I followed them down a corridor stitched together with rust and old grime. Metal walls sagged like tired lungs. The ceiling flickered, half-lit, as if debating whether it wanted to keep pretending it was part of a civilized structure. The hallway had doors on both sides, some sealed, some whispering. Aedan stopped at one, slid it open.
Aedan stopped at one and slid it open. “You can clean up in here,” he said, nodding toward the shadows inside.
Further down, a thick, reinforced door loomed like a threat. Beside it, another. He opened the second. “Later, you can rest in here.”
I stepped inside. The room was small but functional. A cot jammed into the corner, half-covered by a blanket that looked like it had survived a knife fight. The centerpiece was a table made of clear alloy, and inside it, under the surface, was what looked suspiciously like a severed synthetic hand, flipping a slow, mechanical bird on loop.
“Charming decor,” I muttered.
Arvie chuckled in my head. “Slum chic meets war trauma. Ten out of ten, would not sleep here.”
Back in the cleansing unit, I peeled off the garment they’d thrown on me after surgery, the fabric stiff with blood and med-den stench.
The unit barely qualified as functional. I wasn’t bargaining for comfort, just pressure and heat. Got neither. The nozzle coughed out lukewarm mist and fractured sonic bursts. Still, I scrubbed until my skin stopped smelling like antiseptic rot.
The clothes I’d tossed in the corner twitched faintly in the steam, seams tightening, grime leeching out thread by thread.
I froze. “Is that supposed to happen?”
Arvie yawned in my skull. “Standard-issue tricks. Slow to kick in, but relentless once they do.”
I watched them clean themselves while I took a second pass under the spray, just to feel petty.
When I stepped out, they looked almost clean. I pulled them on. Still smelling. Still mine.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkhzl49OOm5
I went back to the hall. Aedan and Vex stood mid-discussion, voices low. They paused when I approached.
Aedan gave me the kind of nod you reserve for bad news. “My contact replied. There's a rumor Larek’s been taken. No confirmations, just whispers and rot.”
“We’re still checking sources,” Aedan added, then gestured for me to follow. “Now, your Neurolink. We’ve got two paths. Neither’s pretty.”
“Color me thrilled.”
He held up two fingers. “First: old Zorgale’s joint. Backroom chop-shop. Slum legend. The procedure might work, if the gear’s still breathing. Costs credits, and there’s a risk your link decides you’re a toaster.”
“Correction,” Arvie said, voice dry as old bones. “A wet toaster. One that screams existential poetry while it burns your synapses.”
I raised a brow. “Option two?”
Vex stepped in. “There’s a training academy for the district elite. We sneak in during downtime. Their pods are cleaner. More reliable. But security’s tight, and we’ll need a techie to bypass locks.”
I looked between them. “I can handle locks.”
Vex gave me a sidelong glance, all smirk and lifted brow. “Figures. You’ve got that look.”
Aedan cut in, already moving. “Rayjin’s place is closest. We’ll hit that first. Meet Vulkred, the medic. I’ll make the rest of the arrangements while you prep.”
We exited the den, the stink of dank and burnt circuits fading into the thicker, older reek of the underhalls. These tunnels had grown like tumors, layer by crooked layer. Pipes wept. Shadows lingered. Voices rose and fell like tides, moans, threats, deals, prayers. Vex walked like she owned the place, and maybe she did. When a gang of twitch-eyed goons oozed out from behind a drain vent, she didn’t break stride, just glared.
One of them stepped closer, skin peeled in patterns that suggested recreational acid and poor life choices. “Evenin’, pretty…”
She didn’t let him finish. One hand flicked her coat, and a thin-bladed tool appeared like a magician’s trick, gleaming softly.
The thug’s mouth shut like a rusted hatch.
We passed through silent agreement.
Soon, the slums gave way to something better disguised, pipes turned to conduits, grime to grime with ambition. We ducked past two guard patrols, slipping through a forgotten storm drain and up a tight maintenance corridor that led to a metal backdoor.
It creaked open.
Rayjin stood hunched like a question mark, eyes glinting beneath a welding mask pushed back on his head. His voice hit like a fire alarm.
“Ah! Intruders I trust! Come, come, before the vents decide to think!”
He vanished before I could respond. We followed.
The chamber he led us to was darker than a merchant’s conscience, lit by flickering data panes and swaying cables. Vulkred waited inside, already unpacking a case the size of a coffin.
He didn’t look up. “You’re late. And luck’s shifted. Guard routines changed. New access route.”
Aedan frowned. “We’ll have to adapt?”
“Better. I have clearance. Sort of. I sell them... supplies.”
“You sell cadavers,” Vex said flatly.
Vulkred grinned. “Semantics.”
Then he pulled out a long white garment, uniform fabric, sterile folds. Handed it to Vex.
“You’ll be the nurse. He…” a nod toward me, “will be the body.”
Arvie shrieked in my head. “Oh! You’re going to love this. Nothing screams ‘undercover mission’ like corpseplay. Do I get to record your heartbeat flatlining? I’m making a playlist.”
I stared at the syringe he pulled next.
“It’ll slow everything. Pulse, breath, neural patterns. You’ll feel cold. Dull. Don’t fight it. I’ll bring you back after the scan completes. Probably.”
We argued. Loudly. Even Aedan’s cool cracked. But logic’s a parasite, it sinks in, festers, spreads. Eventually, we nodded.
Vex changed behind a curtain. The nurse’s outfit clung too well. She adjusted the hem with visible irritation.
“You look... professional,” I offered.
Her glare could melt synth-steel.
Vulkred prepped the syringe. The fluid shimmered like something pulled from the Nether, probably.
“You’ll feel a sting.”
He lied.
It wasn’t a sting, it was a collapse, a shut-off, the world unplugged. I remember her voice, just before the dark claimed me:
“Sweet dreams, master cadaver. Don’t let the autopsy bots bite.”
ns3.129.17.22da2
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