Bryce lounged lazily in the restaurant’s retro-futuristic booth; his legs sprawled arrogantly across the table. He popped his gum with a sharp snap, staring out the window as neon lights from the bustling undercity cast shifting patterns across his face. Mona’s incessant complaining buzzed in the background, blending with the hum of the restaurant's robotic servers. She sat across from him, aggressively spooning mushroom soup into her mouth, her irritation palpable.
Bryce has pale skin, few freckles, hazel eyes and messy brown hair. His outfit is a bold mix of style and practicality, heavily inspired by his love of adventure and ancient culture. He wears a sleek, deep burgundy leather jacket with subtle metallic accents along the shoulders and cuffs. The unzipped jacket has a slightly worn-in look, with scuff marks that hint at years of use, and features multiple pockets for storing tools or gadgets.
The Moon Hawks’ white crescent emblem is stitched onto the back of his jacket, marking his loyalty to his gang. Underneath the jacket, Bryce sports a fitted black t-shirt. His black, ripped jeans are made from a durable, flexible material, blending edgy style with the utility needed for navigating the undercity. The jeans have reinforced panels at the knees and thighs, as well as small zippers and pockets for carrying essentials.
On his feet, he wears rugged black boots with mid-calf height, crafted from waterproof material. The boots feature glowing strips along the soles that light up in different colors for varying modes. One of Bryce’s more favorite modes to use is the lightweight magnetic grips, perfect for scaling metal surfaces or maneuvering through tricky terrain.
A slim utility belt wraps around his waist, equipped with pouches for snacks, a multi tool, and handheld holo-projectors he uses as decoys. Around his neck, Bryce wears a pair of matte black, retro-futuristic headphones with glowing teal accents, which double as a communicator for staying in touch with his gang. Fingerless leather gloves with built-in touchpads on the palms complete the look, allowing him to interact with tech interfaces on the go. He also wears a small silver crescent moon pendant, a subtle nod to the Moon Hawks.
Meanwhile, Mona Flowers, is an African American chimera with dark curly hair. Her apparel is a striking blend of regality and practicality, designed to highlight her commanding presence while allowing for unrestricted movement in combat. Her outfit reflects her hybrid nature, with a style that balances elegance, functionality, and the subtle menace of her scarab DNA.
Mona wears a tailored, high-collared jacket made of iridescent, chitin-like material that shifts colors between deep emerald and sapphire under the light. The jacket fits snugly at her waist, flaring out slightly at the hips to allow full range of motion. Thin, decorative gold filigree lines the seams and cuffs, resembling scarab wing patterns. The shoulders are slightly raised, giving her a regal silhouette, while hidden slits at the back allow her retractable wings to emerge without tearing the fabric. Along with the emblem of a sun rests on her jackets back.
Beneath the jacket, she wears a lightweight, form-fitting combat suit made of a durable, flexible material that mimics organic chitin but is soft against her skin. The suit is black with subtle gold and green accents that shimmer when she moves. It offers protection against minor attacks while ensuring her agility isn’t compromised. Intricate geometric designs, inspired by ancient scarab iconography, are etched along the arms and legs, giving the suit an air of sophistication.
Her combat pants are slim yet flexible, reinforced at the knees and thighs with panels of lightweight armor to protect against blows. The material has a matte black finish, with golden thread subtly woven into the seams to match the rest of her outfit. Small, concealed pockets are integrated into the design for carrying essentials without adding bulk.
Mona’s boots are mid-calf, sleek, and made of a lightweight but highly durable alloy. The soles are equipped with retractable spikes, providing excellent grip on a variety of surfaces. For her accessories she wears She wears fingerless gloves made of the same flexible material as her combat suit, with chitin-like plating across the knuckles and forearms for added protection. The gloves allow her to use her sharp, claw-like nails in combat without hindrance.
A wide, ornamental belt cinches her waist, featuring a golden scarab emblem at the center. The belt houses small compartments for throwing blades, vials, or other compact tools she might need in a fight. Draped over one shoulder is a short, asymmetrical cape made of lightweight, flowing fabric with a shimmering green and gold pattern. While primarily decorative, the cape’s material is tear-resistant, and it’s designed to detach easily if grabbed during a fight.
She also wears a slim gold circlet around her head, just above her brow, hidden beneath her hair, with a single emerald-shaped gem at its center. This piece accentuates her royal demeanor without being cumbersome in combat. Small golden cuffs on her wrists and ankles complete the look, their etched designs resembling scarab wings and shells.
The diner was a strange mix of old-school charm and futuristic innovation. Chrome fixtures lined the walls, and vintage jukeboxes hummed beside sleek, holographic menus. Robot slaves, with polished metal shells and glowing optics, shuffled around the space alongside weary human waitstaff, both working tirelessly to serve their eclectic clientele.
“You’re not even listening, are you?!” Mona’s shout sliced through the air, drawing attention from the tables around them. Her sudden outburst startled the robotic baby laying on the table between them, its pale robotic face twisting into an exaggerated wail.
Bryce sighed theatrically, blowing another bubble before letting it pop with deliberate disinterest. “I’m sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of the music, bug eyes,” he retorted, not even bothering to look at her.
Mona froze, her hazel eyes narrowing in fury as her hands clenched into fists. “I told you to stop calling me that years ago!” she growled through gritted teeth.
Bryce smirked, finally bringing his legs down from the table and sitting upright. He casually slipped his hand into his jacket, his movements deliberately slow as if daring her to react. “Really? Can’t say I recall,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with mock innocence.
Mona’s gaze followed his hand as her own instinctively went to the inside of her jacket. She sighed heavily, already regretting the partnership. “Of all the people I could’ve been stuck with, how the hell did it have to be you?” she muttered, her voice thick with irritation.
