It was Kelly’s first Tuesday at Park Avenue, and nothing was on fire. No explosions. Nothing. A new record. Nobody had even begged for their life yet, despite her being there.

  She didn't mean for things to collapse or for people to start screaming when she was around—not usually—it just sort of... tended to happen wherever she went. It wasn't personal. In fact, mass hysteria wasn’t something she planned for. Planning had never been her style; plans were for people with patience and better odds of survival. She preferred momentum and improvisation. Collecting the data as things unfold in their own spectacular way.

  But unfortunately, Kelly found herself in the exact series of unfortunate events that presented her with true consequences and required planning.

  On the way here, Kelly had taken one look at the roads and changed her travel plans. The shorter route was a minefield. The main roads were clogged with panicked drivers, engines burning hot as they fled whatever monstrosities had taken over the new highways—pileups and people trying to outrace creatures that looked like walking cargo transport—the relentless chaos of the apocalypse highways that ran through all major locations made it unthinkable. Instead, Kelly opted for a longer detour, weaving through New York's forgotten outskirts where utility reigned over leisure and buildings sagged under the weight of years of neglect. She passed rows of crumbling apartments, graffitied warehouses, and factories long abandoned, heavy with oil and dust. By the time she looped back toward Park Avenue, the change was striking. It was like walking into a different city. She left behind streets marred by decay and stepped into a district still clinging to its sheen. Even with the creatures attempting to scar its streets, its polished surfaces reflected an order that stood in defiance to the chaos she'd just traversed.

  It was as if someone forgot to tell them the world was ending again.

  Kelly parked as a GeneCorp hoodie-clad man, moving faster than her eyes could follow, ripped through a winged, horned, and multiple-armed beast's glowing ribs. The creature radiated energy and lashed out with a surge of light, twisting pavement into metallic vines. Unfazed, the man surged forward, crushing bone with an inhuman blow, then leveled a high-powered revolver to fire a shot that left the beast lifeless on pavement. Kelly's eyebrows rose, mildly impressed.

  She watched as the creature's remains were boxed, then scanned—prepped for whatever passed as research now. Even before the loops, she hadn't seen the guy in the Genecorp hoodie—probably a new hire, or newly assigned. Either way, it tracked. Creatures like that didn't just stumble into wealth zones by accident. She theorized that some creatures were attracted to greater resistance and the corpses of their stronger peers. The center of New York had plenty of resistance, thanks to the over-engineered and deadly panic responses offered by the wealthy and their machinated attempts to protect their investments. Maybe the more ambitious creatures were looking to earn something from it—Titles, Traits, Skills... Ranks... Power. Anywhere with too much firepower and too many corpses was a hotbed. That made the outskirts relatively safer, right up until it wasn't, anyway.

  Rather than fight her way into Genecorp right out of the gate, Kelly had decided to play a card she rarely ever used.

  Dr. Haider.

  Dr. Haider wasn’t quite her friend, and he was something of a globally infamous physician—boasting roughly as many active legal proceedings and criminal allegations filed against him as he held critical, field-defining patents—who happened to have met Kelly by sheer coincidence when she was a preteen; through an unfortunately less-than-legal connection long ago that she’d much rather forget.

  For reasons he never fully explained, he had always looked out for her since—not quite a mentor, but orbiting suspiciously close, the way a satellite might hover over a country it’s not technically spying on. Dodgy, shady, brilliant, and connected in ways no one wanted to ask about, he was nevertheless reliably—almost bafflingly—on her side.

  "Reality has no anchor."

  Dr. Haider's projection stood beside her in the passenger seat, called through her neural phone—older, tall, and broad-chested, his shoulders crowding the frame like someone built for war and repurposed for academia. His posture was still, gaze fixed, every movement unhurried.

  Kelly leaned back in her seat, one boot against the glovebox, arms slack, expression unreadable. "Yeah, well. I drive better sideways."

  "I'd review the wisdom behind this run on Genecorp. When Vaughn's upper management finds out, you won't be able to escape them."

  Kelly leaned further, her boots propped up as she eyed the readouts. "I'm not running. I'm just driving faster than usual." She smirked faintly. "They're a syndicate. They think big, shadow economies and coups. I can think faster, act faster, and move smaller. That's all I need."

  "Hmm... Unlikely,” Dr Haider said simply.

  Kelly stared at him for a moment before shrugging, her face relaxed, "guess I'd better not slip, then."

