April 19, 2021. 20:17. Vancouver. 11 days left till Italy.
The holo-display fades, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the soft tick of Michelangelo's tablet.
No one speaks.
Remi exhales first, cutting through the quiet. "Shit, that was... a lot."
"Yeah, no kidding," Shock mutters, still staring at the ghostly traces of corrupted code hovering in the air, as if expecting them to flicker back to life.
Azure leans over the table, her voice sharp. "So, we've got virus sightings in Vancouver, Berlin, Jakarta, Johannesburg—and it's mutating. Great. If we don't isolate or trace the pattern soon, containment won't mean shit."
Tetra raises a hesitant hand. "Hold on. We're talking like it's all on us now. What about the corps, or... NetWatch? Aren't they handling this too?"
"They are," Michelangelo replies, tone flat. "But progress is slow. Which is why we're having this conversation."
I lean back into the booth, frowning. "So what exactly are we supposed to do? We've got drug networks, cyberpsycho outbreaks, and now a damn virus. We can't hit everything at once."
"We don't need to," Azure says. "We just need to pull the right thread first."
Shock snorts. "Girrrl, and which one's that supposed to be?"
"That's the problem," I answer. "It's all tangled. Roderick's implants fried, he was dosed on SynthCoke, and now there's code running through his system." I pause, the thought catching. "But how the hell are we supposed to get a live sample of the virus? You said it deletes itself almost instantly."
Michelangelo nods. "Yes. The only reason we have any data is because NetWatch was dissecting a corrupted implant in isolation when it triggered. If they'd blinked, it would've erased itself like all the others."
"Well, using what we know so far…" Azure tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "Then maybe the trick is forcing it into a closed system—something fast enough to trap it before it wipes itself."
Shock snaps her fingers. "Oh! Like hijacking a runner's neural interface—catch the spike and shunt it into a black-box buffer. Totally offline. Maybe... hardwired locally?"
"Like a portable deadzone rig," Azure murmurs. "No syncing. No outgoing data. Just containment."
Michelangelo doesn't confirm it—but his silence says enough.
Remi clicks his tongue. "Wait, rewind a sec, chooms. So what do we prioritize—the tech, the psycho, or the drugs?"
Mister finally leans forward. There's no command in his tone yet—just a calm read of the room. "If we're aiming to make the biggest dent, the virus is the core of it. But getting a sample's dangerous. Maybe even suicidal."
"I'm down to grab it," Shock says immediately. "Kinda curious to see how it works anyway!"
Azure leans back, a grin tugging at her lips as her eyes light up. "I'm in. Not gonna lie, I am curious about this—but only if we negotiate proper pay. If we're poking at something that can fry brains, I'm not doing it for cheap."
"I wasn't asking either of you to, but thank you," Mister says dryly, though not unkindly. "Before we move, we need to be sure we're not chasing dead ends."
"And what if we don't find anything?" I ask, snapping my fingers absently in thought. "Then what? Wait for the next cyberpsycho to show up with a live sample in their skull?"
"No," Michelangelo answers. "We find one."
The table goes still again.
Mister exhales, straightening up as a faint tension leaves his shoulders. "Alright. I'll take the lead on this. We've got three fronts: the virus, the drugs, and Roderick's past. Here's how we split—"
"Pause," Remi cuts in, raising a hand. "Before we do that... I ain't tryna get my head shot off, but I've got some homies who owe favours. I might be able to get a line on who's pushing the SynthCoke."
Mister gives a slow nod. "Good. That's a start."
"Say less, I'll handle it then," Remi says, pulling out his phone. "Oh yeah, I'll loop in Blake too. Pretty sure he and his boys got pull, and I can bait 'em into helping."
"Wait... 'bait'?" Tetra asks, frowning.
"A slice of the pie, man," Remi replies with a grin. "Drug trade's gotta be profitable in times like these, and Mister can make that shi look clean. Funnel it through him, toss in some royalties or whatever."
Mister folds his arms. "Blake would like that. I'll negotiate it if it keeps things stable."
"Aight, on it." Remi nods and starts typing out a message.
Shock leans forward, elbows on the table. "Soooo if we're gonna get a sample of the virus, we need a live carrier."
