She listens at the door, hearing the sounds of minor violence. Nothing too major, just a few strikes and blows, the woman grunting with pain each time. Was she gagged, or just stubborn? Or just keeping to the one card she had – the location of the gem. They must want to keep her relatively intact, and not have the resources for drugs or anything more advanced.

The guards sound busy, so Alice cracks the door open, just a tiny amount. Not for the first time, she wished about she had some enhancements, some way to see through objects. But the thought of being knocked out, having someone poking about inside of her, taking her apart and putting something else in instead, was terrifying. She was thankful for the calming surge that kicked in, keeping her focused, as she peered through the door.

It was a small room, the walls dull tile, designed to be easy to clean. A criminal base, somewhere fancier than usual? A metal chair was bolted to the floor, straps being used to tie the woman in place. She was facing away from the only other door into the room, looking towards Alice. Even though one of her eyes was swollen up around a bruise, she still saw Alice, her other eye widening, but she doesn’t say anything. She gestures with her head, at one of the men. His suit jacket and tie are both off, sleeves rolled back to reveal a muscled and scarred arm, the other sleek black chrome.

Alice shrugs as the woman gestures with her head again, starting to look more desperate now.

‘So, how long until the boss gets back?’

‘Not long. Shit, we really need answers. Never would have thought that she’d have the guts to go through with it! Maybe we could get rid of her and make it look like an accident?’

‘You might have a point. Seems a shame though. We’ll have to come up with a cover story though. He’s fond of her, and if he finds out what happened, we’re all for it.’

The woman nodded her head again, more urgently now, as Alice eases the gun out from the bag and takes aim. Three shots, managing to hit in the chest with each. As the other one reacts, she shoots at him, but he’s fast, already throwing himself to the side. A bullet strikes into his arm, bouncing off the reinforced metal and ricocheting into the wall.

She launches herself out of hiding and flings the gun forward, throwing it at his face. As he raises his arm to deflect it, she takes advantage of the blindspot it creates, staying low. She kicks out at his legs, striking his shin – not hard enough to break it, but it must hurt. He staggers backwards, too slow to react as Alice twists her leg between his and flicks backwards, now targeting the back of his knee. This works, soft flesh yielding under her attack as he drops to one knee. That brings his head within grabbing range, and she jabs a hand forward, feeling soft meat crunch under her fingers. She doesn’t stop and she grabs his hair and twists, then flicks her knife out and stabs it into his neck.

He twitches and drops to the floor, juddering and twitching. He clasps a hand to his throat, something internal trying to staunch the wound, a film starting to form around the edge of the cut. She stabs him again, slices and twists, beyond his capacity to heal.

The other guards will probably come and check soon, so it’s time to deal with the woman. She’s struggling against her bonds, straps straining and creaking as she tries to turn around, unable to see what’s happened but able to hear it. A strangled grunt escapes her lips, as she tries to twist around, before she manages to form a choked sentence.

‘Please, help me.’

Alice stands behind her, watching her struggle. There are thin, barely visible lines around her neck – some enhancement there. Has she been muted?

‘Why? This is your fault.’ She taps the knife against the back of the chair, and the woman shivers.

Her voice is a strangled rasp – something must be binding her vocal cords, making every word a struggle. ‘For money. And…’ She coughs, then inhales deeply. Alice can see that something is underneath her skin, like a garotte beneath her flesh, inhibiting her ability to speak, and probably to breath. ‘I know how to get them off your back.’

Alice taps the tip of the knife against the top of their head. From their shiver, they clearly feel it as they respond.

‘Kill me… and they won’t stop. They want it back, and…’ She coughs and splutters again. ‘Free me, get me out… of here, and… then I can sort this.’

Red crashes through Alice’s mind, a haze of anger, barely supressed by her harness. Her hand tightens around the knife and she feels the hilt dig into her fingers, her knuckles white, wrath pouring through her. She can’t entirely control herself and the blade shifts forward and pricks into the woman, droplets of bright red blood oozing out from her neck as she struggles for self-control, torn between the desire to kill, and that the woman might actually know something.

‘You were sent… by Achingbourne. If we can…’

She grabs at her own wrist and forces it back, but not before it cuts more deeply and the woman grunts in pain again. Her collar beeps in anger, shunting what feels like needles of ice into her veins, as her vision narrows to a single ref-tinted dot. The woman tries to shift herself away, a strap straining and keeping her in position.

