Deep in the labyrinthine alleyways of Sector 20, where the smog hung thick enough to chew, the Red Dogs' base hummed with the discordant energy of a gang barely held together.
The converted parking garage reeked of stale synth-liquor and burnt wiring, its flickering overhead lights casting jagged shadows across the stained concrete.
At the center sat Gideon, his massive frame slouched in the gang's so-called "throne"—a salvaged mag-lev captain's chair bolted to a raised platform.
The three-headed dog tattoo on his shoulder pulsed faintly with bioluminescent ink as he drummed his fingers against the armrest.
"Vega," Gideon's voice cut through the murmur of the squad leaders gathered around the makeshift war table, which is an old subway maintenance hatch propped on cinderblocks. "Status update on our Talon problem."
Vega—lean, scarred, with eyes that never quite focused on anything—leaned forward.
His jacket sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms etched with kill marks and a fresh burn still glistening with med-gel.
"Plant took the bait. Fed them the east tunnel intel like we discussed. They bit hard." He smirked, tapping the table with a Myriad-issue data spike. "Even left 'em a pretty little badge to find."
A round of rough laughter circled the table.
All except Tenn, who sat hunched at the far end, her multi-tool arm whirring as she sketched conduit schematics in midair with a holographic pen.
The glow painted her face in eerie blue as she muttered to herself, adjusting equations only she could see.
"Tenn." Gideon's voice carried an edge. "You listening or just playing engineer again?"
She didn't look up.
"Mm. Mole. Talons. Yay." Her tool-arm shifted into a plasma torch with a satisfying snick, making the Red Dog to her left flinch. "Wake me when we actually raid something."
Gideon's jaw tightened, but before he could retort, Arden—the gang's wiry, white-haired strategist—cleared his throat.
His ocular implant zoomed as he pulled up a grainy feed of the Neon Bazaar. "More concerning development. Karen was spotted interrogating Sable."
Isla, the youngest squad leader and the only one without augmentation, stiffened. "She talk?"
"Unclear." Felix, their hulking enforcer, cracked his knuckles.
The subdermal plating along his arms shimmered under the lights. "Want me to clean it up?"
Gideon studied the feed, his tattoo flickering as his muscles tensed. "Not yet." His gaze drifted to Tenn, still lost in her schematics. "We move when—"
A sudden pop of sparks erupted from Tenn's workspace as her prototype conduit flared to life—for exactly three seconds before exploding in a shower of glass shards.
The Red Dogs ducked.
Gideon didn't flinch.
Tenn grinned, wiping soot from her face. "Huh. That one lasted longer."
The flickering holoscreen cast jagged shadows across Gideon's face as he leaned forward, his three-headed dog tattoo pulsing under the dim light.
"Without Nex and Gristle," he said, voice a low rumble, "this is the best opportunity we've ever had to bury the Talons for good."
Arden's thin lips curled into a smirk, his fingers steepled in front of him.
"Maybe we could even... adjust the pricing on our own products," he mused, eyes glinting with naked greed. "Double the cost for Glow. Triple it for combat stims. The addicts will pay, and the Talons won't have the supply to undercut us."
Isla—young, restless, her knuckles scarred from too many early brawls—leaned in. "Or we could skip the waiting and raid their base now," she said, fingers tapping the grip of her shock baton. "Hit them while they're still scrambling."
Felix cracked his neck, the subdermal plating along his shoulders flexing. "Huh. Maybe we can." His voice was a gravelly monotone, but the way his augmented fists clenched betrayed his eagerness.
Gideon's palm slammed down on the table, the impact rattling empty stim canisters and loose bullet casings.
"No. Not yet." His glare swept across them, silencing the murmurs before they could start. "If we're going to fight them, we do it right."
He tapped the holoscreen, pulling up a map of Talon territory. "We don't just raid. We strangle them. Cut their supply lines. Turn their own people against them. Make sure when we finally put a bullet in Vey's skull, there's nobody left to avenge them."
A slow, vicious grin spread across his face. "We don't just win. We erase them."
In the dim corner of the room, Tenn's multi-tool arm whirred softly as she tuned out the war talk.
Her head swayed in subtle disapproval, the glow of her holographic schematics casting sharp shadows across her face.
