The XX virus

The health center's basement is a maze of rust and shadow, its corridors littered with relics of a forgotten world. Jaren's flashlight cuts through the gloom, his scanner humming with a faint distress signal—too weak for his salvage crew topside, but it sets his pulse racing. Overseer Kren would have his hide for chasing whispers instead of hauling tech for the Order's quotas, but this signal feels alive, tugging at something deep in his chest.If it's a power cell, I'm free of Kren's leash. But it's more—a pull, like a voice calling him into the dark.The signal leads to a sealed door, half-buried under rubble. His crowbar strains, muscles burning as he forces it open. Inside, a hidden chamber looms, stasis pods lining the walls like silent tombs, their screens dark, occupants long gone. All but one. A single pod hums, its vitals screen flickering: IMMUNITY REACHED. SUBJECT STABLE. POWER CRITICAL.Jaren's breath catches. The figure inside is… wrong. Slender, with long hair spilling over the glass, and strange curves—chest, hips—that don't match any man he's known. His mind stalls, grappling with the unfamiliar. "What in the void are you?" he whispers, stepping closer. The pod's warning blares, red lights flashing. His engineer's instincts kick in; he yanks his portable power cell from his pack, wires sparking as he rigs it to the pod. The revival sequence hisses, and the glass slides open.The man collapses into Jaren's arms, gasping, skin pale as moonlight, eyes wide with fear and something else—something that pins Jaren in place. "Where… am I?" His voice is soft, almost melodic, nothing like the megacity's rough tones. Jaren's hands tighten around him, startled by how fragile he feels, how his warmth seeps through Jaren's calloused fingers. He's too soft, too… different. Jaren's heart stumbles, a strange heat curling in his gut."Who are you?" Jaren murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away. Those eyes—bright, searching—meet his, and Jaren feels exposed, like this stranger sees parts of him he doesn't understand himself. Footsteps clang above—his crew, descending. The Order would seize this man, dissect him, erase him. Jaren's jaw tightens. Not if I can help it."Stay quiet," he whispers, draping his jacket over the man's curved frame, the fabric catching on those strange contours. Their faces are inches apart, and Jaren's breath hitches at the closeness, at the faint scent of something clean, like rain, clinging to him. "I'm getting you out." He guides him through the basement's shadows, dodging rusted beams. The man's hand grips Jaren's arm, trembling but firm, and each touch sends a jolt through Jaren, like static he can't shake."Keep your head down," Jaren says, voice low as they near a collapsed wall. "My crew's up there. They see you, we're done." The man's eyes meet his, wide but trusting, and Jaren's chest tightens. Why does he look at me like that? "Got a name, or do I call you Trouble?""Auri," he whispers, voice barely audible, lips close enough that Jaren feels the warmth of his breath. "I'm Auri."Jaren nods, heart pounding as Order drones hum outside, their sensors scanning for anomalies. He pulls Auri into an alley, the air thick with ozone. A drone's light sweeps close, and Jaren yanks Auri behind a rusted skip, their bodies pressed together in the tight space. Auri's breath is warm against Jaren's neck, and Jaren's pulse races, not just from the drones. "Trust me," he murmurs, meeting Auri's gaze. "I don't know what you are, but I'm not letting them take you."Auri's eyes soften, and he nods, their hands brushing as they huddle in the dark. That touch lingers, burning into Jaren's skin, and he wonders what he's risking his life for—and why it feels worth it.