April 15, 2021. 05:15. Burnaby.
"Welcome to Casa de Shock!" Shock swings open the wooden door in front of us.
From the outside, the place looks modest—a narrow house tucked between aging brick buildings. But once we step past the curtained windows, it feels like we've entered another world entirely.
It's a wild collision between a hacker's den and a pop idol's dream hangout.
A soft click and a series of beeps chime above the door. A virtual butler materializes in front of Shock, crisp in his digital suit.
"Welcome home, miss."
I step inside, taking it all in.
"Wow."
The apartment isn't dirty, exactly—but it's definitely chaotic.
Half-empty energy drinks litter the coffee table, cables snake across the floor, and jackets hang off the couch like tired guests. In the corner, three flickering monitors—code, security feeds, and music pulsing in sync—glow above a massive desk. To top it all off, the walls are plastered with pop posters, graffiti stencils, and maybe-illegal blueprints, all washed in neon pink and blue light.
"It's so… messy." I step over a discarded hoodie.
"Cozy," Tetra corrects, eyeing one of the screens. "Whoa, is this the whole neighbourhood?"
Shock grins wide. "Yup~! Told you—no one gets near me without me knowing. Cameras in every hallway, motion sensors on the fire escapes, even heat mapping for the sneaky ones who think they can stay out of sight."
I raise an eyebrow. "And yet, you still leave actual trash lying around."
"Girl, I'll have you know there's a method to my madness!" Shock gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest before breaking into a giggle.
"Uh-huh…"
Tetra steps forward, smiling as he looks around. "So, where am I staying?" He points at the couch. "I can sleep in the living room—"
"Spare room's at the end," Shock cuts in, jerking her thumb toward the hallway. "Just don't touch my stuff. You break anything, you're paying for it."
Her grin doesn't fade, but the warning lands.
"Oh yeah," Tetra laughs nervously, already heading down the hall. "Not planning on making that mistake."
As Tetra disappears down the hall, I exhale and sink into the couch, stretching my legs.
"Oh! Are you leaving?" Shock asks, plopping into her gaming chair. She spins lazily, slapping her phone onto the desk. "There's enough room for you too!"
I shake my head. "Five minutes," I mumble, letting my head fall back against the couch. "Then I'm gone."
Shock nods, fingers already dancing across her keyboard. "Hmmm. Need a drink or something?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"Mkay! Just holler if you change your mind—I'll be up a bit longer."
Silence drifts in, soft and easy. The hum of her monitors fills the room, and the neon glow paints everything in a quiet calm. I let my eyes wander to the ceiling, tension slipping from my shoulders—just for a moment.
This is nice. I sink deeper into the couch.
Still, a part of me wonders if this is smart. Shock and Tetra seem friendly enough, but I barely know them—and here I am, relaxing in a stranger's home. And getting too comfortable could get me pulled deeper into things I probably shouldn't be part of.
Come to think of it, when was the last time I actually hung out with other edgerunners?Most of my regular friends keep their distance from this kind of life, and now I'm sitting here on the couch of a hacker for an overseas mafia.
I shake my head and push myself up with a groan, rubbing my face before turning to Shock. "Alright, I'm heading out."
Shock barely glances up from her screen. "'Kayyy, see ya, Lily."
"Don't call me that."
She winks, smirking. I roll my eyes and head for the door.
Before I reach it, Tetra steps back into the room, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sure you're good to drive? You look pretty tired."
"I'm fine."
"Uh-huh, sureee." Shock spins lazily in her chair, then props her legs up on the desk. "If you pass out mid-drive, I'm hacking your truck and bringing it back here."
I pause, hand hovering over the doorknob. They have a point. I could make it home, sure. But would it be smart? Probably not.
Shock catches my hesitation and claps her hands. "Ohh, I've got an idea! You sleeping soon, Tetra?"
He hesitates, thinking it over before shrugging. "I was planning to, but I can stay up a bit longer. What's up?"
"Well, since Artemis is already here…" She grins. "We could have a sleepover!"
"Wait—what?" Tetra looks just as confused as I feel. "How would that even—"
"It doesn't," I cut in. "I'm leaving."
"Awww, come on, bestie! This is the perfect moment!" Shock jumps out of her chair and grabs my hand. "Think about it—we can watch a movie, then have a little late-night icebreaker!" She keeps poking me in the side.
