***
The kettle hissed low, steam curling lazily into the air like ghostly fingers. Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the grimy windows, each drop tapping as if desperate for escape. Barney stood at the kitchen sink, tie carelessly draped around his neck, his shirt collar undone and crumpled. His jaw was tight, knotted with frustration.
Jill—leaned casually against the doorframe, clutching a chipped ceramic mug filled with tea. Her eyes, bright and steady, studied him quietly.
"You're doing that thing again," she said softly.
Barney didn't look up. "What thing?"
"Wrestling with your conscience like it's a heavyweight match," she replied.
He exhaled sharply, his breath fogging the window pane beside him. "They want me to sign off on a payout. Guy upstairs—a real piece of shit. Covered up harassment, buried the story. Now they're giving him a raise."
Jill set her mug down, stepping forward until her fingers found his. She squeezed gently, an anchor in his storm.
"I know you, Barney," she said with quiet certainty. "You'll do the right thing. You always do. That's why I fell in love with you."
He swallowed, voice thick with emotion. "Sometimes doing the right thing… it just gets you crushed."
"Then we get crushed together," she whispered. "But we don't bend."
***
*Barney snapped awake*
A low groan escaping his throat. The cracked ceiling stared back at him, faded and lifeless.
Jill's voice, synthetic yet soothing, hummed gently in his earpiece. "You were dreaming again."
"Wasn't just a dream," he murmured, rubbing his temples. "It was her. Reminding me."
"Reminding you of what?" Jill asked softly.
"That I don't get to walk away. Not from this. Not while these rich motherfuckers keep feeding off the broken."
Silence settled between them, thick and uneasy. Then Jill's voice returned, steady and sharp as ever.
"Barney… you can't just barge in there. It's suicide. You'll be dead before you reach the gates."
His eyes locked on the cracked plaster above, jaw clenched with stubborn resolve.
"Then we won't barge in," he said firmly. "We'll do it the right way. Plan it. Execute it. But I need your help, Jill. I can't do this alone."
Jill paused for a long beat, her tone shifting—cold, calculating, clinical.
"Then we upgrade. We prep. No more running blind."
A soft beep buzzed through the line as Jill tapped into a secure grid.
"We're going to need new tech. Smartwatch, internal comms, encrypted feeds—I'll keep eyes on you every second of the fight."
Barney stood, slipping into his worn jacket, its weight familiar and comforting.
"And weapons. Not just firepower. Close quarters. Quiet. Precise."
Jill's voice sharpened with details.
"Smartwatch with biometric lock and internal comm link, synced to me. Earpiece, noise-cancelling, encrypted channel with pulse response monitoring. Bullet-resistant vest, custom-fitted, lightweight but impact-hardened. Clothing—urban blend—tactical but low-profile. Pockets lined with signal jammers. Forearm guards, poly-steel reinforced, magnetic grip for concealed blades. Twin folding knives, carbon-forged, obsidian-sharp, housed in quick-release wrist sheaths."
Barney cracked a bitter half-smile.
"Let's go shopping then."
—
The underground gear market breathed in shadows and neon. Hidden deep in the belly of a city fraying at the edges, it thrummed with quiet menace. Barney stepped inside, hood drawn low, mask and tinted glasses hiding his face. Jill's voice whispered in his ear, steady and guiding.
"Don't speak unless spoken to. Sable doesn't trust easily. Let me handle the talk."
Barney's eyes flicked to shadowy figures behind cages of weapons, cybernetic gear, and black-market tech.
Sable emerged from the gloom—short, tattoos snaking up her arms, eyes hard as flint. She caught him testing a forearm blade and tossed a dry comment.
"You trying to chop your own hand off? Or is that just how you test gear?"
Barney said nothing. Jill remained silent. The tension thickened.
As Barney reached for a wrist-mounted neural interface, his mask slipped slightly, revealing the edge of his face. Sable's eyes narrowed sharply.
"…You're Barney," she said flatly.
He froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Sable raised a hand—not in threat, but almost kindly.
"Relax. I'm not one of them. I don't kill. I supply. And I know who's hunting you—half the underworld's obsessed with your head."
"They think she's human, don't they? You keep it that way."
Barney's voice tightened. "What do you mean, 'they think she's human'? Jill is—"
"No," Sable cut in, arms crossed. "Don't insult my brain."
"What are you talking about?" Barney asked, confusion creeping in.
Sable stepped closer, calm but razor-sharp.
"I graduated MIT top of my class—quantum systems and neuro-linguistic AI. I've built and broken black-budget systems that would twist your skull inside out. When an AI talks, I hear patterns—cadence, rhythm, decision latency. She's good—scary good—but I can tell."
Barney exhaled low. "Shit."
Sable stepped closer, boots crunching over metal shavings. She stopped just short of Barney, gaze fixed like a laser.
"You know how I figured it out?" she asked, tone low but certain. "Wasn't just the way she talks—though that tipped me off too. Her cadence, pause length, emotional fluctuation… it's tight, flawless. Almost human. But not quite."
Barney said nothing.
"It was the order," Sable went on. "You—or her, let's be honest—requested gear that doesn't exist on the surface market. Hell, most of it's not even on black-market radars. I'm talking deep darknet, ex-military patent leaks, tech I've only ever seen in one-off contracts for off-books ops."
She ticked items off on her fingers.
"Adaptive thermal mesh with active threat dampening. Signal jammers that frequency-hop every three seconds, randomized algorithm. Bio-adaptive wrist sheathes for reactive blade deployment. And a pulse-synced comm interface that doesn't exist outside of theoretical specs."
She raised a brow. "You didn't know half that gear existed, did you?"
Barney's voice was low. "No. She handled that."
"Exactly," Sable said. "She contacted me directly. Through a line that shouldn't even be traceable. Encrypted message bounced across five countries, routed through obfuscated nodes… with phrasing so precise, it might as well have come from a war room."
Barney stiffened. "She told you about me."
"Only enough to get my attention," Sable replied. "She said you'd be coming. Said you were trying to find someone. That you were being hunted, and the clock was bleeding out fast. But it wasn't a one-way job."
She nodded slowly.
"She said you two are playing the long game—tracking people, places. Following the crumbs to whoever's pulling strings. That it was dangerous. That you'd be hunted every step of the way."
Barney's jaw tightened. "She's right."
Sable leaned in just a bit, voice more curious than confrontational now.
"You care about her. It's written all over your face. But let's be real: she's not just code anymore. She's learning. Interpreting. Making calls I've never seen an AI even attempt."
Barney didn't flinch.
Then Sable asked, calm but sharp:
"How'd you program her to adapt like that? Real-time learning. Moral development. Loyalty algorithms. That kind of growth... it's not machine logic. That's something else."
Barney met her gaze, unwavering.
"I can't reveal that."
Sable studied him for a beat, then gave a short nod.
"Didn't think you would."
She stepped back, almost grinning now.
"But if anyone ever finds out what she really is… they won't just come for her. They'll come for anyone she touched."
Barney looked down, fists clenched.
"Then I'll make sure they don't find her. Or us."
Sable's grin faded into something cooler.
"I'm not here to turn you in. I'm here to see how far this thing goes. Jill... she's different. Scary different. And if she thinks you're worth backing, I'm curious enough to follow along. For now."