Cinthia Lowhental
Cinthia, Raven's bright neon sister, caught wind of the Black Daggers mess in no time. The news hit hard, but what really burned her up was Raven ghosting her again. No ping, no holo, nada—just the usual radio silence. Cinthia was wrecked, but her main chip-trace was Raven’s safety. She knew about the big show coming up and the last pre-gig jam session. She’d even thought about showing up unannounced but ditched the idea since their sib-sitch wasn’t exactly ice.
That plan went out the window the second she heard about the heat.
She ditched her spot—a real house, not just some coffin hotel—grabbed her ride, and punched it, headed straight for Raven. She spammed The Refused’s chat asking where Raven was. Nieme was the only one who replied, telling her they were at a ripperdoc's. That sent her anxiety into overdrive. He calmed her down a bit, saying Raven was fine, but Thiago? Flatlining, almost. And worst of all, it happened right in front of his kid.
Katie lost her mom already, and the thought of her nearly becoming an orphan sparked some serious wrath in Cinthia. Vomi went to handle those Black Dagger gonk-heads, but no word from her for hours. The tension was real. When Cinthia finally pulled up outside the doc’s clinic, she bolted towards Raven. Even if she wasn’t ready for the sudden hug, she braced herself to not drop like a glitching bot.
“Raven!” she called out, “Why the hell do you always get into these scrapes?!”
“Watch it,” Raven warned, keeping Cinthia at arm’s length, still drenched in blood—mostly Thiago’s.
“You good?”
“I’m nova. Just…”
“Yeah,” Cinthia glanced at Katie, the kid just zoning out, staring at the ceiling.
“Didn’t know you were coming,” Heitor chimed in, offering Cinthia a hand.
“Nieme’s doing,” she said, shaking his hand as Nieme’s head turned at the mention of his name.
“Really?” Raven shot him a glare.
“What? She’s got a right to know you’re still breathing.”
“Yeah, family love and all, but let’s not forget,” Blaze cut in, “We’re all still flat in the dark about what the hell went down. And more important, we gotta delta out of here. Not exactly safe to chat.”
“And Katie?” Cinthia asked, pointing out the obvious.
“She sticks with us for now,” Heitor said, scooping the kid up in one motion. She didn’t even hesitate. “Blaze, stay back, keep an eye for any more of those Black Dagger scavs. We’ll loop you in later.”
“Got it,” Blaze nodded. “C-YA.”
Raven motioned for the crew to follow. “We can talk at my pad. Ain’t too far.”
They split from the clinic, cruising at a steady clip, but the air was thick, like someone was tailing them. Gangs or corpos, who knows? Paranoia? Maybe. Either way, the streets were never silent. Raven drove the van with Heitor and Katie, while Cinthia followed in her car, Nieme riding shotgun. The drive wasn’t long, but it felt like a lifetime with tension simmering beneath the surface. Raven’s apartment in the Megabuilding was standard rent-a-cube, though the entertainment setup was premium.
“Alright, everyone here?” Raven asked, collapsing onto the couch with a tired sigh.
“Yeah,” Heitor confirmed, gently placing Katie on the couch and handing her the remote for the entertainment system. “Find something good to watch, alright?”
Katie nodded absentmindedly, eyes already glued to the screen, but you could tell her mind wasn’t really there.
Nieme leaned in and broke the silence first, whispering, “Alright, what the actual fuck? How’d the Daggers even scope out our spot?”
Raven rubbed her temples, still processing. “I don’t know, choom. We were clean. No leaks, no slip-ups. But they hit us like they knew exactly where to find us. Could be corpos playing puppet masters behind the scenes. Could be someone close to us with loose lips.”
Cinthia, still standing, crossed her arms. “Corpos or not, it smells like someone sold you out. You sure none of your crew’s been chin-wagging where they shouldn’t?”
Heitor shook his head. “I’ve kept my optics open. Everyone in the crew’s tight. No way any of us would sell out, not after what we’ve been through. But the timing… it’s too perfect. Feels like they had eyes on us for a while.”
Nieme leaned back, staring at the floor like he was running a tactical op in his head. “I’m thinking we got some serious recon on our hands. Gotta trace who’s pulling the strings. This wasn't just some street-level raid.”
Raven looked at Nieme and nodded. “If they had inside info, it wasn’t random. Someone’s feeding them intel.”
Cinthia clenched her jaw. “Vomi’s out there dealing with those gonk-heads, but she’s been MIA for too long. We need to know what she’s found. And fast.”
