The Talon base in Sector 18 smelled of gun oil and stale sweat, the air thick with the low hum of generators and murmured conversations.
Karen moved through the dim corridors with purpose, her boots scuffing against concrete worn smooth by years of use.
Violence was no stranger here—it clung to the walls like old bloodstains, just another part of life in the city's rotting underbelly.
What had happened to Tink should have been just another drop in that ocean of indifference.
Kids got caught in the crossfire all the time.
But this felt different.
Targeted.
And if the Red Dogs were bold enough to go after children just for their connection to Lucent, then they were either desperate or had backing.
Neither option sat well with her.
She found Rook in the squad room, his massive frame hunched over a disassembled shotgun, his hydraulic augments hissing softly as he adjusted the firing mechanism.
He looked up at her entrance, his ocular implant flickering as it focused.
"Karen," he rumbled, setting down the barrel. "You're here again. Don't tell me you want to interrogate someone again."
She shook her head, crossing her arms. "No. I'm here for you."
Rook's brow furrowed, the scars along his temple pulling taut. "Really? So, what's the problem?"
"A friend of mine is being targeted by Red Dogs in Sector 23," she said, keeping her voice even. "Think you could secure their spot?"
Rook leaned back, the reinforced plating of his chair groaning under his weight.
His gaze sharpened. "Friend?" A pause. "Is that a man?"
Karen exhaled sharply through her nose. "It's not what you think. I just owe him, that's all."
Rook studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a grunt, he reached for a comm unit on the table. "Sector 23's a mess right now. Red Dogs've been pushing hard since the east tunnel raid."
He tapped out a quick message. "But I'll send a squad. They'll hold the line."
Karen nodded, tension easing from her shoulders. "Thanks."
Rook's gaze didn't waver. "This debt of yours. It worth bringing the Dogs down on us?"
She met his eyes, unflinching. "Yeah. It is."
Karen smirked, rolling her shoulders in a lazy shrug. "It's also fun to mess with whatever the Dogs are planning."
Rook's ocular implant whirred as it refocused, the mechanical iris tightening like a scope zeroing in on its target. "That's true enough," he rumbled.
The shotgun barrel he'd been cleaning clanked against the table as he set it down. "But security details don't come cheap. Why's this guy worth the manpower?"
The generator in the corner chose that moment to sputter, casting the room in flickering shadows that made the scars on Karen's knuckles look deeper than they were.
She flexed her prosthetic hand absently.
"Kids connected to him got jumped by Red Dog bullies," she said, keeping her voice flat. "Simple as that."
Rook didn't blink.
The silence stretched, thick with the smell of gunpowder and stale stimulants.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward, the hydraulics in his augmented arms hissing like a warning.
"That's it?" His voice dropped to a gravel whisper. "I feel like you're not telling the whole story."
Karen held his stare for three steady breaths before exhaling sharply through her nose.
The truth tasted bitter, but debts always did.
"...The guy saved me," she admitted, her thumb brushing the steel talon fragment embedded in her prosthetic. "Back in the labs. So I owe him one."
Somewhere in the base, a door slammed.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their pale glow washing out the color in Rook's face until he looked carved from the same concrete as the walls.
"Huh." He leaned back, the chair protesting under his weight. "Didn't think you were the type to let debts linger."
Karen's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Only the interesting ones."
Rook's hydraulic joints hissed as he shifted his weight, the conversation pivoting like a blade between ribs.
"So about the security details," he grunted, swiping grease from his augmented fingers with a stained rag. "Any pics? Or you gonna tell me who I'm supposed to protect?"
Karen leaned against the weapons rack, the barrels of disassembled rifles pressing cold against her back. "Hm. Do you remember Lucent?"
The name landed like a live grenade.
Rook's ocular implant flickered, its red targeting lens flaring briefly—a tell Karen recognized from years of shared violence.
"He's the client?" A pause.
Too long.
"The one who blew up Boss' leg back at the Pit?"
The memory hung between them, thick as the smog outside.
Karen could almost smell it again—burnt flesh and scorched metal, the way Nex's screams had echoed through that concrete hellhole.
"Yeah," she said simply. "But I owe this guy."
Rook exhaled through his nose, a sound like steam venting from an overpressured pipe.
"Well." He picked up a shotgun shell, rolling it between his fingers. "Everyone's responsible for themselves inside the Pit."
The unspoken "even Boss" lingered in the air.
Karen knew what he meant.
Nex had broken the rules first—slathered himself in black-market combat glyphs, turned what should've been first blood into a slaughterhouse spectacle.