Tetra's eyes widen. "Wait—you mean we're actually going after a cyberpsycho? The last one nearly tore a street apart. How the hell are we supposed to grab one?"
Azure slides in, voice steady but cautious. "We don't need to capture them—just get close enough to observe. Netrunners have done similar runs on rogue AIs. It's dangerous, yeah, but not impossible. If we find the right spot, we can watch the virus at work in real time."
Tetra frowns. "That… still sounds risky. You sure you don't need backup?"
Azure glances at Shock, then shakes her head. "We should be fine... if Shock can tap into nearby cameras or electronics. That should let us observe the cyberpsycho's behaviour from a safe distance without direct exposure."
Shock smirks, miming rapid typing in midair. "Mhmm~! If the grid's not locked down, I can ride surveillance feeds and trace the subject's movement through signal triangulation." Her smirk fades as she taps her temple. "Buttttt the tricky part's linking into their implants—so I can monitor the virus live."
Michelangelo's voice cuts through the hum. "Even Arasaka's neuro-forensics teams struggled with that. Success rate under twenty percent without neural compromise." He pauses, gaze steady. "However, I have override codes and localized decryption protocols. With them, I can breach Arasaka-grade implant security. I'll act as escort for both of you so you can focus entirely on the data."
Shock and Azure trade a wary glance—equal parts interest and unease.
Azure arches a brow; Shock gives a tiny shrug in return. No words, just the low tap of Shock's fingers on the tabletop—restless, betraying nerves she doesn't voice. Azure exhales through her nose, gaze sliding back to Michelangelo.
He stands there motionless—waiting, patient, unreadable.
Finally, Azure breaks the silence. "Yeah," she says quietly, resolve settling behind her tone. "Sure."
Shock's nod follows, sharper, more decisive. "Works for me."
Michelangelo tilts his head. "I've already tagged three active cases—different zones, different behavioural patterns, same breakdown symptoms. We'll start there."
"Perfect." Mister leans forward, satisfied. "Azure, Shock—you'll take that lead. Gather what data you can, but keep comms open at all times."
"Fine by me," Shock says, standing and stretching with a small groan. "I'll grab my gear before we head out."
Azure pushes her chair back next, already scrolling through notes on her holo-display. "Same. I'll prep what we'll need—tools, scans, backups. No weapons for me, but I'll make sure we're stocked."
Mister turns toward me and Tetra. "You two, you're with me. We'll dig into the gang and drug angle—Roderick's past, Nathan's murder, and any connections between trauma and the virus. If our leads cross with Remi's, we'll regroup there."
Tetra blinks. "Wait, so... I'm backup?"
"You'll be useful," Mister assures him. "It's just me, Artemis, and you. Artemis handles muscle, you cover support."
I shrug, arms crossed. "Works for me."
Tetra rubs the back of his neck, still unsure but nodding. "Got it. I'll do my best."
"Remi," Mister calls, "once you get in touch with Blake, loop us in. We need movement data on SynthCoke. If our zones overlap, we'll converge."
"Yuh yuh, say less." Remi waves his phone lazily. "Already hit him up. Gimme a bit—I'll cook us a lead."
Mister takes a slow breath. "Good. That's our first move."
The table falls quiet again as everyone processes the plan.
Shock scrolls through the virus logs, eyes distant. Azure flexes her hand, fingertips shifting into sleek mechanical tools, her restlessness almost audible. Tetra exhales like a man walking into deep water. Remi spins his phone absently but his focus is sharp.
Michelangelo breaks the silence. "I'll transmit localized data for each zone. You'll also receive temporary clearance levels suited to your assignments."
"Thank you." Mister nods. "We'll move out soon. For now…" He scans the group. "Briefing's over. Good luck—and stay synced."
The group scatters, heading their separate ways.
Mister steps aside, already pulling out his phone. "I've got calls to make. Expect an update tomorrow."
Remi's halfway out of his seat, thumbs flying across his screen. "Gotta bounce. Deuces. I'll keep y'all posted."
Michelangelo heads for the elevator, eyes locked on the scrolling data across his tablet. "I'll retrieve my gear. Your briefing files will arrive before sunrise."