  The projection vanished for a beat as Kelly fidgeted with her monomolecular blade, turning it into a dense, high-fashion and somewhat heavy monomolecular wristband with a hollow interior.

  Dr. Haider's projection flickered back into view, tall and composed beside her. "About your question," Dr. Haider said, "St. Augustine suggested time isn't moving and that everything is already fixed in place, like points on a map. If that's true, then your loops aren't progress; they're you revisiting a snapshot you can't change, like revisiting an old store. The anchor isn't missing. There never was one to begin with."

  Kelly blinked, staring at his projection. "Wait, you actually... thought about that?" She let out a low breath through her nose, barely a sound. "Didn't think that'd land," she muttered, tapping the dash like it was her personal musical instrument. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she didn't smile. "Most people just nod and wait for me to change the subject." Her eyes stayed on the display, the quiet stretching like it was supposed to mean something.

  Dr. Haider didn't react right away. Then, evenly, he spoke. "I’ve known you for a long time. You referenced an ontological contradiction in passing. That usually warrants follow-up." He adjusted his stance in the projection, hands behind his back, eyes on the same display she was pretending to study. "Next time, let me know if you're not really confused. Saves time with citations.”

  Kelly shrugged, eyes still on the building. "You wouldn't like the real answer." She bit into a protein bar that tasted like sustenance and denial, chewed once, and didn't elaborate. Let him file that under nutrition or existential threat—same shelf, really.

  A crater split the avenue clean through, its edge blackened and glassed, as if something had burned straight through the concrete and kept going. Repair units marched around the rim, welding stabilizers into concrete that still sizzled while automated sweepers pushed aside melted signs and crushed luxury sedans like garden waste, doing their best impression of a functioning system. The towers above sparkled—untouched, self-satisfied—while the street below reeked of ash, blood, and alarms nobody planned to answer. A crashed escort drone smoldered near the curb, its wings folded like scrap. Nothing moved nearby that wasn't working to make it all look normal again—just long enough for the next thing with too many teeth to show up and ruin it.

  Kelly drove into what locals called the Platinum Mile where the pavement still self-cleaned and drones issued fashion warnings instead of curfews.

  The air hit differently here. Crisp, filtered, running through the truck’s intake, and so clean it almost hurt. Somewhere overhead, corporate-grade atmospheric processors pumped out calibrated humidity and sterilized oxygen like luxury perfume. Back by the quarantine belt, you needed a respirator to survive ten minutes; here, you could taste eucalyptus.

  Kelly sniffed. It had been more than a while. "Huh. Forgot air had a flavor."

  Dr. Haider's projection stayed composed. "Obsidian Futures manages air in this part of the city. They just won the contract. They’re assigned to filtration and containment—listed under infrastructure. They operate where property values justify the cost."

  They passed a store, H. Van Doren Historical Goods, bolted shut with blast latches and seismic clamps. Kelly swerved close to the glass, peering past the pressure seals at a preserved codex-2592, original spine, stamped by hand, pre-Augment War. Ink. Paper. A signature rushed at the end like someone racing curfew. "Never seen one that intact," she muttered. Most of the cities that printed these got glassed and rebuilt. The ones that didn't got hit later in the Al coups. She'd only started noticing them after the first reset. Something about how they just existed, when most things didn’t anymore. Just like her.

  Dr. Haider’s projection appeared beside her. "You know Vaughn's been recovering relics from the cities they rebuilt after the wars. Some are preserved, others sold as part of the effort."

  Kelly parked just short of the barricade, tires crunching over dried ash and broken shell plating.

  Ahead, Genecorp's tower pushed through the skyline—sleek, armored, surgical. At its base, a heap of dead creatures she didn't recognize steamed beside a row of open medical vans, men in unmarked gear sorting crates with practiced rhythm. A few figures stood apart from the rest, watching her approach like they'd been briefed on the truck, but not on her.

  One of them was clearly in charge. Couldn't have been older than sixteen, which was a little strange—buzzcut like he'd done it in a mirror, Genecorp hoodie faded and stained, collar ripped down one side. He moved like a kid who never got taught posture, shoulders slouched, head twitching like he hadn't slept.

  He had no visible augments, no lines, flair, or seams, but he dragged a crate with one hand that would’ve taken three men, moving with a kind of twitchy confidence that only came from someone born in a vat and built to outperform. His thirty-thousand-credit shoes had no laces, were covered in ash, and looked stolen even though they weren't, and the rest of him looked like he slept in a supply closet and fought his way out of it. A few flanked him like furniture, waiting for a cue that never came.