‘Where is he?’ Her breathing increases as her collar vibrates, the dose gone. Shit, she needs to top it off again already. But if she can find him, then that can be a long-held grievance wiped clean…

Some of her anger must have been in her voice, as the woman pauses before speaking, still having to choke out her words. ‘I’m sorry! But I needed… to hide it.’

The door, the actual one rather than the servant’s door, shakes, only stopped from opening because of the bodies shoved in front of it.

‘Everything OK in there, boss? Managed to get the bitch to tell you anything yet?’

Alice shoves a body with her foot, making sure it’s securely wedged in place, feeling the door get shoved again from the other side.

‘Let me… free and then… I can show you…’

Alice slowly pulls her hand back, more blood welling up from the woman’s neck. The strength of the last dose is making her entire body hyper-sensitive, everything moving in slow motion, her skin feeling like it was being scraped with needles all over. She wants to itch and scratch herself everywhere, dig her nails into her skin, but there’s no time. She pulls her hand swiftly back, severs the neck-strap then pulls her arm back for another slash, slicing one of the arm restraints, before freezing into place, rage and power and adrenaline barely held back by the drugs. That name! Something from long ago. But a chance to finish it. Maybe.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She focuses on her hand, the slight pain from the grip of the knife digging into her flesh, imagining the feel of it flashing forward, sinking into that unprotected neck, hot blood spilling out, a final gasp. Her collar shifts on her neck, the vibration more urgent now, and then someone tries to shove the door open, a body moving slightly.

‘Hey, what’s going on in there? We need her alive, boss! That’s a lot of blood.’

The soft sounds of leather and metal, close by. Alice looks up just in time to see the woman stand up, having freed herself. She staggers, weakened from whatever she’s had to endure, but starts walking away before she turns to face Alice. Her voice is a ragged rasp, that tense line of raised flesh still around her neck.

‘We need… to go!’

The door is shoved again, opening a crack. ‘Hey, what the fuck is going on?’

Alice takes a half step towards the door, ready to fight, unleash her rage, slice and cut and kill. A hand touches her shoulder, and she growls.

‘Too many! Let’s go!’

She wants to fight, her blood burning hot, the ice in her veins melting away under the desire to lose herself in combat, free herself from thought and all other concerns.

‘If we can get to Achingbourne, then we’re safe.’

That name anchors her attention, her hand cramping around the knife, helping to put the rage aside, for now at least. ‘Yes. Go.’

The woman doesn’t need telling twice, moving across the room (one leg dragging – she’s wounded, and barefoot as well, feet scraped and worn by last night) and stepping through the servant’s door. Alice steps towards the other door, takes the gun and fires it, hearing an expression of pain, before she also runs for the door. That should buy them at least a small amount of time.

The woman is moving fast, body twisted to fit through the narrow passage. ‘There’s a back entrance that’s normally unlocked. Follow me.’

Alice is content to follow her lead, more intent on controlling herself, struggling not to see the woman’s undefended back as a target, wide open. A single thrust to the spine, sever the spinal column and leave her crippled and broken meat. But now she needs data – that name. Memories of the ‘plex, even before the fighting pits, of a cruel, hard face. If she can get close, all she needs is a second, or less, a strike to the eye or throat or gut, savage and twist, break the body beyond even what can be repaired.

The woman leads them back to the back staircase and moves rapidly down, taking the stairs two or three at a time, crashing against the walls several times as she takes her weight onto her bad leg. If they have to move far, that could be a problem – have to get a med-patch applied, as anything better would take too long.

Several levels down, and she jinks away from the stairwell, coming to a small office, a cramped and dark room, converted by the staff into their own private space, with personal effects pinned on the walls, as well as notes to each other workers, and a few items “acquired” from the apartments, probably destined to be sold in the pawnshops or street markets. Someone drowses in the corner, curled up on a bundle of cloth on the bare concrete floor, their eyelids fluttering as the woman bumps against the wall, panting heavily.

She strips, throwing her clothing off with swift moves, giving Alice a swift glimpse of a toned and bronzed form, too quick to tell how much is natural, how much is enhanced, but the sort of figure that invites attention when displayed. Wounds – darkly mottled bruises stand out, vivid purples and blues against her skin, a few scratches. None look serious. From a chest she pulls out more normal clothing – loose trousers, a baggy top, a ventilator mask covering her face, and some sturdy boots.

