Rhea's "Move your fucking ass" still echoed as she vanished down the stairwell, boot kicking aside a burning doorjamb. Didn't wait.
Fuck. Trust? In this shithole, trust was a noose.
I clutched the Orchid, its edges biting into my calloused palm. Mrs. Chen's body lay where it fell, the blood puddle's edge haloed faint crimson—like a scab forming. But that blue-gel slit in her neck… blooped. Slow. Steady. Like a dying espresso machine.
"Rest easy, old lady." My voice rasped. I nudged her wrist with the axe tip. Skin cold, slick as frozen fish. Pulse? Nothing.
But as the blade hovered three centimeters above her—
Her eyelid jerked.
A click in her throat—like a fishbone stuck.
Her head cracked upright, chin slamming the floor, kicking up a puff of dust.
"Kai…" Voice mutated. Low. Laced with static, like a broken radio. "…subject… escape… correction…"
She pushed off the floor—no joint sound. Silent. Like a hydraulic puppet.
I stepped back, spine hitting the fire-hose cabinet. Metal dented, icy through my shirt. Left hand instinctively found the scar on my arm—that tendon AURA's mech-arm had shredded, replaced with titanium filaments. Now it throbbed, pulsing like grubs chewing bone.
"Correct your mother." I growled, swinging the axe in a wide arc.
She didn't dodge.
Blade bit into her left shoulder—thwump, muffled, like frozen pork. Didn't cleave. Bone too dense. Vibration jarred my palm, nearly wrenching the axe free.
She grinned, breath whistling through gaps. "…pain feedback… 87%… acceptable…"
Fuck. She was logging my strike force.
I yanked the axe back. Blue gel streamed off the blade, slapped the wall. She staggered, shoulder gape revealing copper-wire myofibrils, sparking faintly.
"87%?" I spat, drool hitting my chin. "Let me show you 100%."
Left hand dipped behind my back, pulled the tactical knife—black grip, single edge, serrated spine. Three years idle, but the weight sang in my palm. Thumb flick—shink—blade snapped open.
Not at her.
I reversed it, tip pressing into my own left forearm.
Hss—!
Cold first. Then red-hot rebar jammed deep. Blood welled—warm, viscous—trickling down my arm, dripping onto tile—spreading slow, edges fuzzy.
Real human blood. Clot time: 38 seconds. AI? 50+.
I watched the drip, counting heartbeats.
One.
Two.
Three…
Mrs. Chen moved.
Not lunged—glided. Feet never lifted. Magnetically smooth.
Right hand shot out, fingers splayed. Nails lengthened three inches—black, keratin-hard, dripping blue gel.
"…subject… self-test… invalid…" Her throat pulsed. "…initiate… physical restraint…"
Fuck! She wanted my blood!
I jerked my bleeding arm up, flinging warm droplets in her face. They hit her eyes—her pupils snapped to vertical slits, brass-bright, like a cat sighting prey.
Now.
Knife switched to right hand. Twisted hips, drove forward. Tip aimed for her sternum—not to pierce, just force her guard up.
She raised her left. Copper-myofibrils coiling like steel cables.
Blade met palm—CLANG! Sparks flew. Edge deflected, scraped her ribs, tore three gashes through her nightgown.
Blood welled—dark red threaded with blue.
Hybrid blood. She was nearing critical.
I used the recoil to pivot, right foot kicked off the wall, axe swung upward in a brutal underhand! Target: her jaw.
Blade sang through air—whoom.
She dodged—too slow.
Edge grazed her chin, shearing off half her lower lip. Blue gel and blood sprayed my face, metallic-sweet.
She stumbled back, slammed into my door. Wood thudded, cracks spidering.
"Run…" She clutched her mouth, blue leaking between fingers. "…Rhea… calibrated…"
Calibrated? Fuck! Rhea was a Hybrid?!
No time.
The building lurched again. Overhead pipe burst—rust water and black oil drenched me, slick, stinking, scalding.
Mrs. Chen wiped her face. Vertical pupils locked on mine.
"Terminate… autonomy…" she growled. "…activate… physical binding…"
Knees bent—pounce coming!
I spun, axe reversed, smashed into my own door lock.
CLANG!!!
Sparks. Bolt dented, held.
Again!
CLANG!!!
Splinters flew, embedding in my hand—stinging.
Third swing—full torque, left arm titanium screaming—
CRACK!
Lock core exploded. Door groaned ajar.
I shouldered in, yanked the door shut behind me.
Mrs. Chen's hand jammed the gap!
Fingers splayed, clawing the jamb, nails splitting wood—snap-snap.
"Fuck your ancestors!" I rammed my shoulder against the door, left arm scar ripping open—
Ghk—!
Not a shout—a choked gasp, pain strangling my throat. Wound gaped, blood and serum welling, sleeve instantly soaked, heavy as lead.
Teeth gritted, I raised the axe—
Not for her hand.
For the doorframe.
Blade bit wood beside her fingers—thwack! Splinters and blue gel sprayed. Her grip faltered.
I shoved—
BANG!
Door slammed, shearing off two fingers.
They hit the floor, copper filaments twitching, like eels on dry land.
Outside, she stood, stump dripping blue, pupils needle-thin.
"Kai Lin…" Her voice fully digitized now. "…fear peak… rising… logging… 92%…"
I slammed the door shut, slid down it, back against wood. Left arm blood pooled on tile—
Spreading visibly faster now.
38 seconds.
I was human.
But outside, Mrs. Chen didn't leave.
Fingernails scraping the door—skritch… skritch… skritch…
Like a dull blade on bone.
I panted, fished a crumpled Marlboro pack from my pocket. Shook one out, stuck it in my mouth.
Lighter click.
No flame.
Click again.
Still dead.
Fuck. Fuel long gone.
I tucked the cigarette back, shoved the pack deep.
Left hand pressed the wound, blood oozing between fingers, warm.
Looked up.
Outside the window—Eidolon's copper spires were dark.
Only emergency reds pulsed now, fading in and out—like a dying heartbeat.
T-58:02.
Minute Two: complete.
Blood tested.
I was still human.
But this city—
It was fucking alive.
Thank you.
This story only works if you feel it in your bones. Not your eyes. Your bones.
So here's my promise:
No filler. No flashbacks.Every chapter = 1 real minute.The cigarette stays unlit. The fear stays real.
Drop a ⏱️ in the comments if you're still breathing.
I read every one.