Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, but Lyra nodded tightly. "Thank you, Doc," she whispered, voice thick.
Before she turned away, Zhang pressed a small injector into her hand. A single-use hypospray. "Stimulant and painkiller combo," he said. "If you feel the implant or pain knocking you down, use it. It'll keep you on your feet for a good hour. No more than one, or your heart might burst. Understand?"
She closed her fist over it, swallowing hard. "Got it."
With that, Lyra slipped through the storage room and onto the staircase landing. Behind her, she heard the crash of the front door giving way and heavy boots flooding into the clinic. Zhang shouted, "Hey! Who are you? This is a private clinic!" trying to delay them.
Lyra forced herself to leave him and take the stairs two at a time. Each step sent jolts of pain through her battered body, but she pushed on, driven by fear and resolve.
She emerged into a dilapidated hallway of the tenement above, littered with trash and old furniture. The sounds of the raid below echoed up the stairwell—shouted demands, a scuffle. Then a gunshot. Lyra froze for half a heartbeat, a cold dread flooding her. They had shot him—had he been killed? She wanted to scream, or run back down and help, but it was too late. If she went back, his sacrifice would be for nothing.
Another voice barked, "Clear! Target not in vicinity. She's on the run. Spread out, she couldn't have gone far."
They knew she'd been there and escaped. Lyra forced her legs back into motion. There was no time to mourn or even process what had happened to Dr. Zhang.
At the far end of the grimy hallway, she found a broken window leading to a fire escape. She climbed out just as the first black-clad operatives charged up the stairs behind her.
"Visual on the target!" a harsh voice rang out from below as she swung down the creaky fire escape ladder. A burst of gunfire followed, punching holes in the brick wall inches from her as she descended. Chips of brick and glass rained.
Lyra leapt down the last few meters, landing in a narrow alley behind the building. Pain flared in her ankles, but she gritted her teeth and ran. An armored figure appeared above on the fire escape landing, aiming down. She darted just as a muzzle flash lit up—bullets sparked off a dumpster where she had been a second before.
She raced through the alley, vaulting over debris, her breath burning in her lungs. The alley spilled onto a busy street of Old Mercado, now coming alive with morning activity. People milled about—workers, shoppers, kids. Lyra plunged into the crowd, nearly bowling over a woman carrying a basket of mechanical parts.
Chaos erupted as the armed operative chasing her also emerged, weapon drawn. Civilians screamed and scattered at the sight. The black-op hesitated; they wouldn't fire wildly into a crowd if they wanted to capture her alive and avoid too much public attention.
Lyra used the moment to blend in, shucking off her distinctive jacket and tossing it under a passing auto-rickshaw. In her tank top, she ducked into a throng of factory workers in greasy coveralls heading down the sidewalk. She hunched, using a stocky man's bulk to shield her from view.
The operative scanned the crowd, helmet swiveling. More of them were surely coming around from other directions to cordon off the area.
Up ahead, Lyra spotted the entrance to a market arcade—a sprawling warren of shops and stalls that connected to multiple streets. She slipped away from the group of workers and into the arcade just as two more black-clad figures converged on the spot she'd been.
Inside the arcade, it was darker, lit by a kaleidoscope of neon signs advertising ramen, software mods, and every vice imaginable. She darted past a stall and knocked over a rack of imitation designer jackets behind her, sending a cascade of clothes into the path of anyone pursuing.
Not waiting to see if that slowed them, Lyra charged through the maze. She needed to get out of sight, maybe find a hiding spot until the heat died down. But these operatives were thorough—they wouldn't give up easily, and any minute now drones or a whole tactical team could flood the area.
Ahead she saw a flickering sign for a subway station entrance—Old Mercado Station, shuttered years ago when the city's main lines moved, but perhaps still a way underground. If she could get into the tunnels, she might lose them.
She hopped the turnstile of the derelict station. The escalators were frozen in decay, forcing her to run down into the gloom of the concourse. Trash littered the floor; the smell of mildew and rats was heavy. Her footsteps echoed.
Lyra clicked on the small flashlight attached to her belt. She could hear shouting somewhere behind—they were still on her trail.
At the far end of the concourse was the tunnel entrance, blocked by a rusty gate. Lyra squeezed through a gap where the metal had been pried apart, likely by scrap thieves long ago. Beyond was the yawning dark tunnel itself.
She didn't hesitate, jogging into the tunnel's depths, careful to stay on the maintenance walkway and not step onto the old electrified rails. Her light illuminated graffiti-scrawled walls and the occasional skeletal remains of shopping carts and debris.
She moved as quickly as she dared for several minutes, putting distance and layers of concrete between her and the pursuit. Only when her lungs were screaming did she stop, leaning against the wall. It was nearly pitch-black; she switched off the flashlight, not wanting to give herself away if they did come this far.
The darkness was oppressive, but comforting in that moment. Hidden. Safe, for now. Each breath echoed. She was alone with the distant sound of dripping water and her own heart thudding in her ears.
Lyra slid down to sit on the cool tunnel floor. Her body trembled with exhaustion and pain. Dr. Zhang was likely dead because of her. Another person who'd tried to help, gone. Grief and guilt welled up, but she fought to suppress it—if she let it consume her now, she'd collapse, and then everything would be over.
Instead, she forced herself to focus on next steps. The implant was still an enigma, but now she'd had a name—Project Mantis—and that strange vision. If she could find out more about that, maybe she could understand why it was worth all this death. And maybe somewhere in all this was a way to get it out of her without killing herself.
She thought of Noel suddenly, the photo by her bed. If he were here, he'd tell her to keep fighting, to find a way. But Noel wasn't here. Noel had left her years ago to chase his own ghosts, and now... now she had new ghosts of her own.
Lyra clenched her jaw. She couldn't do this alone; that much was clear. She needed allies who knew how to deal with a corporation's dirty secrets. People who could help her go on the offensive, not just run.
As she sat in the dark, one name flickered through her mind. A rumor more than a person—a netrunner called Eris who specialized in digging up dirt on corps. Lyra had never met her, but she'd heard whispers among other couriers and fixers that if you needed to make a megacorp hurt, Eris was who you sought. Problem was, Eris usually found you, not the other way around.
Still, Lyra resolved that once she shook her hunters, she'd start seeking out leads in the underground hacker community. Maybe contact an old acquaintance who dealt in data and see if they could connect her. It was a long shot, but it was something.
For now, she needed rest, even just a little. She reached into her pocket, fingers closing around the hypospray Zhang had given her. She hesitated. Using it now would let her push on despite exhaustion, but if she didn't absolutely need it this second, she should save it. There were more trials ahead, she was sure.
Lyra let her head rest back against the wall. Just a brief respite, she told herself. Ten minutes to gather herself, then she'd move through the tunnel and find a way back up into the city further away.
Her eyes drifted shut, the darkness behind her eyelids no different than that around her. Images flitted at the edge of her mind—flashlights in alleys, Zhang's face, the lab from the vision, Noel's smile… She shook herself before she could sink into a nightmare.
No rest yet. She forced herself to stand despite leaden limbs. The adrenaline might have subsided, but danger had not. If she stayed too long, they might send drones with thermal imaging.
Lyra Vale steadied herself and continued down the tunnel, disappearing deeper into the underbelly of Mirage City. Alone, but alive—and determined to find answers before the dead caught up with her.