Bryce shrugged lazily, leaning back in his seat. “Fate works in mysterious ways,” he quipped. Before she could fire back, chaos erupted in the restaurant. “Everyone, hands in the air! Now!” a masked man shouted, his voice cutting through the ambient chatter. He and a few others strode into the diner, each brandishing a sleek ray gun pulled from their jackets.
The human and robotic workers froze mid-task. The customers, some halfway through bites of food, slowly raised their hands, a mixture of fear and weary resignation on their faces. For many, however, this was just another day in the undercity.
“Sure, fucking feels like fate,” Mona muttered under her breath, seemingly unbothered by the unfolding scene. Bryce didn’t even flinch, tapping his fingers idly against the table as music blasted from his headphones. “For real, though. Don’t even get me started on Ms. Lena,” Mona continued, her voice rising with frustration as she leaned back in her seat.
Bryce raised a brow, finally showing a flicker of interest. “What’s her deal now?” “Bitch won’t even let me chew gum in class. Says it’s a ‘distraction.’ Like, seriously? It’s a fucking stress reliever!” “Classic Lena,” Bryce agreed, feigning sympathy as the masked men continued to threaten the room while waving his gun around.
“I swear, every damn day it’s the same thing! ‘Responsibility this, consequences that.’ It’s so fucking annoying!” Mona punctuated her words with a fist slammed against the table, causing the robotic baby to emit a soft whimper.
“Preach,” Bryce muttered, lazily adjusting his jacket collar. One of the masked men, his patience clearly worn thin, stomped over to their booth and slammed the barrel of his ray gun onto the table, pointing it squarely at Mona. “You deaf or something, girl?” he barked.
Mona didn’t even look at him, too busy ranting. “Can’t you see I’m talking here? Or are you in a hurry to die?” she snapped, her voice dripping with venom.
“Oh yeah?” The man sneered, shifting his aim to the robotic baby between them. “How about I just take out this weird-ass baby, then?”
Mona and Bryce exchanged a quick glance, their mutual smirks speaking volumes. In one fluid motion, they both drew their weapons with superhuman speed. Bryce fired first, the blue plasma bolt piercing the man’s skull with surgical precision. Mona’s shot followed a split second later, a flash of green light ensuring the man hit the ground without another word.
The remaining masked men froze, their looting forgotten as they stared at the two teenagers in stunned silence. “After you, bug eyes,” Bryce said calmly, his signature smirk firmly in place as a second ray gun materialized in his free hand.
“Fuck off!” Mona shrieked in fury, her wings bursting from her back in a blur of shimmering blue-green. With a powerful beat, she launched herself into the air, her sharp nails gleaming as she dove toward the remaining men with pure malice.
The air filled with chaos as Mona launched herself at the masked men, her wings humming with an eerie, metallic buzz. They shimmered with a rainbow-like iridescence, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the diner. The men scrambled, their bravado instantly replaced with panic as they fumbled with their ray guns, trying to take aim at the hybrid hurtling toward them.
The first man barely had time to react before Mona’s claws sliced through his throat in one swift motion. Blood sprayed across the chrome walls as his body crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. The other men screamed in terror, their fear palpable as they opened fire.
Bright streaks of plasma lit up the diner, scorching walls and shattering plates, but Mona was already a blur of movement. She darted through the air, twisting and flipping with insect-like precision, her wings carrying her faster than their eyes could track.
A second man screamed as Mona slammed into him, her clawed feet tearing through his chest like paper. His ray gun fired wildly into the ceiling before slipping from his lifeless hand. Mona’s hazel eyes, now glowing faintly, locked onto the third man, who was desperately trying to back away.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he stumbled over a fallen chair. He fired repeatedly, but Mona zigzagged through the air, each shot missing her by inches. She landed on him with a sickening crunch, her claws digging into his shoulders as she drove him to the floor.
“Aw, such a pity,” Mona hissed, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned in close, her wings fluttering ominously as she stared into his terrified eyes. “I was just starting to have fun.” With a flick of her wrist, her claws found his neck, and his screams were cut short as blood pooled beneath him.
The last two men tried to run, abandoning their loot and bolting for the exit. Bryce, still lounging in the booth, watched with mild amusement as one of them tripped over a fallen table. “Leaving so soon?” Bryce called out lazily, spinning one of his ray guns on his finger.
But Mona was too fast for the men. She swooped down, her wings kicking up a gust of wind that sent napkins and overturned chairs flying. She grabbed one man by the back of his jacket and yanked him off his feet, tossing him effortlessly across the room. He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, his body crumpling to the floor.
The final man made It to the door, his trembling hand reaching for the handle. Mona’s wings let out a sharp, mechanical whir as she rocketed forward, slamming him against the glass with enough force to crack it. He whimpered, his breath fogging the glass as he clawed at her arms.
“Please! Don’t kill me!” he begged, tears streaming down his face.
Mona tilted her head, her glowing eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at her lips. “What’s the matter? Weren’t you big and bad a minute ago?” She slammed his head into the glass again, the crack spreading like a spider web.
“Enough, bug eyes,” Bryce called out, finally standing and adjusting his jacket. “Finish him off already so we can go.” Mona huffed, rolling her eyes but relenting.
With a flick of her claws, she ended the man’s misery, his body slumping to the floor. The diner fell silent except for the faint buzz of Mona’s wings as she hovered back to the booth.
She landed gracefully, folding her wings neatly behind her back as she picked up her bowl of mushroom soup. “Fucking amateurs,” she muttered, taking a sip as if nothing had happened.
Bryce smirked as he carried the robotic crying baby’s cradle in his hand. Around them, the diner workers and customers began to cautiously move again, their faces pale as they avoided looking directly at the blood-smeared girl. “Should’ve stayed home today,” Bryce muttered to himself, shaking his head as he stood with a grin.