  The ones behind him blended into the background, like props from a job no one bothered to strike. One looked like he'd been recruited for his ability to block sunlight, the sort of bulk that screamed "hired for height, not brains." The other, barely tall enough to reach the top shelf in a supermarket, couldn't have been more than five-foot-nothing in boots. Kelly clocked them in a second—bruisers, muscle, call-them-whatever, they were background noise, filling space with their unspoken "yes, boss" energy, pretending they had an edge.

  A rich kid who hated his family and came to watch the world burn to piss them off, maybe.

  "Bet they hated him first, so why not make it mutual?"

  The kid raised a hand before Kelly cut the engine, more twitch than gesture. "You were supposed to be five minutes out," he said, already pacing. "Haider said this was coordinated. Quiet. Professional." His eyes tracked across her windshield, then to the rooftops, recalculating something he didn't say out loud.

  Kelly didn't answer. The kid was already pacing, fingers tapping his side like he was waiting for a drone strike. The neural line clicked alive in her skull. Haider's voice came through, low and calm. "Their operations chief is present. They're treating this like a real negotiation. Speak like it matters." The signal held for a beat longer, as if he was about to add something and chose not to.

  The kid ran a hand over the back of his head, pulled at the collar of his hoodie like it itched. "You didn't bring backup, right?" he asked. "If this goes sideways, I don't want them thinking it was me."

  Kelly stepped out, boots pressing into the layers of ash. "If it goes sideways, you won't have to explain anything."

  He didn't reply. His gaze kept drifting. Rooftops, windows, motionless frames pretending to be empty. Watching too carefully. Waiting too long.

  "We took the long route, Reggie" Haider said, flat as concrete. "The express lanes were full of burning trucks and something with too many legs eating a sedan. She rerouted through the industrial belt." He paused, then added with the same dead calm used for supply counts. "If that inconvenienced anyone, they're welcome to file a complaint with whatever's left of city planning."

  Reggie hadn't even looked at her yet when Kelly said, "You know, I almost died for this meeting. Felt like a deleted scene from Fast & the Famished—monster trucks, actual monsters, same budget."

  Nothing. No twitch of the brow. Reggie's attention stayed locked on the surrounding rooftops, like she was background static he hadn't figured out how to mute yet.

  Reggie blinked, expression flat. "What are you even talking about?"

  Someone behind him coughed. Not a real cough—more the sound people make when they want you to know they've heard something stupid and are filing it away for later. One of the loaders, mid-forties, half of his jaw replaced with low-end black-market plating, muttered under his breath, "My kid watches something like that. Animated though. With the dog that shoots from the passenger seat."

  Another one, younger, chewing on a diagnostic stylus like a cigarette, squinted at Kelly. "That the show where they marry their instructors or blow 'em up?"

  Kelly didn't answer. She wasn't sure if either of them was joking, which made them officially more entertaining than Reggie.

  A third voice chimed in from the back, sarcastic and curious in equal measure. "Wait–are you talking about one of those pre-war netdramas that got archived in the psychological aberrant tier?"

  Reggie turned and spoke over his shoulder. "She's joking. Just ignore her."

  Kelly followed without breaking stride. "I wasn't joking. It got an industry award. Best Tactical Romance in a Serialized Format. Twice."

  The group began moving toward the tower, their pace unhurried. A couple of the crew exchanged looks behind Reggie's back. Some were confused. Some amused. None of them seemed confident enough to ask whether anything she had said was real.

  They passed under the first set of motion-triggered scanners. Dr. Haider's voice came in over Kelly and Reggie's comms, clear and unhurried. "Reggie, this is Dr. Kelly Voss. Until recently, she was embedded in a competitor's scientific project—dimensional division. She now represents an asset package of strategic intellectual value currently under GeneCorp consideration."

  Reggie kept walking. "She's the asset?"

  "She's the trade and the inventor. You're walking her in. That makes her your responsibility until internal security takes over."

  Reggie adjusted the strap of his hoodie and gave a noncommittal nod. The guy with the stylus snorted. "Man, I thought she was like... a handler or something."

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  Kelly kept walking. "You're thinking of someone with people skills."

