The symbiote loomed over the man, claws poised mid-air, their jagged edges inches from tearing him apart. Yet, they didn't strike. Something gave them pause, an almost imperceptible tug from the host's fragmented mind. Their claws retracted slightly, their blackened form rippling as they analyzed the figure before them.

The scent was familiar. The face, too. Recognition flickered in the void—a faint echo of something buried deep. He was carrying a child, and the host stirred faintly at the sight. The symbiote hesitated, scanning the two with an otherworldly gaze, processing fragmented memories. The host's mind screamed one directive:

Do not harm. Never harm them.

The man held the child protectively, his free hand gently covering her face, shielding her from the horror in front of them. Both their eyes betrayed terror, yet the man stood his ground.

Charred pieces of the symbiote's flesh fell away in clumps, blackened and brittle. The regenerative process had been slow, excruciating, as fire was something they hadn't yet fully adapted to. But the black flesh gave way to its usual purple hue, a signal that their body was nearing full health once again.

It was crucial. They needed every ounce of strength for what came next. Too many threats. Too many enemies. Too much attention. The plan was clear: retreat, recover, adapt. Hiding would buy them time—a few weeks, months, maybe a year—until the world stopped hunting them relentlessly. Only then could they reemerge.

"Vomi?" the man called softly, his voice trembling but steady enough to cut through the symbiote's haze.

The name stirred something. A ghost of familiarity, of identity. The symbiote's movements stilled, their gaze locking onto his face. They circled him slowly, curious, assessing. He didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on a point ahead, refusing to follow their predatory movements.

It was a calculated act of submission—no sudden movements, no show of force. His posture practically screamed, I'm not a threat.

Good. At least one of the host's associates had some sense. He was unarmed, powerless, presenting himself in the weakest, least confrontational manner possible.

"Look," the man said again, voice tight with the effort of keeping his fear in check. "I know you're still in there. Somewhere. I... I'm here. Just know that, alright?"

His voice wavered on the last word, trembling despite his best efforts. The symbiote didn't respond, their alien gaze fixed on him with an unreadable intensity. The only sound in the room was the faint dripping of viscous fluid from their regenerating form.

The child stirred in his arms, and the man instinctively adjusted his grip, pulling her closer.

Somewhere deep inside the monstrous hive mind, the host stirred.

Vomi stirred.

But no words came. Only silence.

"I'm fine, see?" the man said, gesturing toward himself in a calming manner. "It's me, Thiago."

That name.

The symbiote froze again, claws retracting slightly as it faltered, its gaze flickering with an unplaceable emotion. The name stirred something buried deep—a memory the hive mind couldn’t fully suppress. Vomi’s memories. Fragmented and unclear, but there nonetheless.

First, the faint recollection of their initial meeting: Thiago’s face after a grueling day of “work” on HuscleNet, a rare moment of connection amid her exhaustion. Then, the flash of violence—the attack by the Black Daggers, a chaotic blur of fear and fury. That memory was the sharpest, the most recent.

And then, one final thread: a hazy moment when Vomi briefly regained her senses, her voice hoarse as she answered a call. Thiago. That call had been from him.

From the tangled web of memories, one thought rose to the surface: He is alive.

The symbiote’s posture shifted, claws and tendrils retreating into their flesh, merging into the humanoid form once more. Their breathing slowed as their body fully healed, the last remnants of charred tissue regenerating into smooth, resilient flesh. The transformation left them still, a quiet figure sitting on the ground.

Their white hair fell across their face, a curtain shielding them from the world. They didn’t look at Thiago. Didn’t look at the child. Didn’t look at anything.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the symbiote wavered. A faint whimper escaped, almost inaudible, and then came the tears. They fell silently, unstoppable, as the overwhelming weight of emotions—pain, confusion, and something bordering on regret—crashed over them. Even the hive mind couldn’t suppress it.

The monster wept.

“There, there,” Thiago said gently, giving a few tentative pats on the symbiote’s shoulder. “Just… know that I’ll be here. Alright?”

He lowered himself to the ground, sitting beside the monster. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to force any more words. He simply sat there, his presence quiet and steady. Watching. Perhaps comforting.

The child clung to him, her wide eyes fixed on the symbiote with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Despite her terror, she couldn’t ignore the profound sense of loneliness emanating from the creature. It was unmistakable, even to someone her age.

Katie’s small mind wrestled with the strange reality before her. How would anyone react, put in the same position as Vomi? Would they lose themselves completely, spiraling into chaos and destruction? Or would they hide their crumbling psyche behind hollow smiles and distant farewells?

The monster had caused so much death, pain, and suffering. Yet, despite that, Katie felt a spark of something unexpected—empathy. Not because the symbiote’s actions were forgivable, but because she sensed that maybe, just maybe, Vomi was just as afraid of herself as everyone else was.

“Don’t cry,” Katie said softly, her voice trembling. She wiped at her own tears, streaking her freckled face. “When everything feels scary and dark… just try to remember the happy days. That’s what I do.”

Her small words hung in the air, fragile yet sincere.

Thiago hummed softly, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. “You know, you sound just like your mom right now.”

Katie nodded, her gaze still fixed on Vomi. “Mom always knew what to say,” she said quietly. “I figured… maybe she needs it too.”

“Yeah,” Thiago agreed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Silence settled over them again, broken occasionally by the soft, uneven sobs of the symbiote. After a while, the creature curled into a fetal position, their head resting on the ground, hair a chaotic tangle spilling across the floor. The sight, oddly vulnerable, drew a faint giggle from Katie, quickly echoed by Thiago.

Minutes passed, and finally, the symbiote drifted into a restless sleep—their first real moment of peace in what felt like an eternity. Thiago hesitated, his hand hovering above the symbiote’s head before gently resting it on their scalp. He stroked the white strands lightly, his touch careful, unsure. To his surprise, their faint, steady breathing was almost… calming.

His eyes shifted to the serum, lying untouched on the other side of the room. The air was heavy with biomass, a grim reminder of what Vomi had become. But Thiago stayed where he was, his hand still on her head.

The last thing Vomi needs right now is another betrayal.

Time stretched in the quiet room, the dim light casting soft shadows over the unlikely trio. Thiago continued to gently stroke Vomi's hair, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to disturb a fragile truce. Katie had tucked herself into his side, her small arms wrapped around his waist.

“Dad?” Katie whispered, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, kiddo?” Thiago murmured, his voice low so as not to wake Vomi.

“Do you think she’s still… y’know, in there? The real Vomi?”

He sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the sleeping symbiote. For a moment, he didn’t answer, the weight of the question settling heavily on his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I hope so. I really do. But even if she is… I think she’s lost, Katie. Lost in whatever this… thing has turned her into.”

Katie looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face. “Do you think we can help her find her way back?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, his voice heavy with uncertainty. “But we can try. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

They fell into silence once more, Katie’s question lingering in the air. Thiago’s thoughts churned, memories of Vomi flashing through his mind—the sharp, confident woman she used to be, so full of life and determination. He wanted to believe she was still in there somewhere, trapped beneath the layers of violence and chaos the symbiote had wrought.

But even hope felt fragile now, like trying to hold water in his hands.

Across the room, the serum gleamed faintly under the dim light, a cruel reminder of the impossible choice he faced. Could it save her? Or would it destroy what little was left of her humanity?

He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze away from the vial. For now, he would stay here, beside her. Whatever came next, he’d face it when the time came.

For now, Vomi deserved this one moment of peace.

----------------------------------------

Antonio Miranda handed his pistol to one of his guards with a sharp gesture. "Dispose of the body immediately."

Graves had long been a thorn in his side. The only reason he had survived this long was his involvement in the Blackwall research—a project that, ironically, only saw progress because of Vomi, the very individual who was now the source of everyone's worst headaches. Miranda had been waiting for the right moment to cut him loose, fed up with what he saw as a pattern of reckless incompetence.

Take the Cyberdeck heist, for example. A straightforward operation: send in a covert squad with stolen gang tech, mask their involvement, and leave no traces pointing back to Militech. It should have been simple—a clean, professional job.

How-fucking-ever, Graves had insisted on hiring mercenaries, bringing in outsiders, and worse, involving Vomi and her crew. It was the dumbest move imaginable. Even the most half-witted detective could smell the shit if it was dumped in an open litter box. Add Vomi's already-flagged symbiotic DNA into the mix, and Graves had single-handedly turned a low-risk operation into a citywide disaster.

Miranda exhaled sharply, the anger simmering beneath his composed exterior. "Graves thought he was untouchable," he muttered as the guards hauled the body away. "Turns out he was just in the way."

Turning back to his desk, Miranda eyed the encrypted terminal. San Francisco was burning, but the chaos wasn’t entirely without merit. Now, all he needed was the right leverage to turn this mess to his advantage. Even if it meant piling more bodies on top of Graves’.

The question wasn’t if they could act—it was how.

What could anyone realistically do against something like this?

The data on the symbiote's biomass was both fascinating and terrifying. Its ability to adapt to external stimuli meant that traditional methods of killing it were all but impossible. Any attempt to destroy it would need to work on a cellular or atomic level, erasing every fiber of its existence. But achieving that without catastrophic collateral damage? That was the rub.

Methods capable of such precision and devastation usually came at a cost: mass destruction. The legacy of Chernobyl was proof enough—an entire city rendered uninhabitable for over a century. And Miranda didn’t have a nuclear warhead or an equally powerful explosive at his disposal.

Containment was the only viable option. But to confine the monster, they needed to incapacitate it first. How? The idea gnawed at Miranda. A sleeping agent seemed the most plausible—something so potent it could induce unconsciousness in the symbiote, maybe even kill it outright. If it worked, they’d win either way.

“Sir?” A scientist entered the room, escorted by a guard. “Do you have any directives?”

Miranda turned to him sharply. “Is the symbiote vulnerable to sedatives?”

The scientist hesitated before answering. “It wasn’t entirely resistant in our tests, but…”

“But what?” Miranda pressed, his voice low and dangerous.

The scientist adjusted his glasses, clearly nervous under Miranda's gaze. "The symbiote metabolizes foreign substances at an accelerated rate. Even the strongest sedatives we tested only managed to slow it down for a few minutes before it recovered completely."

Miranda narrowed his eyes. "And how much of the sedative did you use in those tests?"

"A lethal dose for a human—several times over, in fact. Anything stronger might compromise the host entirely, assuming she's still… well, there."

Miranda snorted derisively. "Compromise? We're well past worrying about her safety. If it means taking her out, I don’t care if the host doesn’t survive."