Raven bit her lip, glancing at the door. “If Vomi doesn't check in soon, we’re gonna have to pull her out ourselves. But first, we need to scrub our comms, our hideouts, everything. If they found us once, they’ll find us again.”
Nieme stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. “Who do you think it could be? I don’t wanna start pointing fingers, but… we’re missing something.”
“Alright, let’s start from square one,” Heitor said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. “Why exactly did the Daggers come after Raven the first time?”
“The Refugees were people I trusted,” Raven said, eyes flicking toward Cinthia. “They helped me out with some things… mostly because of you.”
Cinthia ignored the jab, too focused on getting answers. “Fine, I get it. You don’t want anything to do with the Green Rhythm. But why would the Daggers target those people? What could they have done to get that kind of heat?”
Heitor leaned forward, his tone firm. “They don’t make a move unless there’s serious eddies or a way to upgrade their cyberdecks. So what’s the real deal here?”
Raven sighed, leaning back as her eyes narrowed. “The Daggers don’t hit randoms, you’re right. They’re always after profit or tech. I thought it was just a messy business deal at first, but now... it’s bigger. They want something else.”
Cinthia stepped in closer, arms crossed tight. “What could they want from you that’s worth this kind of trouble? And don’t hold back. If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to spill.”
“Shit, fine.” Raven growled, visibly annoyed. “I was working on a deal, one that probably caught some unwanted attention. I was helping out some Refugees, but I doubt that alone would spark all this.”
“What kind of deal are we talkin’ about?” Nieme asked, voice sharp as he pushed for answers.
Raven hesitated, then finally spat it out. “A deal for SynthCoke.”
“The fuck?” Cinthia blurted, disbelief written all over her face. “You know that stuff fries your brain, right?”
“That’s not the point right now.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
“Cinthia,” Heitor cut in, his voice authoritative, “I get it—drugs are bad. But that’s not what matters right now. We’ve got two major groups gunning for us. We need to stay focused.”
Cinthia bit back her argument, crossing her arms tighter but letting it go for now.
“Why would a drug deal put you in the Daggers’ crosshairs?” Nieme asked, still not seeing the full picture.
“Because the Refugees I helped? They’re ex-Corpos. They’re trying to live off the grid as street mercs, but they still got the chrome, the skills, and the knowledge. Helping them painted a target on me,” Raven explained, tugging at her jacket. “But even that doesn’t explain why the Black Daggers would hit all of us. Coming after me solo? Sure. But the whole crew? That’s what I don’t get.”
Heitor leaned back, connecting the dots. “Alright, so we’ve got their attention. But if what I overheard back at the warehouse is right, the Daggers came after us on KanedaCorp’s orders. Which means this is tied to Vomi.”
Katie turned her head from the TV, now tuned into the conversation.
“Wait, why would KanedaCorp be involved?” Raven asked, eyes narrowing.
“We hit a gig for M-Tech.”
“You did a job for a corpo? What the hell?” Nieme’s voice dripped with venom, making the rest of the room uncomfortable.
“I know how you feel about corpos, Nieme. Believe me, I get it. But the job was solid. Full crew, clean hit, and we got paid right on time. The only problem? We didn’t cover our tracks as well as we thought.” Heitor grimaced, clearly frustrated with himself. He was the seasoned pro, and such a mistake weighed heavy on him.
“And what exactly was the job?” Cinthia sighed, equally displeased with the news.
“Stealing a prototype cyberdeck. Vomi was the lead netrunner, along with Sasha, another deck jockey. Carmine drove—guy cared more about his ride than his life. Blaze and I were muscle.”
“Oh, so Blaze was in on this too,” Raven groaned, her tone sarcastic, frustration mounting.
“Sorry for not looping you in sooner. Vomi set up the gig; we wrapped it last week. Figured it wouldn’t come back to bite us.”
“Alright, but what exactly went down?”
Heitor grabbed a few utensils, setting them up on the table as a makeshift map. “So, here’s the layout. This cyberdeck was en route to a safehouse for stashing, maybe some testing. We planned an ambush on the convoy to hit fast—flatline whoever needed it, then bounce.” He pointed to the utensils. “Vomi and Carmine were in the car. Sasha was plugged in remotely from her place. Blaze and I were rolling on his bike, ready to jam things up with a homemade EMP.”
“An EMP? Don’t those mess with your chrome?” Cinthia cut in.
