Barry almost turned around at the gate.
Field 3 again.
FIELD 3 — ROUND 222EXTRACT WINDOWS: 09:15 / 09:30 / 09:45HARD CLOSE: 10:00
Morning cycle. Different light, same dead concrete.
The spider carcass had bought a little more than Jay expected—its core had held a clean block of NEXUS logic. Some corp-brat handler paid well for the scrap.
Result:
One fresh mag of factory 9mm.
One extra medband.
A secondhand chest plate that wasn't complete garbage.
It still felt like paper.
Jay had grunted, "You look ten percent less like a victim," and signed off on another run.
So here he was again, in Gate 3's tunnel, collar buzzing as NEXUS flagged his ID green.
FIELD MODE: ENGAGED
Blast door: up. Air: cold, damp, ash-sour.
Barry crossed the yellow line and flinched at nothing. His nerves arrived three seconds before the danger.
He peeled away from the mid-lane idiots on reflex now. Let the chrome boys charge and yell. He headed down a side street, breathing slow.
You've done this once, he told himself. You didn't die. Same rules. Rat.
Stacks of broken vending machines made a narrow passage. Rust flakes scuffed quiet under his boots.
He was so focused on his own steps he almost missed hers.
Soft. Close.
He spun. Too fast.
The pistol jumped into his hand; his finger landed a breath too near the trigger.
The woman already had him lined up.
She stood half in shadow at the mouth of an alley, car frame between them, pistol held smooth and steady. Light rig. Plates properly fitted. Dark braid tucked away. No glowing chrome, no painted mask.
Her collar hummed blue, same as his.
"Easy," she said.
Barry froze, heart smashing. "Don't move."
She raised a brow. "You're aiming at my center mass with your safety still on."
He risked a glance. Safety: still red.
Shit.
He flicked it off, which somehow made it worse.
"Now you're aiming with your hands shaking," she added, calm. "That's worse."
No bots. No Locals jumping the walls. No gunfire right on top of them.
Just him, overreacting.
Steps aren't friendly, Jay had said.
She hadn't exactly crept, but she hadn't stomped either. That was on him.
"Drop the gun," Barry said, because his brain had fully committed to stupid.
"Nah," she said.
They stood in silence, both sighted, both steadying.
Then she huffed. "Look, kid. If I wanted your pack, you'd already be trying to breathe around a hole. You're wearing fresh plates and a pistol that doesn't match your holster. First or second Round?"
"Second," Barry said before he could stop himself.
"Thought so." She didn't lower the gun yet. "You with anyone?"
"No squad," he said. "Solo."
"Good." She finally eased her aim a few centimeters off him. Not away—just… less murder. "Squads get noisy. Noisy gets dead."
She had the lootgoblin look: efficient pockets, nothing dangling, eyes always checking reflections.
"Are you going to shoot me or just panic in my general direction?" she asked.
"I haven't decided," he said, too honest.
Her mouth twitched. "Name's Lena. I patch people up. If they pay."
"Barry," he said. "I don't… camp extracts. If that's what you're wondering."
"Didn't think you did," Lena said. "Campers have better guns."
That stung. Fair.
She finally lowered her pistol all the way, one hand still on the grip.
"I came up this lane to avoid a murderhobo trio going main," she said. "You walked into my line like a stray. Pro tip? Next time you spin on footsteps, check your own safety before you try a threat."
"You came up behind me," Barry said, defensive.
"I walked like a person who didn't want to eat glass," she said. "If I were a Local, I'd have come from above."
His eyes flicked to the roofline, involuntary.
She nodded. "Good. Keep doing that."
Silence again.
"I'm not friendly," Barry said finally. "Just not interested in killing you."
"Good," Lena echoed. "I'm not friendly either. I'm busy."
She nodded at his pack. "You hit any spots yet?"
"Not yet."
She jerked her chin toward a different block. "Two buildings over, third floor, red door—fridge usually coughs something up. Watch the ceiling. NEX units like to nest there."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why tell me?"