The narrow streets of the undercity buzzed with life, a chaotic blend of neon signs, holographic advertisements, and the clatter of machinery. Towering above were crisscrossed metal walkways and pipes that hissed steam, casting faint shadows on the grime-covered ground below. The air was thick with the scent of oil, burnt wires, and street food as Mona and Bryce weaved through the crowded alleys, their banter echoing amid the cacophony of street vendors hawking wares, chimera’s, and bounty hunters.
“Face it, the Moon Hawks are just a bunch of wannabes,” Mona said, her voice dripping with smugness. She adjusted her jacket, the Sun Crawlers’ radiant sun emblem catching the light. “You all act like you’re so tough, but you’re more about flashiness than actual action.”
Bryce snorted, popping his gum with a loud crack as he stuffed his free hand in his pocket. While he carried the Cradle in his other hand. “Oh, please. At least we don’t run around pretending we’re some kind of noble heroes, like you Sun Crawlers. ‘Purifying the undercity,’” he mocked, raising his hands dramatically. “What a joke.”
Mona rolled her eyes, her wings twitching slightly beneath her jacket. “It’s called having a purpose, dumbass. We don’t just sit around picking fights and stealing scrap. We’re out here trying to make this place livable. What do you Moon Hawks do? Graffiti and scavenge?”
Bryce stopped, turning to her with an exaggerated look of offense. “Excuse me? First of all, our graffiti is art. Second, we’ve done plenty for the undercity! Like… uh…” He trailed off, snapping his fingers. “Like keeping these streets clear of punks like you.”
Mona let out a sharp laugh, drawing the attention of a passing merchant who quickly scurried away upon seeing her claws. “Right, because shooting up businesses and pissing off everyone in the city is really making a good difference.”
Bryce shrugged, smirking. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep life interesting. Besides, at least we don’t go around preaching like we’re the undercity’s saviors. Your leader, what’s his name? Blaze? Flare?”
“Scara,” Mona corrected, her voice growing colder. “And she’s ten times the leader yours will ever be. At least she’s got vision, not just a penchant for leather jackets and stealing.”
Bryce chuckled, leaning closer with a smug grin. “Oh, yeah? What’s her vision? Turning the undercity into a day spa? Because last I checked, things are still pretty shitty down here.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the dim light. “Better than your Moon Hawks, who only care about themselves. We’re out here trying to unite people, Bryce. You guys are just another gang in a long line of gangs keeping this place fractured.”
Bryce opened his mouth to retort but paused, looking up as they passed under a massive holographic ad projected onto a rusty wall. The ad flickered, showing a middle aged, clean-cut man with orange hair, holding a glowing tablet. “Building a Better Tomorrow, join Rook Enterprises Today!” the voiceover boomed, almost mocking in its artificial cheerfulness.
Bryce pointed up at it, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. “You see that? That’s who’s really keeping this city fractured. Rook, Phyllo, Aves, Syn, all those bastards up top. Doesn’t matter what we do down here; they’ve already written us off.”
Mona glanced at the ad, her jaw tightening. “Which is why we need to stand up to them. Together, the Sun Crawlers could lead-”
“Together?” Bryce interrupted, letting out a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on, Mona. You really think your gang and mine are gonna hold hands and sing kumbaya? Get real. The second you Sun Crawlers got the upper hand; you’d turn on us in a heartbeat.”
“That’s rich coming from a Moon Hawk,” Mona shot back, her tone biting. “You’d sell your own mother for a better stash of parts.” Bryce grinned, unbothered by the jab. “If it was a really good stash, maybe.”
They continued walking, the argument simmering as the streets grew darker, illuminated only by the faint glow of neon signs advertising cheap augments, black-market tech, and dubious food stands.
“You know,” Mona said after a moment, her voice quieter, “the undercity wasn’t always like this. My grandma used to tell me stories about how people used to care for each other, back before the people up top turned us into their dumping ground.”
Bryce glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “Yeah, well… my grampa used to say the same thing. Guess that’s what happens when you let the rich call the shots.”
For a brief moment, the two walked in silence, their usual bickering replaced by a shared bitterness toward the world that had shaped them. Then Bryce, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist breaking the tension. “But for real, bug eyes, when the Moon Hawks take over the undercity, maybe we’ll give you Sun Crawlers a little slice of the action. You know, out of charity.”
“Thank you,” Bryce replied with a mock bow. “I try.” The sounds of the bustling undercity swallowed their voices as they disappeared into the crowd, their argument continuing like clockwork. Despite their lifelong rivalry, there was an undeniable rhythm to their bickering.
The neon haze of the undercity flickered in the narrow alleyway as Bryce and Mona strolled casually, the glow of their respective gang emblems dim against the overwhelming light pollution. Their earlier argument had shifted to a new topic, food.
“I’m just saying,” Bryce began, lazily tossing the cradle from one hand to the other, “if you’re gonna eat mushroom soup, you might as well just gnaw on the garbage it came from. Same taste, less effort.”
Mona shot him a glare, her wings twitching beneath her jacket. “First of all, it’s not garbage, it’s street cuisine. Second, if I wanted your opinion on food, I’d ask… which I didn’t.”
Bryce smirked, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. “Fine, keep defending your weird fungus water. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here eating actual food, like a normal person.”
“You wouldn’t know real food if it slapped you,” Mona retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. “What do you even eat? Instant noodles and vending machine snacks?”
Their banter faded as they reached the end of the alleyway, finding themselves blocked by a rusted chain-link fence and a stack of forgotten crates. They paused, the faint hum of distant machinery filling the silence.
“Well, this was a waste of time,” Mona muttered, turning on her heel. Bryce followed, shrugging. “Guess we’ll just-”
The sound of soft mechanical whirs and the low hum of energy weapons filled the air, cutting Bryce off mid-sentence. From the shadows, two figures emerged, their outlines sharp against the glow of the many hovering drones that flanked them.
“Looks like we’re popular today,” Bryce quipped, his tone light but his posture shifting ever so slightly.The first bounty hunter, clad in a sleek helmet with glowing crimson eyes, chuckled as he raised two ray gun pistols. “Well, well, well. Who would’ve thought you two of all people would be hanging together?”