“Most of my chrome’s just my agent, so no big deal for me. Blaze’s arms, though, yeah, it’s a risk. But it also meant I had to drop off a moving vehicle to avoid getting fried. Hurt like hell, but it stopped ‘em in their tracks. Then Carmine pulls up, we clear everyone… except, didn’t check the main cargo. Damn turret almost blew my head clean off.”
“Holy shit. That sounds like a nightmare.” Nieme cringed, picturing it.
“Yeah, I’ve got a mangled arm to prove it.”
“So, what next?” Raven asked.
“Vomi and Carmine come in hot—Vomi with that custom rifle of hers. But there’s a Cyber Guard on board, and it got messy fast. Vomi caught a punch that’d drop a borg, somehow shrugged it off. Sasha, she Quick Hacked their netrunner from her place just in time to fry the Guard’s chrome. I grabbed a guard’s shotgun, finally put down the Cyber Guard.”
“Then you all delta and meet up?” Cinthia clarified, piecing it together.
“Yeah. We sold the cyberdeck, got paid, and then everyone lay low. That’s my end of it. Now, if KanedaCorp’s got a bone to pick, and the Daggers are doing their dirty work, then they’re after all of us.”
Raven clenched her fists. “But how’d they zero in on us so fast?”
Nieme raised his hand, thinking it through. “I think it’s a mix of stuff. BDs get hit all the time—gangs, street punks, corpos skimming data from JoyToys. KanedaCorp’s no different; they’d scope a gang like the Daggers if it suited ‘em. Plus, we’re talking a gang full of wannabe netrunners. All it’d take is one pro in their ranks.”
“Damn…” Raven’s face fell. “So even the SFPD…”
“Yeah, probably that too.”
Cinthia sighed, piecing it all together. “So it’s one misstep after another piling up. We were practically handing them breadcrumbs.”
“Pretty much,” Heitor muttered, shaking his head.
The team got a ping from Blaze, which immediately put them on edge. Katie, who had been quietly listening, was trying to piece together what all this meant for her dad. Why did he have to get hurt when he was just a guy who loved music? Had Vomi really caused all this chaos? Katie thought back to the terrifying transformation she’d seen. Could the woman she looked up to really be responsible?
"Hey, chooms, Blaze here," Blaze’s voice crackled over the line.
"What happened?" Raven asked tersely.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
"Our guy Thiago’s stable. I’m moving him to a place with the doc’s help, got it all covered. He’ll be out cold for a few days… but he’s safe," Blaze said, though his tone held a hint of sadness despite the reassurance.
"Thanks. Just keep him safe," Raven replied.
"Don't worry. I’ll look after him." Blaze tried to sound upbeat, but the strain was clear. "How’s Katie?"
Raven glanced over at Katie, who had been listening quietly, her face pale. "She’s hanging in there. Shocked, I think, but she’s holding up."
"Yeah, I figured. Can’t blame her." Blaze’s voice softened. "Listen, I’m gonna lay low at someone else’s place. Can’t risk our usual spots anymore."
"Good idea. Stay safe. None of our places are secure now."
"Roger that. C-YA."
With the call ended, everyone looked at Raven from instructions. Heitor might be the best fitted leader for this situation, but Raven has been the one making the calls for a long time, Heitor himself not wanting to take the reins.
“Look, we will wait for Vomi. There isn't much we can actually do. Can we crash at your place, Cin?"
Cinthia thought about it for a second, “I don't see any problems. Although I won't be there most of the time. Green Rhythm stuff.”
“That's as good as we can get.”, Nieme said, picking up a backpack, “I promise I won't make a mess of your apartment.”
“I don't have an apartment?”
“Cinthia has a house.”, Raven clarified.
“Wait what?”
“Preem and all, but let's focus.”, Heitor picked up Katie again, “Pick up the necessary and then we go. Sorry for all this bother, Cinthia.”
“No problem. I can't let my sis be alone, after all.”, She said with a playful wink.
Raven just groaned.
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Kaneda Itadori
Kaneda was a man of principles, a disciplined visionary, and a rare figure of integrity in the corporate world—qualities so uncommon in the corporate warfare landscape that they might be nearly extinct. Yet, in contrast to typical corporate dogma, KanedaCorp remains unmatched in biochemistry and technological advancement, particularly in its strides toward safe testing practices. They obtained Blackwall files with minimal incidents, or at least few that reached public knowledge. They mastered symbiote lifeform directives, effectively integrating them with cyberware. Their record is, more often than not, one success after another.
Of course, this comes at a cost.