"Because if you live," she said, "you're one more body not wasting my meds later. Because you're not running with the shouty chrome kids. And because you didn't just magdump at a silhouette."
That last part was generous.
"You expecting a cut?" Barry asked.
"If you come out with more credits than sense, I'll charge you for real work one day," Lena said. "Call it an investment."
She holstered her pistol like she wasn't worried he'd suddenly grow a spine and shoot her.
"Rule for free," she added, backing into the alley. "If we bump into each other again in a hot spot, we're ghosts. No screaming my name, no trusting I'll cover you. Situational only, yeah?"
"Yeah," Barry said.
"And if you hear steps that match yours?" she asked.
"Don't trust them," Barry said.
"Good goblin." She gave a small two-finger salute and was gone, slipping between rusted cars and dead ad-boards like she'd done it a thousand times.
Barry stood alone again, pulse still too fast.
He exhaled, flicked his safety properly, and realized his shoulders had been at his ears.
"Idiot," he muttered at himself.
But he filed the red door tip away.
Not a friend. Not an enemy.
Something in between.
His collar timer ticked:
T+03:17
Plenty of time to screw up or make it count.
Barry adjusted his grip, checked the roofs like Lena had said, and moved—light, quiet, goblin-brained—toward the next building.
Solo. For now.
He waited until Lena's footsteps faded into the ruin's breath.
Then Barry blew out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Smooth," he muttered at himself. "Almost died of social interaction."
His HUD blinked:
T+03:17
Plenty of time. Red door, third floor. Watch the ceiling.
He cut across a broken plaza, keeping low, scanning windows and rooftops the way she'd nudged him to. No movement except a distant squad crossing a catwalk, all loud armor and bigger guns than sense.
The building Lena mentioned had a rusted corporate logo half-hanging over the entrance and a smear of old soot across its glass. Inside, the lobby yawned wide and empty: reception desk, dead holo-pillars, a line of turned-over chairs.
He stepped in. The air was colder.
He paused. Listened.
Nothing close.
Up the stairs. Second floor: red emergency strips, offices picked mostly clean. Third floor: the big "3" at the landing, faintly lit.
He found the red door halfway down the hall. Actual paint. Closed. Unkicked.
Good sign.
"Okay," he whispered. "Don't be cursed."
He tested the knob. It gave. He eased it open, pistol ready.
Inside: what used to be a manager's office.
Wide window overlooking the avenue. Desk. Cabinets. A filing unit on its side. No bodies. No obvious camera drones. No scuttling spider shapes.
He swept corners. Clear.
Quick, then.
Desk drawers:
Top: dead pen, holocard.
Middle: nothing.
Bottom: sealed can of high-cal protein strips.
Cabinet:
Two packs of water purifiers, still wrapped.
One roll of proper tape.
A little white case with a faded red cross—basic medkit. Inside, a fresh medband and a cleaner stim.
"Lena, I almost like you," Barry murmured.
Everything went into the pack. It was starting to have honest weight, not just spider metal memories.
He straightened, checked HUD.
T+07:02
First extract was doable. He'd make that. No greed. That was the promise.
A soft sound cut across his thoughts.
Beep.
Barry froze.
Tiny. Electronic. Somewhere in the hall.
Beep-beep.
He moved to the door, slow, leaned just enough to peek.
The hallway was empty.
Then something rolled around the corner.
White sphere. Smooth shell, scuffed, about the size of a melon. One small lens glowed blue, with a tiny NEXUS glyph beside it.
It rolled on internal gyros, quiet except for the little servo whirr and the intermittent beep.
Barry pulled back behind the doorframe on instinct, pistol up.
Survey unit? he thought. He'd seen them at a distance. Utility bots. Map, scan, log.
It beeped again, closer now.
He eased another look.
The orb stopped mid-hall.
The blue lens pivoted, locking dead on his doorway.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
His collar pinged with a tiny, meaningless NEXUS status packet. The ball's glyphs flickered.
The lens color twitched.