Lucent's retaliation had just been... thorough.
Rook slammed the shell into its chamber with more force than necessary. "Still. You really think Boss would approve?"
"Boss is… not here anymore ," Karen said, too sharp.
The silence that followed was brittle. Somewhere in the base, a pipe clanged, the sound reverberating through the walls like a gunshot.
Rook finally nodded, once. "I'll send Vey's squad. They're stationed near 23 anyway."
Karen pushed off the rack. "Appreciate it."
As she turned to leave, Rook's voice stopped her: "Try not to make this debt any heavier, Karen."
***
Deep in the labyrinthine alleys of Sector 20, where the air hung thick with the stench of burning plastic and scorched flesh, a man writhed in a pillar of fire.
His screams clawed at the night—raw, primal, the kind of sound that should have drawn every scavenger and junkie within six blocks.
Yet no one came.
No one even looked.
A glyph pulsed in the air above the inferno, its intricate runes warping perception like heat haze.
Misdirection.
A simple spell, really—just enough to make passing eyes slide away, to turn desperate shouts into background static.
Blaze stood just beyond the flames, his arms crossed, his head tilted as if listening to a symphony.
The firelight danced across his sharp features, painting his smile in flickering gold and shadow.
To him, the screams weren't noise.
They were music.
A sudden footstep echoed from the mouth of the alley.
"You're late," Blaze said, not turning.
Ember stepped into the glow, her dark skin gleaming like oil under the fire's caress.
She rolled her shoulders, the motion making the ember-orange tattoos along her arms ripple like living coals.
"Sorry, Boss." She didn't sound sorry.
Blaze finally glanced at her, his eyes reflecting the dying flames as the man's screams guttered out. "Well?"
Ember grinned, all sharp teeth and anticipation.
"Found our missing guest." She tossed a bloodstained comm unit at his feet.
The screen flickered—a grainy image of a figure half-turned, caught mid-stride. "Turns out he does exist."
Blaze's smile widened.
The alley walls trembled as Blaze's fury erupted in a corona of red-hot flames.
Fire licked up the corroded metal, not burning—dancing, twisting into jagged, hateful shapes that mirrored the snarl on his face.
"Those fucking dogs," he hissed, his voice layered with the crackle of embers, "are really testing my patience."
Ember didn't flinch as the heat blistered the graffiti beside her.
She leaned against the scorched brick, her dark skin glistening with a sheen of sweat and something darker, something that smelled faintly of accelerant.
"Boss, calm down," she drawled, picking at her nails with a knife. "We still got two more days."
A slow, hungry smile spread across her face. "Then we can finally eat the cake."
The flames wavered.
Blaze closed his eyes, drawing in a long, shuddering breath.
The fire responded, dimming from a roaring inferno to a smolder, then to mere wisps of smoke curling from his fingertips.
When he opened his eyes again, they were cold.
Calculated.
"You're right."
Ember flicked her knife shut. "Those mutts are too lazy to sniff out that guy anyway."
She kicked the charred corpse at their feet, sending up a plume of ash. "But we're not."
Blaze straightened his coat, the fabric untouched by the flames that had just consumed it.
"We'll have a grand celebration soon," he murmured, brushing soot from his sleeve.
"And the Red Dogs are invited." His smile was all teeth. "Whether they like it or not."
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—too late, as always.
The fire had already decided who'd burn next.
The last embers of Blaze's anger faded into the damp night air as he exhaled, his breath curling like smoke between his teeth.
The alley walls around them were blackened where his flames had licked too close, the stench of molten metal and charred flesh clinging to every surface.
Ember tilted her head, listening to the distant wail of a Reclamation Unit siren—miles away and getting no closer.
"They'll be cleaning up this mess till dawn," she mused, kicking aside a half-melted stim canister. "By then, we'll be long gone."
Blaze flexed his fingers, watching the last tendrils of fire curl around his wrists before sinking back beneath his skin.
"Two days," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Enough time for the dogs to realize their mistake."
A sharp laugh burst from Ember's lips.
"You give them too much credit." She stepped over the smoldering remains, her boots leaving faint prints in the ash. "Gideon's too busy pissing himself to think straight."
The corner of Blaze's mouth twitched. "Then we'll have to encourage him."
From the depths of his coat, he produced a small holoprojector.
With a flick of his wrist, a grainy image flickered to life—the same shadowy figure from before, but now with a partial enhancement.
A tattoo, barely visible on the forearm.