The second bounty hunter, a chimera with chitinous armor-like skin and mandible-like appendages along his jawline, pointed one clawed hand toward the cradle Bryce held. “And with a baby no less!” He let out a rasping laugh. “We hit the jackpot!”
The helmeted bounty hunter’s voice was thick with malice as he tilted his head. “Two gang brats to kill and a baby to sell off. Rook is gonna pay us real good for this haul.”Mona cracked her neck, her grin widening into something borderline feral. “You hunters never learn, do you?” She took a step forward, her wings erupting from her back with a burst of iridescent light.
Bryce, unbothered, adjusted the cradle in his hand as his headphones shifted and molded around most of his head. Transforming into a sleek, futuristic helmet that let his messy brown hair hang out. His voice, now slightly modulated, carried a teasing lilt. “Race ya!”
With that, his hover boots roared to life, lifting him off the ground in a flash. He zipped skyward, narrowly avoiding a volley of energy blasts from the helmeted bounty hunter, who howled with laughter before launching into the air after him, his swarm of drones whirring and flashing as they gave chase.
The chimera bounty hunter and Mona remained in the alleyway, their gazes locking as the chaos unfolded above.“Just you and me now, princess,” the chimera sneered, raising his ray gun revolver.Mona’s grin stretched wider, her hazel eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “Know your place!”
Before the bounty hunter could react, Mona launched forward with a deafening crack of speed, her wings propelling her faster than the eye could track. His shot went wide as she weaved through the air, her claws slashing through his armor like skin. Spilling yellowish liquid onto the Alley’s walls.
The chimera screamed as he stumbles backwards. “Y-you’re gonna regret that, bug-girl!” he roared, swinging a chitinous fist at her.Mona dodged effortlessly, her laugh sharp and mocking. “Bug-girl? That’s the best you’ve got? How original!”
With a single punch, Mona sent the chimera crashing through the wall of a nearby store across the alleyway, shattering glass and sending debris flying. The patrons inside screamed and scattered as Mona followed through, her wings slicing through the air as she dove toward him like a predator on its prey.
As Mona plummets from the sky, her wings folding back like a missile locking onto its target, she aims to drive the Chimera’s head into the ground with lethal precision. But just as her boot nears its mark, the Chimera rolls away at the last possible moment, dodging her attack by a hair’s breadth. Her foot slams into the ground with explosive force, sending cracks spider-webbing across the pavement as a shockwave ripples through the air. Bits of concrete and dust burst upward in chaotic spirals, but Mona doesn’t lose a beat.
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Before the debris even begins to fall, Mona’s head snaps toward the Chimera, her malevolent grin widening as her glowing eyes pierce through the haze like twin embers. The Chimera’s instincts betray him, his eyes widen in primal terror as he scrambles clumsily to his feet.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mona growls, her voice dripping with predatory glee. She lunges forward in a blur, her leg swinging out in a fluid arc. Her foot connects with the side of his head with a gut-wrenching crunch, sending the Chimera hurtling like a ragdoll deeper into the store. He crashes through shelves stocked with outdated tech gadgets and neon-lit snack displays, scattering merchandise and sending panicked customers diving for cover.
Before the Chimera can even catch his breath, Mona is already closing in, her movements fluid and unrelenting. He forces himself into a desperate roll, his feet skidding across the glossy floor as he raises his arms just in time to block her incoming right hook. The force of her punch reverberates through his arms, leaving them trembling under the sheer power behind her strike. Even with his enhanced reflexes, the impact sends him flying backward.
The Chimera’s body rockets out of the store and into the busy streets of the undercity. He slams into the side of a speeding hover car, his body crumpling the sleek metallic surface like paper. The vehicle careens out of control, smashing into another car in a cascade of sparks and screeching metal. The chaos sends bystanders scattering, their shouts blending into the cacophony of alarms and grinding engines.
Mona steps out of the store slowly, her wings folding behind her, giving her the silhouette of a dark, vengeful deity against the neon-lit skyline of the undercity. Her glowing eyes lock onto the Chimera as he struggles to peel himself off the crumpled vehicle, his movements sluggish and pained.
“Aw, you’re still moving?” Mona taunts, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as she begins to stalk toward him, each step deliberate and menacing. “Guess I’ll have to fix that.”
Mona’s fingers curl around the bright yellow sign, its bold “SLOW DOWN” lettering a cruel irony to the chaos around her. With a sharp tug, she wrenches it free from the concrete, sending cracks splintering outward. The pole groans in protest as she twists it in her grip, bending the metal as if it were no stronger than wet clay. Each step she takes toward the Chimera echoes ominously in the hushed aftermath of what can't even be considered a battle, the metallic clang of her boots on the pavement like a death knell.
The Chimera, bloodied and broken, scrambles weakly on the ground, his enhanced body failing to obey his desperate commands. His hands claw at the air as if to ward her off. “No… please, stop!” he pleads, his voice cracking with raw terror. His movements grow more frantic as she approaches, her towering silhouette illuminated by the eerie glow of neon signs and the shattered headlights of wrecked cars.
Mona’s grin only widens, her teeth glinting like a predator savoring the kill. The Chimera’s words are meaningless noise to her now. She tilts her head slightly, her glowing eyes drinking in the scene as if relishing his suffering.
“So long,” she whispers coldly, her voice devoid of mercy, before hefting the twisted sign with one hand. With terrifying precision, she hurls it forward. The pole whistles through the air, a deadly blur of yellow and metal. It strikes the Chimera’s skull with a sickening crack, the force driving it clean through his head and pinning him to the crumpled car behind him. His body goes limp instantly, the faint neon glow of his cybernetic enhancements flickering and dying as blood pools beneath him.
