As the trio strode away, Zatrice pushed himself up, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He stumbled towards the Academy entrance, vision swimming.

A hand on his chest stopped him short. The principal's face swam into focus, lips curled in disgust.

"Sir, please," Zatrice croaked. "I can explain—"

The principal cut him off with a wave. "Four months without payment, Zatrice. I'm afraid we can't—"

"I'll find a way, I swear!" Zatrice's plea was drowned out by approaching footsteps.

"Ugh, who let the trash in?" A student's voice, dripped with disdain, The classroom door slammed in Zatrice's face.

The principal's tone was flat, final. "There's nothing more I can do for you."

Alone on the Academy steps, Zatrice blinked against the harsh morning light, his fingers clenched and unclenched, joints popping like misfiring synapses. The taste of blood mingled with the bitterness of shattered aspirations.

"I'll fucking blow this place.." Zatrice's chest tightened as he stared at the Academy's closed doors. His fingers twitched, a nervous tic he'd developed years ago, the sky darkened, and the acrid smell of wet dirt filled the air….. storm incoming.

Fat raindrops began to fall on cue, sizzling as they hit the hot pavement.

Zatrice set off toward the metro, his speed uneven from the beating. each step sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, The rain intensified, washing away the day's grime but doing nothing for the ache in his bones.

At the station, he paused. No creds meant no ride legally, anyway. He scanned the platform, looking for a gap in the security sensors. There a blind spot near a malfunctioning ad-board.

As he inched toward it, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Zatrice flinched, expecting another blow.

"Trying to skip the fare again?" The station guard's augmented eyes whirred as they focused on Zatrice's face. "That's strike two, kid."

Zatrice weighed his options. Running would only make things worse. "I just need to get home," he said, hating the pleading note in his voice.

The guard's expression hardened. "Rules are rules. Out you go, before I log this officially."

No choice but to leave.

The trek home would take hours, but it beat spending the night in a holding cell.

Zatrice trudged through Yakushi Street, the neon signs blurring in the rain, A commotion up ahead made him pause.

A group of chrome-arms were ransacking a local clinic, their augmented limbs making quick work of the security shutters.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He should move on. Getting involved was suicide. But as he watched, something small and metallic skittered across the wet pavement, resting at his feet, A data chip, unremarkable except for how new it looked.

Zatrice hesitated, Picking it up could mean trouble, leaving it was wasting a potential meal ticket. His stomach growled, deciding for him, he pocketed the chip and moved on quickly.

The rain let up as he neared home, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, but where the familiar access hatch should have been, Zatrice found only a construction barrier and a freshly welded seal.

"What the hell?" he muttered, approaching a nearby worker.

The man glanced up from his holo-tablet. "Authorized personnel only. Clear out."

Zatrice's exhaustion gave way to panic. "I live down there. What's going on?"

"lived," the worker corrected. "Yoshida Corp's redeveloping the old tunnels. Find somewhere else, kid."

Before Zatrice could argue, a familiar voice cut through the air. "Zat!"

He turned to see Beulla approaching, and did a double-take. Gone were her usual threadbare clothes, replaced by a gaudy purple dress that looked like it belonged in the red-light district.

"What happened to you?" they asked in unison.

Beulla's eyes narrowed as she took in his battered state. She grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the construction site to a quieter spot under a nearby overpass.

"Spill it," she demanded. "Who worked you over?"

Zatrice shrugged off her hand. "Doesn't matter. We've got bigger problems. They've sealed off the tunnels."

Beulla cursed, her new outfit incongruous with the gutter-speak. "Figured this might happen. That's why I—" she gestured at her clothes, "—took precautions."

"What kind of precautions?" Zatrice asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The kind that keep us off the streets tonight. But first, we gotta make you worm, fast, what about a noddl–."

"I might have something," he said slowly interrupting her. "But it's not exactly... legal."

Beulla looked confused as she asked," What do you mean?"

Zatrice's fingers trembled as he pulled the data chip from his pocket.

"I... I picked it up," he mumbled, not meeting Beulla's eyes. "When the Ngira gang hit that clinic. It fell, and I just..."

Beulla's sharp intake of breath cut through the ambient noise of the city, her eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto the chip. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed, glancing around nervously, "Toss that thing right now, Zat, You have no idea what kind of heat it could bring down on us."

Zatrice's jaw clenched. "It's just a chip, sis. Probably worth 60 luero, tops. No one's gonna miss it."

"You don't know that," Beulla countered, her voice low and urgent. "The Ngira? They track everything. And the cops? They'd love to nail you as an accessory. This isn't a game, Zat."

Before Zatrice could argue further, a shrill chime emanated from Beulla's comm. Her face paled as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Beulla here," she answered, her voice suddenly professional, zatrice watched as his sister's demeanor shifted, a mask sliding into place. "Yes, sir. A special client? I... I understand. I'll be there shortly."

She ended the call, avoiding Zatrice's questioning gaze, with a sigh, she tapped rapidly on her comm screen.

"I'm transferring you lueros," she said, her fingers moving across the holographic interface. "Get us a place to crash, somewhere with an actual roof."

Zatrice's own comm buzzed, the notification of the transfer popping up in his peripheral vision. His eyes widened at the amount.

Five hundred luero? Where the hell did she get that kind of cred?

"Beulla, what... how did you...?"

"It doesn't matter," she cut him off, her voice firm. "Just do as I say, alright? Find a place, get worm."

"But—"

"No buts, Zat, this is how it has to be right now." Beulla's eyes softened for a moment, a glimpse of the sister he knew peeking through the strange new facade. "I promise I'll explain everything soon. Just... trust me, okay?"

When she's suddenly flush with cred and dressing like a corpo hoe? Zatrice's mind worked, yet he kept his mouth shut.