  No one replied as they reached GeneCorp's surprisingly busy entrance, its revolving doors heavily guarded and filled with as many scanners, scorch marks, and scrambling excited scientists as there were samples being dragged in for study.

  Kelly stayed a half step behind Reggie, not out of deference but to watch the group. She kept that distance the way other people keep a hand on a door; waiting to see which way things might swing.

  Reggie looked over without turning fully. "You always like this?"

  Kelly didn't hesitate. "No. Sometimes I'm worse."

  No one laughed. She didn’t need them to.

  A display cycled breakfast ads and gymwear spots—some flawless augmented model with a glow—name below the frame, all vowels and soft gold.

  "Is that Veyra?" The tall one said, squinting at the screen. "Didn't they blacklist her after the Jakarta thing?”

  His partner snorted. "She's a 30. D-Rank. You don't blacklist that. You just hope the next crater's in a cheaper district."

  Reggie didn't look up. "That's not Veyra. That's her sister."

  The tall one blinked. "Didn't know she had one."

  "She's the one they let speak at forums," Reggie said. "Smiles right, answers questions, kisses babies, doesn't flatten streets with her alterations."

  As they passed through a scanner arch, Kelly glanced sideways at Reggie. "Speaking of which—what's your thing, anyway?" she asked. "Claws? Bone saws? Internal grenade pouch?" Reggie didn't respond. The scanner flagged her instability again; he passed clean. No visible traits, nothing exposed, which meant his augmentations were either expensive, lethal, or classified enough to stay invisible. She made a note to stand behind him if anything exploded.

  "Invisibility to loaded questions."

  Reggie didn't look at her. "If I had a real EQ rating, you'd have seen me on a cereal box by now."

  Reggie rolled a coin across his knuckles as they approached the primary entrance scanner.

  Then a second coin joined it, floating over his palm in a slow, weightless spiral—unbothered by gravity, skin contact, or anything resembling physics. He didn't look at them as they drifted above the scanner’s range. They hovered because he wanted them to.

  The scanner lit green the moment he stepped through. It took its standard full-spectrum read, paused, then flashed NO FOREIGN OBJECTS DETECTED in sterile text across its HUD.

  Internal inventory displayed nothing. No implants. No ports. No embedded equipment.

  The coins returned above his palm without dropping and the scanner didn’t waver.

  Kelly watched the machine try to reconcile Reggie's impossibly fine application of cheating biomagnetism and fail. The feed blinked twice, cycled diagnostic, registered the deviance and logged his infraction, then passed him anyway.

  She followed, and her wristband scanned as a decorative shape-changing harmless piece—because she'd stripped all of its configurations and left only two. One was the wristband, and the other held something she hated to use... a last resort.

  Then the rest of her stepped through.

  The alarm barely screamed three octaves too high before glitching into what sounded like canned laughter. Lights flashed. The HUD re-scrambled itself and almost declared her STATISTICALLY UNLIKELY before it abruptly died. A panel in the ceiling popped open like a dislocated shoulder, and something metallic dropped straight down at terminal velocity.

  Right at kelly.

  Kelly stepped sideways, calm and already moving.

  The object—heavy, dense, jagged—froze a meter from the floor. Air warped around it. It hovered mid-fall, humming like a live wire in water. Reggie didn't look up and attempted to act as innocent as possible.

  Kelly did look up.

  Then she looked straight at him.

  Kelly walked on. She gave the floating junk a light tap with her knuckle and whispered to Reggie. "Lucky you. You almost found out if your insurance covers organ loss by monomolecular accident." She pouted. "You should've let it fall. Would've been fun to see if I could cut you in half before it hit." She paused, then turned to him seriously. "Can you do it again?"

  Kelly smiled like she was sharing trivia.

  Reggie gave her a look that said what the hell is wrong with you, then the metal chunk twitched once, then drifted aside and clanged harmlessly to the floor.

  Kelly walked on, deciding how best to 'retire’ Reggie and survive the fallout with GeneCorp, if it came to it.

  EQ levels were designed to ensure public safety classification and civilian threat indexing.

  Reggie’s scan pinged him at 5.0EQ, with a note about the versatility of his abilities—which, considering his apparent physical weakness, didn’t make sense. At least, not until he showed he had more than enough biomagnetic control to do more than jostle pocket change. Yanking a steel shard from the ceiling and stopping it mid-drop with millimeter precision meant that, despite his lack of physical strength, he had a real rating of at least 5.0—maybe 6.0 for someone with that kind of versatile genetic ability, if they really knew how to use it. How the hell had he gotten his hands on a genetic weapon augment at that age? That was supposed to be impossible. Who the hell were his parents?