The scientist hesitated, then continued. "We do have a prototype compound. It's designed to suppress neural activity on a broad spectrum, effectively forcing even the most resilient organisms into a coma…” He trailed off, his words being slower.

"What?" Miranda's patience was fraying.

"It hasn’t been fully tested. The side effects are unpredictable, especially on something as unique as the symbiote. It could work, or it could trigger a violent reaction we can’t control."

Miranda leaned back, considering. The risk was high, but inaction wasn’t an option. The symbiote was a walking apocalypse waiting to happen. If this prototype had even a fraction of a chance to work, it was worth pursuing.

"Prepare the compound," Miranda ordered. "Double the dosage. And find me a way to deliver it directly into the creature’s bloodstream. I don’t care if we have to shove it down her throat or shoot it into her with a projectile launcher—make it happen."

The scientist nodded, though his face betrayed unease. As he turned to leave, Miranda called after him.

"And one more thing," Miranda said coldly. "Make sure it’s ready to deploy immediately. No excuses, no delays. If this thing slips through our fingers again, it won’t just be our careers on the line. It'll be everything."

The scientist swallowed hard and hurried out of the room, leaving Miranda alone with his thoughts. He glanced at the window, where the sunlight stretched endlessly over San Francisco’s skyline.

It wasn’t just the symbiote who needs to keep adapting.

----------------------------------------

The tracking system had been active for a while but recently went offline without explanation. Sasha didn't know why, and the uncertainty was beginning to gnaw at her.

"You nova back there?" Falco asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

The van was anything but quiet. Pilar and Rebecca were mid-argument over a package they'd secured, each blaming the other for some perceived mistake. Dorio was doing her best to calm them down, while Kiwi and Maine stayed out of it entirely—either amused or simply too bored to intervene.

Sasha shut off the HUD on her agent and met Falco's gaze in the mirror. "Got a call earlier today. Some chooms needed help with a problem, but... they've gone dark ever since."

"Well," Falco replied dryly, "if it's distracting you from these two clowns, I'd say you're lucky."

Pilar let out a strangled noise as Dorio, evidently done with the nonsense, locked him into a neck hold.

"That's what you get, you mini-studd potato!" Rebecca howled, practically doubled over with laughter.

"Fuck off!" Pilar gasped, struggling as Dorio's grip tightened. "Gah!"

"Keep running your mouth, and I'll crush this deep throat neck of yours," Dorio muttered, the menace in her voice so casual it was chilling.

"Point is," Falco continued, ignoring the chaos behind him, "you've been a bit zoned out since we left the workshop. Wanna share, or is this a solo gig?"

"Don't ask questions like that," Kiwi sighed, her voice as monotone as ever. "Personal stuff stays personal.”

"True," Falco conceded, "but sometimes a little help doesn't hurt." His calm, cordial tone cut through the commotion like a knife.

He was easily the most composed person in the van.

Which, given the circumstances, wasn't saying much.

“I think I’ll try calling them. You guys preem with that?” Sasha asked as she opened her agent, her eyes glowing faint gold.

“Feel free,” Maine replied, his attention shifting to the street now that the siblings had finally quieted down.

“If Maine’s fine with it…” Rebecca smirked mischievously. “Go ahead, Mittens. Call your crush.”

“They’re not my crush,” Sasha said, though the knowing smirk on her face said otherwise. “Although, I wouldn’t mind…”

“See?” Rebecca gestured wildly at Sasha, turning to the rest of the crew. “Told you she swings both ways!”

“That’s not exactly our business,” Falco interjected, shaking his head. But the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his words.

Ignoring the banter, Sasha dialed Nieme’s number. The call didn’t connect—not surprising, considering San Francisco’s notoriously bad service. She tried again. And again.

Still nothing.

Then, on her final attempt, the agent displayed a message that made her stomach drop: The number you are trying to reach does not exist.

Wait. What?

Sasha stared at the screen, her golden eyes dimming slightly. That message couldn’t be right. She checked the number again, making sure she hadn’t made some gonk mistake. Nope, it was Nieme’s number.

“What’s wrong?” Maine asked, noticing her hesitation.

“The number’s… gone,” Sasha muttered, frowning.

“Gone?” Dorio leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Like disconnected or what?”

“It says it doesn’t exist anymore.” Sasha’s voice was calm, though her knuckles tightened.

“Maybe they just went dark. Happens,” Kiwi said flatly, eyes still glued to her own device.

“Dark or dead,” Rebecca quipped, folding her arms. “Could be either.”

Sasha shot her a sharp glare, but before she could say anything, Falco cleared his throat, cutting through the tension.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Falco said evenly. “San Francisco’s grid is a mess right now. Could just be a system glitch.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sasha muttered, though her voice carried little belief. She’d dealt with plenty of glitches, but this? This didn’t feel like one.

Maine leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Try calling someone else. You’ve got their numbers, right?”

Sasha hesitated before nodding. “I’ll try.”

Scrolling through her contacts, she settled on Raven’s number. After a few failed attempts, the call finally connected.

“Yes...?”

The voice on the other end was raw, cracked with emotion. It stopped Sasha in her tracks. That was the kind of tone that came from someone who’d been crying—hard.

Her stomach sank. Had she called at the wrong time? Or worse... had something happened?

“Raven? What happened? Is everything alright?” Sasha asked, her tone sharpening with concern.

“No, everything’s gone to shit,” came a voice—Cinthia’s. She’d taken over the call, likely because Raven wasn’t in any shape to speak.

“What do you mean?”

“Nieme’s dead. Blaze came back just to die again. And now, Thiago’s gone to find Vomi—with his kid,” Cinthia explained bluntly.

“He what?”

“Exactly,” Frank chimed in, his disapproval practically dripping through the call, though his frown wasn’t visible. “Apparently, he thinks that’s the best thing he can do right now.”

Sasha exhaled sharply, her hand running through her hair. “Does he even realize how dangerous that is? Vomi’s not—she’s not Vomi anymore. You all know that!”

“We’ve tried reasoning with him,” Frank said, his voice tight. “He wouldn’t listen. Said he needed to ‘help her’ or some noble nonsense like that.”

“Noble? It’s suicidal!” Sasha snapped, pacing in the confined space of the van. The rest of the crew exchanged looks but stayed quiet, sensing the gravity of the situation.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Cinthia muttered bitterly. “But the guy’s already gone, and he took his kid with him. So, yeah, we’re kinda out of options here.”

Sasha clenched her fists, trying to keep her thoughts in order. “Where did he go? Do you at least know that?”

Frank hesitated. “He's heading directly towards where the girls just came back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sasha whispered. “If he finds her—”

“—we don’t know if he’ll make it back,” Frank finished grimly.

“Shit. I—I can’t do much from here. I mean… I want to, but—”

“We appreciate it, really,” Raven replied, her voice steadier now as she wiped her face, the tears finally subsiding. “But there’s nothing anyone can do right now. I’m not leaving the PD.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” Cinthia muttered, her words laced with bitterness, loud enough for everyone to hear. “There’s no saving that monster. All she’s brought is misfortune.”

“All we can do is let the corpos handle it,” Frank added, his voice tinged with defeat. “If they win, I lose my badge, end up paying for a funeral, and go looking for a job that barely covers rent. Perfect outcomes all around…” He shook his head, turning to leave.

Sasha heard the door click shut as Frank walked out, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

“I… I’m sorry.”

The van, once filled with its usual chaotic energy, suddenly grew grim. Even Pilar, who was typically all over the place, fell quiet and focused on the conversation. That alone was a rarity, and it spoke volumes. Dorio and Maine, both usually calm in tense situations, shared a look, their concern palpable. Maine, in particular, was feeling the weight of it, his background in the military making him acutely aware of how helpless the situation seemed. San Francisco was a world away, and no one could do anything to help with the mess Sasha's friends were stuck in.

“C-YA, Sasha. Get eddies for something,” Raven said, waving off the call.

The joke flew right over Sasha’s head, but it still carried a sense of weight, however small.

As her eyes returned to their usual color, the silence in the van felt heavier than it ever had before.

“So…” Pilar started, looking toward Dorio, “Can you… you know…”

“Oh.” Dorio finally let go of Pilar, releasing him from the stranglehold that had lasted what felt like an eternity.

“I didn’t get the full BD, but… fuck, choom. That’s messed up,” Pilar muttered, rubbing his sore neck.

“Yeah. Not being able to do anything?” Rebecca frowned, her tone grim. “Tough luck.”

The air in the van thickened with an uncomfortable tension. Everyone was quiet, processing the weight of the situation. Pilar fidgeted in his seat, trying to shake off the uncomfortable silence with a half-hearted attempt at humor.

“Could be worse, right?” Pilar said, forcing a grin. “At least we’re not stuck in San Francisco with those corpo assholes chasing us down.”

Nobody laughed.

Maine was the first to speak, his voice low and serious. “Look kid, there's nothing anyone could do. ‘Only thing is hope for the best, and that you chose the right side.”

Dorio, being the realist, shook her head. “We’ve been picked apart before once. Situations like this can't be solved with just desire. Hope might not be enough, although there isn't really anything else to do.”

Sasha’s gaze drifted toward the city skyline outside the van window. The familiar buildings and lights that once felt like home now seemed distant, foreign. Like something she couldn’t reach anymore.

“Yeah, maybe,” she muttered, her voice tinged with resignation. “Maybe I just wait for it all to fall apart.”

“Don’t say that,” Dorio shot back quickly. “It’s not over until it’s over. They will fight, no matter how hopeless it feels.”

Sasha didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what there was left to fight for anymore. Her friends were scattered, and the corpo machine was coming down on them like a hammer. It felt like the walls were closing in, and all she could do was wait for the impact.

"Just… get us where we need to go," Sasha said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The van rumbled to life, its engine humming as it pulled away, heading into the insides of Night City.

----------------------------------------

Hebert Uchoa

The Black Daggers took a breather, running a diagnostic on their current ops. Hebert? Just a grunt in the big data flow of things. But he was in the heart of Dagger territory, the main hideout, tuning into the high-level chatter. The district leaders were arguing, their voices scrambled in static, all hyped up over the monster that’d been putting their crews on the slab.

Thing was, they weren’t even the only players in the game—Zoom Hunters, for example, ran their own grind. But no, the beast only cared about dropping them.

Just nova.

“How the fuck does that bourgie keep running circles around us!?” one of the leaders barked, slamming his chrome fist on the table. “Shit’s been going full black ice since we zeroed those poserboy rocker punks!”

“Got worse with those bridge nomads,” another chimed in, his tone more cold-process than the rest. “They’re packing serious fireworks. We’re bleeding eddies and bodies.”

