New Cascadia – Sector 12, Apartment 18B
It started with a tremor.
Mira's hand knocked over a cup before she even realized it had happened. Her breath hitched. She tried to speak, but the words came out misaligned—half syllables twisted around blank spaces.
Cassian caught her before she collapsed, one arm wrapping around her shoulders.
> "I've got you," he said quietly. "It's okay. I've got you."
Her stabilizer patch flashed bright red—pulsing in short, sharp bursts.
> Status: Neural Instability – Immediate Attention Required
Cassian grabbed her compression kit and triggered override transport.
---
New Cascadia – Sector 7 Medical Subcenter
The building was barely lit. A cracked holo-sign buzzed above the entryway, flickering between corporate insignia and blank static.
Inside, a tired medtech in a stained lab coat met them with a scan wand and a calm, mechanical tone.
Cassian recognized the type—burnout-class staff, the kind who operated on the edge of Synapse oversight. Clinics like these weren't illegal—but they were forgotten, tolerated as long as they didn't draw attention or cause data flags.
The medtech guided Mira to a stabilizer bed, ran a baseline scan, and handed Cassian a cheap neural slate.
> "She's entering late-stage Type II. Unofficially, we call it Type II-point-nine."
Cassian's grip on the slate tightened. "What does that mean?"
> "It means she's hitting the neurological bleed phase. Loop echoes. Motor gaps. Once that stabilizer patch fails, she'll start to detach—one moment at a time."
He looked up. "What's the fix?"
The medtech hesitated. Then lowered her voice, eyes flicking toward a ceiling sensor.
> "You didn't hear it from me, but there's a clinic off-grid. They deal in neural splicing. Risky. Illegal. Some call it a cure. Others call it a shortcut to collapse."
> "Where?"
She tapped the slate with a single gloved finger.
> "Blackline Market. Ask for the Surgeon. Don't linger."
She turned away, not asking for a name.
And not waiting for thanks.
---
New Cascadia – Sector 12, Apartment 18B (Later That Night)
Mira was asleep again—her breathing even, her stabilizer recalibrated to full. But her fingers twitched faintly, tracing half-circles in the air. Her eyes moved behind closed lids—stuck on something she couldn't voice.
Cassian sat near the window, tablet in hand. The address blinked quietly:
> Access Node 7L – Blackline Market – Ask for the Surgeon.
Below him, New Cascadia flickered like a dying grid—drone beacons sweeping slow arcs over shattered rooftops and forgotten alleys.
He looked down at Mira. Then back at the slate.
> "They won't help us. Not unless we steal the right to survive."
---
End of Chapter Seventeen