She had joined the Red Dogs years ago, back when their rallying cry was about protecting scavengers from corporate sweepers.
But now?
Now it was just an obsession with crushing the Talons—no matter the cost.
Her thoughts shattered as the reinforced door hissed open.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the flickering corridor lights.
The flame tattoo on the back of his hand pulsed like a living brand.
Gideon's chair screeched as he shot to his feet. "I-if it isn't Blaze." His voice was too loud, too forced.
"Hello-hello." Blaze's greeting was singsong, his fingers wiggling in a mockery of a wave.
The air around him shimmered with latent heat.
"My friend, Gideon." He stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind him with a finality that made Felix's augments twitch. "Have you finished the job I gave you?"
Gideon's temple gleamed with sweat despite the room's chill.
Friend.
The word was a knife pressed to his throat.
He knew exactly what Blaze was—a psychopath wrapped in a rawcaster's grace, a man who'd burn a sector to the ground just to watch the flames dance.
"N-not yet," Gideon managed, his throat dry. "We're scouring every sector for the man you're looking for."
Blaze's smile didn't reach his eyes.
With a flick of his wrist, a coil of fire ignited in his palm, twisting like a living thing.
His skin didn't blister.
It didn't even redden.
"I told you I'd give you a week." The flame pulsed, casting hellish light across the war table. "It's the fifth day now."
Gideon's pulse hammered. "P-please, we still have two more days. We'll find him by then."
Inside, he was screaming.
The image Blaze had given them was a joke—a grainy surveillance still where the target's face was little more than a smudge of pixels.
It could've been anyone.
It could've been no one.
Blaze's fire snuffed out as suddenly as it appeared. "Two days," he repeated, tilting his head. "How… generous of me." His gaze slid to Tenn, who had gone perfectly still. "I do hope, for your sake, your little gang hasn't been… distracted."
The unspoken threat hung in the air like smoke.
Blaze left as he arrived—without warning, the door hissing shut behind him like the closing of a furnace.
The residual heat lingered in the air, making the Red Dogs' sweat-slick skin prickle.
Gideon finally exhaled, his grip on the table leaving warped fingerprints in the cheap metal.
Tenn watched the distorted reflections in her holographic schematics twist and shimmer—just like the man who'd just stood there.
Blaze.
The name alone was enough to make veteran scavengers cross sectors.
Once just a violent thug with a pyromaniac streak, he'd become something worse after his humiliating defeat to Nex years ago.
Now? Now he wasn't just a psychopath.
He was an artist.
Sector 7's ashes were proof of that.
The Scorchers had turned the entire district into their canvas, painting the streets in fire and screams.
Buildings didn't just burn—they danced, collapsing in precise, timed infernos while Blaze watched from a distance, his fingers twitching like a conductor's.
Rawcasting had given him focus.
It had also made him hungry.
Gideon wiped his brow, his voice a hoarse whisper. "That bastard's looking for an excuse to crisp us."
Arden's fingers trembled as he tapped the grainy photo still displayed on the holotable. "This isn't a search. It's a countdown."
The image was useless.
A shadowy figure caught mid-stride, their features obliterated by static.
It could've been a Talon.
It could've been a ghost.
Or—and this was the thought that made Tenn's multi-tool arm spasm—it could've been no one at all.
Because the terrifying truth?
Blaze didn't need a target.
He just wanted to watch the Red Dogs scramble like rats in a maze—until he grew bored.
And then?
Then he'd light the match.
Tenn's multi-tool arm whirred as she zoomed in, the projection distorting further. "Could be a Talon," she muttered. "Could be some poor bastard who bumped into Blaze on a bad day."
Gideon sneered. "Doesn't matter. That pyro freak just wants an excuse."
He swiped the image away violently. "Five years since Nex broke his ribs, and he's still itching to burn anything tied to that fight."
Arden's fingers drummed a frantic rhythm. "Then we could give him someone." His eyes darted to Vega. "That scarred bastard you're probing at Sector 23—the one who's always with that Spire kid. Make him the patsy."
Felix's augmented knuckles popped. "He'll melt before he finishes screaming."
Vega's hand darted as he points at Arden. "Clever."
Isla leaned forward, her shock baton humming to life. "And when Blaze realizes it's not really his target?"