“And now we’ve got Deckheads getting flatlined left and right, and somehow, none of you gonk-edged clowns can give me one solid plan to off this JoyToy nightmare? Seriously?” The last leader leaned back in his chair, chrome talons dragging against the desk in frustration. “This sitch is a full fragstorm, and you’re all just spinning your wheels.”

Hebert sat quiet, head low, trying not to draw heat. The room reeked of desperation, and for good reason. Nobody had a clue what to do—either too scared to take the fall for a bad call or too braindanced to offer anything useful. Didn’t matter. The whole crew felt like meat puppets, wired up and useless. Tackling a monster like that? Not even the corpos with their deep stacks and black-budget tech had managed to zero it.

The Black Daggers’ ELSUR had the receipts: trained squads, armed to flatline full Metalhead Psychos, wiped out in seconds. And the JoyToy? Seemed to get sharper, deadlier, every time someone tried to slot her.

Hebert couldn’t help but wonder if these leaders weren’t just rusted-out relics, too soft and shiny from slurping corpo handouts to see they’d been played.

“Boss, someone flicked us some deets,” a random gonk muttered, his optics flaring blue—data streaming through his agent. “The Toy’s… sleeping? Wait, what the actual fuck?”

“What?” The central leader shot up from his seat, his chrome hand gripping the edge of the table. “Send it over. Now.”

Everyone’s optics, including Hebert’s, lit up in sync. The file opened—a live feed straight from the HzBleet office. The cam was half-obscured by that weird black tar slathered over everything, but enough of the scene was visible: a guy and a kid sitting near the monster, who was—no shit—sleeping. Sleeping and crying.

The room went silent, the bizarre imagery scrambling everyone’s heads. It was… surreal. A monster—something that had been flatlining their best hitters like cheap gonk mercs—reduced to a fetal, sobbing heap. It was baffling, unsettling, and, most importantly, they thought this was a golden slot of opportunity, one they could not and wouldn't refuse.

Keyword: thought.

“Rally everyone,” the main leader barked, his tone electric. “Everything we’ve got—SCOPs, meat, solos, all of it. If it’s breathing, it’s fighting.”

“Uh… everyone?” the gonk asked, his voice cracking.

“EVERYONE!”

That roar lit the fuse. The room erupted into chaos, every ganger shouting over each other, hyped at the prospect of doing what the corpos couldn’t: flatlining the monster. They were already buzzing about cred payouts, big corpo chips, maybe even getting their names etched into some chrome history.

Hebert stood back, hand brushing against his iron, tempted to ride the wave of enthusiasm. But his gut churned. Whole squads had gotten zeroed like they were nothing, wiped clean. Hundreds of bodies strong? Sure. But the monster had been painting their hideouts red for the past day and night, only stopping thirty minutes ago. No one had even scraped the edge of her capabilities.

This wasn’t just about firepower. They were blind, charging into the maw of something that could outthink, outgun, and outlast them. Still, if—if—they managed to zero her, it wouldn’t just be about eddies. This could push them beyond creds, beyond street cred.

This could make them legends.

“Edgerunners…” Hebert muttered under his breath, a flicker of ambition sparking in his eyes. “Yeah… I could work with that.”

----------------------------------------

Thiago and Katie had been sitting near Vomi for what felt like hours. Vomi remained asleep—not crying or twitching this time, just resting in a peaceful, almost childlike state. Seeing a grown woman sleep like that was… odd, to say the least, bordering on comical. But Katie, initially grossed out by Vomi’s monstrous appearance, had begun to soften. She’d even started petting Vomi’s head gently, mimicking what her father had been doing before he stopped. Thiago, meanwhile, paced anxiously across the room, his boots making soft thuds against the partially exposed floor. The strange black biomass that had coated everything earlier was retreating, inching back toward Vomi’s unconscious form, as if it was being reabsorbed.

Thiago had taken a moment to call Raven and the others, letting them know he and Katie were alive—and that Vomi seemed calm.

“How are you even alive?” Cinthia’s voice was sharp with disbelief and frustration.

“No clue,” Thiago admitted with a sigh. “But I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ even though—”

“There’s no way to prove your presence alone made any difference,” she cut him off, her tone icy. “And seriously? You’re giving us the ‘I told you so’ treatment? Have you forgotten about Heitor? Nieme? Blaze?”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Thiago fell silent, staring at the floor as guilt twisted in his chest. He didn’t want to think about it, but the truth was impossible to escape. No amount of mental gymnastics could justify what Vomi had done. She was still responsible for the chaos, for the death of their friends.

And no matter how hard he tried to push it aside, the weight of it all was crushing. Heitor, Nieme, Blaze—they were gone, and nothing he said or did could change that.

The bodies now lay lifeless on the floor, the last traces of black biomass retreating into Vomi’s form. The sight was harrowing, and Thiago felt his breath hitch in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to take more than a fleeting glance.

“Dear God…” His voice barely escaped as a whisper. The state of the bodies was worse than he’d feared.

“Get the hell away from that thing,” Cinthia warned sharply through the call, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Who knows what’ll happen when it wakes up.”

Before Thiago could reply, the line went dead. She’d ended the call herself.

He turned to Katie, who was still sitting near Vomi, her small hand resting on the woman’s tangled hair. Steeling himself, Thiago moved quickly to pick up his daughter, cradling her close as he made up his mind. They had to leave—now. It didn’t matter what Vomi’s current state was; it was only a matter of time before something happened that he couldn’t control.

Just as he took his first steps toward the exit, his optics lit up with an incoming call. The HUD displayed a name he hadn’t expected to see: Kaneda.

“What the…?” Thiago muttered.

What could the CEO of KanedaCorp possibly want with him? Let alone how did he find his number?

The screen blinked to life, revealing Kaneda’s stoic face. “Mr. Keithwork,” Kaneda greeted, his tone clipped and begrudging, as if addressing Thiago was a chore. “It appears you are still alive despite prolonged exposure to Dr. Vomi.”

“Uh… yeah?” Thiago replied, his confusion evident.

“Is the serum intact?” Kaneda’s question was abrupt, his tone sharper now.

“You know about that?” Thiago asked, his brows knitting together.

Kaneda’s expression darkened with impatience. “Is it intact or not? And what is Dr. Vomi’s current state?” His words came quickly, almost rushed, as if time was running out.

“Why do you want to know that?” Thiago’s tone was sharp, defensive. He wasn’t about to take orders from one of the most powerful corpos in San Francisco, especially not when the questions felt like demands.

Kaneda remained unfazed. “Thiago, follow me on this. You are the only person who can save this city—and possibly the entire world.”

The world? Thiago blinked, his mind struggling to piece together what the hell Kaneda was talking about. As far as he knew, no one outside of San Fran was even aware of Vomi’s existence—except maybe Sasha, and she seemed like the type who could keep her mouth shut. Probably. Then again, he didn’t know her that well.

“More like saving your ass,” Thiago shot back, his voice dripping with derision. “You just want me to use the serum on Vomi so you can do your dirty fuckery fuckaroo, smart ass.”

“Dad, who is it?” Katie’s voice broke through his rising frustration. She was staring up at him, her small face scrunched with worry. It was clear she could sense his growing anger.

“One of the corpos who thinks they’re above the consequences of their own actions,” Thiago replied flatly, his tone dry and dismissive.

Kaneda sighed audibly, though his patience sounded more calculated than genuine. “Mr. Keithwork, you underestimate the gravity of the situation. This isn’t about me or my corporation. This is about controlling an uncontrollable force before it consumes everything around it.”

Thiago gritted his teeth, his grip tightening protectively on Katie’s hand. “And I’m supposed to believe you have noble intentions? That you’re suddenly the hero in all this? Give me a break.”

“I don’t need you to believe me,” Kaneda replied coldly. “But if Vomi wakes up again in her current state, she won’t stop at the Black Daggers or even this city. Her instability is spreading. You’ve seen it yourself—she’s no longer the woman you knew.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” Thiago snapped.

“I’m not playing God. I’m cleaning up a mess someone else created. A mess you’re standing right next to.”

Thiago glanced at Vomi’s sleeping form, his jaw tightening. She looked peaceful now, but the black veins and slight twitching in her unconscious state told a different story. He wanted to believe she could be saved, that some part of the woman they all cared about was still in there. But Kaneda’s words gnawed at him.

“Dad?” Katie’s voice was small, unsure. “Are we leaving?”

Thiago hesitated, torn between his instinct to protect his daughter and the growing pressure to act. “We’re leaving, baby. Right now.”

“Think about it, Mr. Keithwork,” Kaneda said, his voice sharp as Thiago moved to end the call. “If you walk away, you’ll lose any chance to stop her. And next time, there might not be anything left of her—or anyone else.”

Thiago terminated the call without a word and scooped Katie into his arms, his mind racing. Vomi's still figure lay behind him, but his attention shifted downward to the vial at his feet.

He sighed heavily, crouching to pick it up.

"I’ll take this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Better to have it and not need it."

But the moment the vial was secured in his pocket, he froze. Footsteps.

No—not just footsteps. It sounded like a march, or maybe a stampede. The sharp rhythm of boots pounding against the ruined floor sent adrenaline surging through him. Whoever—or whatever—was coming, it wasn’t friendly.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, scanning the now-exposed office. Without the biomass covering everything, the damage to the space was much clearer. The floor was practically gutted, with jagged edges and rubble scattered everywhere. The walls were half-destroyed, and there wasn’t enough intact furniture to provide real cover.

Then the noise became clearer: loud chants of glory, death, and eddies.

Thiago's heart sank.

Not good. Not good at all.

Clutching Katie tighter, he pivoted toward the emergency exit, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But just as he reached for the door, it burst open from the other side.

A figure stood there, SMG raised, wearing the unmistakable gear of the Black Daggers.

And behind them?

The rest of the gang.

All of them.

"Out of the way, scum," the front ganger growled, shoving Thiago aside.

Thiago stumbled, landing hard on the ground. Most of the Black Daggers barely spared him a glance, brushing past like he was little more than rubble in their path. But one of them, wearing a set of unusual optics, stopped. The shifting lenses whirred as they focused on him, a flicker of recognition flashing through the display.

"Hey, I know you!" the ganger said, pointing at him with a mix of surprise and anger. "You're one of those rockerboys! HEY, THIS IS ONE OF THEM!"

Thiago's blood ran cold.

"...Daddy?" Katie whispered, her small voice trembling.

Thiago didn't hesitate. Gripping Katie tightly, he bolted toward the exit, his legs moving before his brain could fully process what was happening.

The door was crowded with more gangsters flooding in. One lunged at him, a hand outstretched to grab Katie, but Thiago twisted at the last second, dodging the attempt.