I glare at her, but she doesn't even flinch. "First of all, why am I your 'bestie'? Secondly, it's past five in the morning, and you expect me to just 'chill' with you guys?"
"Yeah," she says, nodding like it's the most reasonable thing in the world—as if we weren't just a merc team hired to retrieve a high-tech weapon. "I'll even break out my best snacks!"
I pull my hand free. "You're way too friendly."
"It's one of my best traits!"
"More like your most annoying one." Hacker or not, I'm not humouring her.
"Heyyyy, that's not true and you know it!"
Tetra steps between us, hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, guys. Let's just… agree to disagree, yeah?"
I exhale sharply. "Ugh, fine. Maybe—later—we can do that sleepover thing, alright?" I rub my eyes, grasping for any way to end this without starting another argument.
"Hmm." Shock tilts her head, lips pursed as she eyes my barely-upright stance. "Fineee, that works! Get home safe, babe—but remember, you owe us!"
Tetra taps Shock on the shoulder. "Wait, since when was I included—"
"Alright," I cut in, opening the door. "I'm leaving."
The door clicks shut behind me. From inside, Shock's muffled voice follows, cheerful as ever: "'Kayyy, see you later~!"
Cold air bites at my skin as I make my way to the truck.
The streets are mostly dead now—just the low hum of a passing car in the distance. By the time I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine, my eyelids feel like lead. In a desperate attempt to stay awake, I crank the music to full volume and switch on the truck's autopilot—just in case exhaustion takes over.
It's painful.
Driving home blurs into a loop of rock and pop tracks—anything loud enough to keep me conscious. Didn't matter what played; I just needed noise.
By the time I pull into the penthouse garage, I'm half-dead on my feet. The elevator ride feels endless, but the second I step past security, relief hits me like a wave. Finally.
My gear ends up scattered—some on the floor, some on the couch. I don't even check where. Climbing the stairs feels like a mission in itself, and when I finally collapse onto my bed, the mattress swallows me whole.
Then my phone buzzes.
Who the hell…? I groan, muttering nonsense as I fumble for it.
My eyes struggle to focus on the screen. No name—just a message.
"Shoulda stayed, loser." A cartoon emoji sticks its tongue out underneath.
I can't help but laugh—just once—before sleep wins.
Screw you.
…
April 15, 2021. 15:02. Vancouver.
It's so damn loud.
My phone won't stop buzzing.
Can't they just call back later?
The sound barely registers at first. I roll over, burying my head under a pillow, hoping whoever it is gets the hint.
Sleep tugs me back down, the noise fading out—finally, silence.
For about five seconds.
Then the phone starts again, shrill and relentless, tearing through the quiet.
Oh, c'mon.
I blink up at the ceiling, vision unfocused, brain still glued together by exhaustion. My limbs feel like concrete, and when I force myself upright, my body protests every inch of movement. Then my shoulder reminds me it exists—pain flaring sharp and hot, crawling down my arm.
Right. The gauntlet.
The phone's still going. I groan, roll onto my side, and dig through my pockets until my hand closes around one of the phones—my personal one. Squinting through the blur of half-sleep, I glance at the screen.
Unknown number. Spam.
With a grunt, I toss it onto the nightstand and let my eyes close again.
A moment later, a new vibration rumbles through the mattress.
I freeze.
That wasn't the same phone.
A heavy sigh escapes as I roll to the other side, fishing through my pockets again. My fingers brush cold metal, and I pull out the second device—my work phone.
The caller ID flashes on-screen.
Wissen.
I sigh again—heavier this time.
With zero enthusiasm, I answer, voice thick with exhaustion. "Hi. What do you want?"
I can practically hear the smirk through the speaker. "Well, someone's not having a good post-gauntlet afternoon," Wissen muses, smooth and infuriatingly smug. "You sound delightful."
I groan, rubbing my temples. "If this isn't urgent, I'm hanging up."
"Now, now, don't be so hasty. I have something important to discuss. It involves last night—and a few other matters. When are you free?"
I stare at the ceiling, debating if I even have the patience for this. "Give me details."
"It's important."
"That's not a detail."
He chuckles. "Much better suited to talk in person."
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale through my teeth. "Fine. Whatever. When and where?"
"There's a nice little café near your place—Thierry Alberni," Wissen says, sounding far too pleased with himself. "Six-thirty should give you enough time."