Tetra and Shock glance around, the tension finally easing.
"I guess we're done here?" Tetra asks, sounding unsure.
"Yeah, pretty much." Shock stretches her arms overhead and jerks her chin toward the exit. "C'mon, let's head back."
"Sure thing." Tetra flashes a grin and waves. "Catch you guys later!"
"Byeeee~!" Shock calls out with a playful lilt, giving a quick wave as the door swings shut behind them.
"Later, you two," I call after them.
Azure adds, "Try not to blow anything up without us."
Shock laughs from down the hall. "No promises!"
The room empties quickly, and before long, it's just me and Azure.
I adjust the strap of my holster and glance toward the window. Outside, downtown Vancouver sprawls under the drizzle—towers of glass and neon rising into a bruised sky. Rain slicks the streets below, turning them into a blur of reflected colour: drone lights, passing cars, the faint bass from some rooftop party a few blocks over.
The city never really sleeps—it just mutates.
We leave the lounge, slipping into a quieter side street. For a while, the rain's rhythm fills the silence between us. Azure's steps slow, the energy she had earlier bleeding away.
"You good?" I ask casually.
She lets out a low hum, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah. Guess that meeting really took the energy out of me—"
The sentence cuts off halfway. Her body goes rigid.
My instincts flare, and I follow her gaze.
Across the street, reflected in the rain-blurred glass of a cyberware repair shop, a familiar figure lingers.
White hair and facial cybernetics… Jenny…?
She stands in the glow of the shop's sign, holding a grocery bag in one hand—and smiling.
Then comes the wave. Casual. Almost friendly.
Azure exhales sharply. The faint smile she'd been wearing vanishes, replaced by composure so brittle it looks painful.
My body moves on instinct; my stance shifts, eyes narrowing as my hand drifts toward the holster at my side.
Jenny gives one final smile, then turns and disappears into the city's neon blur.
"What was that?" I murmur.
Azure's breath comes out fast—controlled, but tight. She turns to me, all trace of playfulness gone. "We need to follow her."
I give her a flat look. "No."
She flinches. "What? Why not?"
"Because you went from zen goddess to meltdown in three seconds," I say, voice low. "Whoever that was, she rattled you. And I don't chase people who mess with my teammates' heads unless I know why."
"I'm not rattled," Azure shoots back—too sharp, too fast.
"Right," I deadpan. "You're totally calm. You only forgot how to breathe for, what, ten solid seconds?"
She looks away, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
I step in front of her. "Alright," I say evenly, though I can feel the irritation simmering beneath it. "With as much respect as I can muster—who the hell is she?"
Azure doesn't answer. Her mouth opens, then shuts again. Her eyes flick to the alley Jenny vanished into, her teeth catching her lower lip.
"Don't even think about lying," I warn quietly. "You froze the second you saw her. You're panicking. And from what I've seen so far, you don't panic easily."
"I'm not—" she starts, but her voice cracks halfway through. Her gaze drops. "It's not what you think."
I raise an eyebrow. "What is it, then? You want to chase her, but won't explain why she matters. What is she to you? And don't give me the 'it's complicated' speech. I need details if I'm getting involved."
Azure's eyes flicker toward me—uneasy. "It's just that… she's dangerous."
I step a little closer. "You keep circling that word, but I need facts. You want me to act? Give me a reason."
Her fingers twitch, curling into a fist. "If I tell you, I'm dragging you into something I never wanted to involve anyone in."
"You already did," I counter. "The second she showed up, you asked me to follow her. So either tell me what we're walking into, or I walk away."
The rain fills the space between us, a soft hiss against the concrete. Azure stays silent, shoulders rising and falling once before she finally exhales.
"When I lie to people," I murmur, tone softening, "I at least try to make it convincing."
Azure folds her arms across her chest, gaze distant. She's not looking at me anymore—she's weighing every possible consequence of opening her mouth.
A long silence follows.
Fucking hell.
"You know her," I say at last, voice low. "Personally."
"That's… not relevant," she mutters.
