Red was on the other side, his sniper rifle trained on the door, finger itching on the trigger. The tension in the room was thick, everyone on edge, their weapons aimed and ready. For minutes, they stood there, hearts pounding in their chests, breaths shallow and rapid. But when nothing happened, they began to relax, letting out breaths they didn’t realize they were holding.
"What the hell just happened?" one of the men asked, his voice trembling, his face pale as a ghost.
Red opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew Ray. Ray didn’t have any cybernetics, nothing that could explain what he had just witnessed. What Ray had done was impossible, even with the most advanced cybernectics.
A sound—a faint, wet squelch—caught Red’s attention. He felt something warm and sticky on his back. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes widening in horror. One of the men Ray had killed was alive. The man’s arms were like Ray’s now—black, sleek, ending in long, razor-sharp blades.
Red’s instinct kicked in, and he tried to run, but when he reached the door, it was locked, refusing to budge. Panic surged through him as he heard the sickening sound of bodies hitting the floor behind him, one after the other. The hall was too narrow, too cramped—there was no escape. One by one, the others were cut down, leaving Red alone, trembling, drenched in sweat.
The figure that had once been a man began to shift, its form twisting and warping.
“Red, you motherfucker,” Ray’s voice growled, filled with a cold, seething fury.
Red’s mind shattered, his sanity snapping like a dry twig. He started laughing, a hysterical, maniacal cackle that echoed through the hall.
“This must be a nightmare,” he choked out between bouts of laughter, his eyes wild and unfocused. “It has to be…”
But the nightmare was real. Ray stepped forward, his arm, a wickedly sharp blade. Without hesitation, he plunged it into Red’s chest. A cold, black mass spread from the wound, tendrils writhing and burrowing into Red’s flesh, devouring him from the inside out. He screamed, a sound of pure agony, but it was short-lived. In the blink of an eye, Red was gone, erased, leaving no trace behind.
Ray’s body shimmered, shifting seamlessly into one of the Tiger Claws he had killed, and then, with a final glance at the carnage he had wrought, he disappeared into the night.
…
Ray found himself in a dark, filthy alley, slumped in a pile of trash. His eyes were closed, his mind racing. “I just killed them,” he murmured to himself, the memory of his blade sinking into flesh replaying in his mind like a broken record.
A normal person would be in shock, paralyzed by the horror of what they had done. But Ray wasn’t. He felt strangely detached, as though the emotions were there but muffled, like a distant echo. Perhaps it was the memories of the Tiger Claws he had consumed, or maybe it was Red’s cold, calculating mindset helping him keep it together. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
No, it wasn’t that. Something inside him was suppressing his emotions, keeping them at bay. His mind replayed the events again, trying to make sense of it all, focusing on the moment when Red had shot him in the head.
His body had spasmed, jerking to its feet with unnatural speed. He remembered how he had scanned the room, analyzing the threats, and then dashed toward Red, disarming him with inhuman precision. When he had been struck with a katana, the blade was absorbed into his arm, which then shifted into a design that allowed him to dispatch three more men in a heartbeat. The others had panicked, retreating and locking the door, but it was already too late.
“It seems like I have some kind of automatic system,” Ray mused aloud, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet alley. “Maybe even an AI… something that takes over when I’m gravely severely injured. It fights better than I ever could. Even Red was terrified, and he was borderline cyberpsycho.”
He sighed, the weight of the realization pressing down on him. “I don’t know if I should be scared or relieved that I can do that.”
His thoughts drifted back to Red’s memories, vivid and intrusive. He saw the moment Red had planted the tracker on him, leading the Tiger Claws right to his location , and they killed him . Red had hated Ray, resented him for the favor Johnny had shown him. Muffled rage flared up inside Ray, but he forced himself to calm down.
“But he’s dead now,” Ray muttered, pushing himself up from the trash heap. “What happened, happened.”
He stood up, brushing the grime from his clothes, and walked away, disappearing into the night.
…
Ray entered his apartment, moving silently through the familiar space. In the dim light, he saw his mother asleep on the couch, her breathing soft and steady. He approached her quietly, bending down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. He adjusted the blanket around her, making sure she was comfortable before slipping away into his room.
