The neon sprawl of Sector 14 stretched beneath them, a labyrinth of flickering signs and rusted infrastructure bathed in the sickly glow of failing streetlights.
Lucent landed on a crumbling rooftop with barely a sound, his boots skidding slightly on loose gravel as he absorbed the impact.
Behind him, Mags touched down without so much as a whisper—her feet meeting empty air like it was solid ground, the strange glyphwork around her boots shimmering faintly before dissipating.
Half an hour. That's all it had taken to cross three sectors in a straight line, bypassing the winding streets and patrols below. Not bad, even for him.
Below, the entrance to Sel's hideout yawned like a wound—a derelict mag-lev station, its once-pristine archway now choked with graffiti and the skeletal remains of old transit drones.
The stairs leading down were lit by flickering emergency strips, their pale light doing little to dispel the shadows pooling at the bottom.
Lucent's gaze cut to Mags. "So," he murmured, keeping his voice low enough that even the wind wouldn't carry it. "What was your original plan?"
Mags didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her pocket and produced a small vial filled with a murky, iridescent liquid.
She held it up between them, the contents catching what little light there was and twisting it into something unnatural.
"Truth. Serum."
Lucent recoiled slightly.
Well. That's one way to do it.
He'd been prepared for surveillance, for hacking Sel's systems, maybe even for a quiet interrogation—but Mags had apparently skipped straight to chemical coercion.
"Where the hell did you get that?" he hissed.
Mags shrugged, tucking the vial back into her pocket like it was nothing more consequential than a spare bullet.
Lucent exhaled through his nose.
Right.
Of course she wouldn't elaborate.
He glanced back at the stairwell.
Truth serum was messy.
Unpredictable.
But it was also fast—and right now, speed mattered more than finesse.
"Fine," he muttered. "But we do it quietly."
Mags nodded once, her fingers brushing the hilt of Nex's tantō.
The message was clear: Quiet was her specialty.
Lucent adjusted the conductive thread woven into his gloves, feeling the faint hum of his Conduit against his palm. "Let's go."
The shadows swallowed them whole as they descended.
***
Mags moved like a shadow behind Lucent, her boots making no sound against the cracked tile of the abandoned station.
The memory of Karen's face—softer than she'd ever seen it—flashed in her mind again.
"He's the reason I made it out of those labs alive."
A friend.
The word felt foreign in Mags' thoughts.
She didn't have many of those.
Nex had been... something else.
A brother?
A guardian?
She wasn't sure what to call it.
All she knew was the weight of his steel talon sewn into her sleeve, the way his voice still growled in her dreams.
Her eyes traced the scars on Lucent's hands—jagged lines and old burns, the story of a man who'd fought his way through hell and only half-wanted to survive it.
She recognized that look.
She'd seen it in the mirror.
The station reeked of piss and stale smoke, the air thick with the wheezing breaths of its makeshift inhabitants.
Homeless figures curled in the alcoves, their eyes tracking Lucent and Mags with the dull wariness of people who'd learned not to see too much.
Lucent didn't slow.
Mags matched his pace, her fingers brushing the truth serum vial in her pocket.
The weight of it was comforting in a way she couldn't explain—a direct solution to a messy problem.
No lies.
No games.
Just the truth, ripped raw from whoever stood in their way.
Nex would've approved.
A rusted sign dangled overhead, its letters long since scavenged for scrap.
Somewhere deeper in the station, water dripped in a steady rhythm, echoing like a heartbeat.
Lucent glanced back at her, his gaze sharp in the gloom. "Ready?"
Mags gave a single sharp nod, her fingers closing around the cold glass vial in her pocket.
The neurotoxin sloshed thickly inside, its milky surface catching what little light reached the station's depths.
Jack's words echoed in her skull: "Expired six months ago—just means it hurts more before it works."
She didn't know what more pain looked like.
She'd seen men scream through broken jaws, watched augments short-circuit and fry nervous systems, held Nex's hand when the augmentation tremors made his bones crack like dry kindling.
Pain was just... pain.
But Jack didn't lie.
Not about this.
Her other hand dipped into her thigh pouch, retrieving a slender injector.
The needle gleamed as she drew precisely 3ml of toxin—enough to loosen tongues, not enough to stop hearts.
At least, according to the faded manual scrawled in Jack's handwriting.
Sel would be the first.
Mags' jaw tightened.
Necessary.
This was necessary.