A crimson splatter paints Mona’s face, and she pauses, licking her lips with an unnaturally long tongue to clean the mess. The metallic tang of blood lingers on her tongue as she tilts her head back, savoring the quiet moment of victory.
Her attention shifts upward, her malevolent grin fading as she watches the chaos above. Far in the distance, Bryce rockets through the undercity’s smog-filled sky, his hover boots leaving streaks of glowing energy in their wake. A massive swarm of drones with no end in sight, undulates like a mechanical worm, chases him relentlessly, their formation twisting and reshaping to match his evasive maneuvers.
Mona narrows her eyes, wings twitching slightly. The sight of Bryce’s distant figure darting through the air brings an almost annoyed smirk to her face.
“Show-off,” she mutters under her breath, wiping the last streak of blood from her cheek with a finger before flicking it to the ground. Her wings unfurl once more, glinting menacingly in the city’s dim light as she prepares to take off, leaving behind the lifeless body of the Chimera and the wreckage of their brief but brutal encounter.
Bryce flew high above the undercity, the faint hum of his hover boots intensifying as they propelled him at breakneck speed. The air was thick with smog, neon signs flickering erratically as if warning him of the chaos that trailed behind. Clutched tightly in his right arm was the closed cradle, its sleek black surface reflecting the pale glow of the sunlight peeking through the towering megastructures. In his left hand, his ray gun glimmered with faint energy, its barrel sweeping back and forth as if daring the swarm to get closer.
Behind him, the massive worm-shaped amalgamation of drones twisted and roared like a mechanical leviathan, its segmented body constantly shifting. The drones seamlessly reconfigured, forming spiraling loops and elongated shapes to slither through the maze of the undercity without obliterating the buildings entirely. Yet the sheer force of its pursuit wasn’t without collateral damage, walls buckled, windows shattered, and rooftops groaned under the weight of its passing, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Bryce glanced back briefly, his hazel eyes narrowing behind his helmet as he watched the swarm gaining on him. “Persistent bastard,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the danger. With a sharp twist, he dove downward, plummeting toward the glowing streets below.
As he neared the ground, Bryce shifted his weight, letting the hover boots disengage into a different mode. His boots made contact with the asphalt with a resounding screech, sparks flying in all directions as he skated along the road at dizzying speed. The ground beneath him trembled slightly, his movements a blur of precision as he weaved between abandoned vehicles and streetlights. Neon billboards flashed overhead, illuminating his path as he zigzagged through the undercity.
The worm of drones adjusted, its segments compressing and elongating as it pursued him through the narrow streets. Its mechanical “head” loomed ominously, glowing red sensors scanning for its prey. Buildings quaked under the strain, their once-smooth surfaces now marred with deep gouges and cracks where the drones scraped against them.
Bryce Shot a glance upward at the monstrosity. He swung the ray gun upward, firing off several plasma bursts. The shots struck a few drones, sending sparks flying as they spiraled out of control and crashed into the sides of buildings, but the swarm barely faltered.
The cradle in his arm emitted a faint hum, its energy field vibrating slightly as if sensing the chaos. Bryce adjusted his grip, holding it close to his chest as he leaned into a sharp turn, the sparks from his boots lighting up the alleyway he darted through. The worm followed relentlessly, its segments splitting momentarily to avoid a direct collision with the towering structures around it.
At the end of the alley, Bryce’s hover boots roared back to life. He kicked off the ground with a burst of energy, launching himself skyward once more. The transition was seamless, one moment, he was skating across the gritty roads, and the next, he was soaring above the city, the lights below shrinking into a kaleidoscope of colors.
The worm gave chase, unfurling like a predator scenting blood. Its sheer size was almost hypnotic, each segment bristling with weaponry and glowing panels as it reshaped itself to match Bryce’s every maneuver. Bryce spiraled upward, his trajectory a dizzying mix of loops and sharp dives, each movement designed to keep the swarm guessing.
“Alright, wormy,” he said, glancing at the writhing mass behind him. “You’re fast, but let’s see if you’ve got moves.” With a sharp turn, Bryce angled himself toward one of the megastructures, flying dangerously close to its surface as he scaled upwards. The drones followed, their formation compacting as they twisted along the skyscraper’s edges, their glowing sensors reflecting off the sleek metal walls.
As Bryce soared above the megastructure at breakneck speed, the giant square hole in the undercity’s sky came into view, a massive aperture leading directly to Horizon Heights, the shining metropolis above. The harsh, artificial glow of the undercity dimmed as sunlight poured through the opening, casting golden beams onto the decaying metal and grime below. The sight of natural light, rare and almost otherworldly in the undercity, briefly illuminated Bryce’s helmet.
He stole a glance behind him at the relentless writhing mass of drones, a seemingly endless serpentine amalgamation screeching in unison as it pursued him with deadly precision. “Alright, time to wrap this up,” Bryce muttered under his breath, setting his hover boots into overdrive. With a burst of energy, the boots flared to life, their thrusters emitting a piercing whine as he rocketed toward the glowing portal above.
The drones, undeterred, began firing energy blasts in rapid succession. Vibrant beams of plasma streaked through the air around him, close enough to scorch his jacket. With precise, instinctive movements, Bryce dodged the onslaught, weaving through the air like a dancer in a deadly performance. His path twisted and spiraled, his trajectory making it nearly impossible for the drones to lock onto him.
As he approached the giant hole in the sky at Mach speeds, Bryce dematerialized his ray gun with a flick of his wrist. His hand dove into his pocket, pulling out a handful of pebble-sized nuclear explosives. Their dull, unassuming appearance belied their destructive potential, the faint hum of their activation the only warning of their power.
“Time to taste my party favors,” Bryce quipped, his voice steady despite the chaos. With a practiced flick of his hand, he released the bombs, letting them fall like harmless debris. The drones, their sensors locked onto his every movement, swallowed the tiny devices into the mass of their writhing form.