Inside, he stood before the mirror, studying his reflection. His forehead was smooth, unmarked—no scar, no sign of the bullet that had been there just hours ago. Ray closed his eyes, focusing on the strange sensation in his body, like a swarm of angry insects writhing beneath his skin. When he opened them, his reflection had changed. He no longer saw himself in the mirror but Red, every detail perfect down to the small scar above his eyebrow.
“Wow,” Ray breathed in Red’s voice, staring at the reflection with a mix of awe and horror. “I can see so much better now. Even the voice is identical.”
The idea of shifting had come to him earlier, a thought born from the notion that if he could copy the machines and technology he consumed, maybe he could do the same with organic matter. He was half right. He could replicate appearances, but the structure beneath remained inorganic, a perfect imitation without the life.
The implants felt natural, as though he had lived with them for years. He knew exactly how they worked, from the materials they were made of to their functions. He shifted again, this time keeping his eyes open, watching as his body turned black and began to writhe like a mass of ants. In a heartbeat, he had transformed into one of the Tiger Claws he had killed, and then into Rex Shawn. After a few more shifts, he returned to his own form, staring at his reflection with a smirk.
“Still, I’m the most handsome,” Ray quipped, a smug smile playing on his lips.
Curiosity piqued, he decided to test something new. He focused, willing his body to shift internally this time. The change was subtle, no outward alteration, but he felt the enhancements kick in—his vision sharpened, colors intensifying as night vision activated. His limbs felt stronger, faster. He even noticed a peculiar change in his lower body and chuckled when his junk turned pitch black and morphed slightly.
The eyes were the most unsettling part. He could change their color at will, but for a second, they turned completely black when he shifted. He shuddered at the sight, quickly moving on to test the weapons. He envisioned Red’s sniper rifle, but dismissed the idea—it wasn’t the place to test something so destructive. Instead, a shifting mass formed in his hand, solidifying into a machete. He swung it experimentally, feeling the weight, the balance, like it had been an extension of his body for years. The memories of how to use it, how to kill with it, flowed through him as if they were his own.
Ray sat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I have so much time now that I don’t need to sleep.”
For a few minutes, he sat in silence, letting the events of the day sink in. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he jumped to his feet, left his room, and quietly snuck out of the apartment. His bike roared to life as he sped through the empty streets, heading toward a set of apartments not far from his own.
“This is the one,” Ray muttered, standing in front of a nondescript door. He punched in the passcode on the panel next to the door and stepped inside. The place was unremarkable, cluttered and slightly dirty, but as he walked through the small apartment, a strange feeling of familiarity washed over him.
“This feels… strange,” Ray whispered, looking around. It felt like he had lived here for years, but he knew this was his first time setting foot in the place.
He moved to a small table and crouched down, feeling along the underside until he found a hidden button. With a quiet click, the wall in front of him slid down, revealing a hidden rack filled with guns.
“Nice stash, Red,” Ray said, his voice tinged with admiration as he looked over the impressive collection of weapons.
Red had been a mercenary before he worked for Johnny. It made sense that he would have a secret stash like this. Ray’s fingers brushed against a simple, worn pistol—a Nue, nothing fancy.
“This was Red’s first pistol,” Ray murmured as memories flooded his mind, unbidden and vivid. He saw a young Red, just a kid, stealing the gun from a passed-out drunk in a filthy alley. He felt the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of holding a weapon for the first time, and the fear that the man might wake up and take it back. The emotions were so real, so intense, that for a moment, Ray felt like they were his own.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He set the pistol back on the rack with a shaking hand, trying to push the memories away. But they lingered, like ghosts haunting the edges of his consciousness.
He pressed another button, and a small compartment slid open, revealing a pile of eddies. Ray’s eyes narrowed as he sifted through the money, piecing together Red’s life, his secrets, and the web of betrayal that had led to his death.
The weight of those memories, the reality of what he had become, settled heavily on Ray’s shoulders as he stood in the dim light of the hidden room. He wasn’t just carrying his own past anymore—he was carrying the memories, the lives, of those he had consumed. And with that knowledge came a terrifying power, one that he wasn’t sure he was ready to wield.
There were like 5,000 eddies in the stash.