The lights flickered.
Gideon's smile was all teeth. "Then we'll be ready with real firepower."
He tapped the war table, pulling up schematics of the underground coolant tunnels beneath Sector 20. "Tenn. How fast can you rig the sprinkler system to dump liquid nitrogen?"
Tenn didn't answer immediately.
Her gaze lingered on the long-dead holofeed where Blaze's target had stood.
Whoever you are, she thought, pray the Scorchers never find you.
Then her tool-arm shifted into a plasma torch with a decisive snick.
"Already on it."
***
The alleyway stank of burnt wiring and stale urine, the narrow walls pressing in like a tomb. Lucent leaned against the rusted fire escape, his breathing slow and controlled, but his fingers tapped an erratic rhythm against his thigh. The message had been sent—encrypted, fragmented, untraceable by any standard scan. But words on the Aethernet were never truly safe.
Karen should be here by now.
His Conduit hummed faintly in his palm, its cracked screen displaying a live feed of nearby Aether fluctuations. No Reclamation drones. No corporate signatures. But that meant nothing. The Red Dogs didn't use Spire tech—they used knives, gasoline, and old-fashioned brutality.
A shadow shifted at the mouth of the alley. Lucent's free hand drifted toward the shock-grenade in his pocket before he recognized Karen's silhouette. Mags followed behind, a silent wraith in the gloom.
"You're late," Lucent said, his voice low.
Karen stepped into the dim glow of a flickering neon sign, her prosthetic hand flexing. "Had to shake a tail. Red Dogs are getting bold."
Lucent's jaw tightened. "How bold?"
"They hit two of our runners near the east tunnels. Not just robbery—they were asking questions."
Questions. That was worse than violence. Violence was predictable. Questions meant they were hunting something specific.
Mags shifted, her small frame tense. The edge of Nex's tantō gleamed under her sleeve.
Lucent exhaled through his teeth. "Raker's intel checks out, then. Someone's shopping for full footage of the lab job."
Karen's eyes narrowed. "You think the Dogs are working for them?"
"I think they're hired muscle." Lucent pushed off the wall, the weight of the shock-grenade a comfort in his grip. "But that's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"The problem," Lucent said, "is that we're waiting for them to find us."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken agreement.
Preemptive strikes were messy.
But waiting to be hunted was suicide.
The alley's flickering neon cast jagged shadows across Lucent's face as he weighed the stupidity of his own plan. Stake out the Red Dogs' base alone? Even he wasn't that reckless—at least, not without backup, explosives, and an exit strategy.
Karen's voice cut through his thoughts, low and rough with frustration. "The mole hunt's turning into a fucking hydra."
She kicked a discarded stim canister, sending it clattering against the alley wall.
"Thought it'd be one rat. Maybe two. But the evidence?" She shook her head. "Either we've got a nest, or someone's planting trails to make it look that way."
Lucent studied her—the tension in her shoulders, the way her prosthetic fingers twitched toward her holster.
Karen wasn't just angry.
She was off-balance.
"So hire me," he said flatly.
Karen's gaze snapped to his.
"You're stretched thin," Lucent continued. "You can't be everywhere. And the Red Dogs?" He nodded toward the alley's mouth, where the distant roar of a combustion engine echoed—too close for comfort. "They're not just tails anymore. They're a noose."
Mags shifted beside Karen, her hand resting on the tantō's hilt. Silent, but listening.
Karen exhaled sharply. "Fine. You find the mole—moles—and I'll help you cut the Dogs loose. Permanently."
Lucent's lips quirked. "Generous."
"Don't flatter yourself." Karen's smile was all teeth. "I'd burn them down either way. But now? You get to point me where it hurts most."
Then—a small, insistent tug at her sleeve.
Mags stood rigid, her fingers knotted in Karen's shirt. Her dark eyes darted to Lucent, then back.
When she spoke, the words came slow, deliberate, each one pushed past some invisible wall inside her.
"Fr…friend?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
Karen's expression softened, just for a heartbeat. "Yeah." A pause. "He's the reason I made it out of those labs alive."
Lucent stiffened, his gaze cutting away.
Praise sat wrong on his shoulders—an ill-fitting coat he couldn't shed fast enough.