"Tell Ash to check the old GhostKey drop points," Blaze said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And Cinder?"
Ember grinned. "Already on overwatch. She's been itching to test more of those new glyph of hers."
Blaze snapped the projector shut.
"Good." His eyes reflected the dying firelight as he turned toward the alley's exit. "Let's make sure our guest knows the party's starting early."
***
The hideout in Sector 23 was quiet, save for the hum of scavenged climate control and the occasional sputter of faulty wiring.
The air smelled of solder, stale rations, and the faint metallic tang of blood—Tink's, mostly, though Jessa had a split lip that had dripped onto the floorboards before she wiped it away.
Kai hovered near the workbench where Tink lay, the boy's breathing shallow but steady now.
His fingers twitched occasionally, like he was dreaming of running. Jessa sat cross-legged beside him, her knife balanced across her knees, eyes tracking Rena's every movement.
Rena's mechanical hand whirred as she flexed it, the surgical tools at her fingertips retracting with a series of dull clicks.
Her natural eye—dark and sharp—flicked to Kai, while the augmented one glowed blue, scanning Tink's spine one last time.
"Spinal trauma. His back took more damage than his head," she said, voice flat. "He'll feel like he got tossed into a smelter for a week. Don't make him move too much."
Kai exhaled through his nose. "Is that so."
Rena snorted, tucking a syringe back into her coat.
The fabric was stained with old blood and something that might've been coolant.
"You almost gave me a heart attack, barging into my clinic alone. Thought it was Lucent bleeding out again." Her gaze slid to Jessa, then back to Kai. "But no. Just you, playing nursemaid to gutter rats."
Jessa bowed stiffly, her fingers tightening around her knife. "Thank you for healing him."
Rena didn't smile.
"No need. Kai's paying." She tilted her head, the blue glow of her mechanical eye catching the dust motes in the air. "When did this place become an orphanage?"
Kai rubbed his temple. "...Do I have to pay with my blood again?"
"Wouldn't say no." Rena shrugged. "But I'll take Glow if you've got it. Or spare parts. That regulator coil on your workbench looks decent."
Kai grimaced. "It was a long story."
"Mm." Rena snapped her bag shut. "Lucent's getting soft, I see."
A beat of silence.
The accusation hung in the air, heavier than it should've been.
Jessa's knife shifted slightly. "He's not soft."
Rena raised an eyebrow.
"Kid, I've stitched him back together more times than you've had hot meals. If he's taking in strays now, that's soft." She nodded at Tink's still form. "That one's lucky. Red Dogs usually leave their hits in pieces."
Kai's jaw tightened. "They knew we were here."
Rena paused. Her mechanical eye whirred faintly as it focused on him.
"You think that's news? Half the Junkyard knows where Lucent holes up. The other half's just waiting to sell the info." She tapped her chin, considering. "But if they're hitting kids now…"
She didn't finish the thought.
Jessa's voice was quiet. "They called us Spire pets."
Rena barked a laugh. "Oh, that's rich." She shook her head, heading for the door. "Tell Lucent he owes me. Again."
Then—
The security alarm shrieked through the hideout like a wounded animal, its shrill pulse cutting through the uneasy silence left in Rena's wake.
Kai lunged for the monitor, his fingers skidding across the cracked screen as he pulled up the exterior feed.
The image flickered to life—grainy, distorted by the ever-present smog—but unmistakable.
Karen stood at the door, her prosthetic hand raised mid-knock.
Behind her loomed Vey, his face a ruin of old burns, his posture tense even through the static.
Three more Talons lingered in the shadows, their weapons conspicuously holstered but their eyes scanning the alley like they expected an ambush.
Rena hadn't moved.
She stood just behind Kai's shoulder, her mechanical eye whirring softly as it adjusted focus.
"Looks like you and Lucent made friends with Steel Talons," she mused, voice dry. "I guess a connection with Karen was a good thing."
Kai didn't answer.
He didn't know what this was—Karen hadn't warned him—but the labs had forged something between them that went beyond alliances.
Trust wasn't the right word.
It was more like mutual recognition: two people who'd stared into the same abyss and decided to keep walking.
He hit the door release.
The hydraulics hissed, revealing Karen mid-reach, her brows lifting in surprise when she spotted Rena.
Her gaze flicked past her to Tink's prone form on the workbench, the boy's shallow breathing and the bloodstained bandages.
Understanding settled over her features like a shroud.
But it was Vey's reaction that froze the room.
The Talon demolition squad leader went rigid, his augments locking up with a sound like grinding teeth.