I laugh, sharp and bitter. "The fuck do you mean, 'not relevant'? You want me tailing someone tied to a ghost organization, and you think context doesn't matter?"
Her silence says enough. The puzzle pieces click.
"…Alright," I say slowly. "I'm gonna take a wild guess here—Jenny isn't just some random operative, is she? And, you didn't just hear about Autumn Blade. You've seen what they're capable of. Up close."
Another long pause. Long enough that I start to think she's not going to answer.
Then, barely above a whisper. "Yeah." Azure's gaze drops to the ground. "I have."
My frustration dulls, replaced by curiosity. "So why ask me to follow her if she scares you this much? If she's dangerous, unpredictable—if you're terrified of what happens next?"
Azure swallows hard, voice steadying. "Because I need to know what she's doing here. And I need someone who won't get killed finding out. Right now, that's you."
I stay silent, letting that settle.
She continues, quieter this time. "And yeah… the rumours about Autumn Blade? They're true."
"...Damn."
Azure shoots me a sidelong look. "That's all you have to say?"
"I had a feeling," I admit. "Back when we first saw her, and you went quiet. The way she moved… the way you froze. Still, confirmation's something."
"She shouldn't be here. Not in Vancouver. Not this soon."
I step in front of her, trying to catch her eye. "How do you know all this?"
Her lips part, but whatever she was about to say dies on her tongue. Her posture tightens, shoulders pulling in.
"...Right," I murmur, glancing down at the wet pavement before shaking my head. "Too big to talk about out here."
Azure stays silent. I don't push. Instead, I take a step back, giving her a little space.
With a sigh, I pull off my cap and run a hand through my hair. "Sorry. Didn't mean to grill you. I just—get like that when something feels off."
She finally meets my gaze. Her tone softens. "I get it. You don't have to apologize. I'm not offended."
"For what it's worth," I say, quieter now, "I know what it's like to keep secrets. Believe me. You've got your reasons—I won't force it out of you. Just… if I'm heading into this, I need to know when I'm walking into a bullet."
"Thank you," she murmurs. "For not pushing harder."
I give a faint smile. "For the record, I wanted to. But I didn't want to bulldoze your trust."
That earns me a tired smile back. "Then I owe you."
The tension between us eases, just a little.
"Still," I say, glancing away, "thanks for saying something. But just so we're clear—I'm not chasing her until we both know more."
"I figured." She nods, shoulders loosening, tone steady again. "Honestly? I'm okay with that. Just… promise me you won't mention this to anyone else."
"I won't. You have my word."
…
April 20, 2021. 13:24. Burnaby. 10 days left till Italy.
True to his word, Michelangelo delivered.
He handed Mister everything we needed—intel for each team, clearance levels, tracking zones, even a list of potential safehouses for backup ops.
Azure and Shock stuck to the plan: sweeping the city's cyberpsycho hotspots using the pre-tagged locations. Shock runs digital surveillance while Azure maps behavioural patterns. No direct hits yet, but there's definite progress.
Remi's been working with Blake and the Dead Kings. No major breakthroughs so far, but they're pulling weight. Blake's personally invested—he wants to know how deep the Melder pipeline runs and whether his gang can muscle in. Remi's leaning into that angle hard and keeping Mister updated.
As for me, I've been moving with Mister and Tetra, digging through what's left of Roderick Hale's past—his mercenary records, the unresolved trauma of his son's death. We're trying to connect the dots between the school stabbing that killed Nathan, Roderick's spiral, and the SynthCoke trail he left behind.
While Remi tracks the suppliers, we're chasing the buyers—and any other gangs pushing product behind closed doors. Same problem, different angles.
And if things line up the way Mister thinks they will… we'll all meet in the middle soon enough. Probably .
Well. Who knows?
For now it's just Mister, Tetra, and me digging through Roderick's past.
His apartment's in a low-rise just east of Kingsway: dusty stairwell, no working elevator, a smell like stale protein powder and burnt circuitry. Best part—we didn't even have to break in.
Mister pulled a favour with a contact at the property office; another quiet debt from his cleanup days. With Michelangelo's clearance files, the whole thing passed as an official sweep.
No questions. Way cleaner than kicking the door and dealing with the fallout later.