The silence stretched, thick with something too awkward to name.
Karen broke it with a chuckle, shaking her head.
"Here." She tossed Lucent a slim comm unit—Sable's, if the Myriad insignia scratched into the casing was any clue. "List of everyone I've grilled so far. Only one left untouched—Sel."
Lucent caught the device, his thumb brushing over its encrypted surface. "So Sel's the last one?"
"On paper." Karen's prosthetic hand flexed.
"Flick's still squirrely. Lying through his teeth about something." She nodded to the comm. "That's Sable's. Crack it, and we might get a direct line to Red Dogs' chatter."
Another tug.
Sharper this time.
Mags' jaw worked, her fingers twisting in Karen's sleeve like she was anchoring herself.
"Go. With. Him." The words were fractured but clear.
Karen blinked. "You… want to help Lucent hunt the mole?"
A single nod.
Mags' eyes never left Lucent's face—assessing, challenging.
Somewhere above them, a Reclamation drone whined past, its searchlight slicing through the smog.
Lucent exhaled through his teeth. "Fine. But we do it quietly."
Mags' grip loosened.
Something like approval flickered in her gaze.
Karen pressed something into Mags' palm, then she smirked. "Try to keep up, old man."
***
Lucent wasn't new to jobs like this. Raker's offers had trained him well—sometimes a corporate data grab, sometimes a personal vendetta wrapped in creds.
But hacking into systems was one thing.
Hunting a mole in a gang that thrived on paranoia?
That required finesse.
His mind raced through options—intercepting comm traffic, planting surveillance glyphs, maybe even baiting the mole with false intel.
The fastest way would be to slice into the Steel Talons' internal logs, but without direct access to their network hub, he'd need—
His thoughts cut off as his gaze landed on Mags.
Another damn kid.
It wasn't like he'd signed up for this. First Kai, Jessa, Tink and now Mags.
When had he become the Junkyard's reluctant babysitter?
Mags felt the weight of his stare and scowled, her fingers tightening around the hilt of Nex's tantō.
The message was clear: I'm not some helpless brat.
Lucent exhaled. "Mags, was it?" he said, voice flat. "You know where to find Sel?"
Without a word, Mags pulled out her Conduit—a battered, no-nonsense model, its casing scratched from hard use.
She swiped the screen awake and brought up a map of the sectors, her fingers moving with quick precision.
A tap on Sector 14, then a zoom-in on a derelict mag-lev station converted into a makeshift stronghold.
Lucent studied the location. "Sel's hideout?"
Mags gave a single sharp nod.
"Guards?"
She held up two fingers, then mimed a sniper's stance.
"Two. Long-range." Lucent rubbed his temple. "Of course."
Mags' lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close.
Lucent weighed the options.
A direct approach was suicide.
But if Mags knew the layout, and if Sel was as sloppy as Sable had been…
He glanced at her again. "You're good at moving quietly?"
This time, the look she gave him could've melted steel.
Right.
Stupid question.
Lucent didn't wait for a response.
His Conduit flared to life, the cracked screen pulsing as twin glyphs activated in quick succession—first the muffled silence of Silent Step, then the coiled tension of Leap.
The world blurred as he launched himself skyward, boots scraping against rusted fire escapes before pushing off again, the neon-lit sprawl of the city shrinking beneath him.
He didn't look back.
Either the kid kept up, or she didn't.
But then—movement in his periphery.
Mags was there.
Not just matching his pace, but floating alongside him with eerie precision.
Her feet never quite touched the ground. Instead, she stepped onto nothing but air itself, each stride propelling her forward as if gravity had been politely asked to step aside.
Lucent's eyes narrowed.
There were glyphs at work—he could see the faint shimmer around her boots—but their structure was unfamiliar.
Not corporate issue.
Not black-market either.
Something older, maybe.
Or something no one was supposed to have.
For a split second, the hacker in him itched to dissect it, to crack open whatever spell let her walk on empty space like it was solid ground.
But the mission came first.
He landed hard on a Sector 14 rooftop, rolling to disperse the impact.
Mags touched down beside him, silent as a shadow.
"Convenient," Lucent muttered.
Mags said nothing.
But the corner of her mouth twitched—just enough to tell him she knew exactly what he was thinking.