  Apparently the only ones enjoying the end of the world were the ones who broke the rules before it started, and were busy breaking whatever rules were left.

  She wondered how someone like him had managed an acquisition so impossibly clean, who his parents had bribed, and how sad they'd be if she had to chop his arm off on the way out if negotiations tanked.

  She'd started thinking more seriously about the loop—about what it actually was and what it could be made to do. Theories she used to dream about didn't feel like jokes anymore.

  Reggie muttered, "Should've sent Dr. Lindstrom. Why'd Haider drag a nobody into this? And why me, why now? I don't even need to be here—you can call over the net." He shook his head once, the projection of Haider blinking into their neural views as if in response.

  Reggie frowned, glancing at Kelly, then turning to the holographic projection beside her. "Wasn't Dr. Lindstrom on the news last week? And that Harding guy—didn't he win a Nobel? You're friends with them, right? So why bring in some rando?"

  "Value," Dr. Haider responded firmly. "Kelly's the VIP because she can do what no one else can. Lindstrom and Harding are occupied with research and replication elsewhere. Every other resource is tied up cracking anomalies on multiple fronts. She's here because her expertise and results are invaluable."

  They crammed into the lift as reggie placed a palm on the wall and retrieved something, causing the box to move. The lift was too small and too polished, with mirrors everywhere. Kelly wondered who the mirrors were for, since anyone on this floor already knew they looked good.

  Then she realised that was probably why. By the time it reached the top, the doors slid open to a clean, stylish chaos. Labs walled off with bulletproof glass buzzed with scientists in crisp white coats, and a few suits lingered in the background, making quiet calls or nodding at monitors.

  The whole place had a designer dystopia feel with high gloss and low trust. Augmented security guards stood silent at every door, each one bulging with enough muscle and worn tech to snap spines without blinking. Around them, the apocalypse was treated less like the end of the world and more like a multi-billion-dollar industry. The scientists moved fast, passing crates marked with hazard symbols and fiddling with devices that glowed in ways Kelly didn't care to understand. As they walked past a sealed door with enough locking mechanisms to make a bank vault jealous, she noticed her scanner wouldn't stop pinging.

  They stepped into a wide, open office that somehow managed to be both intimidating and comfortable. The round table in the center was covered in what looked like premium leather, curving into a built-in couch that wrapped halfway around. Two people sat there, hands resting casually on polished wood, but their postures spoke of full awareness. Behind them, a wall of glass stretched floor to ceiling, revealing the city skyline—and the chaos that came with it.

  Swarms of creatures drifted among impact ridden or crumbling buildings, while distant flashes hinted at ongoing firefights. As if on cue, something huge with wings like a shredded parachute swept past, trailing a faint shadow.

  “This is Haider's contact, Kelly," Reggie said, tilting his head toward her. "The..." He checked a device embedded to his palm, "soon to be former... Vaughn employee... With exclusive anomalous IP."

  Reggie gave Kelly a weird look—like the act of ditching Vaughn, the above-the-law, off-world, flag-less monstrosity, meant she was a live grenade someone forgot to disarm.

  Kelly folded her arms, tilting her head slightly at the passing creature. "So, if a giant bird flies in here, are we barbecuing it, or—“

  "The glass is one-sided," one of the seated facilitators replied calmly. "Built to withstand a Category 12 earthquake. We'll be fine."

  They didn't stand, didn't smile, didn't introduce themselves. Which was fair—Kelly figured anyone sitting behind a table like that, mid-apocalypse, had already decided their names weren't the important part. One sat with controlled stillness indicating he was a man used to approving weapons licenses, and now did it for genetics. The other looked like he could classify people by posture alone. Both were old enough to have outlasted at least three boardroom purges and bored enough to think this was just another sales pitch.

  She didn't waste time pretending they hadn't already guessed what she was. "You've sequenced everything you could get your hands on," she said, stepping forward. "The burrower with glass-veined muscle strands, the giant terraforming downtown by pointing, and even that thing that fell out of Hollow Rift—with the spinal geometry that loops like a M?bius strip. I know. I would've tried the same." She rested one hand on the table's edge, casual. "Let me guess—half of it didn't work, the rest were so pitiful in comparison to the real thing it might as well have spat glitter."