A fraction of a second later, the bombs detonated. A series of blinding flashes erupted within the drone swarm, the force of the explosions tearing through its body. The bounty hunter piloting the swarm, who was encased in a sleek, giant reinforced bubble at its core, let out a guttural, distorted scream as the shockwaves rattled his frame. Shards of drones and molten fragments rained down, their mechanical death cries echoing through the undercity.
Bryce, still speeding toward the hole, felt the scorching heat of the explosion at his back. The concussive force propelled him forward, but he barely flinched. His boots flared again as he surged through the massive aperture, narrowly outrunning the cascading destruction behind him.
Emerging into Horizon Heights, Bryce was momentarily blinded by the brilliant blue sky. The stark contrast to the undercity was jarring, the towering glass skyscrapers, pristine streets, and gleaming white marble sidewalks were a stark reminder of the disparity between the worlds. But he had no time for reflection.
As gravity took hold, he plummeted toward the city below. With a resounding crash, Bryce landed on the marble pavement, the impact sending a web of cracks radiating from the point of contact. Dust and debris billowed around him as startled pedestrians in fancy outfits gasped and scattered. Slowly, Bryce straightened, his hover boots steaming and the baby cradle still secure in his grip.
He adjusted his jacket with his free hand and casually dusted off his shoulder, his expression as nonchalant as ever. “Smooth as ever,” he muttered, smirking to himself as he took in the shocked faces of the onlookers.
But just as Bryce was about to stroll through the gleaming streets of Horizon Heights to bask in the temporary calm of his escape, his helmet’s internal speaker crackled to life. A familiar voice, sharp and accusatory, burst through the silence.
“What the fuck, Bryce!? You damn near killed the baby!” Mona’s furious shout echoed inside his helmet, making him wince.
Bryce let out an exaggerated sigh as he began walking and answered with his usual nonchalance. “What are you on about? I’ve got the baby safe and secure right here.” He lifted the cradle slightly as if to emphasize his point, his tone calm and collected.
“Oh, really?” Mona shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Then maybe you can explain why I just got an alert on my watch saying the baby’s health is at 30 percent!”
Bryce froze mid-step, the smug grin evaporating from his face. His gaze dropped to the cradle in his arm, his heart sinking as he muttered, “Ah, crap, um-”
“You actual fucking idiot!” Mona screamed, cutting him off. “We’re going to fail this assignment because of you! Do you have any idea how much this grade means for us? For me?!”
Bryce rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his helmet distorting the movement slightly. “Relax, relax, I know a guy. He can fix this. No big deal.” He injected as much casual confidence into his voice as possible, hoping to defuse Mona’s rage.
Mona’s exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. “Uh-huh. You know a guy. Great. That’s so reassuring.” Her voice was thick with skepticism. “Send me the coordinates or, I swear, I’ll put another hit on your head.”
Before Bryce could respond, she ended the call abruptly. The line went dead, leaving him standing there with the cradle in one arm and a sour expression on his face.
He rolled his eyes under his helmet and muttered to himself as he started walking again, his boots clinking faintly against the marble pavement. “Bitch.”
The city around him buzzed with activity. Horizon Heights was a glittering utopia compared to the undercity, with sleek, angular architecture that reflected the sunlight in dazzling patterns. Hover vehicles glided silently through the air, and impeccably dressed pedestrians walked briskly along spotless sidewalks. Yet, despite its pristine appearance, Bryce knew the city’s polished veneer was just a mask for the same corruption and greed that plagued the world below.
As Bryce’s helmet transformed back into headphones around his neck, he navigated through the streets with purpose, dodging the occasional glance from suspicious cyborg cops patrolling the area. He glanced down at the cradle again, now hyperaware of its contents. The baby’s health monitor blinked faintly, the numbers fluctuating but still dangerously low.
“Alright, kid,” he murmured under his breath. “Hang in there. Uncle Bryce has got this.”
About ten minutes later Bryce would then approach the tech shop, a squat, unassuming building sandwiched between two gleaming chrome skyscrapers. Its neon sign blinked erratically, reading “MechMedic Repairs & Mods” in bold green letters.
The shop was clearly meant for utility rather than aesthetic appeal; its exterior was weathered, with patches of exposed circuitry sparking faintly along the edges of the entrance. Bits of scrap metal and old drone parts littered the ground near the doorway, their twisted forms a testament to years of hurried repairs and discarded projects.
As Bryce got closer, his headphones sensors picked up the faint hum of machinery from inside, accompanied by occasional bursts of welding sparks flashing through the shop’s grimy windows. His eyes flicked to the figure leaning against the wall by the entrance. Mona stood there, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locking onto him as soon as he came into view.
“My, aren’t you fast?” Bryce quipped, a sly grin creeping across his face as he shifted the baby cradle to his other arm.
Mona didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing in cold silence before she pushed off the wall and strode into the shop without a word. Bryce chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he followed. “Charming as ever,” he muttered, stepping through the entrance.
Inside, the shop was a chaotic maze of metal and wires. The air smelled of ozone and grease, a thick, industrial scent that clung to everything. Rows of shelves lined the walls, each packed with an assortment of tech: robotic limbs, drone components, glowing power cores, and cybernetic implants, many of them sparking faintly or humming with residual energy.
Several shelves sagged under the weight of their contents, threatening to collapse under the sheer volume of discarded hardware. The centerpiece of the shop was a large circular workbench that dominated the floor space, its surface a battlefield of tools, half-finished projects, and open panels spilling wires. A robotic arm attached to the ceiling hovered above the bench, whirring softly as it moved to grip a welding tool. Sparks occasionally flew as the arm worked on a mechanical limb, its movements precise and almost hypnotic.
Holographic screens floated in midair around the bench, displaying schematics and diagnostics that shifted and flickered as the robotic arm adjusted its task. In one corner of the shop, a towering bipedal mech suit loomed, its dented and scorched armor plates hinting at a violent history.
