The parking structure rose out of the Ash like a broken molar, concrete chipped and blackened from old fires. Half the upper levels had collapsed years ago, leaving exposed rebar clawing at the skyline. The Rats had tagged the pillars in thick red strokes, their sigil layered over older graffiti like a claim staked in blood.

  “Hold position,” Vera said in my ear.

  That was new. Normally she fed me coordinates and let me move. A faint mechanical hum cut through the wind a second later, and a small scout drone slipped into view from behind the skyline. It was no larger than my palm, matte housing blending into the dim haze of the sector as it drifted upward toward the roof.

  “I want eyes,” Vera continued. “Stay on comms.”

  “I usually don’t,” I said, keeping my voice low as I crossed the street.

  “I know.”

  The drone’s feed resolved in the corner of my HUD, overlaying thermal signatures across the concrete roof. Two bodies. One pacing lazily along the edge, rifle slung low. The other hunched near a pillar, cigarette ember flaring each time he drew in.

  “You were dark for thirty hours,” Vera said evenly. “We are not repeating that.”

  The stimulants thrummed beneath my skin, sharpening the world into hard lines and angles. My ribs pulled when I inhaled too deeply. She was tightening the leash, and I didn’t have the energy to argue.

  “Two sentries confirmed,” Vera said. “No additional heat signatures on the roof.”

  “I see them.”

  The drone descended the structure layer by layer, slipping between columns of old concrete to refine its angles.

  “Six floors up,” Vera said. “Path is clear. Avoid the stairs for the last level. They have the door in sight. The ramp is behind them.”

  I nodded and stepped into the structure.

  The interior of the structure smelled like old oil and rain that had nowhere to drain. Water pooled in shallow depressions across the lower level, reflecting fractured slats of light from outside. The concrete ceiling sagged in places, dark with old smoke stains. Half the overhead lights were long dead, their housings hanging like broken teeth.

  I kept to the shadows and moved up the ramp at a measured pace. No hurry. No wasted motion. Gravel shifted under my boots, loose stones skittering toward the edge when I wasn’t careful. Every sound carried in the hollow space.

  My HUD flickered as I ran a quick systems sweep. Targeting assist stable. Motor control responsive. The needle array returned a low ammunition warning I didn’t need to see. The Talon cycled once in my right forearm, metal sliding softly beneath synthetic skin before locking back into place.

  The ramp narrowed as I climbed, concrete barriers broken in sections where cars had once punched through during some long-forgotten riot. I stepped over a collapsed section of guardrail and tested the next stretch of floor with the toe of my boot before committing my weight. Rebar jutted through fractured concrete, bent and rusted.

  “Structural integrity decreases above level five,” Vera said. “Thermals show no movement beyond the two sentries.”

  “Copy.”

  I reached the fourth level and paused behind a column, letting my breathing settle. Wind threaded through the open upper floors, carrying the faint pulse of bass from the bar two blocks over. They were still celebrating. One more level.

  I moved again, keeping to the inside of the ramp where the roof would block their angles. The drone adjusted position above, tightening the thermal overlay until the two signatures burned clean and bright against the cold concrete.

  “There.” Vera said. “They’re drifting toward the northwest edge.”

  “Got it.”

  Near the final turn, I pressed myself against the inner wall. From here, the roof access door sat directly above, and cigarette smoke curled over the lip of the concrete barrier. I took a breath and flexed my right hand, the Talon slid free with a soft mechanical whisper a fraction slower than it should have. Alright, fast and quiet. I thought.

  Following Vera’s advice, I avoided the door and rounded the ramp to the next floor. The roof was a flat stretch of cracked concrete and old oil stains, bordered by a waist-high barrier that had crumbled in places. The first sentry stood with his back to me, cigarette between his fingers, shoulders loose. The second paced ten meters away, rifle hanging low, attention drifting toward the skyline. They were talking about something trivial. I caught the tail end of a joke and a low laugh.