I grumble something halfway between a curse and a yawn but nod anyway, even though he can't see it. "Yeah… fine. I'll be there."
"Excellent. Looking forward to it."
The line clicks dead, and I fight the urge to throw my second phone across the room.
Ugh, the things I do for this man.
I haul myself out of bed and stumble through my usual routine, trying to shake off the lingering exhaustion. First priority: clean up—both myself and the apartment.
A hot shower helps. The warmth sinks into my skin, easing the tension bit by bit, though my shoulder still throbs.
Once I'm dressed, I take quick stock of my apartment. My gear is still sprawled across the living room from last night. I sigh, rubbing my temples, and begrudgingly pick everything up.
Guns get disassembled, wiped down, and stored in their cases. Knives slide back into their sheaths. My black phone, spare IDs, and burner accounts all get double-checked and re-encrypted.
I double-check the security systems. All clear—no breaches, cameras still up.
Satisfied, I finally sit at my desk and boot up my computer. A flood of new emails waits for me.
A few are assassination contracts: a mix of local and international jobs. New York, Chicago, Toronto—too spread out. Logistics alone would be a nightmare.If I took them all, I'd spend the next few weeks bouncing across the continent. Doable, but not ideal.
I flag the lucrative ones and sketch out a rough schedule, prioritizing efficiency over payout.
Then I switch inboxes—modelling work.
A handful of agencies are checking my availability. One confirms a photo shoot in three days; another offers a last-minute gig in downtown Vancouver. I glance at the calendar, running the numbers in my head. Three days. Tight, but manageable.
My shoulder throbs again. And… that needs dealing with.
Pulling up a familiar contact list, I book an appointment at one of my usual clinics—a discreet sports therapy place I used to intern at. No questions, no judgment. They've patched me up more times than I'd like to admit.
Leaning back in my chair, I tap my fingers against the desk.
Next problem—avoiding recognition.
I head into the bathroom and study my reflection with a critical eye. This current look's been overused—at least for this week. Time for a change.
My fingers trace along my cheekbones, then to my eyes. I tilt my head, testing angles in the mirror. For the past few days, I've stuck with dark liner, smoky eyes, and sharp contouring—striking, dramatic, and paired with long, wavy hair.
It's a good look. Maybe a little too good. Too memorable.
Time to switch it up.
I open the cupboard, scanning the lineup of beauty products I've collected over the years.
The first layer of BB cream goes on light, evening my skin without hiding its natural texture. No heavy contour this time—just a soft wash of coral blush, blended gently into my cheeks for a healthy glow. A bit of concealer brightens the shadows under my eyes, adding a touch of life back to my face.
For my eyes, I skip the sharp liner and blend in a muted brown shade instead. Mascara follows, lifting my lashes—defined but still soft. Dewy highlight catches the light at my cheekbones, while a tinted gloss gives my lips a natural, effortless shine.
Stepping back, I study my reflection. The effect is completely different—softer, fresher.
Pretty, in a way that feels natural and approachable.
Next is my hair. I undo the usual waves, running my fingers through before picking up the straightener. A few quick passes leave it sleek and smooth around my shoulders. Too formal. I shake it out, loosening the strands until it looks easy—like I barely tried.
From another cupboard, I pull out a small box of coloured contacts.
I choose a pair of light brown lenses and pop them in. Perfect. Just another girl on the street.
Satisfied, I turn away from the mirror and head for the closet.
No oversized hoodies. No tactical gear.
Instead, I pull out a cropped knit sweater in soft beige. It hugs just enough to keep the shape relaxed but flattering. A pair of slim, high-waisted jeans follows. Stylish, casual, and inconspicuous.
Combat boots go back in the closet. White sneakers take their place—clean and unassuming. I add oversized glasses, sliding them up the bridge of my nose, just enough to soften my usual edge with a hint of deliberate dorkiness.
If I'm going for casual, I might as well commit.
I check the clock. Forty minutes left.
One last look at the security feeds, then I grab my jacket and head out the door.
Next stop: Thierry Alberni.
…
April 15, 2021. 18:30. Vancouver.
"I must say, it's a nice change of scenery seeing you dressed like this, Gina." Wissen raises an amused eyebrow, fingers tapping lazily against his coffee cup. His lips curl as he gives my outfit a once-over. "Any special reason for today?"
I set my fork beside the shared slice of chocolate cake and tilt my head with an easy smile. "Nothing much. Just felt like changing things up."
