Zatrice pushed himself up, still covered in blood. "Look, I need someone who can track without being noticed, you saw how I work - subtle ain't my style."

"You don't say." Alistair wiped his blade clean. "And what exactly are you offering for this job?"

Zatrice gestured at the wreckage around them, "the bike I... borrowed, these cars the Jacklass left behind annnd Whatever we can salvage, it's all yours."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm serious."

"Kid, you got a place to crash at least?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Here's the deal, I live with you for a year, rent-free, I'll get you the intel you need about your sister."

"Alrig-" Zatrice's words cut off as his body suddenly went rigid crashing out to the ground, limbs twitching violently, foam bubbling from his mouth.

"Shit." Alistair sprinted to his ruined cottage, throwing aside charred wood until he found a hidden trap door, he yanked it open, grabbed a metal case filled with medical injectors, and rushed back.

"Hold on, kid." He jabbed two needles into Zatrice's neck.

The convulsions slowly subsided, Zatrice grabbed Alistair's wrist weakly. "What... what happened?"

"Cyberfever…. that chrome you're running, your body can't handle it, you're too young for this much metal." Alistair held up one of the empty injectors, "this helps rebuild dead cells, keeps you alive longer, but it's just buying time."

"Thanks," Zatrice mumbled, sitting up slowly.

"We should move, Metro's our best bet those cars have trackers, That's how they found you, isn't it?"

"Yeah... stole the wrong ride I guess."

"You guess a lot of things, don't you?" Alistair helped him up. "Come on, before more trouble shows up."

"You're really gonna help me then?"

"Already saved your ass once, might as well see this through." Alistair sighed. "Just try not to start any more gang wars on the way to the station."

"No promises," Zatrice managed a weak smile.

"Of course not." Alistair shook his head. "Let's go sleep"

The walk to the metro station was silent except for their footsteps and the distant wail of sirens, signs buzzed overhead, casting multicolored shadows across their blood-stained clothes, at the station entrance, Alistair stopped, turning to Zatrice.

"Tickets," he said simply, holding out his hand.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Zatrice shifted his weight, finding the cracked concrete very interesting. "About that..." he whispered.

"Speak up."

"I'm... kind of broke now."

Alistair's hand dropped. "You're what now?"

"Broke," Zatrice repeated, a bit louder this time.

"I fucking heard you." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. "Where exactly is this place of yours?"

"Naraska Street," Zatrice mumbled, studying the ceiling this time.

Alistair's face went through several expressions before settling on pure frustration. "That's 300 kilometres from here."

"Sorry?"

The station's lights flickered above them, casting harsh shadows across Alistair's face as he processed the information, security drones hummed nearby, scanning passengers' tickets.

"Fine." Alistair's voice was tight. "We're doing this the hard way."

Zatrice started moving toward the bathroom. "Yeah, we can sneak through-"

"No." Alistair grabbed his shoulder. "Just watch."

They approached the nearest train, its sleek metal body reflecting the station's harsh lighting, as they neared the doors, Alistair's fingers rolled across his sword's hilt, pressing what looked like microscopic buttons.

The effect was immediate, every screen in the station flickered and died, security cameras drooped like wilting flowers, the ticket-checking drones dropped from the air with metallic thuds.

Zatrice sprinted through the doors just as they started to close. "How did you-"

"A good mercenary doesn't show all his cards." Alistair settled into a seat, sword across his lap. "Get some rest. It's a long ride."

The train hummed to life, carrying them through the neon-lit underbelly of the city, Zatrice watched the lights streak by, each flash illuminating the dried blood on his face.

Hours later, they emerged into Naraska Street.

The difference was immediate this was an urban grim street, holographic advertisements flickered weakly on crumbling walls. The air smelled of rust and food.

Alistair took it all in with a grimace. "What a pit you decided to live in."

"Says the guy who lives in a junkyard," Zatrice shot back, leading them toward a towering apartment block.

"It was peaceful." Alistair's boots crunched on broken glass. "Until today."

The elevator groaned as it carried them upward, ceiling panels rattling with each floor.

When the doors finally opened, they stepped into a narrow corridor lit by stuttering strips of LED.

That's when they heard it - the soft sound of footsteps, followed by the rustle of plastic bags. At the far end of the corridor, beulla arms were full of groceries.

Her pink hair was pulled back, revealing eyes that widened at the sight of them.

The bags slipped from her grasp, hitting the metal grating with a crash.

Cans rolled across the floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, Her augmented eyes flickered rapidly.

"Beulla, Hiiiii" Zatrice's voice was barely a whisper with a smug smile.

His sister's face drained of color as she stared at them - two men covered in blood standing in her doorway like ghosts from a nightmare.

The LED lights above them buzzed, casting alternating shadows across her face as her lips parted in shock.

"ZATRICE!" Beulla's scream echoed through the corridor, "What the actual fuck happened? And who is this guy?"

Zatrice raised his hands defensively. "Hey, sis, calm down. This is-"

"A friend," Alistair started to say, extending his hand. "I'm-"

"SHUT IT!" Beulla cut him off, storming toward Zatrice. "I told you to stay home! One simple thing - stay the fuck home! But no, you had to go out and..." She gestured wildly at their blood-stained clothes. "THIS! Why are you such a goddamn magnet for trouble?"

Alistair coughed awkwardly, leaning against the wall. "I can relate to that assessment," he mumbled.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" Beulla whirled on him. "You have no idea what it's like having a chrome-headed little brother who thinks he's immortal!"

"Sis, you don't understand-" Zatrice tried to interject.

"Understand what? That you're out there getting into fights? That you're probably killing people? That you're-"

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER, SO STOP ACTING LIKE HER" Zatrice shouted back.

The corridor fell silent. The flickering LEDs cast shifting shadows across Beulla's suddenly frozen face.