He hit the stairs at a sprint, nearly tripping as he clumsily descended two floors. The gangers he passed either ignored him completely or gave him only brief, puzzled looks—clearly not everyone had caught on.

But the one who had recognized him?

He wasn't letting this go.

Thiago could hear him yelling behind them, spreading the word as he backtracked. If the Black Daggers weren't after him before, they definitely were now.

As Thiago barreled onto the next floor, aiming for the normal staircase, he collided with a massive figure blocking the way. The impact nearly sent him sprawling, but he managed to steady himself, clutching Katie protectively in his arms.

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The man he’d bumped into was built like a tank, his bulk taking up nearly the entire hallway. And judging by the cruel grin spreading across his face, he was very aware of who Thiago was.

Unfortunately for Thiago, the Black Daggers had excellent communication. With most of them being Netrunners, it didn’t take long for the news of his presence to spread like wildfire. By now, every Dagger in the building knew exactly who he was and that he was alive.

And that was bad.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” the hulking man sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the corridor. “The rockergonk and his precious little punk kid.”

Katie whimpered softly, tightening her grip around Thiago’s neck. Thiago’s heart pounded, adrenaline spiking as he looked for any way out.

“Honestly, didn’t think we’d run into one of the people we tried to flatline yesterday,” another Dagger sneered, casually spinning a revolver on his finger. “But hey, can’t complain about a nice little surprise.”

“I saw him almost get zeroed before,” the guy with the weird optics chimed in, now stepping into the hall. “Miracle he’s even standing. You must know one hell of a Ripperdoc.”

Thiago winced, still feeling the sting of the wounds that weren’t fully healed, his stubbornness refusing to admit defeat.

“And the kid? Who’s this little pussy seed?”

“Leave my daughter out of this,” Thiago growled, the words feeling weak and desperate even to his own ears.

It wasn’t exactly intimidating, not with the Black Daggers closing in around him. But it was all he had left.

“Oh, spare me the White Knight routine,” the tank jeered, his voice laced with malice. “We’ll enjoy this at least, before we flatline that monster.”

----------------------------------------

The symbiote felt the shift in the air, sensing the emptiness as Thiago likely left after staying with them for so long. His presence had offered a fleeting sense of comfort, a brief taste of peace—something they hadn’t truly known, not even when they had woken up in the wreckage of Night City. Peace was a foreign concept for the symbiote. Its purpose was survival, to assist, to protect. But as time wore on… things had changed. In ways it couldn’t fully grasp, in ways that had become far more meaningful than it ever expected.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. The symbiote waited, resting as the chaos outside unfolded. Thiago had even made a call, reassuring the others that both he and the symbiote were fine. It was a small kindness, a sweet gesture. Hearing one of your own say you’re alright when everything around you was falling apart.

Then, another call. Thiago’s tone shifted—anger, confusion, frustration. The symbiote sensed his distress, the mix of hostility and defensiveness. He seemed to make a decision, one that led him toward leaving, just as a new group approached. The scent was familiar, and the symbiote recoiled at it, the spider symbol on its body twitching in discomfort. But it held its ground. They didn’t pose a direct threat… yet. Thiago could be caught in the crossfire, though. Katie asked what was happening, but the symbiote couldn’t make sense of the answer, at least not one it could grasp.

Then, a shout—recognition in the voice. Fear, tension, and the undeniable need to protect were all there, mingling in the air.

The symbiote could sit idle no longer.

It slowly rose, eyes flickering open. The biomass had returned to its body, even the throne it had once occupied now nothing more than an office chair. The symbiote’s instincts screamed to act.

“Dad, no!”

“Hold on! Don’t you dare—”

BANG

A gunshot.

The symbiote moved, drawn instinctively toward the sound. The first thing it saw was enough to ignite the fury inside it once again.

The Black Daggers. They were here.

Did they forget what the symbiote had been doing this entire time? Did they really need a reminder? Its eyes burned with an unnatural glow as the voices within urged it forward. This was their mistake.

If the Black Daggers hadn’t even begun to realize what they were up against.

They would now.

The symbiote saw Thiago on the ground, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. Katie wasn’t in his arms anymore. She was in the grasp of some towering Black Dagger brute. A flicker of rage coursed through the symbiote. It analyzed the scene rapidly. Too many targets. Too many variables. Katie's safety had to come first.

Then it moved. Faster than any of them could react.

The first dagger fell before he even saw it coming, a savage slash ripping through his torso. The next had his face shredded by claws before being hurled like a ragdoll into the others. Tendrils lashed out, striking those too frozen in shock to defend themselves.

Finally, the one holding Katie.

The symbiote’s hand clamped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly. It didn’t hesitate. With a sickening crunch, it drove the man's head into the wall, the impact leaving a smear of blood and shattered bone. Its tendrils cocooned Katie protectively as the last enemy hit the floor.

The room was silent, save for the faint drip of blood and the symbiote’s low snarl.

“Biomass…” it murmured, eyes sweeping over the lifeless bodies.

The hunger was unbearable now, clawing at its mind. Feed. Evolve. Grow stronger. Not for rest, not for sustenance—purely to dominate. It considered the possibility for a moment, the temptation almost too much to resist.

Then Thiago's voice broke through the haze.

“Katie? Sweetie? Are you hurt?” His voice cracked, raw with worry and pain.

Katie didn’t respond, frozen in shock, her eyes wide and unblinking. Thiago, wincing, tried to reach for her with his good arm, but the wound in his shoulder made it difficult.

The symbiote moved toward him, its tendrils extending with precision, intending to heal the injury.

But Thiago didn’t see it that way.

From his perspective, Vomi—or whatever she had become—was closing in to devour him. He pulled Katie behind him, shielding her with his body as best he could.

Katie didn’t cry. She was too overwhelmed for tears. Her panic was silent but palpable, her small frame trembling like a leaf.

The symbiote froze. Thiago and Katie were terrified—of it. The ones the host had vowed to protect now cowered, afraid they might become its next victims.

It was a sobering realization. Was this what protectors had become? Beings that provided safety but were feared for their power and brutality? The symbiote paced in place, trying to reconcile its nature with the perception it had created.

Katie tugged on Thiago’s shirt, a silent plea for him to act. But Thiago stood frozen, as lost as she was, unsure of how to handle the monster standing before them.

“Y-you call yourself a protector?” a hoarse voice cut through the silence, dripping with contempt. “What a joke.”

The three turned toward the sound. A Black Dagger, barely clinging to life, lay slumped against the wall. His body was broken and battered, his breaths shallow. Yet his optics glowed faintly—not blue, gold, or red as Thiago was accustomed to seeing, but a pale green. Something about it tugged at the edges of Thiago’s memory. He’d seen it before, though he couldn’t place where.

The symbiote, however, wasn’t concerned with recognition. Its singular thought was to crush the man’s head and end him.

The Dagger coughed, blood splattering his lips, but he forced a weak grin. “Doesn’t matter now... Funny thing is, we had rats among the Daggers. M-Tech paid good for—”

THUD

The symbiote didn’t let him finish. Its foot slammed down, silencing him permanently.

“M-Tech?” Thiago echoed, quickly shielding Katie’s eyes from the scene, though it was far too late to spare her from the horror. “Wait… rats? M-Tech paid—”

His thoughts churned, pieces beginning to click into place. His expression shifted, the flicker of realization dawning across his face.

But the symbiote wasn’t listening. Its focus narrowed, rage boiling over as it growled, “Next prey.”

“Vomi, wait! That’s—”

Before Thiago could finish, the symbiote turned and leaped through the window, shattering the glass. Tendrils shot out, latching onto nearby buildings as it slinged into the skyline.

----------------------------------------

"The live feed was cut, Mr. Miranda," an officer reported, shutting the laptop that had been streaming the video.

"That means it's coming here," Miranda replied, his voice calm but authoritative. "Prepare the sedatives and weapons. Use everything we have to contain or kill it."

"The sedatives are ready," a scientist chimed in, carefully loading three sniper rifles with darts. "Double dosage, as you requested. We have three darts—three chances to hit the subject. We could produce more, but given the time constraints—"

"It's fine," Miranda interrupted, raising a hand to stop the explanation. "What about safety measures?"

The scientist hesitated, exhaling sharply. "Limited, sir. The only assurance I can give is that the symbiote might play with its food."

"Explain."

"No immediate relatives are in danger, as in family or friends," the scientist explained as if discussing a routine experiment. "That means it’s likely to… savor the process rather than make it quick. The thrill of the hunt, so to speak."

Miranda gave a curt nod, processing the grim logic. "Understood. How many of our team are equipped with Kerens, Sandys, or other boosterware?"

"Not everyone, sir," the officer standing behind him replied. "My recommendation: give the rifles to those with booster implants. They’ll have the reaction speed advantage."

"Good thinking," Miranda approved. "Distribute the rifles accordingly and take your positions. We’re not leaving this to chance."

As the team scrambled to follow his orders, Miranda adjusted his own body armor and secured a rifle. If anyone was going to face this monster, he’d be in the thick of it. After all, this was his father’s company. It was his legacy on the line. No more mister nice CEO. This was too risky to quipp or joke around.

“The symbiote has been sighted,” an officer said over comms, his tone tense. “Wait... what the hell? Is someone—why is someone following the target?”

“What?” another officer chimed in, his voice laced with confusion. “What do you mean someone’s following the monster?”

“That’s exactly what I said!” the first officer shot back, still trying to process what he was seeing. “There’s a Kusanagi trailing the symbiote.”

“A Kusanagi?” The second officer frowned, recalling the sport bike’s reputation. “What’s some biker doing chasing a damn monster?”

“Trying to get flatlined, maybe,” someone muttered dryly over the channel.

“Cut the chatter,” a sniper interrupted sharply, clearly annoyed. “How long until the target gets here?”

The officer on surveillance sighed, focusing back on the situation. “At this speed? Couple minutes, tops. But seriously, this biker—”

“Doesn’t matter. Focus on the mission,” the sniper barked, his voice as sharp as the darts he was holding. “We’ve only got three shots. Don’t waste them because you’re gawking at some thrill-seeker.”

“Roger that,” came the reluctant reply, though the curiosity hung heavy in the air. After all, who in their right mind would willingly follow a creature like that?

The scene unfolded exactly as one might expect—if anyone could muster the words, it would probably be something like, “Damn.”

The symbiote crash landed in front of M-Tech, its form both alien and awe-inspiring. Though it was a kind of liquid armor, a living bodysuit, it amplified the already peak condition of the woman inside. Muscles coiled with lethal precision, her presence towering even in the middle of a deserted street. Laser sights danced across its blackened surface, flanked by an array of weapons, from high-tech firearms to swords gleaming under the streetlights.