  I closed the distance on the smoker first. My left hand clamped over his mouth as the Talon drove up beneath his jaw. There was a brief resistance, a wet crunch as metal parted bone and soft tissue. His body seized once, cigarette dropping from limp fingers. I held him upright until the tension drained from his muscles, then eased him down to the concrete.

  The second sentry turned at the soft scuff of fabric against gravel. His eyes met mine, recognition flickered too late. He reached for the rifle, mouth opening to shout. I crossed the space between us before the words formed, my ribs screaming as I twisted into him. The Talon punched through his side beneath the ribcage. I felt the impact shudder through my forearm as metal found something vital.

  His breath left him in a wet, surprised sound. I pushed him backward until his heels hit the barrier, then withdrew the Talon in one smooth motion. He folded, sliding down the wall. The shift in his weight pulled at my balance and I dropped with him, kneeling as I freed the blade. The roof went quiet again, save for the faint hum of Vera’s drone hovering nearby.

  “All clear?” I asked.

  “Affirmative. Cargo en route.”

  I wiped the Talon clean against the second sentry’s jacket and let it retract with a muted slide beneath the synthetic sheath of my forearm. The slight hesitation in its return was still concerning, but it locked into place. I briefly thought of Saint complaining about the state of my implants. I was going to need a serious tune-up if I made it out of this alive.

  Wind swept across the open roof, tugging at my shirt and carrying the steady pulse of bass from the bar below. From up here the building looked squat and stubborn, wedged between gutted storefronts and half-collapsed, abandoned apartments. Armored bikes lined the curb in front, chrome catching the bar’s neon light.

  My HUD re-centered as I leaned against the crumbled barrier and looked down. Heat signatures from Vera’s drone feed bled through the roof and walls in dense clusters. Bodies shoulder to shoulder, drifting between tables and the bar. Nothing frantic, just a gang in its natural habitat, drinking, talking, killing time. Vera’s drone buzzed over the bar, scanning it’s inhabitants.

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Forty-eight or so inside,” Vera replied. “Two exterior at the front entrance. No rear patrols.”

  “Gnaw?”

  “Central interior, elevated thermal. Larger mass.”

  I tracked the signature she highlighted. He wasn’t moving much. Planted somewhere near the middle of the room, holding space without needing to prove it. The timer pulsed in the corner of my vision.

  09:52:37

  The hum reached me before I saw the incoming cargo. Low and steady, building from beyond the skyline. I stepped back from the edge as the matte-black cargo unit descended, its silhouette angular and unmarked. It hovered once to compensate for the wind, then lowered the crate on magnetic clamps and released it with a heavy metallic thud that vibrated through the concrete beneath my boots. The cargo drone rose immediately and disappeared into the haze.

  The crate sat between the two cooling bodies, sealed and featureless except for a thin blue light pulsing faintly along its seam.

  “You wanted big…” Vera said.

  I stepped toward it.

  “Let’s see it.”

  I crouched beside the crate and pressed my thumb to the biometric pad embedded along its seam. The blue line flared brighter for a fraction of a second, then dimmed as the locks disengaged with a muted click. The lid lifted smoothly on hydraulic hinges, revealing a foam-lined interior divided into three compartments.

  In the first lay a compact single-shot rocket launcher, matte black casing broken only by a smart-targeting rail along the top. Collapsible shoulder brace. Minimal profile. Big, brutal, exactly what I wanted.

  I was impressed.

  “Rocket launcher,” Vera said evenly. “One round loaded.”

  I ran a hand over the casing, feeling the weight distribution before lifting it free of the foam. Heavier than it looked, but balanced.

  “And the other?”

  The second compartment held something squat and cylindrical, no larger than a small duffel bag. Segmented plates wrapped around a dense central core, each panel etched with small OmniCore identifiers. A folded stabilizer assembly sat flush against its base.

  “Autonomous suppression turret,” she replied. “Self-deploying. Area denial configuration. It will unfold and acquire targets independently once placed. Limited duration.”

  The third compartment held a coiled cable rig and wrist-mounted anchor assembly, compact and industrial. OmniCore stamped along the side. Magnetic grapple head with smart-lock teeth.