His eyes widened, the pupil dilating until it swallowed the iris whole.
He looked at Rena like she was a ghost.
Like she was judgment.
Because Vey knew.
Everyone in the Junkyard knew Rena's reputation, even if they didn't speak it aloud.
If Nex had been the king of the underworld, Rena was the silent power behind the throne—the one who stitched kings and beggars back together with the same indifferent precision.
Her clinic was neutral ground, but her influence spiderwebbed through every gang, every black-market deal, every whispered secret traded in the smog-choked alleys.
She could erase the Steel Talons with a word.
And Karen and Kai, standing there oblivious, had no idea.
"Rena," Karen said, recovering first.
Her voice was careful, testing. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Rena flexed her mechanical hand, the surgical tools inside clicking like a loaded chamber.
"Kids needed patching up." She tilted her head, the blue glow of her augmented eye catching the sweat on Vey's temple. "You brought company."
Vey swallowed audibly.
Karen glanced between them, sensing the tension but misreading its source. "We're here to talk security. Red Dogs are getting bold."
Kai crossed his arms. "You mean bolder." He jerked his chin at Tink. "They jumped kids just for scavenging near our spot."
Rena's lips twitched.
"And now you've got Talons playing bodyguard." She shook her head, muttering more to herself than anyone else, "Lucent's going to hate this."
Vey finally found his voice, though it came out strangled. "We're just—securing the perimeter. On Rook's orders."
Rena studied him for a beat too long, then shrugged.
"Do what you want. Just don't bleed on my patients." She shouldered past Karen, pausing only to toss a glance back at Kai. "Tell Lucent I want payment by the end of the week. Actual payment this time."
The door hissed shut behind her, leaving the hideout steeped in silence.
Karen exhaled, rolling her shoulders like she could physically shed the weight of Rena's presence. "Well. That was…"
"Weird," Kai finished.
He eyed Vey, who still hadn't moved. "You okay?"
The Talon demolition squad leader blinked, the melted flesh along the right side of his face pulling taut with the movement.
In the hideout's flickering light, the scar tissue gleamed like wet leather, making his permanent scowl even more pronounced.
"Fine," Vey rasped, his voice rough from years of inhaling smoke and chemical fumes.
His eyes focused on Kai. "Just... didn't expect her."
Karen smirked, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. "I think introductions aren't really needed anymore," she said, jerking her chin between the two men. "But you both haven't officially met yet."
Kai swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
Their last interaction had been... less than friendly.
He forced himself to step forward, hand extended.
Vey studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then, with a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, he straightened to his full height—towering over Kai by at least six inches—and clasped his hand.
The grip was firm, mechanical fingers whirring faintly with suppressed strength.
"Vey," he grunted.
"Kai," Kai managed, relieved when his voice didn't crack.
Vey released him and jerked a thumb at the three figures lurking in the hallway shadows.
"Cale, Nail, and Pen." Each nodded as their name was called—Cale with a lazy two-fingered salute, Nail with a grunt, Pen with silent intensity. "My most trusted. And the only ones dumb enough to volunteer for this shit."
Cale snorted, adjusting the heavy demolition charges strapped across his chest.
"Speak for yourself, boss. I just wanted to see the Spire brat's hideout." His grin revealed a missing canine. "Disappointing."
Karen rolled her eyes.
"The protection detail's temporary," she cut in, her voice sharp enough to silence the chatter. "Lucent and I made a deal. He finds my mole, I help shake the Red Dogs off your backs."
Vey crossed his arms. "Never thought I'd be guarding the Spire boy himself," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
His gaze flicked to Tink's unconscious form, then to Jessa—who hadn't moved from her protective stance beside the workbench, her knife still balanced across her knees. "Or playing nanny to gutter rats."
Jessa's grip tightened on the blade.
"Play nice," Karen warned, though her tone lacked real heat.
She knew Vey's bark was worse than his bite—most of the time.
A sudden groan from the workbench cut through the tension.
Tink stirred, his face scrunching in pain as he tried to push himself up. "Wha...?"
Jessa was at his side in an instant, her small hands pressing him back down with surprising strength.
"Don't move, idiot," she hissed, though the worry in her voice undercut the insult.
Vey watched the interaction, something unreadable passing over his scarred features.
Then, with a sigh that sounded like grinding metal, he turned to Karen. "So. What's the plan?"
Outside, the distant wail of a Reclamation drone echoed through Sector 23—a reminder that their temporary truce existed in a world that had no room for weakness.