Nex had poured his soul into the Talons—bled for them, killed for them, died for them.
She wouldn't let some backstabbing worm unravel his legacy.
Not when she still carried his steel talon against her pulse.
Lucent was watching her now, his scarred face unreadable in the gloom.
She met his gaze and tapped the injector twice against her wrist—ready.
The station's underbelly exhaled a metallic groan as rusted pipes shifted in the darkness.
Around them, the homeless scattered like cockroaches—disappearing into cracks and alcoves with practiced silence.
Lucent's voice cut through the damp air, low and edged: "If Sel resists—"
His chin jerked toward the neurotoxin concealed in Mags' palm. "—we use that."
Mags nodded once.
No hesitation.
The injector's weight felt familiar against her calloused fingers—not so different from loading a shotgun shell.
A shape detached itself from the gloom ahead. "Stop."
The guard's augments whirred as he stepped into their path, his rifle held loose but ready. "What do you want?"
Mags flicked her wrist.
The Steel Talon badge gleamed in her palm—an eagle's talon emblem reserved for squad leaders.
The guard's ocular implant zoomed with a faint click.
His eyebrows climbed, but he said nothing.
Mags could practically hear the suspicions behind his skull: Why is a squad leader here?
After a beat, he jerked his head toward the dripping archway behind him. "She's in the cold storage."
The air turned sharp as they advanced, their breath fogging with each step.
Frost crackled along the walls, climbing like ivy toward the flickering fluorescents overhead.
And there, between rows of humming refrigeration units, stood Sel—her back to them as she inventoried vials of Glow with gloved hands.
The mist from a broken coolant line wreathed her like a shroud.
She didn't turn. "Took you long enough."
The refrigerated air hung between them like frozen breath.
Lucent studied Sel's face—the tightness around her eyes, the way her gloved fingers flexed slightly at her sides.
"You're expecting us," he said.
Sel finally turned, her thermal jacket rustling as she leaned against a refrigeration unit.
"Karen didn't do a great job hiding her interest in hunting the traitor." A wry smile twisted her lips. "The whole gang's been talking about it. Ever since she dragged Sable into a holding cell."
Lucent took a measured step forward. "Then you know why we're here."
"I do." Sel crossed her arms. "And I'm telling you—you're wasting time. I'm not your mole."
"Prove it."
"Solid alibi." She jerked her chin toward the station's entrance. "I don't leave this shop. Ask anyone out there—even the homeless. I was here the day of the east tunnel raid."
Lucent's gaze flicked to the frost-caked doorway where shadows moved just beyond the threshold.
"And why should I trust their word?" His voice dropped. "Or yours?"
Mags tugged at his sleeve.
The neurotoxin injector gleamed in her palm, its barrel filled with milky poison.
Lucent exhaled through his nose. "We need to be sure. Will you cooperate?"
For a long moment, Sel stared at the injector.
Then, with a slow nod, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing unmarked skin. "Do it. But you'd better apologize when this proves nothing."
The needle slid in with barely a whisper.
Sel's breath hitched—then her whole body went rigid as the neurotoxin hit her bloodstream.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she clutched the edge of the refrigeration unit, knuckles bleaching white.
Sweat beaded along her hairline despite the freezing air, her pupils dilating until only a thin ring of color remained.
The guards burst in, weapons raised—only to freeze at the sight of their boss trembling but still standing.
"Everything... is fine," Sel forced through gritted teeth, each word laced with pain.
She waved them off with a jerky motion, her fingers spasming.
The guards hesitated, eyes darting between their leader and the unnerving stare of the small girl holding the empty injector.
Mags didn't blink.
There was something profoundly wrong about how still she stood, how her dark eyes tracked their every twitch.
The taller guard swallowed hard, his grip on his rifle slackening just slightly.
Lucent dragged a chair over, the legs screeching against the frosted concrete.
"Sit," he ordered, watching as Sel collapsed into it like a marionette with cut strings.
Her breath came in ragged gulps now, the neurotoxin working its way through her nervous system.
Most people begged at this stage.
Or vomited.
Sel just clenched her jaw until the tendons stood out like cables, her entire body shaking with the effort of staying conscious.
Lucent studied her with newfound wariness.
This wasn't just cooperation—this was something closer to martyrdom.
Either she was genuinely innocent, or she'd been trained to withstand interrogation in ways that spoke of a far more dangerous background than a simple black-market dealer.