  I glanced at it, then back toward the roof edge.

  “Mobility,” Vera said. “You’ll want it.”

  The corner of my mouth curled to a grin. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

  I slung the turret over my shoulder by its strap and stepped toward the bodies. The second sentry’s assault rifle was still warm where it had fallen. I scooped it up and ran a quick chamber check. Loaded.

  I clipped the grapple rig to my belt harness, locking the anchor module into place but leaving the line undeployed.

  “This’ll be one hell of an entrance,” I said, stepping to the edge.

  “Try not to break your neck on the way down,” Vera replied. “Deploy the turret at street level. Stay behind it. The sensors track movement.”

  “Got it.”

  I knelt near the crumbling barrier, shouldered the rocket launcher, and lined up the shot. I exhaled slowly and let the targeting reticle settle over the center of the entrance. Reinforced steel doors framed by cracked brick and flickering neon. The launcher’s smart rail pulsed as it confirmed alignment, calculating distance and drop in a clean blue arc across my vision. Below, two Rats lingered near the doorway, one leaning against the frame with a bottle tipped back, the other mid-story, hands moving through the air.

  “Get fucked.”

  I squeezed the trigger.

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  The launcher detonated against my shoulder in a violent bloom of fire and pressure. The rocket tore free with a shriek, a brief comet of exhaust that painted the rooftop in white light. Backblast rolled behind me in a concussive wave that sent dust and gravel skittering across the concrete. The projectile crossed the street in less than a heartbeat and vanished through the entrance.

  The front of the bar didn’t simply explode. It collapsed inward and then erupted outward in a roiling surge of white-orange flame. Steel buckled. Brick fractured. The shockwave tore the doors from their hinges and shattered every window along the facade into a storm of glittering fragments. Neon signage ripped free and cartwheeled through the air, trailing sparks. The blast climbed the face of the parking structure and struck me just as I stepped into empty air.

  I pivoted and fired the grapple back into the roof of the parking structure. The anchor punched into solid concrete with a metallic crack, teeth biting deep. The cable snapped taut as I dropped, boots skimming the wall in a controlled slide. Heat rolled upward from the explosion below, carrying smoke and pulverized brick in a choking wave. Glass burst outward and scattered across the street in spinning arcs.

  I fed the line with one hand, keeping ahead of falling debris as the shockwave rippled outward across the block. A bike near the entrance flipped onto its side and skidded across the pavement. I released the line roughly ten feet above the ground and kicked off into a hard roll through broken glass despite the flare of pain in my fractured ribs. Something shifted sharply in my chest. I ignored it and came up moving.

  The turret swung off my shoulder and I sent it skidding toward the smoking entrance. It struck once, slid, and unfolded mid-motion. Panels snapped outward in a precise mechanical bloom. Stabilizers punched into concrete. The central core rotated and locked onto movement.

  The first Rat burst through the doorway just as the turret opened fire. The initial burst hit him in the chest and drove him backward into the bodies behind him. The unit tracked left in smooth, predatory arcs, stitching through silhouettes as more cutters poured into the open air. I brought the stolen rifle to my shoulder and stepped in behind the turret’s suppressive arc, firing controlled bursts into the gaps it couldn’t cover.

  Smoke rolled thick inside the wreckage, carrying the bitter scent of burned plastic and flesh. Bodies lay piled near what had once been the entrance, thrown forward by the blast and tangled in splintered beams. Others were scattered across the fractured floor, most of them no longer moving.

  I held position behind the turret, rifle steady, sweeping through the smoke for anything still upright. The unit adjusted slightly, tracking a flicker of movement deeper inside the ruin.

  “Nyx! Get down!” Vera shouted over the comm.

  I dove just as concentrated sphere of incandescent light cut through the haze in a tight arc and struck the turret dead center. White heat swallowed the unit whole. The central housing liquefied in a violent flare as molten fragments sprayed outward across the pavement. The stabilizers failed in the same instant, collapsing inward as the pavement beneath blackened and bubbled from residual heat. The suppressive fire ceased mid-cycle, leaving only the crackle of flame and the groan of shifting debris.

