Erica's combat knife glinted under the neon haze of Dock 7. The coordinates burned behind her eyelids—23:00. Neon Hive. No survivors. She counted thirteen security drones circling the skeletal docking tower, their searchlights carving geometric patterns in the smog. Three hours since the mirror's electric whisper. Three hours closer to her genetic meltdown.
Logan's voice crackled through a scavenged earpiece: "You're late."
She crushed the device underfoot.
The freight elevator stank of burnt circuitry. Erica pressed against its shuddering walls, her Codeblood humming in time with the flickering lights. At the 89th floor, the doors wheezed open to a cathedral of vice.
Neon Hive's auction pit sprawled below—a circular arena where augmented flesh and stolen data were traded under holographic runes. Buyers floated in private skyboxes, their faces obscured by optic-camo filters. On the central stage, a collared girl with neural ports along her spine knelt inside a glass tank. Electricity danced around her shackles.
"Lot 37: Untouched Neuro-Scribe," boomed the auctioneer's voice. "Capable of replicating 92% of known brain patterns. Bidding starts at 500,000 cryptocreds."
Erica's grip tightened on the railing. The girl's eyes met hers.
"Help."
The word formed on the tank's fogged surface before vanishing.
Logan materialized beside her, smelling of ionized ozone and deceit. "Admiring the merchandise?"
"Target practice." She didn't lower her binoculars. "Where's your data core?"
He nodded toward a pulsating structure above the stage—a hexagonal prism encased in liquid light. "The Hive's central server. Also happens to be Silas' favorite toy."
Erica's Codeblood flared. The server's defense matrix unfolded in her mind like a venomous flower:
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"Impossible." She hissed.
"Not for you." Logan tapped his temple. "Your blood holds the master key. Or didn't you wonder why Silas wants you dead?"
The auctioneer's hammer froze mid-air.
"Security breach detected," droned the PA system. All holograms dissolved into static.
Erica smelled it before she saw it—ozone and spoiled milk. The buyers' screams erupted as six winged drones descended, their chrome carapaces etched with serpent sigils.
Silas' private guard.
Logan shoved her behind a collapsing skybox. "Change of plans. We steal the Neuro-Scribe instead."
"Like hell—"
"Her brain holds Silas' biometrics." He tossed her a shock grenade. "Now!"
Erica moved through chaos. The first drone's plasma wing sheared past her ribs. She jammed the grenade into its intake vent. The explosion painted the ceiling with liquid metal.
The Neuro-Scribe's tank cracked under stray gunfire. The girl crawled through broken glass, her neural ports sparking.
"Stay down!" Erica grabbed her wrist—and froze.
The girl's skin rippled. Circuits surfaced like veins.
Not human.
"Consciousness vessel activated," the girl intoned. Her pupils dilated into data streams. "Greetings, Valkyrie. I am Jax."
Logan's knife found the seventh drone's core. "Lovely family reunion, but we need to leave!"
Jax's head snapped toward the server prism. "The DNA key requires biological sacrifice. Calculate survival probability: 14.7%."
Erica's Codeblood roared. The static became a symphony.
"Tell me something new." She leapt onto the auction stage, her boots crunching over shattered bid paddles. The server's plasma web ignited.