Walking ahead, the tall, auburn-haired man—Baron—carries the injured woman from the bar in his arms. Even from behind, his stance is imposing, more so with the rifle slung across his back. Still, Rafael has the urge to check on the patient,but his survival instincts win out. At least upstairs, he was surrounded by others. Here, it’s just the two of them, going who knows where.
Their pace slows in front of a metal door marked with a neon plus sign above it. Baron shifts Echo in his arms, scanning a security panel on the wall with his free hand. “This is where you’ll patch her up,” he says.
Rafael only nods. Refusal isn’t an option here.
The door hisses open, and he follows Baron inside what appears to be a medical bay—though nothing like what Rafael imagined a street gang’s would be. A modern operating area occupies one side of the room, partially hidden by a sliding partition, while the other side houses a recovery corner with a bed and vidscreen. Along the walls, counters hold a mix of advanced medical tools and equipment, all stamped with VitaCorp’s insignia. Clearly, whoever runs this place knows what’s essential and how to get it.
“Our med bay,” Baron declares. “I’m sure it looks like some bad historical session on V-link compared to what you have at VitaCorp, but everything you need should be here.” He lowers Echo onto the table, with surprising gentleness for someone who had just held a gun to Rafael’s chest.
As Baron steps aside, Rafael moves in. Muscle memory takes over as he hooks Echo up to an assortment of machines: a BioSync Monitor, VitaFlow Infuser, NeuroPulse Reader, and a heavily modified NanoStat Regulator. The rhythm is steadying, but when he reaches the last connection, his hands falter at the strange configuration of wires.
A deep, sharp voice snaps his gaze up. “Words, Rafael. I need words. What’s wrong?”
“I…” A knot tightens in Rafael’s gut.
Baron’s frown deepens. “This silent act?” He gestures between them. “This stops now. I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. If something’s off with the equipment, with Echo, with you—you speak up. Got it?”
“Y…yes,” he stammers, caught off guard by being asked rather than ordered. “This isn’t a standard neural lace.”
“We don’t exactly have access to top-shelf tech down here,” Baron explains. “But we have our ways…” His expression eases briefly. “Had to learn to take care of our own. Corps made it clear a long time ago they don’t give a damn about us.” He turns back to Rafael. “Just do with it what you can.”
Rafael finishes setting up the equipment, acutely aware of Baron’s attention on him. Every movement feels weighted under that intense stare. But he forces himself to focus on Echo, treating her like any other patient despite the circumstances.
“Missing anything?”
He startles, nearly dropping the scanner at Baron’s question. “N-no,” he manages. “I think I have everything.”
“Good, you’ll stay until Echo wakes up.”
His heart sinks. That means he’s staying here—in the slums, guarded by armed gangsters, responsible for a patient he hardly knows. For who knows how long.
Baron gestures at a security panel on the wall. “Press the red button when she shows signs of recovery. Someone will—”
A rhythmic beeping echoes off the walls. Rafael spins around to view the patient’s monitors, all pulsing with signs of improvement.
Baron’s voice over his shoulder comes a second later. “What’s happening to her?”
“Her vitals shifted.” Rafael slips into familiar medical care. “She’s showing signs of—”
“Kane…” A groan interrupts him.
He turns to discover Echo awake on the bed, blinking slowly. Baron is at her side in an instant, and Rafael moves to check her monitors.
“Echo?” Baron says her name softly, more than he thought capable of the man threatening his life hours ago.
She doesn’t respond immediately. Echo’s mismatched eyes—one dark brown, the other an unnatural red—sweep around the room while bioluminescent threads in her long, dark hair pulse with each breath.
Eventually, a smile tugs at her lips as she drawls, “I know I ain’t dead yet…cause you’redefinitelynot in my heaven, Kane.”
Kane. Is that his real name? Not Baron? What about the others? Is Echo a nickname, too?
“IfI’min your heaven, thenImust be in hell,” Baron—Kane teases, tone light for the first time since they’ve met.
Echo snorts and points a chrome thumb at him. “Who’s the kid? Pulaski finally hire an assistant?”
Kane’s frown returns. “He’s gone. Iced out.”
“Goddamn Natural Order,” Echo mutters.