"Safe testing" is often a euphemism for "controlled failures with lessons learned," as countless minds have been lost to the Blackwall’s data space and flesh to symbiote experiments. Scientists were eliminated to prevent information leaks, and guards replaced, removed, or reassigned to keep secrecy intact. Every detail, every process was under Kaneda’s scrutiny to ensure the project’s continued, unimpeded progress. Still, M-Tech managed to learn about the project—and, even more troubling, successfully stole the prototype.
The BD recording led them straight to a crucial data point—a biological tracking signal originally designed to confirm the containment of symbiotes within controlled systems. Amusingly enough, this signal was now traced to Dr. Vomi Kurosaki, who had somehow bonded with a failed prototype, her very existence defying the project's initial design. Kaneda understood that early successes in biological transformation often foreshadowed future instability; if it worked too well from the start, something was likely to go wrong soon.
Her trail led them to a Black Daggers den, now a slaughterhouse. Losing members of the Daggers was a minor setback, replaceable. The true gain was their insight into Vomi’s rapidly evolving, and clearly volatile, condition. She was not just adapting; she was transforming unpredictably, becoming the very proof of why KanedaCorp's “cure” was essential.
KanedaCorp’s interests, however, stretched beyond simply reining her in. They needed Cyberdeck Ouroboros returned to them, and who better to retrieve it than Vomi herself? Given her employment with M-Tech, she could slip in unnoticed—no corporate espionage, just a matter of asset recovery through a convenient operative already in place.
Kaneda waited calmly in his office. This meeting promised to be… intriguing.
The motion sensors detected movement, and the sleek doors slid open, revealing Vomi partially cloaked in the pulsing red symbiote. “She’s here,” one of the corporate aides announced.
“I can see that,” Kaneda replied, a hint of indifference masking the real interest he was feeling.
Vomi stepped inside, her face slick with sweat, every muscle tensed, radiating a blend of nerves and barely contained desperation. She moved slowly toward the table, taking a moment to collect herself. Her hands went to her hair, matted and tangled, still streaked with the blood of the Black Daggers she'd torn through.
Interestingly, her signature glasses were missing.
“You can go,” Kaneda instructed, and the suits obediently exited.
Breathing heavily, Vomi steadied herself until she could finally lift her head. “I… heard you wanted to talk,” she said, her voice wavering despite the confidence she clearly wanted to project.
“Yes,” Kaneda replied, taking a seat and pouring himself a glass of a finely aged spirit.
He even offered Vomi a glass, though she barely registered the gesture, too preoccupied with wrestling down whatever urges the symbiote was stirring in her mind. Kaneda merely shrugged, taking a small sip and leaving the glass half-full. “Let me be direct, Dr. Vomi.”
“As you wish,” she managed, her voice straining.
Perfect.
“What you believed was an M-Tech R&D facility was, in fact, one of our covert labs. It was positioned strategically, as no one from M-Tech would suspect it. Security footage ensured we knew exactly how, when, and by whom the building was accessed.” Kaneda gestured to his desk, which projected a 3D hologram of the lab he described. “This facility housed Project Ouroboros. Due to the project’s complexity and the constant instability of the subjects, we struggled to proceed as discreetly as we hoped.”
“What… does that have to do with Takeo?” she asked, pausing to catch her breath mid-sentence.
“Takeo was a double agent. His task was simple: keep an eye on M-Tech so we could transfer the deck without notice. But it appears he had his own plans—to see if the Cyberdeck was as powerful as rumored.” Kaneda shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his expression. “He was quickly… dealt with, after your associate Sasha returned him to us.”
“I… see…” Vomi replied through gritted teeth, suppressing the pain. “But… why is this Cyberdeck so important to you?”
Kaneda clasped his hands, a rare solemnity in his gaze. “The biological fluid is my son’s only chance. He’s in a prototype cryostasis, kept alive for now. But his disease advances, and without a solution, his time will run out.”
“A corporate CEO… caring about someone other than himself?” Vomi managed a weak laugh. “What’s next—a politician who actually gives a damn about the common gonk?”
Kaneda let the sarcasm roll off him, unaffected. Instead, he leaned forward, the faint flicker of a wry smile crossing his face. "I wouldn’t expect you to understand my motives, Dr. Kurosaki. You operate on principles of loyalty and altruism—admirable, perhaps, but out of place in this world."
Vomi forced herself to sit straighter, squaring her shoulders despite the strain on her body. "So, you’re saying you’re different because you’re willing to sacrifice anything—and anyone—for your cause? For your family?"