Now we're standing in what's left of the living room—dark, quiet, blinds half-drawn so thin bands of afternoon light stripe across a carpet that's long since surrendered.
"God," I mutter, scanning the wreckage. Boxes, unwashed dishes, datashards scattered like forgotten thoughts. "Wasn't expecting a palace, but this is… impressive in the worst way."
Tetra winces as he steps around a pile of crumpled jackets. "Smells like… I don't even know what to call it."
Mister doesn't comment. He's already moving, looking for something, gloved hands brushing along the wall like he's reading invisible threads.
I move deeper into the room, ducking beneath a half-dangling light fixture. There's a heaviness here—not tragedy, exactly, but exhaustion. The kind of space that stopped trying long before its owner did.
"Damn," I mutter, softer this time, nudging an empty can aside with my boot. "Place like this… you don't live in it. You just hold out."
Tetra glances back at me, expression unreadable. Maybe he sees it too.
Mister finally speaks. "We're not here to feel sorry for the guy. We're here to find out why he snapped."
He's right. But still…
My hand brushes over a cracked picture frame on the entry table. Dust rises as I wipe it clean—two figures, father and son, smiling like they believed tomorrow was guaranteed.
Roderick's smile isn't perfect—awkward, maybe forced—but the care's real. Nathan's grin, though… it's pure, unguarded. Something in my chest knots.
Dad used to smile like that too.
I blink hard and shove the thought down before it takes root. Not now.
We move on.
The place is chaos—takeout boxes, busted furniture, dead datachips—but buried beneath the debris, pieces start to surface. A cracked merc helmet. A vest stained and dented, a few stray slugs still rattling in the pockets.
Nearby, Tetra crouches beside a crate and pulls out a half-used pack of SynthCoke, the seal long since broken.
Mister waves us over. In his hands—what's left of a shredded envelope, its corners curled and brittle. The address label's gone, but inside is a small slip of paper marked with faded coordinates.
"Looks like he got something from someone," Mister mutters, scanning it closely. "Not much left to go on."
Tetra frowns, glancing around. "This can't be it, right? No journal? No last message?"
Mister doesn't answer.
That's when a glint catches my eye—something silver near the torn vest. Dog tags.
I reach down and pick them up.
"Redpoint," I read aloud. "Huh…"
Both of them glance over.
"A mercenary hub," I explain. "Richmond. I used to pick up contracts there. Long time ago."
Tetra raises a brow. "You?"
I shrug. "Before I went solo. That's all."
"Oh… makes sense."
We don't linger. Tetra drifts back toward the cracked photo frame, eyes fixed on the father and son. The silence stretches a little too long before he finally speaks—quieter this time.
"My brother used to smile like that," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Back when we still had time."
I glance over, then step beside him. "Hey, man. You'll find him. Plus, you got us."
Well, technically, he's got Wissen—and by extension, the rest of us. But there's no need to tell Tetra that.
He gives me a soft nod.
Mister passes behind us, still holding the envelope as he moves into the next room. His tone shifts, less clinical. "No parent should have to outlive their child."
It's not just a platitude. There's weight in his voice—like he's not just talking about Roderick. I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
Giving Tetra a light pat on the shoulder, I nod toward Mister. We leave the photo and tags behind, moving deeper into the apartment. It doesn't take long before Mister finds a terminal buried beneath a pile of old jackets.
"Old rig," he mutters. "Local storage only. No cloud sync. Might still have something in the drive, though."
He crouches, poking through the cables.
"Any luck?" Tetra asks.
"Still booting. Might need a netrunner," Mister says, straightening up. "I'll see who's available. Stay here."
"Wait," I interrupt, already pulling out my phone. "I might know someone."
Tetra blinks. "You have a netrunner?"
"What?" I shoot him a smirk while rummaging through my jacket pockets. "Surprised I have friends?"
He laughs, hands raised in mock defence. "Just curious, that's all."
Mister gives a short nod. "Go for it."
They move into the next room to continue the sweep, leaving me alone with the terminal.
Eventually, I fish out what I'm looking for—a scuffed-up USB stick with an extendable antenna and flickering LED. Blowing off the lint, I crouch beside the rig.