Wissen leans back in his chair, arms folding as he studies me. "It's a pleasant contrast to your… edgier aesthetic."
A soft laugh escapes me as I rest an elbow on the table. "Well, there's no point looking the same all the time, right? Different outfits for different occasions."
There's no sarcasm or bite in my tone—just smooth, effortless confidence. No sharp edges, no attitude. Just calm charm with a touch of polish.
Still, it's always a bit of a challenge to keep the edge buried and the mask in place.
Wissen watches me for a beat, then nods toward the cake. "How is it?"
I take another bite, savouring it before answering. "Rich, smooth… perfectly balanced between bitter and sweet."
"Thierry Alberni never disappoints."
For a while, neither of us speaks. The quiet hum of the café fills the space—the clink of cups, the low murmur of nearby conversations, and the soft glow of the hanging lights.
Then Wissen breaks the silence, his tone carrying a subtle weight. "Your acquaintance should be departing soon. He's scheduled for a flight later in the week."
I tap my fork against the plate, understanding immediately.
Dante got his railgun. He's finishing up and heading out.
A soft hum slips out as I twirl the fork between my fingers. "Guess that's that. It was… different, working with them. Definitely outside my usual field."
Wissen chuckles. "Different is one way to put it."
I smile faintly but don't elaborate, and neither does he. We don't need to.
Leaning back, I glance toward the window where Vancouver's neon lights smear across the damp pavement. "What about here? What's the situation like? I haven't been keeping up."
Wissen exhales, setting his cup down with care. His voice stays even, but there's an edge beneath it. "The usual suspects are getting restless. Some are sharpening their knives, others are stockpiling their matches."
The gangs are gearing up for war.
I keep my expression neutral, but tension creeps in beneath the surface. If things escalate, it'll throw off my schedule. Contracts to plan, flights to organize—a full-scale street war isn't exactly convenient.
Wissen notices, of course. He always does.
"You might get a call," he says, voice calm but deliberate. "Sooner rather than later."
I press my lips together and exhale through my nose. No need to ask; I already know what he's hinting at. Blake's on the move as well.
"Don't look so troubled," Wissen adds, amusement threading through his tone. "He's a generous man."
That draws a faint, knowing smile from me. "Generosity usually comes with expectations."
Wissen shrugs, taking a slow sip of coffee. "True. But he's also fair. And if there's one thing he values, it's loyalty."
"Mm. Guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
He smiles faintly. "That's the spirit."
We let the conversation drift after that, slipping into lighter, inconsequential topics. The weight of what's ahead lingers somewhere in the back of my mind, but for now, I focus on my coffee and the last bite of chocolate cake—enjoying the rare, quiet calm.
Then Wissen drops a bomb I never saw coming.
"I'm retiring soon, by the way."
He says it so casually, so smoothly over the rim of his cup, that it takes a moment to register.
I blink. My fork stops mid-air. My thoughts scramble for an explanation—some joke, some test—but no. Wissen's face remains unreadable, amusement barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Retiring?" I echo, setting the fork down. "You?"
"Mm." He hums softly, taking another sip. "I figured it's time to plan ahead. I've got enough saved to last a few lifetimes, and honestly? I've had my fill of this business. I'd rather spend what's left of it with my family."
I exhale, leaning back in my chair. "I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later."
Wissen chuckles, swirling the last of his coffee. "Everything has an expiration date, Gina. Even me."
That… is hard to imagine. Wissen isn't just another fixer—he's the fixer. His network stretches across continents, his influence cutting through both the highest towers and the darkest alleys of the underworld. He's been a constant for as long as I've known him.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
He smiles, though there's sincerity beneath it. "Because it felt right to tell a good friend of mine. I've watched you grow since you were twenty—helped you find your footing and build what you have now."
Silence stretches for a beat. There's warmth in his words—a quiet weight that feels almost foreign.
Folding my arms, I tilt my head slightly. "So what happens next? You gonna disappear into some penthouse in Monaco and sip cocktails for the rest of your life?"
Wissen laughs, shaking his head. "Tempting. But I still need to decide what to do with my resources."
I raise a brow. "Meaning?"
"Two options." He taps a finger against his cup. "Either I find someone to inherit what I've built, or I dismantle the entire network."
That makes me pause. Wissen's empire isn't just a business—it's a machine. Thousands of moving parts, alliances, and black-market channels spanning the globe. To just erase that?