The walls were plastered with faded posters of old mech brands and advertisements for custom modifications. A small sign behind the counter read, “No Refunds. No Questions.”
Behind the counter stood a wiry old man with cybernetic goggles fused to his face, their lenses glowing faintly as he tinkered with a tiny robotic spider. His mechanical right arm moved with eerie precision, a dozen tiny tools extending from its fingers as he worked. The man didn’t look up as Bryce and Mona entered, his attention entirely focused on his project.
Mona shot Bryce a glare over her shoulder as she approached the counter. Bryce, still carrying the cradle, hung back slightly, his gaze drifting to a small shelf filled with miscellaneous gadgets. “This place is a treasure trove,” he muttered to himself, picking up a spherical drone that buzzed faintly in his hand.
“Don’t touch anything unless you’re buying,” the old man grunted without looking up, his voice gruff and mechanical, likely modulated through a voice implant.
Bryce smirked but placed the drone back on the shelf. Mona, however, wasted no time. “We’ve got a situation,” she said, slamming her palm on the counter. “And it needs fixing. Now.”
The man finally looked up, his glowing goggles zooming in and out as they scanned Mona and then Bryce. His lips curled into a knowing smirk as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with amusement. “Let me guess. Baby trouble?”
The wiry old man’s cybernetic goggles whirred and clicked as they focused on the cradle in Bryce’s arms. His smirk widened, revealing a row of metallic teeth that gleamed under the flickering neon light of the shop. “Well, ain’t this a sight? I thought I’d seen it all, but a couple of gang rats babysitting? That’s new.”
Bryce stepped forward, cradling the bundle more protectively. “Cut the commentary, gramps. We need a fix, not a lecture.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it as he set the cradle on the counter.
Mona leaned in, her wings folding neatly behind her as her sharp eyes bored into the old man. “The baby’s health is at thirty percent,” she said bluntly. “If it drops any lower, our whole assignment is shot. And if it fails, I’ll make sure your shop is the next thing that drops.”
The old man chuckled, a dry, metallic sound that rattled in his throat. “As feisty as they say, Mona. Fine, fine. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He pulled a multi-tool from his belt, its ends flicking into a diagnostic scanner as he waved it over the cradle.
The device emitted a soft hum, and a holographic display materialized above the cradle, showing vital signs and intricate mechanical schematics of the baby’s life-support system. The readings were grim, blinking red warnings and a steady alarm indicating critical failure.
The man frowned, tapping at the hologram with his augmented hand. “This kid’s systems are fried. Looks like someone decided to take a joyride through hell with a delicate piece of tech.” His goggles zoomed in on Bryce, who raised his hands defensively.
“Hey, I kept it safe, didn’t I?” Bryce said, trying to sound nonchalant. “No scratches on the cradle, no dents, no cracks”“The inside is what matters, genius,” Mona snapped.
The old man snorted, then turned his attention back to the hologram. “The coolant system’s running dry, the respiratory support is lagging, and the neuro-sync is on its last legs. I can patch it, but…” He trailed off, his fingers flicking across the air as he pulled up more diagnostics.
“But what?” Mona demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
He hesitated, looking between the two of them. “It’s gonna take time. This isn’t just a quick tune-up. I’m talking about hours, maybe longer. And I don’t think you’ve got that luxury judging by the looks of this.” The old man states as he gazes upon a hologram that displayed a news article. The news article detailing about Mona and Bryce's recent escapades.
Mona’s wings flared slightly, her eyes narrowing. “You’d better make it faster, or-”“Relax,” Bryce interrupted, holding up a hand. “Gramps here isn’t dumb enough to drag his feet when two of the undercity’s most charming faces are asking for help.” He flashed a grin, but Mona’s glare didn’t soften.
The old man sighed, muttering something under his breath about “damn kids” before gesturing to a backroom. “Fine. Bring it to the repair bay. I’ll see what I can do.”
Bryce scooped up the cradle and followed Mona as she strode toward the backroom. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a stark, clinical workspace. Unlike the cluttered front, this area was meticulously organized.
White light bathed the room, reflecting off stainless steel surfaces and rows of precision tools mounted neatly on the walls. A diagnostic pod sat in the center, its sleek design a stark contrast to the gritty chaos of the shop outside.
“Put it there,” the old man instructed, motioning to the pod. Bryce carefully placed the cradle inside, and the pod’s lid slid shut with a hiss, locking the baby in a protective shell.
The holograms reappeared above the pod, and the man got to work, his mechanical fingers moving faster than the eye could follow as he adjusted settings and initiated repair protocols. Mona stood off to the side, her wings twitching as she watched silently, while Bryce leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
The old man worked with the precision of a seasoned craftsman, his augmented hands moving fluidly over the delicate mechanisms of the baby cradle. Holographic screens projected diagnostic readouts into the air, casting a faint glow over the sleek, high-tech repair bay. This was no undercity workshop; the clean lines, gleaming surfaces, and advanced tools made it clear they were in the upper echelon of Horizon Heights.
Bryce crossed his arms with a boyish grin, his hazel eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Told you he was good, didn’t I?” he said, glancing at Mona.
Mona stood near the workbench, her wings folded tight against her back, her sharp gaze locked onto the old man’s every move. The warm sunlight streaming through the large skylight above contrasted sharply with her stern demeanor. She didn’t respond to Bryce immediately, her attention focused on the cradle and its tiny, vulnerable occupant.
Finally, she spoke, her voice flat. “We’ll see.”
The old man chuckled, his voice a low rasp. “Still don’t trust me, huh? Smart girl.” He adjusted a few settings on the cradle, his mechanical fingers clicking softly. “Most people don’t bring me their problems unless they’re desperate. Let me guess, she dragged you into this, huh, Bryce?”
Bryce laughed, a carefree sound that seemed out of place in the sterile shop. “Other way around, actually. I dragged her here. You’re welcome, by the way.” Mona shot him a glare but said nothing.
