A man—someone Rafael hadn’t noticed before—steps out from the side, and the others shift out of his way.
This must be the leader. Possibly the owner of that commanding voice.
He towers over the rest, a black duster and green armored vest doing little to hide the weapons strapped on his back. When he lifts his head, a scar cuts across the bridge of his nose beneath a tinted visor, auburn stubble rough along his square jaw, matching the chin-length hair framing his face.
As the man approaches, a wave of fear crashes over Rafael, followed by a strange sensation. When the man stops inches away, the scent of coolant and worn leather hits. His rational mind snaps to attention. This is his captor, not someone to be analyzed.
“Her neural lace is fried,” the man declares, gesturing at the woman on the table. “Fix her. Now.”
Rafael inhales. Exactly what he feared. His throat tightens. He can’t tell the truth, not after keeping quiet earlier. Desperation claws at him as he searches for something to say.
A pistol slides from the man’s jacket then presses against Rafael’s chest. His stomach lurches, and the man takes a step closer.
“I saidnow. She doesn’t have much longer!” he snaps, but green eyes flicker to the injured person.
The ticking clock and loaded gun push Rafael into motion.He rushes to the table and lets his medical instincts kick in, checking airway, breathing, and circulation. Her vitals are stable but concerning, though the real danger lies under her head. While Rafael has assisted with reconnections before, he only knows the basics. Enough to try, not enough to guarantee success. His hand hovers over the medical kit.
One wrong move, and she’s dead. And likely, so is he.
Drawing a shaky breath, Rafael plants one hand on the table while the other pries open the med kit. His fingers barely touch the diagnostic tool when a deafening click sounds in his ear.
His heart plummets. He whirls around to face the muzzle of a gun.
“You’re not a doctor, are you?”
4
Chapter 4 - Kane
When the stranger’s head snaps up, Kane expects anger. Pulaski hated being questioned. Instead, wide, dark eyes meet his. He freezes, taken aback. He pushes any doubt aside. Innocence, after all, can be a convincing mask.
“Answer me!” His grip tightens around the metal. In Kane’s HUD, the stranger’s heart rate spikes.
>ID: UNKNOWN
>HR: 134 BPM ↑
>BP: 102/68 ↑
“I—I’m…”
The bar’s front door swishes open. Heavy boots strike tile, breaking the standoff as Viper storms inside.
“What’s going on here?” he barks, his cybernetic implant whirring and locking on the stranger.
Kane doesn’t answer. He turns to the man, gun steady in his grip. “Who. Are. You?”
The stranger pales. “I…”
Wren rounds the table, hands out defensively. “I picked him up outside the hospital.” Her voice is steady, but rushed. “He’s the target Coda sent.” She shoots a look at the techie across the table.
Coda’s fingers fly through the air. “Dr. Amato. Thirty-one, black curly hair, cyberoptics specialist.” He tips his wristlink, scanning the stranger’s face, then glances up. “This is not him.”
“But—” Wren’s expression crumbles, stumbling toward them. “He matched the description perfectly—was leaving the cybernetics wing, wearing scrubs and a VitaCorp badge. I didn’t have time for a scan with Echo bleeding out.” Her voice rises. “I’m sorry, Baron!”
Kane’s teeth grind together. He should have handled the extraction himself, should’ve—
Movement in his peripheral vision cuts the thought short. Viper swings a rifle off and barrels toward the stranger. “Is this a setup?”