Kaneda took another sip of his drink, pausing thoughtfully before answering. "Sacrifice… it’s an unfortunate necessity. The truth is, power in this world isn't acquired through idealism; it’s won through resilience, and sometimes ruthlessness." He studied her, his eyes cold yet calculating. "You, of all people, should appreciate that."
Vomi’s fists clenched, her gaze narrowing. "And you think that justifies using people as pawns? Turning lives into... collateral damage for some twisted legacy?"
Kaneda’s expression remained neutral, but his voice grew sharper. "Our world is built on systems that exploit and consume—corporate, political, societal. We only thrive if we master it. You’ve seen firsthand what happens to those who fight against it without strategy, haven’t you? People like your friend Thiago, or even you, barely scraping by in a world designed to devour the weak."
The comment about Thiago hit hard, but Vomi refused to show it, meeting Kaneda’s gaze head-on. "I might be in your office now, but don’t mistake that for submission. I’m not here to play into your vision of the world."
A glint of intrigue sparked in Kaneda's eyes. "You're here because you want answers. And, as I said, I can offer them—insight into what you've become, a pathway to controlling it. The symbiote inside you, is a wild, potent force. But with the right modifications, I could refine it… stabilize it. Help you reclaim control."
Vomi exhaled slowly, her mind racing. Kaneda's words were tempting. The symbiote, Animus, had already brought her to the brink of destruction, a deadly weight chained to her core. But the thought of aligning with Kaneda… with the very entity that likely orchestrated half of her current miseries…
"And the catch?" she asked, cutting through the tension. "What is it you want from me in return?"
"Return the Cyberdeck Ouroboros. Bring it back, and the symbiote will be stabilized," Kaneda replied, his gaze unwavering. "You’re in a unique position, Dr. Kurosaki. You know the inside of M-Tech. You understand its layouts, its weak points. I don’t expect you to like this, but I do expect you to recognize the… opportunity.”
Vomi felt a chill spread through her, the weight of the offer pressing on her shoulders. "You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?"
Kaneda leaned back in his chair, an almost sympathetic smile on his lips. "There's always a choice, Dr. Kurosaki. But in a world like ours, sometimes the choice isn't between good and bad… just between survival and oblivion."
Vomi scoffed. “Damn it. I hate that I actually agree with you.”
“I’m simply stating the facts.”
“One question.” She straightened, the symbiote creeping further over her body, molding into a pattern that almost mirrored its clothes. “Did you order the Black Daggers to attack us?”
Kaneda met her gaze, unflinching under the accusation. “I did not. While they receive corporate funding from my organization, I gave no such directive against you or your… associates. It seems they acted on their own accord.”
“Convenient,” Vomi replied, her eyes narrowing. “Fine. I’ll get your damn deck.”
Kaneda nodded, his tone even. “I’m a man of my word, Dr. Kurosaki. Ruthless, perhaps, but fair.”
“Whatever you say.” She turned to leave, her clothing now completely overtaken by the organic matter of the symbiote. “I’ll keep you updated.”
Kaneda watched her go, a quiet satisfaction behind his gaze. Another deadly mission awaited her, this time with survival hinging on every step—and she knew it.
----------------------------------------
Eduardo Carmine
Carmine was just relaxing at Vomi's apartment, not having been assigned any counter-intel or gigs. So, he took the opportunity to binge-watch shows he'd missed while locked up. Catching up on Associates was a nice change- last he saw, the main cast had taken in a prototype artificial monkey with a knack for painting, which his new owners exploited to earn extra eddies.
Classic trope, but he couldn't complain.
Suddenly, he got a call from a familiar face, though he'd never shared his agent number.
"Hey, Heitor, my choom. What's up?”
"Carmine? Where are you? Some serious shit just went down," Heitor's voice was tense, nearly shouting before pulling back at the last second.
"Uh, what? What's going on?" Carmine asked, caught off guard by Heitor's urgency.
"Where are you? Just tell me that first."
"I'm at Vomi's place. Why?"
"Get out of there. Now," Heitor ordered, sounding like a cop dealing with a rowdy inmate.
"Hey, watch the tone!" Carmine shot back, annoyed at being ordered around. "What the hell happened?”
Heitor sighed but answered. "The Black Daggers attacked us. Our apartments and usual spots aren't safe. Leave, fast."
"The Black Daggers?" Carmine's demeanor shifted. "Shit, that's bad."
With barely anything of his own at Vomi's place, he got up, keeping the call active as he hit the elevator.
"Good. We've got a semi-safe spot for now. Just make sure you're not followed.”
