She straightens at her name. “I—” Wren takes a breath. “What about the Seventy Seven? They’re less than thirty seconds out on HOV. We could borrow their medic? Offer a temporary truce in return?”
Not the worst idea. Working with other crews isn’t unheard of. But after suffering an attack Seventy Seven no doubt already caught wind of, extending a hand now would only make their crew look shaky—something Wren might’ve considered if she weren’t still so green.
“Absolutely not,” he declares.
Wren’s shoulders sag instantly.
“The last thing we need is Seventy Seven smelling blood in the water,” Kane goes on. “Natural Order’s attack was bad enough. We’re lucky we didn’t lose District 2 to those zealots.”
His mind flashes to Pulaski bleeding out in the medtruck, to the others they peeled off the pavement. He forces his expression to remain neutral.
Wren’s hand taps against her thigh. “You’re right.” She nods. “Sorry, sir.”
The bar falls silent. Kane’s nostrils flare.
Three lieutenants, and not one useful solution.
He turns away, gaze dropping to Echo. Her vitals flicker weaker across his interface. What would she suggest? Something reckless, no doubt. But her gambles work more than he wants to admit.
Kane spins around. “That’s it? Half-baked ideas and backup plans? Are you squad leaders or glorified security drones?”
Sweat beads on Wren’s forehead while Viper shifts his feet, and Coda goes still. Kane opens his mouth to speak again—
A faint rustle echoes from behind him. He turns sharply. On the table, Echo’s arm jerks wildly while a warning pings in Kane’s HUD.
>AYAKA “ECHO” WATANABE
>SYS FAIL IN: 48:42
>AUG FAIL DETECTED: R. LIMB
His jaw tightens. The damage isn’t permanent. Not yet. But if they don’t get a medic here soon…
A shaky breath draws his focus to Wren making a fist at her side. Even Viper and Coda are watching Echo now, shoulders rigid.
Right there, Kane makes the call. All logic, no sentiment.Just like his uncle would have.
“Wren.”
Her yellow eyes flick to his. The tension in her hand eases.
“Notify your squad and head to Midtown. There’s a cyberware ward near the southern border. Might be our best shot,” he orders. “If you get resistance, infiltrate. But make itclean. Jin’s still rotting on Nova City Isle for that medkit bust. And we don’t need VitaCorp’s attention either.”
Wren nods once. His focus snaps to Viper. “Assign her backup. Corpo pigs and the NCPD will be crawling all over.”
By the time he’s finished, Viper’s already turning, muttering commands into his commlink.
Kane pivots to Coda. “Pull VitaCorp’s shift logs. Find a doc heading out—someone we can ‘recruit.’ Send the specs to Wren.”
Coda doesn’t answer. His fingers fly across invisible keys in silence.
Wren clears her throat. “Baron,” she starts, then hesitates. “But what about—”
He whips toward her. “What now, Wren? I didn’t promote you to hold your hand during a crisis!”
Her heart rate elevates across his interface, but she shakes her head. “You’re right. I’m on it. Just informing my team—then I’m gone.”
She taps the bird-shaped commlink hugging her ear and bolts out of the bar, swallowed instantly by the neon glow of Shreveport’s streets.