1
Chapter 1 - Kane
>ID: AYAKA “ECHO” WATANABE
>HR: 45 BPM ↓
>BP: 80/50 ↓
>NI: CRITICAL
>SYS FAIL IN: 58:42
The readout pulses red in the overlay of Kane’s visor as he stares at Echo sprawled across the holo billiard table. His fingers curl into a fist at his side. For once, he’d give anything to hear her annoying, high-pitched voice, even that irritating laugh.
Instead, she’s silent and motionless, strands of fried neural lace tangled in her long, dark hair. Neon from the sign above washes her usually colorful cybernetic armor in a sickly green hue—like she’s already half-dead.
But this isn’t the end. Not for Echo. Not for his crew.
His uncle trusted him to keep them together, to protect Shreveport from the violence that stole his father.
As long as Kane’s still alive, no one else is dying on his watch.
Pressure builds in his chest. His fist shoots out and slamsonto the holotable. The crack of the glass rattles through the empty bar, loud against the hiss of his armor vents.
“She’s fading.” Kane spins to the huddle of surviving lieutenants, their names flashing across his HUD. “Now that Pulaski’s gone—”
Taken out by a pulse-tipped arrow, dragging their wounded to the medtruck. He did everything he could in that HOV, but it wasn’t enough. His skills weren’t enough. Five years with the crew, and now Pulaski is—
He pushes the image away. Grieving will have to wait.
“We need someone else,” he continues. “A cyberdoc. Someone who can patch failing neural lace…”
Before it’s too late.
Sixty minutes. That’s all Echo has left.
Arms crossed, Viper strides forward. “Look, I respect Echo. She’s loyal, connected, been around a while. But given the situation—and her age—we might want to start thinking about a replacement.”
The muscles in Kane’s neck draw tight. He’s not wrong. Forty-two is ancient in their line of work. But Echo’s been with them since his uncle ran the crew. She helped shape the team, choose their colors, even coined his nickname. Still, this crew doesn’t run on sentiment. They hold power through results—and Echo delivers every time.
“You don’t just ‘find’ another Echo,” Kane argues. “Two days ago, her contacts tipped us off about Natural Order’s weapons drop. Without that, we’d have lost a hell of a lot more than Dr. Pulaski when they breached the holowall.” He lifts his jaw, eyes narrowing on Viper. “Unlessyouknow which corpo cops to grease, what fixers give us the best deals?”
Silence follows, as expected. Viper’s a walking encyclopediaof firepower. That’s why Kane keeps him around. In another life, he would have time to untrain the merc in him that treats every call like a contract. Right now, Viper needs to stay in his lane—the one paved with bullets.
Kane lifts his chin. “That’s what I thought.”
Viper steps back. His sneer doesn’t go unnoticed. Nor does his elevated pulse in Kane’s overlay.
“Anyone else writing Echo’s eulogy?”
A shimmer of light catches Kane’s eye as a holographic map unfurls from Coda’s wristlink. His head tilts up, meeting Kane through tinted goggles. “Three clinics,” he says evenly. “Two in Boatwright, one in Eastpark. Two doctors at each. We need to dig for leverage…find out who we can persuade to help.”
“No. Waste of time.” Kane shakes his head. “Blackmail only works if they’re more afraid of us than botching the job. And right now, they’re not going to be.”
Coda nods, the projection dissolving. Though his fingers keep working, data flashing on his lenses. Whatever Coda’s sending, his squad of techies, hackers, and drone pilots downstairs are likely already in motion.
He turns to the remaining lieutenant. “Wren.”