  The whole street felt suddenly exposed. Through the drifting smoke at the center of the bar, several large shapes moved forward. The first stepped into clearer air, scorched and bleeding but upright. His hair was singed short along one side, blood running from a split scalp into his collar. He carried something heavy in one hand, its emitter core glowing faintly with unstable light. Gnaw stepped fully into the street.

  Two more followed behind him, thick across the chest and shoulders, burned and furious but still moving with purpose. They spread slightly as they advanced, scanning for me through heat and smoke as I rose to my feet near the remains of the turret. Gnaw’s gaze found mine and held it. He looked me over once, slow and deliberate, then released a dark, guttural laugh.

  “Fuck me running…” He grunted, “How is it you ain’t dead yet?”

  I lined up a shot on one of the goons and pulled the trigger. Click. The gun was empty. Gnaw barked another laugh.

  “You been through my boys,” he continued, pacing a slow half-step forward. “Bruised up by some pro mercs. Then I wrap you up nice and pretty, hand you off to a rich bastard hellbent on revenge… and you still show up here to drop a bomb on my front door.” He shook his head, grin widening. “Ain’t that a fucking riot?”

  I tossed the rifle aside, and let the Talon emerge from my forearm. Adrenaline pumped through me, hiding the aches from my battered body as I continued to wordlessly stare him down.

  I let the rifle fall from my hands. It clattered across the pavement and slid into a puddle of blood. The Talon slid free from my forearm with a metallic whisper, its edge catching firelight as it locked into place. I didn’t blink.

  He tilted the prototype slightly, admiring it.

  “This thing’s a beauty,” he said. “But what really gets me… is you.” His eyes flicked back up to mine. “Most people get the message after the first warning. You keep coming back.”

  “Just biz.” I said bluntly.

  “Just biz…” he laughed again. “That’s adorable.”

  He took another slow step forward, boots crunching over broken glass.

  “You ain’t some freelancer chasing a payday,” he went on. “You’re owned.” His voice hardened slightly. “Corporate collar around your throat, got you chasing their toys through the gutter.”

  I shifted my weight, readying myself to move even as my ribs protested.

  “Everybody’s owned in Peachveil.” I said dryly. “Only difference is knowing who holds the leash.”

  His grin widened slowly.

  “Got me there. Still a smart girl,” he said.

  There it was. The same tone he’d used the last time, right before he’d fed me into his trap. I flicked my lip ring absently with my tongue.

  “Too bad,” I said. “You won’t live to find out.”

  He barked a laugh at that, genuine this time.

  “Confident,” he said. “I like that.”

  He moved a finger to his ear, head angling slightly as a voice crackled through whatever comm he was running. His expression didn’t change much, but something sharpened behind his eyes. His gaze snapped back to me and he jerked his chin toward the two men beside him.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he barked. “Go break her.”

  The two men moved at the same time, breath ragged but eyes focused. They split just enough to force me to move, boots grinding over broken glass as they closed the distance between us. One came straight at me, arms raising for a grab. The other veered to the right, circling to flank in case I tried to run.

  I spun, slashing out towards the man in front to slow his approach. He ducked back, and the other man lunged to fill the gap but that was exactly what I hoped would happen. I met his eyes as he got close, my left hand catching his wrist just as his right arm came forward. I pivoted, painfully aware of my ribs once more, and drove the Talon up in a focused thrust. The blade slid clean through the front of his neck, catching the artery. Hot blood sprayed across my arm as I stepped away from him, ready for his partner to rejoin.

  The other was faster than I expected. I moved to block a punch, but it was strong enough to knock me off balance. The blow rattled through my arm, forcing me back a step. His knee was already on its way to my midsection. I couldn’t react fast enough. The impact landed deep in my side and my vision flashed with the pain.

