Knox's office had changed since the early days.
It used to be just a corner of a junked-out warehouse, a cramped little tech-rat's nest where he pieced together bootleg cyberware and custom hacks for any merc who could afford him. Now? It actually looked like an operation.
A back-alley clinic with faux Corpo polish—walls lined with racks of custom optics, freshly sterilized tools, and monitors displaying market trends on black-market cyberware.
Knox sat behind his desk, feet kicked up, sipping NiCola, like he owned the fucking city. He grinned when K walked in.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. My number-one customer. My reason for living. My—"
K didn't laugh.
Didn't even smirk.
Knox's grin faded slightly. His gaze sharpened. This wasn't normal.
"Damn, man. What's with the face? I say something 'bout your mom?"
K exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Got a call today. Someone says they know what happened."
That got Knox's attention.
His boots hit the ground, his usual joking demeanor cooling into something serious.
"Happened—" He didn't have to finish. They both knew what he meant.
"Someone says they got the real story," K muttered, jaw tight.
Knox sat back, drumming his fingers against the table. "Shit. Figured this day might come."
K narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Knox sighed, leaned forward, and tapped a few keys on his holo-terminal.
"Look, I didn't wanna show you this 'cause it ain't exactly… good for the blood pressure. But the shooting? It was all over the news. Arasaka spun the f* out of it."*
K felt something cold settle in his chest.
"What did they say?"
Knox didn't answer. Just turned the screen toward him.
A news clip played.
The broadcast was pristine, Corpo-perfect.
A reporter stood outside Arasaka Tower, dressed in neutral grays, voice crisp, measured.
"Just days after the tragic events at an undisclosed warehouse, we've learned shocking new details regarding the extremist group known as Grave Signal. Survivors claim that what many assumed to be a rock band was, in fact, a dangerous cult operating under the guise of entertainment. Their final act? An elaborate abduction scheme that forced Arasaka to step in—with lethal force."
The screen cut to a woman.
Ruki Fujioka.
K's blood ran ice cold.
She looked composed. Poised. Her purple hair draped over one side of her face, her expression unreadable.
"They tricked me," Ruki said, voice level. "I thought they were my friends. I thought… I was safe. But they were planning something bigger. Something terrible."
Cut back to the reporter.
"A dangerous, misguided ideology. One that nearly cost this young woman her life."
The feed ended.
The screen went black.
K stared.
His fingers clenched into a fist.
The muscles in his jaw flexed so tight it ached.
"What the fuck is she even talking about?"* His voice was low, guttural. He turned to Knox, eyes dark with fury. "A cult? Are you f*ing kidding me?!"*
Knox sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, this is why I didn't tell you."
K stepped back from the desk, his mind spinning. His heart hammered in his chest, rage coiling tight, ready to snap.
His bandmates were all he had. They weren't criminals.
They were his family.
And Arasaka had wiped them out like it was nothing.
His breathing was uneven. His hands shook. He stormed out of the office, shoving the door open with enough force to make the hinges groan.
Knox watched him go. Didn't stop him.
Because what could he say?
K walked to his car, shoulders tight, fists trembling.
He leaned against the hood, head down, pulse pounding in his ears.
How the fuck could they do this?
All to cover up a massacre?
He started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
His phone sat heavy in his hand, the message from Fab still glowing on the screen.
A time. A place.
He had a few days before the meeting. He needed to prepare incase it was a trap. But he was definitely getting to the bottom of this. For his bandmate's sake.
K looked at it for a long moment.
Then he got in the car.
And sped off.
Lights from the street lamps wizzed by, one by one as he drove, clenching the steering tighter than usual. He was furious, confused, and utterly powerless to do anything about it.
As he came to a red light, his phone buzzed. It was Knox.
He picked up knowing what he was calling for.
"Look…I know we still got business. I just need to clear my head right now."
"That's all well and good, but where the hell are you going, kid? Cruising the city might clear your head, but it won't change anything."
K paused while lighting a cigarette. He exhaled in frustration. "I don't—I don't really know what to do right now."
"Yeah I figured. I know I can't stop you from going to that meeting, but you might want to get better chrome before then. I'm sendin' you some eddies I had saved up. Consider it a bonus for being my fav merc."
A soft chime rang in his optics, followed by the familiar flicker of a transfer notification.
Balance updated: $25,000.
K blinked, eyebrows raising slightly. "Why so nice all of a sudden?"
Knox scoffed humorously. "What a guy can't feel generous every now and then?"
K didn't respond. He knows his mentor better than that. Knox may have a good heart, but he doesn't do anything for nothing.
"Alright alright—look. I didn't put your humpty-dumpty ass back together just so you could go get zero'd by some wierdo net runner. We still got business to do. So do me a favor and get some better fuckin' chrome, would ya."
K rolls his eyes. "Fucking Christ—why is everyone on my case about my tech?"
