moved to safer ground." He points toward a massive complex ahead—what used to be a cluster of high-rises fused together by walkways and skybridges. "It's been empty for a while—probably ransacked. If Carl's team came back here, they're desperate."
We step out of the van, the cold night biting at my skin. The silence is thick, broken only by the hum of distant engines and faint voices echoing through the alleyways.
I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder; its weight settles against me like an old habit.
Mister scans the area while Shock pulls out her cyberdeck, her eyes flicking across the interface. "I'll see if any cameras are still functioning."
Tetra and Azure move toward the main entrance. Azure's voice carries low as she explains something about load-bearing walls and needing Tetra's help—whatever that means.
The two vanish into the dark, their footsteps swallowed by the city's emptiness.
Mister turns to me and Remi. "Let's check the perimeter."
…
April 15, 2021. 00:53. Surrey.
We spread out, tension thick in the air.
The once-luxurious towers now stand as hollow monuments to ambition gone wrong. Glass crunches beneath our boots, every sound amplified by the quiet.
My hand drifts to the pistol at my side—instinct, not fear.
Remi, Mister, and I move along the perimeter, keeping low as we scan the area.
The ruins rise around us like grave markers, each one whispering its own story of decay. Some buildings are little more than skeletons—walls cracked, foundations sinking, windows gaping open to the wind. Others still cling to life, faint lights flickering in shattered panes, the distant echo of movement somewhere within.
The streets, though hushed, aren't empty. Figures linger along the sidewalks and in the shadows of alleys. The homeless huddle beneath layers of scavenged fabric, faces hidden from the cold. A few ordinary citizens shuffle past, heads down, shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear. Then there are the drunks—louder, sloppier, their voices cutting through the stillness. Slurred laughter and pointless arguments bounce off the walls, an unwanted soundtrack.
What really draws my attention, though, are the implants. Cybernetics aren't unusual here—cheap ones are everywhere—but these stand out. Sloppy. Ugly. Overdone.
I can't help but stare, part curious, part disgusted.
Limbs crudely bolted on, mismatched metals gleaming under the dim streetlights. Neural links sparking intermittently—a flicker of blue light and the faint smell of ozone—clear signs of bad wiring or knockoff tech.
"I'd hate to live here," I mutter under my breath, derision thick in my voice. "This whole place is ass."
"What'd you say?" Remi glances over, one brow raised.
"This place is a hellhole," I repeat, shaking my head. As I do, my gaze drifts to the others on the street—men with crude implants glinting under the flickering lights. I start cataloging them out of habit. I'm no expert, but even I can tell these mods are bottom-shelf junk.
Then—something catches my eye. I stop.
Five men step out from a nearby alley, their movements too coordinated. At first, they seem like any other gang of street rats drifting through the combat zone.
But something about them is wrong.
Their lower faces are completely cybernetic—gleaming metal jaws and cheeks reflecting the fractured light from a busted streetlamp.
It's not just the chrome—it's the similarity. Each one sports identical modifications: mechanical jaws, glowing red goggle-eyes that cut through the dark, and that deliberate, purposeful stride you never see in just a typical hooligan.
I nudge Mister and nod toward them. "Shit—you see those guys?"
He stops scanning a ruined storefront and turns toward me, visor catching the faint light. "What is it?"
Remi senses the shift immediately. He stops fiddling with his jacket and straightens, eyes darting between us.
I tilt my chin toward the alley. "Over there. Five of them."
"Ah, Melders." Mister says evenly.
"Ah shitttt—here we go again." Remi's brows tighten; he cracks his knuckles.
Mister keeps his voice low. "They're way outside their turf. They must really want the railgun."
I narrow my eyes, hand drifting to my pistol. "Seems like they're scouting, too."
Mister nods. "Probably stragglers. We need to deal with them soon."
We slow our pace. I study the Melders. "Five. All got iron. Mini-Auto 9s, mostly." I scan their stances and loadouts. "We can't leave them alone—it's too risky. What do we do?"
"We eliminate them. Quietly—no gunfire," Mister says. "Artemis, take point."
"Fine with me." I lock in, eyes flicking from target to cover. "I'll take the one on the left, closest to the alley—isolated. Mister, you're second for a quiet takedown. Remi, watch the rest and be ready to distract if it goes sideways."
Remi grins. "Aight. Say less."
"Stay close. Don't spread out," Mister adds.
Knife—ready. Pistol—holstered. Utility pouch: sound emitters, a flash charge, the usual scraps. That'll have to do.
The Melders talk low, half-attentive, goggles glowing faintly in the dark.
Slipping into the shadows, I close the distance.
The first one never hears me.
I slide in behind him. My left hand clamps over his mouth before he can breathe in, my right drives the blade up beneath his jaw—quick, precise.
His body twitches once, then goes limp. I ease him down, lowering his weight until he rests against the gutter. Careful not to let the blood touch me.
Dark stains bloom across the concrete.
Mister moves next, circling behind another Melder. His motions are slower, heavier, but deliberate. One arm hooks around the target's throat, dragging him backward into the dark. A sharp jab of his combat knife into the ribs ends the struggle fast. He lowers the body, efficient enough.
I shift position, quick and quiet, then flick a signal to Remi—three fingers raised, then a downward wave. The remaining three.
One of them pauses, sensing something off. Before suspicion takes root, Remi steps out from cover with a lazy stretch and an exaggerated yawn.
"Yo, chooms! Lost or something?" he calls out, tone casual but just loud enough to snap their focus.
The Melders react instantly—two draw their weapons, the third snarls, "Who the fuck—"
Remi throws his hands up mockingly. "Whoa, relax! Just passing through!"
It's enough. While their attention locks on him, Mister and I move.
Mister moves in behind the first, arm locking tight around the man's throat—pressure, then a clean knife thrust to the side. Before the body even hits the ground, I'm already on the next. A hand hooks under his jaw, a pull, a flash of steel, and his throat opens silently. The last one fumbles for his gun, panic breaking his rhythm; two quick steps close the distance, I trap his wrist, twist him off balance, and the blade finds him before the pistol clears the holster.
Silence settles into the alley—the rumble of a motorbike fades in the distance, a bottle shatters down the block, and somewhere nearby, laughter echoes through the dark.
Then Remi's low chuckle cuts through it. "Shiii…"
I wipe my knife clean on a scrap from the nearest body. Mister exhales sharply, kneeling to search the corpses. "Let's hope Carl didn't see any of that."
A few minutes later, we regroup at the front of the building, keeping low as we trade quick, quiet reports.
Shock speaks first, her voice calm but hushed. "Ya, sooo, it's all clear. No signs of reinforcements yet." Her eyes glow faint purple as her left hand traces symbols in the air. "There's definitely Dead Kings inside, though." She swipes at something invisible, her right fingers flicking through data only she can see. "There's a few old firewalls and security systems but they're easy to bypass."
"The whole place is a wreck." Azure crosses her arms, eyeing the crumbling facade. "First floor's got busted windows and doors that barely latch. Getting in won't be a problem."
Tetra nods. "Yeah. We checked the other routes. Most are blocked or too risky. There's collapsed sections and exposed rebar everywhere. The front's our best option."
Mister scans the group, helmet tilting slightly. "Then let's move. We've got the advantage, but it won't last. If anyone else shows up, we risk losing Carl or running into reinforcements."
"Ready to go." I adjust the strap of my duffle, eyes locked on the building.
My gear probably won't see use tonight—or so I hope—but I'm bringing it anyway.
The others nod, understanding passing between us.
With that, we slip inside, vanishing through the broken doorway as the building looms—shattered windows and graffiti-stained walls whispering of years gone wrong.