April 30, 2021. 00:25. Richmond. 0 days left till Italy.
"So, you're telling me it's either Italy or Toronto?" I say into my phone, half amused, half exasperated.
The cold wind cuts through the open space as I glance around the corporate VIP sector of YVR. Past the glass walls and razor fences, Richmond's poorer blocks sit walled off in the distance—but here, the air smells of jet fuel and money. The terminal lights and the low hum of late-night flights wash over me like a lullaby—comforting, in their own strange way, after years of bouncing across the globe.
Nano's laugh crackles back through the line.
"Depends on if you wanna eat proper pizza or proper poutine~! Toronto first, or we doing a quick handoff in Milan?"
"You watch too much pulp fiction."
"Think about it! 'Netrunner detective' is a very niche but one hell of a synergistic combo."
"Uh huh, sure." I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. "But if I'm honest, my head's already halfway to Milan." I glance up at the terminal clock, then down at the two battered suitcases parked by my boots. "I'll visit you after I'm done my gig."
"Mkay, just bring me back something shiny. Or don't die! Either's cool," Nano says, her goofy warmth cutting through the static. "I'll see you soon, gorgeous."
"Okay, time to end the call now." I smirk.
"NOOO, AT LEAST SAY BYE BACK!"
"Pfff." I fight the urge to laugh, but some noise escapes anyway. "Fine. Byeee."
"Thank you! Byeeee."
The call ends, and I slip my phone back into my pocket before heading inside.
Past the security gate, the private hangar opens wide under a pale wash of halogens. The air hums with the low thrum of generators and distant jet engines.
A sleek corporate jet sits at the centre—chrome-white and immaculate—its wings catching faint reflections from the runway lights.
Handlers move with quiet precision around stacks of luggage, running last-minute checks and refuelling lines. Two of Dante's guards stand nearby, sharp suits and sharper eyes, the faint scent of expensive cologne cutting through the heavy tang of jet fuel.
Further in, the team's already gathered, each in their own rhythm as the flight readies for departure.
Mister stands slightly apart, helmet repaired, posture steady but slowed. At first glance, he looks almost normal, but the faint mechanical whir beneath his cuffs gives away the discreet motor assists strapped to his legs. From what I've gathered, Wissen pulled strings to rush his stabilization and secure the tech—a favour that'll no doubt come due later. He's tough enough to walk without them, but uses the motors when he needs to keep pace.
Shock hovers near Dante, unusually quiet, her sharp eyes sweeping the hangar in restless loops. Dante's trying to hide it, but tension hums beneath his composure—an energy that says he's not quite home yet, but almost.
Remi leans against a cargo crate, laughing too loud, already swapping stories with Dante's heavies like they've been drinking buddies for years. His laughter echoes across the hangar—unbothered, too relaxed for the mood.
Tetra stands nearby, nursing a cup of coffee between his hands. The steam curls lazily past his face as he watches the conversation with quiet amusement, his gaze occasionally sweeping the space for anything out of place.
And Wissen, of course, waits by the aircraft stairs, flipping through manifests. His entourage forms a disciplined ring around him—tailored suits interspersed with muscle-bound bodyguards, their chrome implants glinting under the lights with every subtle move.
"Finished your call?" Wissen asks as I approach—his tone that same measured blend of curiosity and accounting.
"Mhm. Called everyone I needed to." I push the single weapons case and two travel bags forward for the staff to handle. "Here. One suitcase with weapons and gadgets. The other two are disguise kits and clothes."
"Realistic." He raises a brow. "I assume you've left room for 'souvenirs' later."
"Maybe." I shrug lightly. "Doesn't hurt to buy a few things overseas, no?"
A scoff, then a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough. If I were you, I'd do the same."
Mister approaches, his gait steady though the faint whir of the assist motors cuts through the drone of the hangar. "Wissen," he says, voice low but even. "I assume our flight will be ready shortly?"
Turning from me to Mister, Wissen meets him halfway, tablet still in hand. "Yes. Everything is taken care of," he replies. "The cyberpsychosis situation has also been resolved and formally closed. We'll review the remaining details once we're airborne, but for now—rest easy. It's finalized."
Mister studies him for a long moment, then gives a single, satisfied nod. "Good."
Remi slaps a hand against my shoulder, grinning wide. "Yo, Artemis. Nice bags." He jerks a thumb toward one of my suitcases. "I overheard—'kits-and-clothes', right? Got anything for us in there? I might need some drip for Milan."
"Nope. Don't even think about poking your head in there," I warn, though I can't help smiling. "There's a 'no Remi' tag on all of them."
"Shiii, it was worth the shot." He sighs in resignation before quickly laughing it off. "Meh, hopefully I'll get some nice threads later then."
"Oh I'm pretty sure you will."