"Cuz it fuckin' sucks—that's why." Knox looks into the camera. "It was enough to keep you alive for sure. But you're about to get into some sticky business, choom. This is the big leagues now. Time to put the wooden bats away and start slingin' some real iron—get me?"
K let out smoke through his nose like an angry bull. He leaned his head against the window, letting reality sync in. His chrome was trash, and he had to do something about it. No way around it.
"Yeah yeah…I hear you old man."
Knox grinned, satisfied. "Nova. Now get it done already. The sooner this is all over, the sooner we can get back to the eds."
K hung up the call, running his hand through his hair with exhaustion. He cruised silently. No music. No radio. Only the sound water tapping his windshield. As the rain fell, the highway became a bridge to nowhere—its slick, glassy surface reflecting the neon skyline like an inverted world lurking just beneath the surface.
He decided to take it in of the night. With an illegal U-turn; he headed back to his apartment. Too much on his mind to focus on driving. This would all have to wait till tomorrow.
[The Next Day]
K arrived at the building just after sunrise, standing under the overhang while the rain tapered off around him in slow, cold drizzles. The card Charlene had given him felt heavier than it should've—gold-lined, minimal, with only a name and a blacked-out location code.
He glanced down at it once more, sighed, and stepped inside.
The lobby was silent, save for the low hum of recessed lights overhead. The walls were black tile, polished to a mirror sheen, with elegant gold trim running along the floor and ceiling like veins. In the center of the room sat a coffee table supported by a black tiger sculpture—its glass surface balancing on the predator's outstretched claws. Its gemstone red eyes gleamed under the lights, following K as he walked in.
The chairs were all sleek black leather, aligned with perfect symmetry around the room. In the corners, lush green plants sat in obsidian pots, too pristine to be real.
K slid into a seat, the leather cool against his jacket. His eyes moved across the room, scanning the others waiting their turn.
Two Tiger Claw bruisers sat near the door, one of them cradling a cybernetic arm wrapped in a bloody towel. Across from them, a Mox girl with neon blue hair chain-smoked nervously, her leg bouncing like a jackhammer.
No one spoke.
From the hallway deeper in, a man screamed.
"AAHH—FUCK, DOC!—"
A gruff voice replied calmly, muffled but clear.
"I told you to take the numbing agent."
"That shit takes too long! I need this done ASAP!" the man barked.
There was a metallic clatter, then more yelling—not just in pain, but rage, like he was trying to fight it.
K leaned back slightly, frowning. The screaming didn't faze anyone in the room. No one flinched. Not even the cat lying on the table.
Eventually, the door opened. A man was wheeled out, arm twitching, sweat pouring down his face.
Then came the doctor.
He looked like he belonged in a different world—an older Asian man, thin-framed, dressed in a dark gray coat with rolled sleeves and surgical gloves he hadn't bothered to take off. His expression was blank, eyes distant and heavy-lidded like he hadn't slept in days. Or weeks.
He scanned the room once, then pointed at K without a word.
K stood and followed him down the hall, past a row of observation windows and sealed doors with warning symbols and digital locks. The room they entered was clinical, bright white with surgical lights overhead, but the walls were still laced with the same black-and-gold motif.
The old man didn't speak. Just stood behind a holoscreen, waiting.
K blinked. "…You waiting for something?"
The doctor didn't look up but said nothing.
K hesitated. Then shrugged. "Charlene sent me."
That got a reaction. The old man raised an eyebrow. Something in his posture shifted—less mechanical now, more alert. Still tired, but aware.
He tapped a few keys, and a menu blossomed from the holoscreen in midair—a list of chrome so advanced some of it didn't even have market pricing attached. Black market prototypes. Illegal mods. Specialized high-performance war tech.
"Even with discount," the man said, voice hoarse but steady, "still expensive."
K barely glanced at him, then back at the screen. "Sure thing."
He scrolled slowly. Reflex boosters. Subdermal plating. Reinforced tendons. Smart targeting arrays. Breath regulators. Enhanced optics. Some of the parts were standard-issue upgrades. Others looked like they belonged in a military blacksite.
He paused on one particular set—features not available to the public. No branding. No notes. Just a blank screen with a purchase code.
The doc saw his eyes stop.
"A prototype. Quiet. Strong. But no refund if system fails."
K stared at it a moment longer. The list swam before his eyes.
This was it.
A point of no return.
He looked at the doc and nodded. "I'll take these."
The man smiled for the first time—not warmly. Just enough to show teeth.
"Good choice. Now the eds."
K transferred the money. A soft ping chimed in his optics. Transaction complete.
He stepped toward the chair in the center of the room.
The metal was cold against his back. Straps clicked over his chest and arms.
Overhead, the surgical arms hummed to life. Lights dimmed.
The old man leaned in slightly. "Try not to scream. Claws might get agitated."
The man leaned in, tools in hand—his eyes hollow, steady.
Then the world went white.
Chapter End—