"Who's your contact with the Red Dogs?" Lucent demanded, leaning in close enough to catch the acrid scent of fear-sweat cutting through the chemical reek of the cold storage.
Sel's head lolled, a thin trail of saliva escaping the corner of her mouth.
When she spoke, the words came out slurred but unmistakable:
"I don't... have one." A shudder wracked her frame. "Check... the logs... all shipments... accounted for..."
Mags tilted her head, her expression unreadable.
The guards shifted uncomfortably, their weapons now pointed at the ground.
Lucent exhaled sharply.
Either the toxin was defective, or—
The second guard—the one who hadn't spoken—was edging toward the emergency exit, his hand creeping toward something at his belt.
Lucent's warning died in his throat as the first gunshot shattered the frozen air.
Mags moved faster than thought—her small frame uncoiling like a sprung trap.
The pistol flashed up from its hidden holster strapped to her thigh, its muzzle barely clearing leather before it roared.
The second guard's wrist exploded in a spray of blood and fragmented bone.
His conduit clattered to the frost-rimed floor, its screen flickering erratically as his scream tore through the storage unit.
Before the echo of the first shot faded, Mags adjusted her stance—minimal, efficient—and fired again.
The second bullet shattered the guard's left kneecap.
He collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, his shriek rising to a pitch that rattled the glass vials lining the shelves.
The first guard's hand twitched toward his own pistol—
"STOP!"
Sel's voice ripped through the chaos, raw with pain but razor-sharp.
She'd hauled herself upright despite the neurotoxin ravaging her system, one arm braced against the chair while the other pressed against her heaving chest.
Blood trickled from where she'd bitten through her lip.
The first guard froze, his fingers inches from his gun.
Silence fell, broken only by the wounded guard's whimpers and the steady dripping of his blood pooling on the concrete.
Frost crept through the crimson puddle, delicate crystals forming at its edges.
Mags didn't lower her gun.
Her dark eyes remained fixed on the remaining guard, her breathing eerily calm.
The pistol's barrel didn't waver—its muzzle still trained on the space between his eyes.
Lucent exhaled slowly, his own hand hovering near his conduit. "Smart choice," he murmured to the guard.
Then, to Sel. "You were saying about your alibi?"
Sel spat a glob of blood and saliva onto the floor.
When she lifted her head, her pupils were still blown wide from the toxin, but her gaze burned with clarity.
"Check… the security feeds," she rasped.
"Third… fridge on the left—the one… marked 'Sector 12… Delicacies.' The drives are…" A shudder wracked her frame. "In the false bottom."
The neurotoxin seems to work through her system now. "You'll see... I never left."
The wounded guard moaned, clutching his ruined knee.
Mags took a single step forward—just enough to make the other guard flinch—and kicked the fallen conduit toward Lucent.
The fallen conduit skidded across the frosted concrete, coming to rest against Lucent's boot.
He picked it up slowly, turning the sleek Myriad branded conduit in his hands.
The cracked screen reflected his scarred visage—a fractured version of himself staring back through the spiderwebbed glass.
"Interesting," Lucent murmured, thumbing through the conduit's interface.
"Brand new Myriad tech. Latest encryption protocols." His cold gaze lifted to the wounded guard. "Care to explain how a Sector 14 grunt gets his hands on something like this?"
The guard only groaned in response, his uninjured hand scrabbling at the floor as he tried to drag himself backward.
Blood smeared in his wake, painting grotesque patterns on the frost.
Lucent tucked the conduit into his belt and moved toward the third fridge—the one marked Sector 12 Delicacies.
The handle burned with cold against his bare fingers as he yanked it open.
Inside, rows of vacuum-sealed packages labeled as gourmet meats lined the shelves.
A practiced hand found the false bottom almost immediately.
"Got it," he said, pulling out a stack of data drives and slipping them into his waist bag.
The chill of the storage unit clung to the metal casings, biting through the fabric.
Mags watched dispassionately as Sel shuddered in her chair, the neurotoxin still working through her system.
The woman's once-pristine appearance had deteriorated—sweat-drenched hair stuck to her face, lips cracked and bleeding from being clenched too tight.
Not a flicker of remorse crossed Mags' features.
She reloaded the injector with another 3ml of the milky toxin, the liquid sloshing ominously in the vial.
Lucent turned his attention to the second guard, who was still attempting to crawl away.
His ruined knee left a glistening trail behind him, each movement punctuated by a pained grunt.