Tetra steps up beside Mister, his tone light but genuine. "How're you holding up? You seem alright."
Mister shifts his stance, testing his balance under the assist motors. "Slow, but functional. That's enough for now."
In the background, Dante—who's been half-listening—finally looks up from a quiet exchange with Shock. He says something to her in Italian, short and businesslike. She responds just as smoothly, a small smile flashing before he turns back to the rest of us.
"The flight's ready," Dante announces. "We'll be taking a quiet and direct path. No layovers that aren't pre-cleared."
Wissen scrolls once more through his manifest. "ETA Milan in twelve hours," he confirms. "Our ground contacts are already waiting."
A handler jogs over, headset crackling softly. "Final checks, everyone. We'll be flying shortly. Once you're done, please head inside."
Shock raises a hand, cheerful and bright-eyed. "Soooo—snacks on board? Are we talking champagne and truffles, or Remi's ramen special?"
Remi grins, throwing both hands up. "Ayyy, both, choom. Balance is key."
Shock giggles, shaking her head as she follows after him, second up the steps.
I take a moment to check my suitcases—gear stowed, weapons sealed, disguises packed.
I'd already called Mom earlier, even squeezed in a bonus chat with Nano.
Everything's in order.
Wissen's gaze flicks to me, a faint knowing curve tugging at his mouth.
He gestures toward the stairs. "Go on. You're cleared."
I nod once, exhaling slow. "Yeah. Thanks."
As handlers load the last of our luggage, the rest of us head up the steps—jet engines whispering awake, the scent of ozone and fuel thick in the air. Behind me, the hangar lights dim as the doors begin to close.
Inside, the hum of laughter hits first, leather seats creaking as everyone settles in.
The flight attendants make one last sweep before sealing the door.
Despite the professionalism of the crew, there's an easy, familiar rhythm to the air. Shock and Remi have already made themselves at home, while Tetra fidgets with the seatbelt like it's plotting against him. The more composed among us—Dante, Wissen, and Mister—sit further back, quiet and watchful.
I tuck my phone into my inner pocket and take a steadying breath before stepping forward to join the three musketeers of chaos.
The cabin lights dim to a low amber glow as the jet begins to taxi.
A soft chime hums overhead, followed by a smooth voice over the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, inertial dampeners and anti-force stabilizers are now online. You are free to move about the cabin—but please, watch your step. We'll be taxiing to runway three-seven for immediate departure."
A faint pulse runs through the floor—more felt than heard—as the dampeners engage. The deck steadies beneath our feet, nullifying the drag and backward pull that would normally come with acceleration.
I blink, half-impressed.
Anti-force systems on a private jet? That's military-grade, not commercial. I've never seen one outside corporate transports. Whoever owns this plane—Wissen or Dante—it's clear money isn't the limit here.
The engines deepen to a steady, low hum, a vibration that sinks into bone rather than ear.
Shock stares out the window, the corners of her mouth pulling into something halfway between awe and nostalgia. "Hard to believe I'm actually going back," she murmurs. "I wonder how much Italy's changed… or if the Neapolitan Camorra's still pretending they own half the city."
Remi sprawls out across his seat, boots crossed. "You're not the only one excited, choom. I'm ready to drown in designer stores. Drip on drip. Might even buy a suit so shiny it blinds the sun."
"You'd have to survive customs first," I shoot back dryly. "And good luck explaining your credit history."
"Meh." He smirks. "Worth it."
Across from us, Tetra's gripping the armrest like it's the only thing tethering him to Earth. His posture's straight, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.
Shock turns, raising an eyebrow. "Aw, Tetraaa, sweetie, you good? You look like you're waiting for the engines to explode."
He exhales through his nose, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine. Just… not used to flying. The water's steadier."
I smirk, leaning over. "Says the water nomad who literally lives on ships. You're scared of air travel?"
"I'm not scared," he says a little too fast. "Just—respectful of altitude."
Remi cackles. "My guy's about to start a religion based on turbulence."
"Shut up," Tetra mutters, but a reluctant smile tugs at his mouth.
I nudge his boot. "It's okay. First time's always the worst. You'll get used to it."
Shock snorts. "Trust me, it's not that bad. I've puked mid-flight before. Once you've done that, every trip after feels easy."
"Yeah, see? That's life, bro," Remi says with a cocky smirk, leaning back like he's about to drop philosophy. "You fall, you fly, you puke a little—then you flex it."
Shock loses it, laughter spilling out as she snaps her fingers. "Purrrr."
Tetra finally exhales, his grip loosening on the armrest as a laugh slips through. "You sound like a drunk life coach, man."
Even I can't help it—I break into a goofy smile, shaking my head with an exaggerated sigh. "And yet somehow, he's not entirely wrong."