"Had a feeling this might happen," I mutter, plugging it in. The screen hums to life, dim light flickering across my face.
While it boots, I send a message.
"Got a minute?" I say aloud while typing. "Need u to connect to something."
A few seconds pass before Nano's reply blips in.
"Not unless u got 9,000 eddies~!" Then she sends a tongue-out emoji for good measure.
"Very funny, smartass. Running an investigation. Need access to a computer in an apartment."
"Ooo, I love a good mystery. Sure!"
"FYI it's ancient. U need anything special from me?"
"Nah. Unless it runs on steam power, I'll be fine."
"Kk. Do ur thing."
The USB light pulses as the link establishes. I don't fully get how netrunners do what they do, but once the lights start dancing, I know Nano's in.
A few moments later, another message pops up.
"Done!!! Now pay meeee. I paused my anime for this." Followed by a crying-puppy emoji and a broken heart.
"... absolute gold digger LOL" I smirk, thumbs tapping a reply. "How about lunch instead?"
"DEAL!" she replies instantly—complete with heart emojis and a drooling face.
I snort. "Yeah, thought so."
Mister reappears as the screen stabilizes. "You good?"
"She's in."
Tetra steps in behind him, holding up a small shard. "Hey, I found this, uh… what do you call it? Datashard?"
"Yeah, pass it here." I hold out my hand. He drops it in, and I slot it into another port.
Mister leans closer as text scrolls across the display—mostly job listings, routine merc work. But then we hit the last three entries. And that's where everything changes.
Surrey drops—Blake's crew still runs it?
He exhales through his nose. "So he was already dealing around Blake's turf."
Contract via Redpoint. Client: Anonymous. No contact post-payment.
Then a final note, flagged red: Avoid Surrey. Burned zone. Too many gangs in play. Too hot.
"Burned zone?" Tetra echoes.
Mister nods grimly. "Sounds like ground zero for something. Not sure if that's where we need to go next—but you never know."
I cross my arms, staring at the flickering text. "Great. Can't wait." I hate Surrey.
Tetra folds his arms, thinking. "Wait, wouldn't it also make sense to check Nathan's high school? I mean… he was mixed up in shady stuff, right? Maybe there's another lead there—a supplier, an enabler, something."
Mister nods slowly. "Good point. We shouldn't skip it. Roderick's breakdown started after what happened there. If there's a trail, it probably begins at that school."
He glances back at the screen. "I was also considering Redpoint in Richmond. Whoever supplied Roderick his drugs had to be someone easy to reach—someone close. It had to fit around his job schedule."
I narrow my eyes at the logs. "Hold up. Look at these timestamps. Most jobs are normal duration, but here—" I tap a row. "Every few days, there's a two-hour gap. Not enough time to cross the city or dive into gang turf, but plenty to hit somewhere nearby."
Tetra leans in. "So he probably picked it up during that gap. Somewhere between here and Redpoint… or maybe Redpoint itself."
"Or his own block," I mutter. "Wouldn't be the first merc high off his own supply."
We go quiet, each of us trying to connect the threads.
Mister finally exhales. "Alright, so we've got two leads: Redpoint or the school."
"Well, Redpoint's easier, right?" Tetra says. "Artemis has been there before."
"Yeah," I admit. "Loud, messy, and no one cares who walks in." I glance between them. "But how do we stroll into a high school looking like this?"
I gesture to my armoured outfit, then to Mister—helmeted and cloaked like a walking red flag. "Tetra's the only one who looks remotely normal, and even he's dressed like a tourist from another planet."
"Hey," Tetra protests, hands up. "I'm trying, alright? Fashion trends don't come easy to a nomad. But yeah… I'm not passing for a teacher or a student."
Mister just shrugs. "I know someone. We'll get in. Let me handle it."
"That easy, huh?" I raise a brow, skeptical.
He doesn't respond—just walks for the door. "We've learned what we needed. There's no reason to linger. Let's move."
Tetra gives the apartment one last look before following.
I hang back a second, eyes landing on the broken photo frame again—father and son, smiling before the world fell apart.
Then I turn and shut the door behind me.