  Neither of them corrected her.

  "Mine didn't." She pulled up a holopanel from her wristband, flicking through controlled screens.

  No raw data, nothing they could extract without access. Just enough to confirm what she wanted them to know: mutation stability, repeatable gains, systemic persistence. "I've tested genetic changes that take and work. Full efficacy. Cross-species viability, no degradation. No missing pieces. You give me access to your internal labs, I'll show you why."

  The one on the left finally spoke, voice dry. "For what compensation?"

  Kelly smiled. "Royalties.”

  "On anything with my work in it." Gotta make them think she wants the money to really sell this. Then slide in the real goldmine. "And access to the samples you've collected so far. Your anomalous data." She glanced back at the skyline just in time to catch a lumbering quadruped crush a lesser tower in the distance. "Otherwise, you can see how well your F and E-ranks handle an A-rank collapse scenario."

  Something shrieked in the sky—wingspan wide enough to block traffic lanes, shaped like nothing built for atmosphere. Even from here, she saw flashes of light peppering it from below, military grade. It kept moving.

  She looked back at them. "But hey. Let me know how long the interns last." The man on the right finally leaned forward, fingers steepled like he was diagnosing a flaw in a prototype. "Our data... You want to increase your EQ. But you're 3.8," he said, with the calm finality of someone reading off a warning label. "You'll need to sign an NDA." He gestured, and Kelly signed it without reading, and the man smirked at what he thought was a foolish lack of diligence. "And you can only get enough work done to reach the legal limit, so that's just 2.2 worth of genetic alterations we'll allow to meet the 6.0 Enhancement Quotient restriction."

  Kelly blinked once, like she'd missed the part where that was supposed to be a problem. "That's cool," she said. "I still want access."

  She didn't clarify. Let them guess whether it was short-sightedness, long strategy, or something that didn't fit on a readout.

  "We'll need a live demonstration," said the one on the right, voice flat with authority that came from too many years signing off weapons and containment specs. He didn't look up.

  The other leaned in slightly. "Initial validation in-lab. Then viability. If your results hold, we escalate to controlled deployment."

  Kelly followed their gaze out the glass. Something enormous with too many legs moved between buildings, its shape wrong for anything that evolved naturally, suspended midair like the clouds were its stepping stones.

  "This is a global event of anomalies, localized to Earth. No confirmed source or ownership for the tech, and nothing anyone's admitted to."

  "Three D-rank threats landed between here and the southern corridor this morning," the left added. "Multiple E-rank deployments couldn't contain them. F-rank assets were neutralized before contact. They needed rerouting from orbit and military intervention."

  Kelly scoffed internally, like that was her problem.

  "And there's ongoing chatter about an S-class category of rank being possible," the left added, tone dry. "Just theory. A terrifying one."

  He returned his attention to Kelly. "If you're asking for access, you'll need to prove your value beyond reports and controlled data."

  Kelly crossed her arms. "So you want a bar fight with a clipboard."

  "We want stress validation," said the man on the right. "Lab replication. Field pressure. If it breaks, it's useless. If it holds, we scale. We monetize."

  Kelly smiled without showing teeth—she already knew who'd be cashing the dividend. “Then it's a good thing I brought something worth the invoice."

  Dr. Haider's projection flickered into view between them, the same steady frame, same unblinking presence. "Then we're agreed," he said. "You'll provide access. She'll provide results. Let's not waste time rehearsing concerns we've already outgrown." His tone didn't rise and was entirely calm, holding pure, clean execution. "This is a race to be first. We have hours, not days. Start the intake. I'll handle legal." Then he vanished, the deal sealed before anyone had the chance to re-litigate it.

  They left the office without fanfare, flanked by glass and polished steel, with constant eyes that didn't bother to hide their curiosity. The corridors beyond were crowded—white coats moving with purpose, terminals glowing with cross-section renders of limbs and nerves, gene-flow maps rotating in midair. Security outnumbered scientists two-to-one. Not just guards—former spec ops with corporate tags and hardware that didn't come cheap.

  Reggie fell in step beside them, still hooded and still looking like someone who'd wandered in from a food queue outside. As they passed a reinforced checkpoint, one of the guards—heavily geared, definitely not Genecorp issue— tapped a knuckle against his helmet and said, "Still owe me for Prague." Reggie barely broke stride. "Bill my handler." The guard grunted, door unlocking with a low click as they passed. Kelly said nothing, but noted the insignia: not Genecorp's, not military. Third-party muscle, paid to forget who walked where.

