The alley into Iron Haven smelled the same as it always did: hot metal, sweat, and the sharp sweetness of adrenaline. They arrived like thieves who'd swallowed thunder — the car spitting steam, the Mark-V module wrapped in a damp case between Eve and Spencer. Kyra hopped out first, boots clanging on the iron steps.
Inside, the club's roar folded around them. Fighters still sparred in the backrooms, but the air had shifted; tonight's victories sat between the tables like expensive liquor. Conversation thinned when the team walked through — not out of fear, exactly, but respect. News traveled fast in places that lived on rumor.
Kane guided them to a quieter room below the main floor — the Twins' strategy den, where maps were pinned next to workout charts and steel plates leaned against cooling crates. He didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"We pinged the Hub," he said, blunt and useful. "Not just an alarm. Federal trace signatures. Oblivion's been notified."
Eve's hands were already working the module's external casing, eyes scanning code readouts projected on the warped table. "They'll trace the Mark-V signature to our echo if we're sloppy. The translator is a vector; it tells you how to talk to the core. If someone with federal access maps its handshake, they can set a counter-pulse. Or worse — force a detonation."
Crow lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl like a quiet threat. "So we either make the translator ours — rewrite its voice — or we make it useless to anyone else."
Kane tapped a point on the table. "Or both. Reverse engineer it. Strip the Mark-V down to primitives, learn its handshake, then rebuild a socket that talks only to what we want. We can make a pulse that targets Oblivion's neural mesh and not civilian augments."
Altacora folded her fingers, thinking. "That assumes we have the brains to do that without frying half the district."
Eve shot her a look. "We have the brains. We've got the sampler. What we don't have is time. And the right tools."
Spencer, still feeling the aftershocks of the Hub, found his voice. "Who can do it? Where do we get someone who knows both corp hardware and federal quirks?"
Crow crushed her cigarette underfoot, eyes narrowing. "I have someone." She paused as if weighing the name. "Marlow Rez."
Several faces shifted. Marlow Rez had a smell — reputation like a boiled file. Once a senior electro-engineer for a defense subcontractor, Marlow had gone off the grid after whistleblowing on a black program. Officially disgraced. Unofficially invaluable.
"You want a broken engineer who'll sell his conscience for the right credits?" Kane asked.
Crow smiled, small and private. "I want someone who knows how the beast thinks. Marlow doesn't sell; he negotiates in leverage. We've got leverage."
Altacora's nails tapped the table. "What leverage?"
Crow's smile hardened. "We pull a favor. I know where he haunts the docks. He owes a debt to a friend of mine. Or if he doesn't bend, we can offer sanctuary, parts — a chance to see his work matter again. He hates the Corps enough to help."
Eve's spider-arms flexed, a nervous rhythm. "Timeframe?"
"Forty-eight hours," Crow said. "If we move now, we can drag him in before federal forensics crunch their loop. He'll need a clean lab and raw components. Kane's recruits can get the muscle; Altacora can move the cover. Drift keeps them fed."
Kai lit the plan like a match. "We bring Marlow in, we give him a lab and protection. He reverse engineers the Mark-V translator, isolates its protocol primitives, and writes us a fork — an obfuscated handshake. Eve will map it and then craft the pulse translator so it only triggers against Oblivion signatures. Spencer will shadow Marlow's work—learn the bones."
Spencer swallowed, equal parts terrified and thrilled. "You want me to work with a… disgraced federal engineer? That's insane."
"Everything we do is insane," Kai replied without humor. "But necessary."
There was a beat of silence, then a ripple of agreement. Kane tapped his fingers. "If Marlow asks for payment, we don't have corp money. We have favors, access, and a promise of purpose. That's sometimes more dangerous than cash."
Crow pulled a small comm-chip from her pocket — black, pocked with use. She keyed an encrypted channel and thumbed a message in the old way: no trace, no breadcrumbs. The chip blinked, swallowed the packet, and flew like a raven into the net.
They waited. The room smelled of iron and the stale sweat of fighters. Kyra paced, snapping her jaw impatiently.
The reply came in a soft, sardonic tone that made the hair on Spencer's arms stand to attention: a single line, blunt as a knife.
> Marlow Rez here. I'll come. Bring the part for trade. And — the message paused, then finished — I want access to any Oblivion hardware you can grab. I don't do things half-done.
Crow's jaw clenched. "He always wants the guts," she murmured.
Eve exhaled, fingers stilled on the module. "We can't give him live Oblivion cores. He wants tech to dissect their architecture. If he's as good as you say, Crow, he'll need samples."
Kai considered it, the weight of a hundred restless nights behind his eyes. "We'll give him what we can. No live cores. But bring him something to sink his teeth into — servos, comm boards, a hound collar. Something to prove we mean business."
Kane smirked. "We have students. Kyra's best can get a collar if they want a real prize."
Kyra's grin split wide — the prospect of tearing into an Oblivion collar lit a spark in her eyes. "Hunt and education. I'm in."
Crow's face shifted, something like relief and old pain braided together. She folded the comm-chip away. "Marlow comes tomorrow. Prepare a lab. Keep the Mark-V locked and quiet. And someone—" she looked straight at Spencer "—keep a clean line to Eve's rigs. Marlow does not like sloppy hands."
Spencer nodded, swallowing harder than before. The room felt smaller, the stakes larger. They were adding another player into a very dangerous game.
Outside, the city pulsed, unaware a disgraced engineer was about to step back into the theater he'd fled. Inside Iron Haven, ShadowNet reshaped itself around the next move.
They had stolen a translator. Now they were inventing a dialec.