Swords? The symbiote mused momentarily, amused by humanity’s insistence on blending archaic and futuristic weaponry. Every sci-fi setting wanted to sneak a blade in, and every medieval fantasy longed for a gun.

And then there was Final Fantasy, with its sword-revolver nonsense.

It looked cool though.

“Where is Miranda?” The symbiote’s voice, low and venomous, cut through the tension like a blade.

No one answered—until a smooth, calm voice broke the silence.

“Vomi,” Miranda called from a safe distance, stepping into view with calculated nonchalance. “I thought you wouldn’t return so soon.”

“You paid the Daggers,” the symbiote snarled, its glowing eyes flicking from weapon to weapon, analyzing each threat. A dozen strategies formed in its mind. “Some mole. Some scum. Betraying their own kind. We want to know—”

BANG!

CATCH.

The symbiote’s arm shot out with inhuman speed, intercepting a dart mid-flight. It turned the object in its hand, examining the cylindrical container filled with an unfamiliar substance. This wasn’t poison. It wasn’t another “cure” Raven had whispered about. It was something else entirely.

With a low growl, it crushed the dart in its grip, the liquid spilling harmlessly onto the asphalt.

“We want to know why,” it demanded, voice seething with fury.

“Sir, we’re down to two shots of the sedative,” the sniper reported through comms, his voice tight with tension.

Miranda didn’t flinch. Instead, he calmly flipped the safety off his rifle, his lips curling into a smirk. “If you’re curious, Vomi…” he began, deliberately dragging out his words, “Kaneda and I had a little… competition. If I had an edge over him, no matter how small, it would tip the scales in M-Tech’s favor.”

“So this is what it’s all about?” The symbiote’s voice dripped with disdain as it took a slow, measured step forward. Officers adjusted their stances, fingers twitching on triggers. “Our lives were destroyed because of a petty corporate rivalry?”

Miranda’s grin widened. “You make it sound so personal.” He shook his head mockingly. “But tell me—was it any different when you worked for a corporation? When you did our dirty work?” He gestured broadly with his free hand. “Hypocrite. When you’re pulling the strings, it’s justified, isn’t it? But when it’s someone else, suddenly it’s a tragedy. Your arrogance is almost impressive. Almost.”

The symbiote hesitated, glancing down at its own clawed hands, tension rippling through its frame. The accusation wasn’t entirely without merit. Even if Miranda’s motives were reprehensible, his point landed with an uncomfortable weight.

“Just because you’re correct,” it growled, its glowing eyes narrowing, “doesn’t mean you’re right. The ends don’t justify the means.”

Miranda let out a slow, sarcastic clap, each strike of his hands diminishing in enthusiasm. “How profound,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “I can die happy now. A monster preaching morality. It’s exactly the comedy I needed.”

The symbiote raised a brow, suspicious. “What are you trying to say?”

Miranda’s expression turned cold, his grin fading into something more calculated. “Oh, come on,” he sneered, raising his hand as a silent signal. The officers stepped closer, their weapons ready. “You killed dozens—no, hundreds—because one of your precious friends got caught in the crossfire and didn't even die. You claim to protect, yet you leave destruction in your wake. Don’t lecture me, monster. Your resume does all the talking for you.”

The symbiote bristled, rage boiling just beneath the surface. Miranda wasn’t just poking at wounds—he was twisting the knife.

“That’s not even counting the fact that it was you who killed most of them.”

The air seemed to still.

“Oh no,” the symbiote snarled, its voice low and dangerous, tendrils writhing out from its body like serpents preparing to strike. “Don’t you dare say it.”

Miranda tilted his head mockingly, an infuriating grin playing on his lips. “Why not? Afraid to face the truth? Then tell me…” He leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Where is Heitor?”

The words hit like a thunderclap.

“Enough.”

The symbiote exploded into motion, leaping toward Miranda with feral speed and unbridled fury. But the guards were ready. They surged forward like a tide, blocking its path with a storm of bullets, shotgun blasts, and the sharp arc of blades. The symbiote ducked and weaved, deflecting attacks with tendrils and claws, but the assault was relentless.

The symbiote tore through the guards with brutal efficiency, claws rending flesh and tendrils smashing bodies into walls. Yet, for every one it dropped, another stepped in, buying precious seconds for Miranda to stay untouched.

Then came him.

The one with the blade.

And of course the asshole has a Sandy.

The air around him shimmered as his Sandevistan activated, a blur of motion the symbiote barely registered before the blade sliced toward its midsection. Reflexes saved it; tendrils lashed out instinctively, but the man moved faster, dodging with an unnatural grace. The symbiote swung a clawed hand toward his head, only for the blade-wielder to sidestep and retaliate with a slash aimed at its torso. The symbiote's blackened armor held, but the strike was precise, forcing it to shift its focus entirely to this new threat.

"Impressive," the symbiote growled, its voice a mixture of Vomi's anger and the monster's primal fury. "You're faster than most of these fodder."

"Better than you, too," the man shot back, his voice distorted through his breathing mask. He moved again, a streak of speed, his blade catching the symbiote's arm. Sparks flew as the weapon found purchase, but it wasn't deep enough to cripple.

The symbiote retaliated with a flurry of tendrils, each aiming to ensnare him, but the man's Sandevistan made him an untouchable ghost. He darted through the chaos, slashing and stabbing in rapid bursts, each strike chipping away at the symbiote's defense. And as the symbiote got distracted, the remaining officers kept up their assault, their bullets and blades forcing the symbiote to split its attention. Every moment of distraction was another opportunity for the blade-wielder to dart in, landing shallow but aggravatingly precise hits.

Somehow, this was the most effective way to battle the monster. Overwhelm it with numbers, poke it from time to time, all of it made the symbiote angrier, and easier to attack, even with the many tendrils shooting out of it.

The symbiote roared in frustration. It tried to charge Miranda again, but the blade-wielder anticipated it, sliding in front of the attack and forcing it back with a near-lethal slash to its leg. The symbiote stumbled for the first time, tendrils lashing out wildly to regain control.

"You're going to have to do better than that," the man taunted, blade gleaming with fresh black ichor. His Sandevistan flared again, and he lunged once more, forcing the symbiote to defend rather than attack.

Miranda smirked from his vantage point, rifle in hand but not yet fired. He wasn't going to need it—not yet. Not when his men were proving to be such an effective shield. Although the Samurai was using his Sandy a bit too much. They don't have many Sandevistan users at M-Tech. If he overuses it, it will make him bleed or pass out.

The man in the exo-suit, realizing the tactical advantage, shifted to a calculated, defensive stance. He used the mobility and strength of his enhancements to strike from a distance, retreating periodically to inject MaxDocs and maintain his edge. The strategy was proving effective. The symbiote, already taxed by the relentless onslaught, couldn’t focus long enough to land a decisive blow.

Meanwhile, the sniper, perched high above the battlefield, steadied their aim.

The symbiote barely registered the sound of a shotgun being fired until the incendiary shell exploded point-blank against its chest. Flames licked across its form, briefly staggering it.

Then came the shot.

BANG

The dart pierced the symbiote's chest with brutal precision, its payload injecting the sedative into its system. But the monster wasn’t felled—not yet.

Snarling with fury, it took the split second of distraction to retaliate. A whirlpool of slashing tendrils erupted from its body, a whirlwind of destruction that tore through the guards in its immediate vicinity. Screams filled the air as dozens of M-Tech personnel were eviscerated in one devastating attack. Even the blade-wielder wasn’t spared, though he managed to block some of the strikes with his weapon, sustaining only minor injuries.

Miranda’s expression hardened as he assessed the situation. “No more games,” he muttered.

He raised his rifle and fired a burst at the symbiote, the sharp retort of gunfire cutting through the chaos. The symbiote, snarling in rage, attempted to charge him, but once again, the blade-wielder intervened. With the speed of his Sandevistan, he blurred into the symbiote’s path, driving his blade into its neck. The symbiote’s claws lashed out, but the man had already retreated before they could connect.

Miranda capitalized on the opening, firing another salvo from his rifle. This time, the symbiote was forced to retreat, tendrils snapping back to its body as it scrambled for cover. It crouched behind a makeshift shield of its own biomass, its form heaving as the sedative began to take effect.

“Good,” Miranda said with a grim smile, signaling his men to press forward. “Keep it on the defensive. Don't let it take a hold on you.”

The symbiote felt the sedative creeping through its system, a heavy, unwelcome weight pulling it down. Its limbs felt sluggish, like wading through quicksand, and even its teeth ached with a strange numbness. A wave of unnatural drowsiness clouded its thoughts, forcing it to slow down.

Step by step, it retreated, but the open area in front of the M-Tech building offered no real cover. No nearby vehicles, no alleyways to duck into—just a vast expanse with nowhere to hide. It was like trying to hold back a relentless tide, and the odds were stacked against it.

The symbiote’s biological structure strained against the sedative. It tried to adapt, to flush the toxins or reconfigure itself to counteract the effects, but the dosage was too potent, overwhelming even its advanced genetic shuffling. Still, it wasn’t giving up. Despite the odds, the symbiote fought against its faltering body, dragging itself backward in a desperate attempt to buy time, tendrils coiling defensively as the gunshots still came towards its direction.

“Shit, how many have we lost?” one of the guards muttered, glancing nervously at the carnage around them.

“This thing is a fucking nightmare,” another replied, pausing to count the remaining personnel. “Five… eight of us left. Damn it.”

“We’ve still got one more shot of the sedative,” the sniper reported, calmly sliding the bolt back and slotting in the final dart. “Locked and ready.”

Miranda’s gaze lingered on the symbiote, now barely moving, its towering form swaying as if on the verge of collapse. A cold satisfaction flickered across his face.

“Copy that,” he said, his tone sharp and authoritative. “Initiate containment procedures.”

A low rumble echoed in the distance.

“What the hell is that noise?” one of the guards muttered, scanning the horizon.

The unmistakable hum of a Kusanagi engine grew louder until the sleek bike came into view, pulling up right in front of the M-Tech building. The odd part? There was no rider. It simply parked itself, as if summoned by autopilot.

“The fuck?” another guard said, raising his weapon nervously.

BANG

A deafening shot rang out, and the guard closest to Vomi crumpled to the ground, a clean, devastating bullet wound marking his end.

“Sniper!” one of the others yelled, diving for cover near the building.

Chaos erupted as every remaining operative scrambled to safety, including Miranda, who disappeared into the building’s entrance.

