I stood in the quiet of my apartment, fingers dancing across the interface of my phone. Jobs like this weren't my style—especially not ones with zero intel. High-risk, high-reward was fine, but I liked knowing what I was walking into. This time? All I'd been told was to "pick up a package." Search and rescue, they said. But of who?
"Who is this 'Package'?" I muttered, frustration knotting in my chest.
The phone buzzed. My earpiece crackled to life, F.R.E.D.D.Y.'s familiar voice filling my ear.
F.R.E.D.D.Y."The Package is being transported to one of the hangouts in the slums. Head to The Hub bar. I've pinpointed the location."
That was all I needed. I knew the slums well—especially The Hub. A hole-in-the-wall kind of place, dark, seedy, and crawling with the worst kind of people. If something shady was going down, that's where it'd be.
"Alright. Let's see if I can get anything out of them."
The Hub was exactly like I remembered—dim lighting, sticky floors, and the stench of stale beer and cheap cigars hanging thick in the air. The neon flickered like it was trying to give up. The bartender shot me a look as I walked in. He knew me. Knew I didn't do casual visits.
I ordered a drink, scanned the room. I wasn't looking for anyone specific—just anyone twitchy enough to look like they knew something.
That's when I saw them. A group at the back, dressed in mismatched robes with hand-carved symbols hung around their necks. Religious types. Zealots. The kind you try not to make eye contact with unless you're in the mood to hear the world's going to end.
"You know anything about the Package?" I asked, straight to the point.
One of them looked up. Tall, wiry, with a patchy beard and wild eyes.
"Ah, the Package. You're looking for the Bishop's work, aren't you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "The Bishop? What does that even mean?"
He leaned in like he was about to share a prophecy."You don't understand. The Package isn't just some cargo. It's the key. A person. One of the last sacred ones. And we, the chosen, are the only ones who can stop Nightmare's Eve."
I snorted, taking a sip. "Nightmare's Eve? What is that, your version of the apocalypse?"
His expression turned cold."You mock us, but the Bishop's teachings are clear. The Package is a weapon. A power. You wouldn't understand—you're just another pawn."
I shook my head. "Right. You zealots always think you're the main character in some cosmic horror novel. Get over yourselves."
I turned to leave, but they weren't done. They stood up, surrounding me—not quite threatening, but very much in my way.
"The Bishop will claim the Package. Only he can control it."
I started pushing past them. Let them play messiah all they wanted—it wasn't my problem.
At least, it wasn't until one of them tried to tackle me.
The kid lunged, wild-eyed. I dodged, slammed an elbow into the back of his head, and sent him crashing into a table. The others tensed. My hand dropped to my sidearm.
"I don't have time for this."
The kid groaned on the floor, barely conscious. I reached for my backup—sleeker grip, faster draw. If this turned into a brawl, I wasn't about to play nice.
Weapons flashed. Eyes glinted with fanaticism. This wasn't going to be a clean exit.
"You don't understand!" one of them barked. "The Bishop's vision—"
"Save it. I've heard enough from lunatics tonight."
Another one charged with a knife. I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted until he dropped it, then dropped him with a jab to the gut. He folded.
Then came the big guy—Dracken. Massive. Built like a military-grade freight hauler.
He swung. I ducked. He swung again. Clipped me—just a graze, but it stung.
I fired a quick shot—one of them dropped, chest smoking. The rest kept coming like they hadn't seen it.
One tried to punch me—Kin. I caught his fist, yanked his arm back, and slammed him into a table. But Dracken wasn't done.
He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me clean off the ground.
Air got real hard to find.
"Get... off…"
I kicked him hard in the ribs—enough to make him loosen his grip. But then he grabbed my left arm.
My cybernetic arm.
And tore it clean off.
Pain exploded in my shoulder. I staggered, staring in disbelief as he held my arm like a trophy. My fingers twitched, still powered for a second before going limp.
"You son of a—"
I didn't hesitate. Drew my pulse pistol and fired straight into his chest. He dropped like a stone. Dead.
Kin, the only one left standing, backed up, hands raised.
"You're lucky. The Bishop won't be. Now talk."
His breathing was ragged. His voice shook.
"The Package… it's at a drop-off site. Abandoned parking lot. Outskirts of the city."
I reached into his jacket, pulled out two glowing vials—Nightmare Fuel. Pocketed them.
"Where's the rest?"
"It's… it's all there. I told you everything. I didn't want this…"
I silenced him with a quick hit to the head. He crumpled.
"I need a new arm…"