  Air left my lungs in a sharp, involuntary grunt as white-hot pain tore through my side. The stimulants still coursing through me kept me up, but I almost wished they hadn’t. He pressed the advantage. A second strike clipped my jaw and sent me hard to the pavement. Concrete bit into my shoulder as the world tilted. I rolled on instinct just as his boot came down where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. The stomp shattered glass inches from my face.

  I came up on one knee, vision swimming. He was on me fast, but I managed to pull the blade up to catch the strike. It split his hand between the knuckles and sprayed my face with fresh blood. I tore it out of him, rending tendon and bone as it came free and lunged forward, pressing my full weight against him when he reeled. We tumbled to the ground, rolling apart to try and recover.

  The wound didn’t slow him as much as I’d hoped. He tore free and regained his feet a fraction of a second before I did. He came back in hard, full body, and slammed me backward into the side of an abandoned van. Metal buckled with a dull clang as my spine hit it. He followed through, forearm pinning my throat, and drove his fist into my ribs. Each impact sent shockwaves through bone that was almost certainly already broken.

  I spat blood into his eyes and twisted, trying to free my blade arm before he crushed something vital. Behind him, Gnaw’s boots crunched slowly across the debris in the street.

  “You just don’t know when to stay down, do ya mutt?” He mused.

  The other man’s bloody forearm pressed against my throat before he drove his fist back into my ribs once more.

  “Shame you ain’t freelance, I could’ve used someone like you.” Gnaw rambled. “Spunk like that could get us out of the Ash for good.”

  I screamed as another strike landed, something shifting painfully inside my chest.

  “The fuck?” Gnaw said, eyes darting upward.

  Blood spattered my face suddenly, as a sharp mechanical whine cute through the ringing in my head. The goon seized, grip faltering and then failing completely as he fell limp. Something cut into my shoulder as a few stray rounds impacted next to me. He collapsed against me before sliding sideways and hitting the pavement.

  A mid-sized security drone hovered twenty feet overhead, matte black housing angled downward. The barrel beneath it glowed faintly, a thin thread of smoke trailing upward. A moment later, hot plasma burned it out of the sky as Gnaw took it down. I darted for the other side of the van to compose myself while he was distracted.

  I hadn’t realized the connection with Vera had dropped until then, as I caught the flood of missed call alerts in the corner of my HUD. I answered and Vera’s voice was there, calm, controlled, focused.

  “I said to keep this channel open.” She said. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  Vera’s voice was still in my ear when another sound tore through the block, rising above the crackle of flame and the settling debris. An engine screamed somewhere beyond the smoke, growing louder by the second. A bike burst into view from the far end of the street, its headlight cutting a harsh white cone through the drifting ash. The rider skidded hard near the wreckage, boots scraping pavement as he fought to keep the machine upright. He tore off his helmet and began shouting toward Gnaw, pointing back the way he had come.

  I heard the urgency in his voice, but not the words. The ringing in my ears and the pulse of blood behind my eyes swallowed anything specific.

  Gnaw turned slightly to listen. Whatever the rider was saying shifted something in his posture. The amusement drained from his expression, replaced by calculation. His eyes flicked once toward the edge of the sector and then back to me where I crouched behind the van, blood drying at the corner of my mouth. He looked irritated, interrupted.

  “Of course,” he muttered.

  The rider continued talking, gesturing sharply down the street. Gnaw didn’t answer him. He kept his gaze on me as he raised the prototype in one hand.

  “No,” he said evenly. “We’re not done yet.”

  The emitter brightened, unstable light bleeding around the cracked housing as the weapon cycled. He angled it away from me and toward the apartment building adjacent to the bar, the facade already fractured from the earlier blast. He fired.

  The plasma struck a load-bearing column halfway up the structure. A flash of white heat rippled across the concrete, followed by a spreading network of fractures that raced outward faster than my eyes could track. For a heartbeat the building held, groaning under its own weight. Then it gave way.