“Who the hell is this guy?” a guard barked, adrenaline lacing his voice.

“Who cares? Find the bastard!” another snapped, checking their corners frantically.

“I’m on overwatch!” the M-Tech sniper reported through the comms, loading standard rounds into his rifle. “No visual on the—”

BANG

The comms went dead mid-sentence. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the faint hum of tension. No one needed to say it—they all knew what had happened.

----------------------------------------

“This thing is… insane. How the hell did Vomi even get her hands on it?” Thiago muttered, staring at the sniper rifle in his hands with a mix of awe and disbelief.

He couldn’t tell if the weapon was smart-linked or if it just had the world’s best balance, but it didn’t seem to matter. Even with his amateur skills, the rifle made hitting targets feel like second nature. The recoil was laughably light, but the destructive power behind each shot? Catastrophic. After the first shot, Thiago rubbed his ears, trying to shake off the lingering ring.

“AM I YELLING?” Katie shouted, her voice just a little too loud as she cupped her own ears.

“Yes,” Thiago answered absentmindedly, still examining the rifle like it was some alien artifact. His focus shifted to the engraved label on the side: TAC-50.

“This thing fires .50 cals?” he muttered, almost afraid of the answer.

Thiago had stashed Vomi's sniper from back when he first entered at the Daggers’ hideout—the same place where he, Heitor, and Blaze had first split up. He’d never used it before, but after one shot, he was starting to think Vomi had been unhinged long before the symbiote ever entered her life. No ordinary person just stashes a monster like this in their arsenal.

Katie interrupted his thoughts, tugging on his sleeve. “Dad, they’re moving.”

Thiago adjusted the scope and surveyed the scene, spotting enemy movement across the street and in the buildings. He didn’t love the idea of killing people, especially not in front of Katie, but he knew this was the lesser evil compared to what Vomi would do if left unchecked.

This wasn’t okay. None of it was. But in Thiago’s mind, it was better than the alternative.

One of the guards cautiously poked his head out, trying to pinpoint the sniper’s location. Thiago shifted his aim slightly left.

Katie, anticipating what was about to happen, clamped her hands over her ears.

BANG.

The shot cracked through the air, deafening and sharp. The sheer power behind it left no question of its lethality. The recoil, almost nonexistent, belied the destructive force it unleashed. Blood splattered across the pavement—a grim confirmation of the shot's accuracy. Thiago grimaced, realizing this weapon was likely designed for taking targets out from miles away, not for close-quarters urban warfare like this, even more when the magazine had only three shots.

Across the street, Vomi was struggling to regain her footing. She managed to rise halfway before her knees buckled, sending her crashing back to the ground. Instead of trying to stand again, she began crawling, dragging herself away from the M-Tech building like a wounded animal.

The guards moved to stop her, but Thiago had already reloaded.

BANG.

Another shot, another target dropped.

On the other side of the road, the remaining guards were losing their nerve. The blade-wielder, who had been so effective against the symbiote, was now useless against an unseen sniper. Worse, his overuse of the Sandevistan earlier had left him drained, making him a liability rather than an asset.

The once-confident squad now hesitated, unsure whether to advance, retreat, or simply pray they weren’t the next to fall.

“Sir, what’s the plan now?” one of the guards asked, his voice tight with worry as he looked to Miranda for guidance.

Miranda, though clearly furious, managed to maintain his composure. “We fall back inside the building. Regroup and resupply. We’re not winning this out here.”

“Understood,” the guards echoed, one after the other, their movements cautious as they retreated.

A sniper round cracked the air, narrowly missing one of the stragglers, but they managed to reach the main hall. Once inside, they disappeared deeper into the building to reassess and plan their next move.

On the other side of the street, Thiago exhaled a small sigh of relief. He carefully placed the sniper down and slung his Saratoga SMG from his backpack. Katie was at his side, clutching a Unity pistol. He’d been reluctant to give her a weapon, but leaving her unarmed felt worse.

They darted across the street, sticking low to avoid detection, until they reached Vomi, still crawling and clearly drained.

“Hey there, choom,” Thiago said, kneeling beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes darted to the building, scanning for any signs of movement. “Hate to say I told you so, but you didn’t even let me finish my sentence before running off.”

The symbiote only groaned in response, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

“Come on, Vomi. Can’t just stay lying there,” Thiago muttered, straining as he hoisted her up with great difficulty.

Muscles weighed a lot, and Vomi’s symbiotic enhancements didn’t help lighten the load.

“Damn, you’re heavy…”

“Don’t say that about women, Dad,” Katie deadpanned, unimpressed.

Vomi didn’t even have the strength to protest. The sedative coursing through her system left her limp and unresponsive. Unbeknownst to Thiago, the symbiote was redirecting its remaining energy to adapt, focusing its biomass on neutralizing the chemical compound.

Thiago carried her to a nearby building where he’d stashed supplies earlier. He set her down gently on a staircase and positioned himself at the entrance, Saratoga raised and ready. A quick nod to Katie was all it took to send her checking on Vomi.

“Vomi?” Katie hesitated before poking her arm.

The only response was a sluggish ripple across the liquid armor, the biomass visibly shifting in reaction.

“How’s she doing?” Thiago asked without turning from his post.

“Sticky and gross,” Katie replied, wrinkling her nose.

“Figures.”

As Thiago scanned the street for any movement, his agent buzzed. He grumbled already suspecting who it was.

“This is getting annoying, Kaneda,” he greeted tersely.

On the other end, Kaneda sighed. “Mr. Keithwork, what condition is Dr. Vomi in?”

“Why’re you asking?”

“I’ve seen the M-Tech footage. She was hit with a dart, though I can’t confirm its contents.” Kaneda forwarded the recording to Thiago—Vomi catching the first dart and then the one that struck her chest. “What’s her status?”

Katie, watching Thiago’s furrowed expression, asked, “Another call from the mean corpo?”

“Yeah,” Thiago muttered before glancing at Vomi. “She’s… groggy. Drowsy. Like she partied too hard, drank way too much, and now regrets everything.”

“A sedative, most likely,” Kaneda mused. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“How is she emotionally?”

Thiago frowned, confused. “How’s that relevant right now?”

Still, he glanced at Vomi again. Her face—barely visible under the shifting symbiote—showed anger, exhaustion, and despair.

“Angry. Frustrated. Tired. Take your pick,” Thiago said, turning back to the door. “Can’t blame her—Daggers, corpos, alien parasite nonsense. It’s a lot.”

“That’s… troubling,” Kaneda said with a hint of dread. “You should use the serum while you still can.”

“What?”

"Now’s the perfect time. She can’t resist," Kaneda urged, his voice sharp with urgency. "If you wait any longer, the symbiote will adapt—or worse, lash out at anything it sees."

"But that’s—"

"Mr. Keithwork," Kaneda cut him off, his tone icily detached. "Whatever personal connections, relatives, or sentimental nonsense you have with Vomi is irrelevant. Do not tell me you’re as blind as the others. You’ve seen firsthand what that symbiote is capable of. Why do you insist on saving her when all you need to do is one simple task?"

"Because," Thiago growled, gripping the serum tightly in his hand, the urge to crush it flashing through his mind, "unlike your suits and CEOs, we actually care about the people we like."

"And you’re willing to gamble the safety of San Francisco on the faint chance of saving her?" Kaneda shot back, incredulous. "This isn’t about morality anymore—it’s about common sense."

Thiago exhaled heavily, his frustration mounting. Kaneda had a point, but the risk—what would happen to Vomi if he used this?

"Is this serum actually going to save her? Be honest."

"I don’t know," Kaneda admitted flatly. "But given the lack of alternatives, it’s the only option before I’m forced to take drastic measures."

Thiago’s jaw clenched. "Fine. I’ll do it."

"Dad!" Katie’s scream came too late.

The symbiote reacted first, neutralizing just enough of the sedative to lash out. Vomi’s biomass surged forward in a blur of tendrils, striking a Black Dagger punk who had slipped through the door Thiago was supposed to be watching. The attacker hit the wall with a sickening thud as Vomi dragged herself upright, her body trembling but determined.

Thiago muttered a curse, raising his Saratoga with steady hands. "Shit..."

The symbiote's gaze locked on the vial in Thiago's hand, its eyes narrowing with malicious intent. It pointed a finger directly at him. "We'll deal with you later."

Katie's hands shook violently, the Unity slipping from her grip as she trembled in fear. She watched, frozen, as the symbiote issued its cold threat to her father. The thing moved toward the exit, its focus now fixed on the M-Tech building.

Thiago glanced at the Black Dagger body on the floor, confusion furrowing his brow. "What the...?" He took a step back, scanning the room. "There... there are still more of them?"

A sudden stomp rattled the door beside Thiago, making him instinctively raise his Saratoga, ready to fire. His shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.

Frank stood in the doorway, his Tactician drawn but lowered as he took in the scene. "Where's Vomi?"

Katie, still trembling, pointed a shaky finger toward the building. "T-there," she stuttered.

Frank's gaze followed her gesture, settling on the bloodstained door. He didn't need much imagination to piece together what had happened. His eyes flicked to the serum in Thiago's hand, and he quickly deduced that Thiago had been spared by proximity to Vomi—though he couldn't be sure how deep their connection went.

Walking to the building's entrance, Frank frowned as he surveyed the gruesome remains of the Black Dagger gang member. The body had been sliced cleanly in half, the precision almost clinical.

"Black Daggers?" Frank muttered, shaking his head. "I thought most of them got wiped out at the HzBleet building." He sighed, his tone weary. "They're like cockroaches. No matter how many you kill, more just keep crawling out of the cracks."

He turned back to Thiago. "How are you holding up? Any injuries? What about the kid?"

"I'm... fine," Thiago replied, though his voice wavered. He gestured to his shoulder. "Aside from this bullet wound." Pocketing the serum, he secured the Saratoga on his back. "Katie... come here.”

Katie rushed into his arms without hesitation, clinging to him tightly. Thiago embraced her with equal fervor, as if trying to shield her from the reality surrounding them.

After a moment, Thiago broke the silence. "Why are you here?"

"I came to delta you out," Frank replied.

"The girls... well, they either couldn't or wouldn't come. You can probably guess who falls into which category." His gaze drifted to Katie, noticing her unnerving calmness.

No tears. No cries. Just silence. It was unsettling.

Thiago hesitated before speaking. "Frank... I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Name it.”

Thiago gently pulled Katie from his embrace and nudged her toward Frank.

The officer caught on immediately and knelt to take the girl in his arms. He cradled her carefully, aware of how fragile the moment was.