"Don't bother," Lucent said, stepping forward.
The guard's breath came in ragged gasps as he realized escape was impossible.
Mags moved like a shadow beside Lucent, the injector poised in her small hand.
The guard's eyes widened—first in fear, then in defiance.
"You won't get anything from me," he spat through gritted teeth.
Lucent crouched down, bringing himself eye level with the wounded man. "We'll see."
The guard's eyes darted between the needle in Mags' hand and Sel's trembling form—watching as another tremor wracked her body, her fingers clawing at the chair arms.
His bravado shattered like glass.
"O-ok, ok! I'll talk!" Gary's voice cracked, sweat mixing with the blood on his face. "Just... just put that thing away!"
Lucent tilted his head, studying the man's panicked expression. "That was easy."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But if you lie to us..."
Mags didn't need prompting.
She rotated the injector slowly, letting the flickering fluorescent light catch the viscous toxin inside.
Gary's throat bobbed. "I won't! I swear!"
"Let's start simple." Lucent straightened, crossing his arms. "Your name?"
"Gary," the guard choked out.
Lucent glanced at Sel, who gave a weak nod, her breath still ragged.
"Alright, Gary." Lucent crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet.
"Where'd you get this?" He held up the Myriad conduit.
Gary swallowed hard. "S-someone gave it to me."
"Who?"
"I don't know!" Gary flinched as Mags took a step closer. "I swear! It was just some guy in a Red Dog jacket—paid me to keep an eye on incoming shipments and report anything weird!"
Lucent's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe the Dogs handed out top-tier Myriad tech to some random thug?"
Gary's remaining knee scraped against the concrete as he tried to push back. "I—I think they stole it! The guy who gave it to me, he had fresh augments—looked like military-grade stuff. Said if I did good, maybe I could get some too."
A beat of silence.
The refrigeration units hummed.
Then—
A sharp click from the doorway.
The first guard had his conduit raised, its target on Lucent's back.
"Enough talking," he snarled.
Mags was already moving—
—but the air between Lucent and the guard rippled.
A glyph flared to life, its runes spinning lazily in the frozen air—not the sharp, geometric patterns of modern corporate spellwork, but something older.
Rougher.
The edges of the symbols bled into each other like ink in water, unstable yet precise.
"Hhk—?!" The guard's trigger finger spasmed as the delayed glyph twisted through him.
It wasn't pain.
Not exactly.
More like every nerve in his body suddenly forgot its purpose.
His conduit slipped from limp fingers as his knees buckled, not from damage, but from sheer neurological confusion.
The sensation lasted only three seconds—but that was enough.
Mags' knife found his throat in the span of one ragged breath.
Lucent exhaled slowly, watching the guard crumple.
The glyph—Neural Static, Cipher had called it—dissipated like smoke.
A relic from his GhostKey forum diving days, back when encryption wasn't the only thing he'd learned to weaponize.
Gary's choked gasp hung in the frigid air as Lucent scooped up the first guard's conduit.
He turned it over in his scarred hands, the truth settling like ice in his veins.
"Take a look, Sel," Lucent said, holding both devices side by side. "Both your guards were feeding intel to the Dogs."
Sel didn't answer.
Her jaw was clenched tight against the neurotoxin's bite, but her eyes—sharp despite the pain
Mags' tanto flashed in the fluorescent light as she stepped forward, the blade's edge hovering near Sel's throat.
Judgment, swift and final.
A hand closed around her wrist.
Mags looked up into Lucent's face—the scars, the weariness, the quiet certainty. "We still need her," he murmured.
His thumb pressed against the pressure point in her wrist, not enough to disarm, just enough to pause. "She's clean."
Mags' dark eyes searched his face.
A silent demand for proof.
Lucent turned back to Sel. "They were threatening you, weren't they?"
A slow, stiff nod.
Sweat dripped from Sel's brow as she forced the words through gritted teeth: "T-two weeks... ago. Said they'd torch... my supply lines... if I didn't... look the other way."
Gary whimpered on the floor. "Boss, we had no choice—"
"Shut up." Lucent didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
The pieces clicked together—Sel's cooperation, the guards' aggression, the military-grade augments on their Red Dog contact.
This wasn't just a mole.
This was an infiltration.
And Sel had been the first domino.
Mags lowered the tanto by a fraction, but her grip didn't loosen.
The question hung unspoken between them:
What now?