The old man leaned back, wiping imaginary sweat from his synthetic brow. “Well, the kid’s stabilizing. Whoever designed this thing put in some clever redundancies, but the systems were still a hair away from failing completely.” He looked up at Bryce, his goggles magnifying his eyes comically. “You really fly through a firefight with this thing in your arms?”
Bryce smirked, holding up his hands. “What can I say? I’m a multi-tasker.”
“An idiot,” Mona muttered under her breath. The old man chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t turn this cradle into scrap metal. The undercity isn’t exactly forgiving of reckless flyers these days. You’re still hot from that chase?”
Bryce shrugged, brushing off the concern. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’ll forget about me soon enough.”
Mona stepped closer; her tone sharp. “They don’t forget about people like us.” Bryce rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his attention to the shop itself, letting his gaze wander over the room.
The walls were lined with shelves holding everything from high-end cybernetic components to prototype drones and weapon attachments. A large table in the center was cluttered with tools and half-finished projects, while a sleek repair station hummed softly in the corner.
“You’ve upgraded, old man,” Bryce remarked, nodding toward a particularly advanced piece of machinery. “This place looks almost legit.”
The old man smirked. “Horizon Heights pays well, kid. A few wealthy clients, and I can afford to stay above the fray.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed. “That mean you’re out of the undercity for good?”
The old man’s smile faded slightly, his gaze shifting toward the skylight. “For now. But you know how it is, nobody really leaves. Not completely.”
Mona seemed to consider this, her expression unreadable. Bryce, sensing the tension, clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. How long until the kid’s good to go?”
“Another hour or so,” the old man replied, returning his focus to the cradle. “But if you’re smart, you’ll lay low until then. Horizon Heights might look shiny on the outside, but it’s just as dangerous as the undercity with a target on your head.”
Bryce grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “When are we ever not targets?”
Mona didn’t laugh. She crossed her arms, her wings twitching slightly as she glanced toward the door. “We don’t have an hour. Make it faster.”
The old man sighed but didn’t argue, his augmented fingers working faster as he muttered to himself. Bryce watched him for a moment, then looked at Mona with a lopsided smile. “You really need to learn to relax.”
“Relax?” Mona said, her tone icy. “We’re deep in Horizon Heights with a half-dead baby, no backup, and a bounty worth a fortune on each of our heads. Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to 'relax.'"
Bryce held up his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken.”
The shop fell into silence again, the only sound the hum of machinery and the faint murmur of distant city traffic. The tension in the room was palpable, but neither Bryce nor Mona said anything more, their focus shifting to the fragile life resting in the cradle.
The workshop was dim, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of holographic interfaces and the soft hum of the equipment. Bryce lounged in a chair by the wall, one leg draped lazily over the other as he tossed a pebble-sized nuclear bomb into the air and caught it with a practiced flick of his wrist. The faint metallic gleam of the bomb caught the light each time, reflecting the casual recklessness that defined Bryce’s demeanor.
Across the room, Mona sat stiffly in another chair, her sharp eyes fixed on the wall as if glaring at it could solve all her problems. Her wings were folded tightly against her back, twitching occasionally as she tapped her fingers against her knee.
The old man finally stepped back from the cradle, stretching his mechanical hands with a series of clicks and whirrs. “Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. “The kid’s good as new. Systems fully repaired, vital signs stable. You’re lucky you brought them here when you did.”
Mona’s head snapped toward him, her glare shifting from the wall to the old man. “About damn time,” she said curtly, standing up with a motion so sharp it was almost predatory.
Bryce caught the bomb one last time, then let out a dramatic sigh of relief as he slipped it into his pocket. “Yeesh, almost fell asleep over here,” he said, his voice light and teasing as he stretched his arms over his head. “You really know how to drag things out, old man.”
The old man raised an eyebrow but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he gestured toward the cradle, which now emitted a soft blue light from its sides. The baby inside was sleeping soundly, their tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm.
“Drag things out?” the old man repeated, his tone dry. “You two brought me a time bomb of a cradle and expected miracles. I should be charging you triple for the rush job.”
Bryce grinned, getting up from his chair with a swagger. “Triple? For us? Come on, we’re practically family.”
Mona shot him a sharp look as she stepped closer to the cradle. “Don’t push your luck, Bryce,” she muttered before turning her attention to the baby. She peered down at the child, her stern expression softening for a brief moment. “At least they’re okay.”
Bryce strolled over, hands in his pockets as he looked down at the sleeping baby. “Told you he had it under control.” Mona didn’t bother responding to that, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the cradle’s readouts.
The old man wiped his hands on a rag, watching the two with a bemused expression. “You’ve got the kid back in working order. Now what? You sticking around, or are you heading straight into more trouble?”
Bryce shrugged. “Trouble’s kind of our thing. But we’ll lay low for a bit. Right, Mona?”
Mona straightened, her wings shifting slightly as she glanced at Bryce. “We’ll lay low as long as we need to. No more reckless stunts until we pass this stupid project.”
Bryce smirked. “Define ‘reckless.” The old man shook his head, chuckling softly as he started tidying up his workstation. “You two are going to get yourselves killed one of these days.”
“Not today,” Bryce said confidently, giving the old man a wink. He reached for the cradle, carefully lifting it with a surprising amount of gentleness. “Thanks for the assist, old timer. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just don’t make a habit of it,” the old man replied, his tone equal parts exasperation and amusement. Mona gave the old man a curt nod. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your hair now.”
As the two turned to leave, Bryce paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. “Hey, if you ever get bored of fixing up old tech, there’s always room for you in my gang."
The old man barked out a laugh. “Pass. I like my life relatively crime free.” Bryce grinned. “Your loss.”
Mona grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the shop before he could say anything else, her grip firm. “Let’s go, Bryce. Now.”
The door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, leaving the old man shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Kids these days.”