"Take her to Raven," Thiago said, his voice thick with emotion.

Frank froze for a moment, searching Thiago's face for an explanation. He had expected this, sooner or later. But hearing the words made the weight of the request hit harder. Was this an act of love or surrender? It was impossible to tell.

"Are you sure?" Frank finally asked, his voice low. "You'd be leaving her."

Katie's wide eyes darted between the two men, her young mind struggling to process their exchange.

Thiago clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. "This is my final decision.”

"Alright." Frank pulled out a syringe, deftly injecting it into Katie’s arm before she could even protest. Her body went limp in moments, her head lolling onto his shoulder. "Don’t worry," he said calmly, "she’s just asleep."

Thiago’s eyes narrowed. "You were planning to use that on me, weren’t you?"

Frank shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Who knows?" He tucked the syringe back into his coat. "But I do know one thing—if Vomi didn’t kill you during either of the times you were alone with her, then you’re the only one who has even a chance of doing something about all this."

Thiago’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. "Yeah."

----------------------------------------

The symbiote smashed into the wall with a deafening crash, debris cascading around it as smoke and dust choked the air. But the impact was little more than a fleeting inconvenience. Rising as swiftly as it had fallen, it dusted itself off with unnerving composure before surging forward once more.

The M-Tech building was fortified like a fortress, brimming with defenses. Automated turrets swiveled to track movement, humanoid combat drones patrolled in synchronized precision, and flying drones armed to the teeth buzzed through the air. The guards were borged-out monstrosities—not fully cybernetic, but packed with enough chrome to make their ganic parts seem like an afterthought.

One particularly ambitious guard attempted to hack the symbiote. The effort was laughable—literally. Without any cybernetics left to infiltrate, the attack was futile. The symbiote laughed, the sound chilling and unhinged, as it tore the would-be hacker apart with savage glee. Using the severed legs as an improvised bat, it swung with brutal precision, knocking another guard unconscious.

Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off its sleek, adaptive bodysuit, the symbiote's biomass shrugging off low-caliber rounds with disdain. With each passing second, its savagery grew more uninhibited, each kill feeding its confidence and revelry. The defenders’ desperation only seemed to fuel its pleasure.

Even the blade-wielder, now desperate, activated his Sandevistan for a high-speed attack. But the strain of overclocking his implants betrayed him—his nose erupted in a torrent of blood, and he lost control, slamming into a nearby wall. Before he could recover, the symbiote loomed over him, grabbing him by the shoulders with a grip like a vice.

It gave him a mocking pat, its devilish smirk spreading wide as it leaned in. The man’s terror was palpable, his body trembling.

"You aimed for my face," it said, its voice dripping with mockery, "but hit my neck." Its tone was almost playful, but the malice behind it was undeniable. "If we hadn't dodged just enough, you would've ruined our face."

The symbiote wagged a finger in front of him, the gesture taunting and patronizing. "Never, ever, aim for the face."

With a single slap, the guard's head exploded in a grotesque spray of blood and bone.

Miranda froze. His guards froze. Everyone froze. The brutal efficiency of it all made one thing painfully clear—this wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.

For the first time, the weight of his mistake fully dawned on Miranda. He shouldn’t have provoked the monster ripping through the city like a storm. The serum hadn’t been used, and the sedatives that had struck their target were proving utterly useless. If they had delayed the creature at all, it had already adapted, rendering their effects null.

And if this wasn't bad enough…

“Miranda,” the symbiote growled, its voice sharp and inhuman as it dropped the lifeless body of a guard to the ground with a wet thud.

“Vomi,” Miranda replied, his voice barely steady. His gun was raised, but they both knew it was meaningless. It wouldn’t even scratch her.

The symbiote loomed over Miranda, its towering form augmented further by the alien enhancements, casting an oppressive shadow over him. The cracked mirrors on the wall reflected something neither Miranda nor Vomi could fully perceive—Vomi’s eyes flickered like a glitch on a broken screen, a fleeting, eerie distortion.

Behind them, guards opened fire, their aim somehow avoiding Miranda. A relentless hail of bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the symbiote’s back, the creature unfazed as it gently placed a hand around Miranda’s neck.

Without hesitation, the symbiote twisted his neck with brutal force. The sickening snap echoed in the room, his head wrenched so far it overextended grotesquely. Cybernetics sparked and flesh strained in a futile attempt to repair the damage, but it was too far gone. Miranda’s body collapsed like a broken doll.

Then, a sharp sting pierced the symbiote’s arm. Something foreign entered its system. They glanced at the small dart embedded in their skin. Another sedative? A tired roll of their eyes betrayed their disdain. Did they truly think such feeble efforts would work again?

The symbiote turned sharply, looking for whoever dared to make the attempt.

“What?” It was a low, almost human word, spoken with a voice that wavered between monstrous and familiar.

Thiago stood just meters away. His expression was a mix of fear and desperation, but he wasted no time retreating. Taking advantage of the chaos—the guards’ endless, futile barrage of bullets—he slipped into the cover, disappearing from sight. The syringe was still on her arm though, so when they went down to remove it, one of the bullets actually hurt her.

“Gah!” Vomi staggered back as a bullet slammed into her chest, followed by another, and another.

The impact jolted through her body like a shockwave. Pain—sharp, raw, and unrelenting—flooded her senses. She gasped, her mind reeling. Why did this hurt so much? Why now?

The vulnerability was alien, disorienting. Every nerve screamed in protest as if her once-invincible body had betrayed her. What is happening? When did this become dangerous?

The guards didn’t let up. Gunfire poured into her like an unrelenting storm, round after round slamming into her staggering form. They reloaded with frantic urgency, knowing the cost of hesitation. Miranda was dead—that fact was inescapable—but his loss could be managed later.

The symbiote, however, had to be stopped. Now.

Vomi stumbled, her body convulsing as she tried to steady herself against the onslaught. The symbiote, once an impenetrable shield, now seemed sluggish, its reactive adaptability failing to keep up. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt weak.

She groaned, trying to push forward, but her legs wobbled under her weight. Her thoughts were a chaotic spiral. Why aren’t we healing? Why can’t we fight back? The voices inside her head, always a cacophony of confidence and direction, were now silent—eerily so.

The guards hesitated for a brief moment, disbelief written on their faces. Was it actually working? Could the monster finally be brought down?

“Don’t stop!” one of them barked, breaking the spell of doubt. “Keep firing! We’ve got her!”

Another burst of gunfire tore through her side, the pain sharper than before. She gasped, crumpling to one knee, her breathing ragged. The once-dominant creature was now reduced to a vulnerable figure, bleeding and struggling.

“Vomi!” a voice shouted from the distance. Thiago. His tone was panicked, desperate, as he sprinted toward the chaos.

“No…” she whispered, barely audible over the cacophony. He shouldn’t be here.

Thiago ignored the danger, rushing past the guards. He raised his Saratoga, firing a quick burst at the closest one, creating a brief opening.

“Move!” he yelled, reaching her side. “Get up! You have to get up!”

Vomi’s head tilted weakly toward him, her expression a mixture of pain and disbelief. “Why… are you… here?”

“To stop you from flatlining!” Thiago snapped, hooking an arm under her shoulder and hauling her up with every ounce of strength he could muster.

The guards closed in, seizing the advantage. “Shoot them both!” one barked.

Grinding his teeth, Thiago dragged Vomi toward cover, his movements fueled by sheer adrenaline. “Not today,” he muttered, yanking a FlashFire grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin and hurled it behind them. The explosion of searing light and deafening sound disoriented the guards, forcing them to scatter.

He didn’t wait to see the result. Thiago hauled Vomi toward the Kusanagi still parked outside the building. It wasn’t the most graceful maneuver; he dumped her onto the backseat like an unconscious rider on a horse.

Mounting the bike, Thiago gripped the handlebars with one hand, his injured shoulder screaming in protest. “Hold on, damn it,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at Vomi or himself.

He rode with clumsy determination, his bloodied hand slipping slightly as the engine roared. Somehow, luck—or desperation—guided him through the chaos and away from immediate danger.

Finally, after putting enough distance between them and the pursuing guards, Thiago pulled over in a dark alley. He parked the bike and let Vomi slide to the ground with a thud, her body lifeless and unmoving.

Kneeling beside her, he checked her over, his heart pounding. She wasn’t doing well—not at all.

The biomass covering her seemed chaotic, shifting and pulsating erratically. It was trying to heal her, adapt, and fight off the effects of the serum all at once—but it was failing miserably. The once-fluid symbiotic structure now looked fragmented, as if it didn’t know what it was supposed to be anymore.

“Come on, Vomi,” Thiago whispered, his voice shaking. “Fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

But as he watched the erratic convulsions and the dulling glow of her symbiote, doubt crept into his mind. Was the serum saving her—or killing her?

Wait, what exactly did Graves say this serum was again?

Actually, did he even tell me what this serum was supposed to do?

"Aaaaahhhh, fuck me," Thiago groaned.

Of course, there had to be some shady business with the corpos.

Honestly, he was surprised at himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Vomi continued to tremble and spasm, vomiting at intervals. The sight made Thiago question whether this had been the wisest decision, but whether he liked it or not, her current suffering was far less than the destruction she had caused. Gritting his teeth, he mentally apologized as he checked the Saratoga's magazine and the few spare rounds he had left.

“Not much, but it’s enough,” he muttered, cocking the bolt.

M-Tech personnel emerged from the alley, their weapons raised. Thiago pulled the pin on another FlashFire grenade, the chemical core already heating as he lobbed it toward them. The grenade erupted into searing light and flames, scattering the advancing guards. Those who managed to avoid the inferno were met with a spray of SMG fire as Thiago laid down suppressive shots, forcing them into cover. To ensure they stayed there, he tossed more grenades, turning the alley into a chaotic blaze.

One guard, however, ignored the chaos, activating some kind of boosterware to dash through the explosions. He surged forward with alarming speed, his target clear. But before he could close the distance, a tendril shot out from Vomi, wrapping around him with terrifying precision. The force of her pull was so intense that Thiago winced as he heard the man’s spine snap like a twig.

He turned just in time to see Vomi consuming the guard.

And it was horrifying.

Her body folded the man like crumpling a sheet of paper, compressing him into a grotesque, compact form before absorbing him entirely. The biomass flowed into her, her wounds sealing as her stability returned. Bullets, once lodged deep in her flesh, fell to the ground, bent and fragmented.

She wasn’t fully recovered, but she was stable.

And furious.

“I can’t… I can’t hear it… The pain…” Vomi’s voice was trembling, her hands clutching her head as if trying to pull something back that wasn’t there.

