Kane’s chrome hand tenses as he pushes into Dragoon’s Rest, the image of Pulaski’s husband crying in the doorway still pressing on him. Seven years of delivering death notices, and they never get any easier. He could delegate the job to a lieutenant or deliver the message via the Veil, but that would make him no better than the corps. His people deserve to be seen as more than numbers.
Inside, the bar is full of life despite the early hour. Midtown would be half-asleep with commuters slumped on HOV trains before shuffling into their sterile offices. But Shreveport knows how to make the most of daylight. Drinkers crowd shoulder to shoulder at the bar, watching a rerun of the latest cyber gladiator match while off-duty enforcers shout over a line of holo billiards tables.
A few heads dip in acknowledgment, but Kane doesn’t slow. The day after Natural Order’s attack, he has no time for small talk. He heads straight for a steel-cased door on the far wall where “Private” shimmers in green above. His retinal scan triggers a hiss of panels, and he steps into a dark room withgleaming spare weapons and stripped-down tech along the walls, glinting under the dim light above.
At a holotable in the center, Viper sits hunched over a holopad, muttering commands into his commlink. Next to him, Coda scrolls a stream of data projected up from the table, blue light flickering against her goggles. Echo lounges with her boots on the glass surface across from them, with Wren at her side straightening when Kane steps in.
“Our fearless leader returns,” Echo greets.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Wren adds as Viper and Coda offer silent nods.
“Enough.” Kane waves them off, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Someone in here better have intel on Natural Order’s attack yesterday. Cause we know that wasn’t some random strike.” His gaze sweeps the table. “I want answers, and I want them now.”
Silence settles over the room. Echo’s smile wavers. Viper clenches his jaw, and in Kane’s interface, Wren’s pulse jumps erratically.
Only Coda remains unmoved, flipping the projection to a static video of a figure with long dreadlocks striding down a Shreveport street. Kane leans in as the footage plays.
“My team found this footage from a security drone shortly before the attack,” Coda explains, letting the video play.
“I can’t see their face,” Kane declares.
Coda taps the holotable’s controls. The footage speeds up, then freezes when the person turns, revealing their face. Kane’s heart stutters. “Our facial recognition flagged them as—”
“Cipher,” Echo interrupts, stiffening in her seat. “Whoa. What’re they doing here?”
“Cipher?” Wren glances between Kane and Echo before ducking her head. “Sorry, sir. I haven’t heard that name in any of our briefings.”
Viper’s eye whirs. “I don’t recall seeing them flagged in our security systems.”
Echo opens her mouth to answer, but one look from Kane silences her.
“They’re no longer with the crew,” he says flatly. “That’s all you need to know.”
Cipher. The name hasn’t crossed Kane’s mind in years. Once a trusted lieutenant, they vanished after his uncle died. From guilt, most likely, or maybe fear after the deal fell through. For a time, he thought about tracking them down, but rebuilding the crew left no room for chasing old ghosts.
Coda’s voice cuts in. “The footage was captured at the exact intersection where Natural Order would later breach the holowall.”
Kane’s fingers curl under the table. Cipher knew every blind spot in their defenses. They built half of them. And Natural Order’s never had the skill for something like this. For years, they’ve slithered between districts, preaching purity, stirring up small riots. Never coordinated. Never surgical.
Who else could have shown them exactly where to strike?
Yet his doubt lingers. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Cipher was like a mentor once, back when they still wore their colors. But there’s also the practical side.
Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair. “Cipher’s been a techie since birth, and Natural Order’s too strict about their ‘purity’ rules. Only time they look the other way is when ripping it out would kill you.”
“Yeah.” Echo slips her boots off the table. “Natural Order teaming up with Cipher?” She snorts. “Next, you’ll be telling me VitaCorp’s holding a charity gala for Shreveport.”
“Regardless, track their movements. But Natural Order is our priority.” Kane pivots from Coda to the others. “Anyone else find anything, or should I start scouting replacements myself?”
The lieutenants exchange a series of tense looks.
When no one answers, his patience wears thin. Kane starts to rise and demand answers when Echo finally speaks up.
“Well, I have some good news. We should know by tomorrow if we can finally send Rafael back to Midtown.”
Kane stiffens at the mention of the nurse, holed up in his personal quarters above the bar. His body still aches from the bed in the spare barracks, but he can’t risk giving Rafael an escape route—or trusting the recruits around someone from Midtown. But as uncomfortable as he is holding the innocent man hostage another day, they can’t risk a single night without a medic or a nurse.
“Good.” Koda sits back in his chair. “What about—”