  The sound didn’t register as collapse at first. It registered as pressure. A low, rolling groan that vibrated through the soles of my boots and into the broken edges of my ribs. The concrete above fractured in widening lines, spiderweb cracks racing outward from the impact point in jagged patterns. A section of facade sagged visibly, hesitated, and then it fell.

  It wasn’t just falling, it was moving. It was as if the concrete came alive to consume me. It felt feral, vengeful even. I didn’t wait to see the rest, I pushed off the van and ran as hard as I could.

  The first chunk hit the pavement hard enough to buckle asphalt. The shock of it rattled through my spine. I changed direction instinctively, angling toward the narrow space between the van and the wreckage from the bar, trying to keep as much structure between me and the collapsing face as possible. Concrete tore free in slabs the size of cars, smashing into the street and shattering on impact. Windows burst outward in cascading waves, glass turning the air into a glittering storm.

  Dust rolled down ahead of the debris like a living thing. A beam struck the ground to my left and bounced, spinning end over end. I ducked beneath it and felt the wind of its passage tug at my hair. The street pitched under my boots as the impact cratered the pavement. Something heavy clipped my shoulder and sent me stumbling. I caught myself on the hood of a crushed sedan just as another section of the building tore loose.

  The world narrowed to gravity and chaos. Rebar snapped and lashed through the air like steel whips. A slab of balcony sheared off above me and slammed into the car I’d just abandoned, flattening it completely. The force of it drove a wave of debris across the ground and knocked me off my feet.

  I hit hard and rolled, arms over my head as brick and shattered masonry rained down around me. A fist-sized chunk struck my back and stole what little air I had left. Dust swallowed everything in a choking gray wall. The sky disappeared. For a moment I couldn’t tell which way was up.

  Sound flattened into a single, continuous roar. The ground trembled beneath me as the rest of the facade collapsed in stages, each impact sending new tremors through the rubble field forming around me. Something heavy pinned my lower leg. Not crushing, but enough to hold.

  I twisted and felt pain spike through my ribs as I shoved against the weight. The fading stimulants kept my muscles firing, but my lungs burned, each breath pulling in dust and grit. I coughed and it tasted of ash and ruin.

  I clawed at the debris trapping my leg and felt it shift just enough. I kicked free and crawled toward what I thought was open space, keeping low as smaller fragments continued to fall. A section of wall collapsed beside me, the impact close enough to rattle my teeth. I changed direction again, angling toward a darker pocket beneath the overhang of fallen concrete where the rain of debris seemed thinner. A slab came down behind me and sealed off the street.

  The collapse slowed, but it did not stop. Secondary failures rippled through the structure as weight redistributed. Pieces continued to shear off and tumble down in unpredictable bursts. A grinding shift above me sent a cascade of rubble sliding across my back and shoulders. I flattened myself against the cold underside of a broken support beam and waited for the next impact.

  When it finally quieted, it wasn’t just silence. It was a muffled stillness like being buried alive. I forced myself to breathe shallow and slow. The air tasted metallic and dry, thick with pulverized concrete. Each inhale scraped down my throat. My ears rang, a high, steady whine that drowned out the smaller settling noises around me. My vision swam through drifting dust, shapes barely resolving in the gray.

  The glow of my HUD flickered once, twice, then stuttered into darkness.

  “Vera, you read me?” I called out, my voice small in the enclosed space.

  No answer.

  The comm channel remained open for a heartbeat longer, a faint hiss in the back of my skull, then that too went dead. The drone feed was gone, the timer, the thermals, the map overlay. All of it vanished, leaving the world raw and unfiltered. I was practically blind. Alone under a fractured ceiling of concrete and twisted rebar, with the weight of a building pressing down from every direction.

  I tried to manually reboot the system, blinking hard and issuing the internal command. No response, no diagnostics, no alerts. Nothing but darkness and dust.

  Fuck… I sighed, painfully.

  I flexed my right hand. The Umbra Talon slid free with a soft mechanical whisper, slower now than before, but still there. Its edge caught a faint thread of firelight filtering through the cracks above and held it. It was all I had left.

  It would have to be enough.