“Vomi? Fuck, uh, are you okay?” Thiago stepped closer, cautiously reaching out to her.

“No!” she snapped, slapping his hand away. “Don’t… don’t touch me. They’re gone… where are they?”

“They?” Thiago asked, glancing around. “What do you mean? The Daggers? The corpos?”

“No, my… the voices in my…” She trailed off, her nails digging into her scalp as if trying to claw out whatever was missing. Her frantic motions slowed as realization hit her. “What…?”

She turned to Thiago, her wide, unsteady eyes locking onto his. “Who… what? Thiago? You did this to us—me?”

Her voice cracked with desperation, and her breathing grew uneven, bordering on hyperventilation. Thiago had never seen her like this. Vomi was always the one in control, strong and calculating, even when she was consumed by the symbiote. But this? This was something else entirely. She looked… lost. A shell of herself, hollow and terrified, like a puppet whose strings had just been severed.

Thiago quickly realized what was happening—this wasn’t the Vomi he knew, not yet. This was the vacuum left behind by the symbiote’s hivemind, leaving her adrift and afraid.

He knew he had to tread carefully. Whatever she was now, she still had the monster’s powers. One wrong word could set her off.

“Vomi, it’s me,” he said softly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I used the cure to bring you back. How do you feel?”

“Used what? A cure?” Vomi’s voice cracked as her hands clawed at her temples. “I wasn’t sick… Where… what is—”

“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Thiago interrupted gently, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. “Just focus on me for a moment. How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” she echoed, her voice distant. “I feel… empty. Like something—no, someone—is missing. I don’t know. I need to…”

“Hey, c’mon, stay with me,” Thiago urged, his tone soft but firm. He carefully guided her to sit down on the ground, crouching beside her. “Listen to me. We’re in danger if we stay here, okay? Let’s get on the bike and leave this place before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Can you do that for me?” Thiago cut her off, nodding toward the guards barking orders and closing in fast. “Those guys over there aren’t exactly friendly. Just climb on the back, alright?”

“F-fine.”

“Good,” he said, extending a hand to help her up. “Hold on to me.”

The Kusanagi’s engine roared as Thiago pushed it to its limits, the bike tearing down the street. Vomi clung tightly to him, her grip almost desperate. She was too disoriented, her mind spiraling as she searched for any sense of direction or purpose. Right now, Thiago was the only anchor she had, and whatever he told her to do, she would. Anything to escape the emptiness clawing at her. Her arm felt numb, almost useless, as her grip on Thiago loosened. He did his best to keep the bike steady, but Vomi’s world was spiraling. The pain coursing through her body was unbearable, and she wasn’t even sure if her mind could comprehend it. Every fiber of her being screamed for release, but she clung to him like her life depended on it—because it did.

“Thiago… stop…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What? What did you say?” Thiago shouted, the wind whipping past his ears and the sharp pain in his shoulder dulling his focus.

“Stop the bike… I’m gonna…”

Before she could finish, her body gave out. Vomi slipped from the bike, her weight pulling at Thiago’s arm as he instinctively tried to grab her. The sudden jolt threw the Kusanagi off balance, the bike skidding across the asphalt before crashing into a parked car. Thiago managed to leap off just in time, hitting the ground hard and rolling to a painful stop. He groaned, bruised and battered, but forced himself to his feet.

“Vomi!” he called, stumbling toward her.

She was on the ground, her body writhing, arms clutching herself as though trying to hold everything together. The symbiote’s black bodysuit was retracting, sinking beneath her skin, leaving her exposed. Thiago froze when he saw her. Her skin was no longer its usual tone but a soft, unnatural hue of light purple. Her once black hair was now stark white, like ash, and her eyes—black sclera with glowing orange irises—were alien and haunting.

But what shook him most was her arm. Or rather, the lack of it.

Her right arm was gone, a jagged stump where it should have been. Tendrils of biomass emerged, struggling to form a new limb, only to collapse and disintegrate before they could solidify. It was a horrific cycle of attempted regeneration and failure, leaving her in agony.

"God…" Thiago muttered, his stomach churning at the sight. He winced, struggling to push the rising tide of panic aside. "This… this is killing you."

They had barely made it out of the M-Tech building, and already more officers were closing in. The sound of boots and barking orders echoed through the streets. Thiago groaned in frustration. Would these bastards ever give up? He couldn’t fight them—not now, not like this. His arm was useless, the Saratoga was out of reach, and even if he had it, what difference would it make? They had better guns, better numbers, and better positions.

He let out a resigned sigh, his fingers tightening on Vomi's trembling shoulder. "Sorry, Katie," he whispered to himself, his voice filled with quiet regret. "Looks like I’m not making it back this time."

----------------------------------------

The car sped toward the desert, leaving the chaos of the city behind. Other civilians had the same idea as Cinthia—getting the hell out of San Fran before it swallowed them whole. But the exit was far from smooth. Traffic snarled into a sprawling mess as desperate drivers tried to escape, while overwhelmed cops failed to maintain order.

Luckily, Cinthia knew the backroads. Hidden passages and forgotten routes allowed her and Raven to slip away from the gridlocked streets before things got worse. The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine. The radio was silent too—both because no one was left to run the stations and because the klepped car’s radio had been busted long before.

Cinthia stole a glance at Raven, her sister staring blankly out the window, her world clearly shattered. Turning back to the sandy road ahead, she felt a swirl of emotions churn in her chest. Anger, sure—but also sadness, a helpless ache she didn’t know how to shake. She wasn’t as brave as Raven, never had been. But seeing her like this… it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

Her grip tightened on the wheel as her resolve hardened. Fuck Green Rhythm. Fuck The Refused. Screw San Francisco, and every corpo-riddled cesspool out there. They were done with all of it. Somewhere out there was a place where corpo bullshit didn’t poison everything it touched. She didn’t care how far she had to drive or what she had to do to find it.

Let the corpos fight. Let the city burn. They’d keep their heads down, live like nobodies on the street. Better that than getting caught in the crossfire again.

"You think... this would've happened if we never met her?"

Raven’s voice was distant, her eyes fixed on the sand dunes stretching across the horizon.

Cinthia frowned, her knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"If we never met Vomi. All of this... would it have happened anyway?" Raven asked, her gaze finally turning to her sister.

Cinthia spared her a quick glance, then looked back at the road. "I don’t know. And I don’t care," she replied curtly, refusing to meet Raven’s eyes.

Raven sighed, sinking into her seat. "I guess... never mind."

Cinthia let out a sharp exhale, her patience fraying. "Look, even if it was the case, we’d still be stuck in that fucking traffic, waiting to get slaughtered with everyone else. At least this way, we’re out. That’s all that matters."

Raven pointed ahead, abandoning the conversation. "There’s a car up there."

A police vehicle sat in the middle of the road, and two familiar figures stepped out—a man and a little girl.

Cinthia pulled up beside the car but didn’t cut the engine. She rolled down her window. "Frank. You decided to delta too?"

Frank nodded, glancing at the backseat of his car where Katie was sleeping soundly. "Thiago asked me to take her. Can’t say no to that. This whole city’s gone to hell."

"Yeah," Cinthia muttered, steering her car off the road to pass his vehicle. "Got a place in mind?"

"A few. Some people owe me favors," Frank replied, climbing back into his car. "Stick with me. I’ll get us out."

Before anyone could move, a searing white light erupted behind them, followed by an unbearable wave of heat.

Cinthia’s instincts kicked in. She slammed her foot on the gas, the car roaring as it surged forward. "Frank, MOVE!" she shouted over the radio.

Frank’s tires screeched as he hit the accelerator, pushing his car to its limits. Both vehicles raced into the desert, leaving behind the rising plume of destruction on the horizon.

Fallout had arrived.

----------------------------------------

A few seconds earlier...

Kaneda stared at the surveillance feed, his jaw clenched. Vomi wasn’t dying—she was evolving. Again.

"This is unbelievable," Jinxiu muttered, her voice laced with frustration. "The serum didn’t work. It’s adapting, and fast."

"Miranda was as useful as he was gullible," Kaneda said flatly, his hand hovering over a button labeled Engage. "The symbiotes adapt too quickly once mature. And Dr. Vomi has three of them."

Jinxiu scowled, watching Vomi slaughter the remaining M-Tech personnel. "Thiago’s just standing there, watching her take them all out. Even the failsafe didn’t work."

Kaneda turned to her with a cold smile. "Any last words?"

"Fuck you."

"As you wish." Kaneda pressed the button.

----------------------------------------

Vomi stood in the aftermath, her chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her body was soaked in blood, her senses raw and overwhelmed. The pain from the serum gnawed at her insides, the void where the voices had been gnawed at her mind—but for now, she was stable. Barely.

Thiago stumbled toward her, blood dripping from fresh wounds. "Vomi," he called out, his voice strained.

She turned too fast, her arm instinctively swinging forward, stopping just inches from his chest. Her hand trembled in the air as she realized what she’d almost done.

He looked at her, exhausted but calm.

She looked back, terrified.

Then, without warning, Thiago grabbed her extended arm and pulled her into a tight embrace. The warmth of it broke through her panic like a lifeline.

"You want some advice?" he murmured, his voice rough but steady.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even hug him back. But she cried—silent, trembling tears.

"Trust in yourself. Only in yourself," Thiago said quietly. "And in the people who’ve proven they’re truly with you. Then do what you think is right. Nothing else matters."

He pulled back slightly, resting a hand on her remaining arm. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded weakly.

"Promise?"

Her lips trembled as she whispered, "……I... I Promise."

It was her voice—her real voice. Not the guttural growl of the symbiote, not the blend of countless minds. Just Vomi.

Her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was herself again.

It almost made Thiago forget the searing pain spreading through his body. Almost.

Why was it burning?

…It didn’t matter. The burning was gone now.

Thiago smiled faintly, his knees buckling beneath him.

At last, he could rest.

Peace.

----------------------------------------

In Night City, some gonk was out hustling BDs, hyping them up as “top-tier” stuff. Spoiler: they weren’t. He barely sold a few out of a whole backpack, the eddies were trash, and the cops kept eyeballing him like he was the problem—meanwhile, some poor gonk was getting mugged just across the street.

But all of that didn’t matter when everyone’s attention snapped to the massive explosion lighting up the Northwest sky. Clear as day.

“Damn, another nuke?”

“I dunno. Just glad it’s not here.”

“Yeah, for real.”

While the badge-wielders were too busy gawking at the big mushroom cloud, the BD hustler took his shot and slipped away unnoticed.

“Fucking doc’s gonna get it for making me sell his shitty BDs,” he muttered, disappearing into the crowd.