Shit. The camera's tiny red eye blinked on. We were only a few meters from the building and it had already locked onto us. Then again, what else could we expect from the state's leading cybersecurity contractor? One wrong move now, and we're screwed.
"Ry, you lead. We need to get in there, now," Mishka demanded.
We moved to the rear of the building. Ryker secured his tactical line, and we climbed swiftly, our boots scraping against the glass exterior as we pressed for the roof. As Mishka expected, there was a fire escape waiting for us. We eased the door open and stepped inside, arriving on the third floor—the top level of the building.
"Get on the ground, now!" a man commanded, leveling his gun at us as a squad of agents stood behind him.
"Well, damn. No turning back now," Ryker muttered, tugging the shock pistol from beneath his jacket and firing before the agent could pull the trigger. The unit returned fire instantly. Mishka and I barely avoided the blasts as we drew our own weapons.
"Jun, go to the left wing! Ryker and I will keep them busy," Mishka ordered. "Find Blackwood and extract the memories."
"Got it!"
I sprinted down the opposite hall. Distant shouts from the others echoed behind me as I navigated the maze of hallways, my eyes flicking to every corner. Ahead, heavy footsteps grew louder with each step. Seconds later, five more appeared.
"Get her!" one barked.
I didn't hesitate. I fired three precise shots, each aimed at the agents' weak points before they could even react. The remaining two froze, and I switched to Dex's neuro-disruptor darts, launching them with perfect timing. They pierced cleanly, the electric shock locking their limbs as they collapsed without a sound. After the minor encounter, I continued my search, taking down each agent that crossed my path. Eventually, I came upon a hallway ending in a single set of double doors.
There was a tall man in a suit, guarding its entrance. Lean and muscular, his stature left no doubt—he was clearly one of their top agents." But it didn't matter. I raised the dart, steadying my breath, waiting for the perfect opportunity. One shot—and he'd be down.
I shifted from the corner, stepping into view, and fired the dart. Just as he turned, it struck into his neck. He froze, eyes locked on mine, a faint smirk forming even as the dart stayed embedded. What the hell?
"That frequency won't work on me," he said, slowly pulling the dart free. Blood began to stream down his neck from the wound.
Instinct took over, and I drew my pistol, aiming straight at him. Footsteps pounded down the corridor behind me. It was Mishka and Ryker, sliding into position, their weapons ready.
"Step back, or you're dead," Ryker warned.
The man didn't flinch. "You're in a secured building. Biometric tracking runs through these walls. Let's say...two minutes before the system flags you and reinforcements arrive."
I caught the silent panic in Mishka. "He's not bluffing."
The agent turned his gaze to me. "You're here for his memories, aren't you?"
His words triggered a shock from all three of us. Yup... this is it. We're completely screwed.
"You have no idea what's inside his core," he added.
"Jun, we need to move," Mishka urged, tension in her voice.
"If you take that memory, they'll never stop hunting you."
"They already are," I shot back sharply.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Then we have something in common."
He proceeded to step away from the doorway and remained silent.
Confused but not hesitating, Ryker, Mishka, and I shoved past him and charged into the room. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man—pale, wide-eyed, and dripping with sweat—his trembling hands wrapped around a gun he clearly didn't know how to use.
"D–don't come any closer... or I'll shoot!" he stammered, the threat collapsing under the shake in his tone.
"Save it, old man," Ryker snapped and intervened immediately.
In a single, fluid motion, he removed the weapon from Blackwood's grasp and twisted him around, pinning his arms tight. The struggle ended as quickly as it began, leaving the official helpless on the floor.
I knelt beside the unconscious body and pressed a neuro-disruptor dart into his arm, making sure he would stay under during the extraction. Its currents would also temporarily throw his core out of sync, cutting him off from the city's network.
I began the extraction by removing the chip-like core embedded behind his ear. Once it was free, I pulled out my own and slid his into place.
The shift was immediate. My vision blurred, colors draining at the edges, and intense pressure built behind my eyes. Then the memories began to sync—foreign thoughts and images bleeding into my consciousness.
Then the memory flickered. The office blurred into view around me as I sank into his memory. Screens floated in midair, holographic maps of the city glowing under fingers. Red zones flickered over the West Side—visuals of riots, fires, and fleeing citizens—while the North End maintained a peaceful and perfect state.
A monotoned, mechanical voice echoed through the room, like it came from the walls themselves: "Population stability: 90%, Anomalies detected: 4.3%, Zone assimilation: 88%"
The official's fingers traced lines across the cityscape, noting where interventions had succeeded and where chaos lingered. Every number felt alive, each statistic a life measured, tested, manipulated.
"All anomalies must be neutralized."
Before I could process the rest, a glitch tore through the scene, shattering everything around me. A searing pulse struck the side of my head where the neuro-core was lodged, hammering against my skull as if trying to burn its way out.
"Ah, shit!" I gasped. My vision molded into a blinding haze. Pain ripped through me—relentless and unforgiving—my body shaking violently as it rejected the neuro-core.
"Her nose is bleeding!" Misha cried.
"Remove the chip now! I'll hold her," Ryker directed.
I felt the neuro-core being removed and replaced, a faint relief spreading through me. Slowly, my vision began to clear, and the burning pain eased just enough to be bearable.
"Reinforcements are here," the agent from before announced as he barged in.
"Damn it," Ryker whispered, anxiety written on his face. "We need make a run for it, but Juno can barely stand. How the hell are we supposed to get out of here now?"
"Follow me."
For a split second, I wondered who he was really helping—us, or himself.
Ryker and Mishka exchanged a tense, uncertain look. They both saw it too—this could be a trap—but quickly realized they had no choice. Mishka let out a heavy sigh.
"Okay... and the plan is?" she asked.
"There's an emergency exit on the floor below. We take the staircase, make a right. Three flights of stairs, tops."
"Sounds like the only option," Ryker said, nodding. "Alright... I'm in."
"You got here with a ride, right?"
"Yeah, two vehicles. We left them in a vacant lot a couple of streets away," Mishka replied.
"Too far. We'll take one of the company cars in the garage instead. Let's move."
I was lifted, swept into someone's arms.. I fought to stay conscious, but my senses swayed with every sharp turn and jolt of movement. My surroundings tilted in and out of focus.
The next thing I knew, we were on the second floor.
"Suspects found—left wing," the surveillance system announced, and sirens erupted...
"It's this staircase."
We rushed down what felt like an endless flight of stairs. Above us, boots pounded against metal steps—agents flooding the stairwell, their shouts and footsteps crashing down after us.
By the time we made it to the garage level, I could already hear the chaotic collection of agents from the outside.
"The first car on the right should be unlocked."
I was shoved into the back seat—the door slamming behind me before I could steady myself. The engine revved harshly and the tires shrieked against the concrete as we skidded out of the garage.
The moment we left, shots fired. The rear window burst inward, glass scattering across the interior. Then came a storm of bullets slamming into the frame, each impact shaking the car as we tore onto the main road.
"Ry, they're on us! You have to lose them!" Mishka shouted, leaning halfway out of the car as she fired back at the swarm of armed personnel closing in on us.
I struggled to sit up, my strength fading with every attempt. Each movement felt heavier than the last. I drew in a shaky breath and braced myself to try one final time—but before I could rise, a hand pressed gently against my chest and pushed me back down. My head tipped backward, falling into their lap.
"Rest," they said, their voice low and unsteady. "I need you alive."