The laughter fades just enough for Remi to toss out another sentence, "Ayo, wait a minute. Been meaning to ask, what's the deal with the cyberpsychosis thing? Got so busy prepping that I didn't check earlier. Hey, Wissen, Mister—y'all got the scoop?"
The tone shift's subtle, but it lands. The others quiet down.
Wissen looks up from his datapad, posture immaculate even mid-flight.
"Arasaka and Mayor Gestalt are pleased with the outcome," he says evenly. "From what I understand, the public statement framed everything neatly. Arasaka released a firmware patch for their implant drivers, claiming it resolves a 'neural driver conflict issue.'"
Shock leans her chin on her hand, unimpressed. "Figures. Give it a few weeks and every other implant company will follow suit. Patch the bugs, keep the profits."
"Exactly," Wissen replies. "For now, it's officially closed. No scandal or traceable fallout."
Remi whistles low. "Meh. Corporate magic trick. Sweep it all under the chrome rug."
I sink slightly into my seat, uncertain how to feel about all of it.
Yeah, the cleanup worked. The cyberpsychosis spikes should drop soon—in theory.
But it doesn't fix the Tanwir. It doesn't erase the built-in kill switches.
All of it will just vanish behind PR reports and firmware updates.
"Hm. Guess that's it then," I say, more out of habit than confidence. "And what about Michelangelo?" I turn to Wissen.
His eyes flick towards me before lowering back to his pad. "He's been reassigned. Arasaka pulled him from Vancouver operations, and he sent me a short message—he wished you all luck. That's all I know."
Shock frowns, tilting her head. "That's kinda cold. Not even a 'stay safe, besties'? I thought he'd at least check in before getting shipped off!"
Mister finally speaks, his modulated voice cutting through the steady drone of the engines. "It's standard corp procedure. He doesn't know the full scope of our mission, only that we're redeployed. It's for the best. Blake's been updated as well. He'll be waiting for our return from Italy."
Tetra exhales, nodding slowly. "Well… that's good. At least Vancouver won't explode while we're gone."
Remi grins, tension breaking again. "Shiii… look at us—going international. World-class professionals."
Shock raises her cup, beaming. "To chaossss!"
Remi snatches his drink and clinks it against hers. "To chaos!"
Tetra rolls his eyes but joins in anyway.
I lift mine last, smiling faintly. "To chaos," I echo.
Glass meets glass with a satisfying chime, followed by the easy rhythm of conversation.
Shock, Remi, and Tetra start raiding the in-flight menu—arguing over appetizers before eventually ordering enough food to cover the fold-out table between them. They wave me over, and after a moment, I cave, sliding in to join them.
Across the aisle, Dante, Mister, and Wissen keep their distance from the chaos, each with a light drink in hand. Their conversation is quieter—focused, professional. I only catch fragments: routes, Camorra, payment schedules.
Wissen eventually pulls up the digital ledger on his tablet. "Ah, also… compensation has been distributed," he says, loud enough for us to hear. "Twenty thousand eddies each. Considering the circumstances… you've all earned it."
My phone pings with confirmation; I pull it out, watching the new deposit flash across the display.
Incoming: €$20,000
Account Total: €$489,148
I glance up just in time to catch Wissen pause mid-gesture, his expression shifting—barely a flicker.
A half-second of silence, then he resumes scrolling.
Most wouldn't notice. But after all this time, I've learned to read him. Whatever he's thinking, he's not saying it here.
Another chime breaks the moment.
"Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff. Anti-force stabilization remains active—please avoid rapid movement during acceleration."
The floor hums as the jet surges forward.
Outside, the runway lights blur into gold streaks before the horizon tips away.
The aircraft levels out, engines smoothing into that endless, velvety hum.
Through the window, Vancouver shrinks beneath us—a constellation of gold and blue swallowed by rolling clouds.
For a fleeting moment, it feels like peace.
But my mind refuses to stay still.
What's really waiting for us out there?
Italy's waiting for us, and no doubt has its own brand of chaos, while Vancouver's basically a pressure cooker.
Gestalt's playing politics. Gangs carve up streets like chessboards. VPD's scrambling while the corps keep getting fatter.
Cyberpsychosis will fade from headlines—but that kill switch buried in people's implants? That's not going anywhere.
The Tanwir's still out there, crossing borders, doing God knows what.
Tetra's brother, Ras. Is he even alive? What the hell is Luna? Who is Asami?
What's going on with Autumn Blade? What about the railgun? Then there's Jenny. Will Azure keep running? Where is she now?
And then there's me.
Sometimes I wonder if Dad ever lived like this—pretending everything's fine.
I wonder… maybe that's where I get it from.
I lean back in my seat, watching the clouds swallow the last trace of home.