"You're serious about this?"
"Dead serious."
For the first time, uncertainty creeps in. Wissen stepping out of the game isn't just big—it's seismic. It affects everyone in his orbit. Including me.
As if sensing the thought, he adds lightly, "I'm not gone yet. Still have work to finish. But…" He swirls the coffee, tone casual but deliberate. "There are people who'd love to get their hands on what I've built."
That's a warning.
Other fixers, corporations, entire syndicates—they're already circling like vultures, waiting for the moment he slips. If Wissen really goes through with this, things are going to get messy.
I nod. "Do you have anyone in mind for your successor?"
"I have a few people," he says, thoughtful. "But none have stood out yet."
"Guess I should start watching my back a little more, huh?"
"Oh, you always should."
The air settles between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. This doesn't just affect Wissen—it affects me. My world.
He studies me for a moment, then sets his cup down with a quiet clink. "I have a question for you."
I glance up, arching a brow. "Hm?"
"You don't have to answer it."
That makes me pause. Wissen's rarely hesitant about anything. I lean forward slightly, curiosity piqued. "Alright. What is it?"
His fingers tap idly against the cup. "What's your game plan?"
I blink. "Game plan?"
"Yes, you heard me." He tilts his head, watching me closely. "Where are you going with all of this, Gina? What's the end goal?"
A small, breathy laugh slips out. "I… don't know what you're asking." I lean back, arms crossing. "I haven't really thought about it."
Wissen exhales through his nose, amused but not surprised. "That's exactly what worries me."
"Well, you're the one who tells me to 'enjoy my victories.' That's what I'm doing."
"And you should," he agrees easily. "You've built a name for yourself. But all of it—your success, your freedom—it's standing on murky waters."
I drum my fingers lightly against my cup, watching the surface ripple.
"You should enjoy what you've earned," he continues, "but you should also start thinking about what comes after. Otherwise, you're just wandering."
I shrug. "Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Wandering's kind of my thing."
"For now," he says, his tone softening. "But eventually you'll burn out. One day you'll wake up and realize none of it matters anymore. No contract, no payout, no reputation will fill that void. You'll keep chasing a dream just to prove you mattered… and maybe die trying. For what? A title?"
"So you're saying there's no point?"
"No. I'm saying that life isn't for everyone—and most who chase it end up in ruin. Not many are built to survive it."
"You're saying I'm not?"
"That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself."
I huff lightly. "That's vague."
"It's called reflection, Gina." His gaze is steady, but there's no judgment there. "You don't have to be me, and you don't have to become some civilian. But you do need to figure out what makes your life mean something."
"That's rich, coming from you," I scoff, shaking my head. "What, are you saying you've had a game plan all this time?"
He chuckles, leaning back. "No. I was just like you once. I got into this for the money, the thrill, the connections. And for a while, that was enough." His expression softens, eyes distant. "But eventually… I realized how empty it was."
I study him quietly. He's never talked about this before.
"At some point, I stopped working just for the cash," Wissen says, his tone softer now. "I started focusing on giving people opportunities—jobs, ways to better their lives, even if it meant bending the rules."
He smiles faintly, though there's a distance behind it. "Not everyone gets a clean start. You, of all people, know that. But if I could offer something—an advantage, a second chance, a way forward—it gave me purpose."
"Okay, fair point," I admit. "But… why quit, then?"
"I've done enough." He folds his hands together. "The only thing that matters now is raising my kids and making sure my wife never has to worry again."
"I see..."
"As much as I've enjoyed this work, I've found something better to work toward." His gaze meets mine. "That's what I mean when I tell you to find something. It doesn't have to be this line of work. It doesn't even have to be family or some idealistic dream. But it needs to be something that keeps you moving forward. Otherwise, you're just collecting wealth for the sake of it. And trust me— that gets old fast."
A long silence settles between us.
I don't answer. Not because I disagree, but because I have no idea what to say.
Wissen watches quietly, as if weighing my thoughts against his own. The man who built an empire of connections across continents, who thrived in every shadow market imaginable—and now he's ready to just walk away?
My eyes drop to the plate. The last crumbs of cake sit untouched, my fork resting against the porcelain edge.
"I'll think about it," I say finally.
Wissen smiles. "That's all I ask."
We let the conversation drift back to lighter things, but his words stay with me—buried just beneath the surface, like a splinter waiting to fester.