Dawn's first light found Lyra ghosting through the semi-deserted backstreets of Old Mercado. The district was a relic of a bygone era, once a thriving open-air market, now partly reclaimed by squatters and underground traders. Crumbling tenements leaned over narrow streets, their walls plastered with decades of peeling posters and digital graffiti. A few merchants were already setting up for the morning rush, rolling up the shutters of stalls selling bootleg augments and black-market meds. The smell of frying soy-cakes mingled with the stench of decay from a gutter.
Lyra kept her head down, hood up, avoiding eye contact. The less anyone noticed her, the better. Still, she couldn't help but wince at every twinge from her wounds. The makeshift bandage on her arm was soaked through with blood. She had managed to slip through a security checkpoint by stowing away on the back of a jitney truck, but her strength was fading with each passing minute. She needed help, and fast.
Tucked in a back alley behind a shuttered pawn shop was her destination: Zhang's Clinic. The only sign was a faint red cross painted on a steel door, nearly obscured by graffiti tags and a flickering holoprojector advertising "Quality Pharma Cheap." It was just after dawn, and Zhang wouldn't officially open for business for a couple of hours, but Lyra hoped the old man lived in the back like many street medics did.
She gave a soft triple knock— their old signal, in case he remembered. A tense moment passed. Then she heard the scrape of locks turning. The door cracked open, revealing a wrinkled face with sharp eyes behind thick AR glasses.
"Lyra?" Doctor Zhang's voice carried equal parts surprise and reproach. He opened the door wider, taking in her disheveled state, the blood, the soaked clothes. "What in the hell happened to you, girl?"
Lyra exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd held. "Long story, Doc. I got into some trouble. I… I need your help. Please."
Dr. Zhang ushered her in hurriedly. "Get in, quick now."
Inside, the clinic was a windowless room bathed in the sterile glow of overhead luminescents. It smelled of antiseptic and old machinery. Along one wall, a metal table served as an operating bench, flanked by an array of medical tools, some standard and some highly illegal. Cabinets overflowed with supplies—painkillers, cybernetic components, sutures. A cluttered desk in the corner held a bank of outdated monitors softly beeping with patient vitals from illegal implants Zhang was monitoring.
Lyra's legs almost gave out as soon as she was safely inside. Zhang caught her, guiding her to sit on the metal table. "Stay with me. Let's see what we've got here," he said, rolling up her sleeve without waiting for permission. The gash on her forearm from the razorwire was deep, the flesh raw and bleeding. He tutted under his breath and grabbed a disinfectant spray. "This is gonna sting."
She gripped the table's edge as he cleaned the wound and began stitching it with a steady hand despite his age. "Doc—Zhang—I have something... an implant," she forced out between breaths. "In my neck. It was put in me against my will. I need it out."
Zhang's eyes flicked up to her neck, noticing for the first time the metallic glint just above the collar of her jacket. A small portion of the device was visible protruding from her skin at the base of her neck, surrounded by angry red flesh. "Mother of... How long has that been in you?"
"Only a few hours," Lyra said. "Someone—he put it in me to hide it. Now some corp killers are after me for it."
Zhang frowned deeply, finishing the last stitch on her arm. "That's a lot to take in. Let me see it."
Lyra turned and gingerly pulled her jacket and shirt collar down to expose her upper back and neck. She flinched as Zhang's fingers probed around the implant site.
The old doctor muttered a curse in Cantonese under his breath. "This is not a standard port or jack. It's integrated into your spine... Feels like between C7 and T1 vertebrae. The installation—it's been done with precision." He stepped away to grab a handheld medical scanner, then passed it slowly over the area. The device pinged and whirred, feeding data to his AR glasses.
"What is it, Doc?" Lyra asked, trying to keep fear out of her voice. She felt utterly exposed with it being examined, each passing second reminding her that it was a foreign thing lodged in her body.
Zhang didn't answer immediately. He moved to his desk, pulling up some schematics on the monitors. His mouth set in a thin line. "High-density neural interface... military-grade, no question. I've never seen this exact design, but the closest reference I have are black-ops wetware prototypes from a few years back. And those never hit the open market."
Lyra swallowed hard. Hearing it confirmed made it no less surreal. "Can you remove it?"
Zhang sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Not here, not with what I have. It's fused to your neural column. Removing it improperly could paralyze or kill you. Even if I had a full surgical suite, I'd be hesitant. Whoever implanted this—"
"He was a scientist, I think," Lyra cut in. "He was desperate. He said it was the only way to keep it from them. Called it Project... Mantis? Does that mean anything to you?"
The doctor's brow furrowed. "No, not offhand. But if it's a project name, that implies R&D… likely one of the big corps. You said you have people after you. Who?"
"Prysm-Sek," she replied. There was no use hiding it. If Zhang was going to help, he needed to know the stakes. "I was hired anonymously for a courier job last night. It was a setup. The cargo was that implant. Their black ops showed up, killed the scientist, and now they want it back. They framed me for whatever happened, too, I think."
Zhang shook his head slowly, trying to process. "This is bad, Lyra. If Prysm-Sek is involved, you're in deep. They have resources, influence... I've heard rumors of their experimental division doing nasty stuff, but nothing specific. If this is one of their projects, they'll tear the city apart for it."
Lyra's fingers curled into fists on her lap. She felt a swirl of anger and fear. "I'm not just going to roll over and let them have it. That bastard died to make sure they didn't. There must be a reason. Maybe this thing… maybe it's evidence or something. I need to know what's on it, or what it does."
Dr. Zhang considered her words. He moved to a locked cabinet and retrieved a syringe. "This is a broad-spectrum antibiotic and some nanites for tissue repair—I'm going to inject it near the site to reduce inflammation and prevent infection. That's the immediate concern. As for the device's data or function… that's trickier."