Blue.
Then purple.
Then a hard, wrong red.
The beeping sped up. From patient to urgent—detonator tempo.
"Oh, no," Barry whispered.
The orb kicked forward, rolling faster, bouncing off the wall toward his door.
He didn't think. He slammed the door shut and threw his weight against it.
The beeps became a solid shrill tone.
"Shitshitshi—"
The world went white and teeth.
The blast punched the door inward and him backward. Something hammered his left leg with hot nails. Dust filled his mouth, his ears, his everything. His HUD glitched into static for a second.
He hit the floor with a grunt, ears ringing so hard it was like he was underwater.
The red door lay half off its hinges, curled and blackened. Chunks of cheap office wall had become shrapnel.
Barry tried to move his leg. It responded with white lightning.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Okay. Okay. That's new."
Bits of sphere casing lay scattered through the room: white fragments, smoking. The center core housing had punched into the far wall and split, guts sizzling.
His collar flickered, stabilized.
FIELD INCIDENT LOGGEDUNIT: [UNREG] // FLAG: CORRUPT
He laughed once, a sharp, breathless sound. "Yeah. No shit."
He checked himself.
Left thigh: bloody. A jagged slice where a fragment had punched through fabric. Not bone-deep, but deep enough to hate.
Both arms: bruised, minor cuts.
Leg worked, barely. He could move it. Could limp.
He clawed for his pack, dragging it closer. Hands shook, but muscle memory from last time took over.
Medband packet. Rip. Slap high on the thigh, press till it sealed.
Pain doused to a growling throb.
He burned the basic stim from the office kit—jammed it into his shoulder, hissed as cold fire spread. Heart steadied. Vision sharpened.
HUD flickered back properly:
T+09:31
He'd lost over two minutes to getting blown up.
"First window," he rasped. "Now or never."
Through the ruined doorway, he could see the hallway wall torn open, scorch marks licking the ceiling. That ball had been small. If it had been closer—
He pushed that thought away.
There were still bits of the bot sitting there. Core shards, lens fragments, twisted smartmetal. Some charred black, some gleaming, faintly humming.
Jay's voice: Gear is how you tell the numbers to go fuck themselves.
Barry grabbed the least-burned chunk of core housing on his way out. It was palm-sized, still warm.
"You're coming too," he muttered.
Limping now, he moved.
Down the stairwell, every step a reminder in his thigh. Through the lobby, ears still hissing. Back into the gray light of the street.
Somewhere far off, automatic fire rolled. A scream cut short.
Closer, a Blue-Eye biped turned its lens toward the scorch plume from his building, paused, logged, moved on.
No one came to help.
"Goblins live," Barry told himself. "Move."
He half-limped, half-hobbled along the back ways he'd mapped yesterday, hugging cars and walls. Any footsteps he heard, he froze and let pass.
No Locals dropped. No murderhobos rounded the corner.
For once, it was just him versus the clock.
T+13:47
He hit the subway stairs breathing hard, leg complaining. The green shimmer at the bottom of the tunnel had never looked better.
Three other runners were already in the extract, guns half up, eyes nowhere near friendly.
Barry stumbled into the zone.
His collar sang:
EXTRACT 1 — ACTIVESYNCING INVENTORY…
He braced for a last-second bullet.
None came.
SYNC COMPLETEROUND STATUS: SURVIVED
White.
Then Stack air rushed in—dirty, electric, alive.
Barry staggered, caught himself on a pillar. The pain in his leg surged now that adrenaline was crashing.
He checked his pack.
Bricks. Water. Meds. One scorched core-shard from a suicidal ball bot.
All his.
Collar pinged:
PERSONAL CREDIT: +26CLINIC ACCESS: UPDATED
More than last time. Enough to notice.
He limped out of the arrival zone alone.
NEXUS had corrupted rolling grenades now. Or something inside NEXUS was sloppier than it admitted.
Either way, Jay was going to have fun with this one.
Barry just focused on not bleeding on the stairs.