Alice goes for her knife again as the sleeper stirs. Then a shout comes from behind her, echoing along the narrow passageways. The guards must have broken the door down and found their dead friends.

There’s an exit from here, an impressively thick metal door, reinforced and set into thick concrete, with a hand-and-eye scanner next to it, to ensure that only the correct individuals can use it, to get in or out. It’s jammed open with a piece of cardboard bent back on itself and a thin prong of metal in the top bracket to make it seem always closed, the servants not wanting the hassle of a full security check every time they move in or out.

It opens straight up into a wide alleyway, metal dumpsters full of trash beneath them, the air rank and rancid with decaying garbage. The woman reaches up and tweaks the metal from the door and it starts to pull itself shut, as Alice dashes through.

‘That should buy us some time. We need to get out of here.’

In more sensible clothing, she can move faster, her feet rattling down the stairs. Alice forces herself to let go of the knife, feeling the impressions it has left on her hand, her collar beeping at her again. Shit, only one dose left . She can still feel it within her, the fast-burning anger fading slightly, letting the ice exert herself. There’s still the urge to kill the woman, break her neck and toss her in the dumpster, but if can keep her alive, then the work might be worth it.

‘Where can we go from here?’ This isn’t her manor – she’s been through the streets a few times, knows some parts, but nothing useful right now. ‘We need to hide. Who are those guys?’

She’s already moving, although her tiredness is dragging at her body, her movements slightly jerky, as she overcompensates through the pain and exhaustion she must be feeling. ‘Yes. Shit. I…’

‘Achingbourne.’ If she can find him… She grins at the thought, hands clenching in anticipation.

‘I don’t know where he is. He contacts me. Can’t you talk to him? Why the hell didn’t you just give me the money at the market? Rather than pretending to hold out for more? Or were you going to try and contact me later, make it look like you weren’t related, and then make the drop later? I had to plant it on you, otherwise I’d be dead now.’ Her voice gets quieter and quieter as she forces words through the choking wire around her neck.

Alice shrugs, preferring to let the woman make her own conclusions. The less she says, then less likely it is that it will be noticed she has no idea what’s going on. There’s a crash from behind them as a heavy weight slams against the door. ‘I don’t know where Alaric is either.’

Is that the name of the meat that had been with her? He’s probably dead, or wishes he was, if he’s been worked over. ‘What would he know?’

‘I… I don’t know. It all happened so fast.’

They move down the alleyway, Alice making sure to keep close behind the woman, just in case she needs to attack. She wants to top up her harness, but can’t spare the time, in case an attack happens. The red heat is close, barely beneath a thin surface of ice, something it would be far too comforting to fall into. There’s another crash from behind, and she glances over her shoulder – the door looks sturdy, not even shifting in its frame, but it probably won’t last long before they find someone to open it for them or hack it open.

‘Where’s safe?’

Alice doesn’t like the idea of trusting the woman further, but to get a shot at Achingbourne, it’s worth the risk.

‘Give me the crystal.’

The back alley connects to a wider street, kept clean and tidy, a bin-bot coming up to her waist sweeping up and down, consuming any rubbish it finds.

‘No. We get away from here first.’

The bot approaches, brushes spinning and whirring along the ground, playing some advertising jingle. As it draws close, Alice’s anger surges out, and she feels her hand move, outside of conscious control. It lances forward, knife slamming into a plastic panel, easily shattering it. Electricity sparks, before a thin trail of smoke billows out, the jingle slowing and dying in a spasmodic drawl. She twists the knife out like she’s disembowelling a target, fragments of circuitry flicking out, before she stabs it again, twisting and drilling with the knife, absently noting the way the brushes spin and twitch at random. She can feel herself growing absent, the ever-present rage starting to bleed through more and more.

‘Away. Lead.’ It comes out as a growled command, but it seems to work, the looking suddenly worried, before she nods and leads on. Alice tries to focus enough to look around, to spot if there’s any security cameras, but it’s a struggle to focus on anything not a threat. They pass a doorway to another apartment block, a security guard slouched behind a desk, and it’s all she can do not to attack him. He doesn’t even look up, unaware of their presence, as Alice draws her own hood up, covering her face with a mask, sucking air through the filter, it doing little to clear her head but giving her something to focus on.