  Kelly looked at the guard and spotted gray hair—actual gray, not the biotech silver rinse rich idiots wore, and long-healed scars nobody with a decent healthcare plan would leave visible.

  They were scars that said he could afford to erase it and chose not to because it meant something. Her EQ scanner pinged high enough to suggest he'd be a problem, but not high enough to make her reconsider her presence in the building.

  "Let me guess," Kelly said as they passed another group of scrambling scientists to reach a large set of blast proof double doors. "Even someone from an old augment regiment has a price now? So what's the going rate for an actual war hero and not a grunt—public loyalty clause or free ad time?"

  Reggie rolled his eyes under the hoodie as Kelly waited for a response.

  "Don't tell me you've got the upper echelon on payroll too," Kelly added, eyes on the retinal scanner that logged them and blinked them all through. "Last I heard, first-gen wouldn't even piss in a civilian building without a flag above the door and a contract under it." The double doors slid open. "Guess even leftover augment royalty needs a retirement plan?"

  Reggie snorted. "Please. Those dickheads only work for themselves and the shiniest camera." He didn't lower his voice. "My crew clashed with some of their new blood on a job a few months ago. We wouldn't work with them anyway. Too suicidal." Kelly looked over, one brow raised in mild reassessment.

  The lab doors sealed behind them with a hiss. Everything inside was pristine glass-panel walls, triple-helix projections, busy white-coated bodies, and gene sequencers mounted with surgical arms. The fabricator sat tall in the far corner, matte black and humming softly.

  That was her goal. That, and the archive banks—she intended to walk out with all the data they didn't know she needed.

  Dr. Haider appeared beside her in holographic detail—only visible through her neural phone. His voice stayed private. "This deal breaks the balance and will change society forever. The second it's viable, the structure holding the big four in check will fracture. I'd advise finalizing the first transfer, proving the tech works, then disappearing off-world before someone talks."

  Dr. Haider's projection still hovered beside her—synced through her neural phone, visible only to her. Kelly answered without moving her lips, her voice routed clean and silent through the link.

  "Pfft. One of the other three's probably got someone in the building already. They’ll know the second I finish—doesn't change a thing. I'm in one of the safest buildings in New York, and Genecorp doesn't share. They're not letting their first working breakthrough get cloned, kidnapped, or splattered." She paused. "Though now I'm wondering—if I get cloned, does the clone loop too? That'd be messed up."

  Kelly grabbed a lab coat off a hook, twirled it once, then shrugged it on, then she strode into the center of the lab and clapped her hands once. Hard. The sound cracked across sterile glass and halted half a dozen conversations. "I need the samples I left with security," she said. "And I want every regenerating strain you've got. Stock, vault, test tank—I don't care. Matter of fact, bring me everything you've scraped off the walls since the sky cracked, and whatever else you've been too scared to test." She rolled her shoulders once, stretched like she was warming up for a boxing match.

  The two interim leaders nodded to all present, confirming her demands.

  "Anything else that's still warm enough to moan if you prod it right." she said, already moving toward the central machine. "And If it's mutated, moist, and medically questionable, I want it on my table." Two women near the genome stabilizer exchanged a look behind their masks—one let out a snort she didn't catch in time.

  Scientists just as eager for discovery as she was, and interns either too unlucky or too broke to already be off-world, scrambled to meet her demands. Some moved casually, curious to see what would happen next.

  Kelly ignored them, her eyes glued to the treasure trove of genetic augmentation techniques flowing across the screen.

  As scientists, interns, and a strange, organically constructed biped guided samples towards her, Kelly rolled up her sleeves and printed out the single classified datachip they'd greenlit for demonstration, and everything else on genecorp she could legally get her hands on.

  This was it. They were going to hand her a portion of their entire database—not everything, but whatever they were allowed and they would thank her for the privilege.

  And Kelly?

  She was going to demonstrate what they wanted, but she would add in a little something extra.

  They had given her a limit on how much she could augment herself—regeneration would be first, and then she'd add one more augment from their many samples.

  Just one.

  Maybe Mimic flesh, seismic control, the ability to walk on clouds... Or something she could splice together.

  Something that would help her fight her way out of here, or die trying.

  She just had to make the right choice as to what that augment would be.