"I can handle that, but thanks for the reminder," Carmine replied, punching the elevator button.
"I'll explain everything later. It's worse than we thought."
"Got it. Until then."
The elevator doors closed and started descending slowly, somehow making the danger feel even closer. When the doors opened, a gonk was tampering with the building's systems, likely trying to access the cameras. Without thinking, Carmine grabbed the revolver Vomi had given him and shot him right in the head—a Black Dagger Netrunner. A few minutes later, and it could've been Carmine lying flatlined.
Of course, he wasn't alone. More Black Daggers stood further down the corridor.
"Shit."
Carmine hit the floor, rolling into cover as bullets ripped through the elevator, narrowly missing him. Thankfully, he was still in one piece. But Netrunners were a bigger threat than street punks; any one of them could fry his chrome with just a Quick Hack. And as far as he knew, that was a beginner's trick.
Carmine took a steadying breath, running through his options. He had no cyberdeck, and hacking was out of the question, especially since his own cyberware couldn’t stand a full-on attack. He took a quick glance around the corner: three Black Daggers, guns raised, and ready to kill. They wouldn’t need to budge an inch to send him straight back to a morgue. The narrow hallway didn’t leave him much cover; staying put was a quick way to get lit up.
His mind raced. If he tried to shoot back, he’d be a sitting duck in the narrow corridor. And thanks to the camera right above him, the Netrunners didn’t even need to risk exposure. No, he’d have to move—and fast. A window loomed to his left. He eyed it, noting the drop.
Huh...
It was a terrible idea.
But he had no better options.
Without a second thought, Carmine launched himself through the window, feeling the rush of wind and a sudden jolt as he crashed into the stairwell a few floors down. The impact was brutal, but he’d made it. He was still in the megabuilding, but now he was on a much wider staircase with more room to move.
“He went through the window!”
“Get him!”
Their shouts echoed from above. Carmine rolled to his feet, shaking off the sharp sting of landing wrong. He glanced at the stairwell, noting it spiraled both upward and downward. If he went up, he’d risk running straight back into the Daggers. Going down was risky too, but he didn’t have time to think it over.
He sprinted down, heart pounding as he tried to put distance between himself and his pursuers. Just as he rounded a corner, he spotted an access door—a maintenance room, probably. He burst in, slamming it shut behind him. The room was cramped, filled with pipes, electrical panels, and tools.
The footsteps grew louder, but they'd need to open the door first. As soon as the handle turned, Carmine fired off another round, painting the wall in a crimson splash. It was almost poetic, the way it exploded like a melon, though Carmine couldn't remember ever seeing one in person. Ah well, details.
The other two Daggers hesitated, immediately pulling back to avoid his line of fire. Carmine took advantage of the pause, grabbing the closest gonk who tried to retreat. He pressed his revolver to the guy's head, quickly rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a frag grenade. Then, with a swift kick to the hostage's back and a shot for good measure, he threw the grenade at the remaining Dagger.
He made sure to cook it, counting down to ensure it'd detonate right on impact. The explosion was blinding, a supernova of shrapnel and blood that painted the corridor in visceral reds and blacks. Carmine ducked, barely dodging the burst as he scrambled to reload his iron. This night was turning out to be more than he bargained for.
With a final check of the bodies, he darted down the stairwell, moving fast. This was just the start of whatever tangled conspiracy he'd fallen into, and Heitor might be his only chance to get answers. As he reached the garage, a parked car caught his eye-a convenient opportunity to bypass probation. Without a second thought, he forced his way inside, hotwired the engine, and slammed his foot on the gas, tearing out of the garage and into the neon-lit streets.
“What the hell was that?” Carmine muttered, his fingers drumming uncontrollably on the steering wheel. “Jesus… this is nuts.”
One minute he was binge-watching some trash TV, just easing back into things, and the next he was in full survival mode, adrenaline tearing through him like he’d been shot up with something nasty. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, practically rattling as he held the wheel. Vomi was right about him—keeping it together wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Any longer back there, and he’d have likely made a mistake that would’ve turned him into a smear on the pavement.
But he was alive, at least. So… a point for survival? A participation trophy, maybe?
He shook his head, grumbling, and pressed harder on the gas, steering through the gritty streets. He kept his eyes sharp, glancing in the rearview every few seconds, checking for any sign of the Daggers or, really, anyone looking to cause trouble. The address Heitor had sent him was far away, so a few minutes before true safety. The city whirled by, dark and chaotic, lit by neon and packed with danger at every turn.
He needed to reach that safehouse. Soon.