“This can be handy,” Ray muttered, his fingers brushing over the crisp bills before his attention shifted to the shards nestled beside them. He knew from Red’s memories that these shards contained vital information, possibly encrypted data, or emergency contacts. Red had hidden them here for emergencies, but it was clear from the faint traces of memory that he had dipped into the stash before—each time, it was to feed his gambling habit.
“Stupid bastard,” Ray thought, skimming through the memories that flickered in his mind like old film reels.
Ray shook his head, closing the compartment with a quiet click and pressing a button on the panel. The wall slid back into place, concealing the rack of weapons and the stash once more.
“Good. Now I have a new apartment I can stay in,” Ray said to himself, sinking into the couch with a sigh. The weight of everything that had happened was beginning to settle in his bones, a heavy exhaustion that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
Just as he began to relax, the apartment door slid open with a sudden hiss. Ray’s instincts kicked in, and he rolled off the couch, taking cover just as a hail of bullets tore through the spot where he had been sitting.
“Red, come out, motherfucker! I know you’re here!” a woman’s voice rang out, sharp and furious.
“I’m not Red!” Ray shouted back, trying to diffuse the situation, but he could tell from the tension in her voice that she was far from calm.
Ray slowly raised his hands, fingers splayed to show he was unarmed. The gunfire ceased, and he carefully peeked over the edge of the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. The woman, standing tall with a gun pointed directly at him, was a drop dead gorgeous . Her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face with features so sharp and precise they seemed almost sculpted. Her eyes were a piercing gold, molten and intense, betraying her controlled anger.
She wore a black synth-leather jacket over a matching shirt and jeans, her stance exuding confidence and authority. Ray recognized the weapon in her hand—a Darra Polytechnic DS1 Pulsar—from Red’s memories. It was a powerful gun, not something you’d want aimed at you.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded, her voice still laced with suspicion.
“I’m here to clean Red’s apartment,” Ray lied, keeping his tone as calm and convincing as possible.
The woman’s posture relaxed just slightly, but her gun remained trained on him. She didn’t seem fully convinced, but she was willing to hear him out.
“Sure, sure. Do you know where Red is?” she asked, her tone shifting from anger to something more resigned, as if she already knew the answer.
Ray shook his head, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”
The woman sighed, lowering her weapon just a bit. Ray could see the frustration in her eyes, the way her shoulders tensed as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Red had let her down, and now she was left to pick up the pieces.
Ray knew exactly why she was pissed off. Red and Monica had planned a gig yesterday, but since Ray had killed Red, there was no way for him to show up. And now, she was left scrambling.
“I can help with the gig if you want,” Ray offered, his tone sincere. He didn’t want to fight her; he just wanted to get out of this situation alive.
Monica’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, suspicion clear on her face. “How do you know about it?”
“Red and I were working under the same guy. He mentioned the gig to me, and, well, here I am. I’m Ray, by the way,” he explained, trying to keep his voice steady and convincing.
Monica scoffed, clearly still wary. “Okay, Ray, give me one good reason why I should take you with me.”
Ray hesitated for a moment, then decided to lay it out. “I’m pretty good with guns, and I’ve got subdermal armor. I can handle myself.”
Monica looked him up and down, skepticism written all over her face. She took a deep breath, as if weighing her options, before finally nodding.
“Fine, but at the first misstep, I’m leaving you behind,” she warned, turning on her heel and heading for the door.
Ray quickly moved to follow her, relieved that he’d talked his way out of a bullet. They exited the apartment and headed towards Monica’s car, a sleek, jet-black ARCHER QUARTZ. Monica slid into the driver’s seat without a word, her expression focused and determined.
“What are you waiting for? Get in,” Monica snapped, breaking Ray out of his thoughts.
Ray climbed into the passenger seat, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. As the car roared to life, he turned to Monica. “So, did the gig changed or it is the same ?”
“Same .” Monica said, her eyes on the road. “We need to steal a car.”
Ray raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that there was more to it. “You wouldn’t need two people for that. What’s the catch?”
Monica glanced at him, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re smarter than you look. Yeah, there’s more to it. The car is locked in one of the guarded garages—lots of security and gonks with guns.”
Ray nodded, processing the information. This wasn’t going to be a cakewalk, but he’d handled worse.
The car suddenly jerked to a stop. “Get out. We move on foot from here,” Monica ordered, already stepping out of the car.
Ray followed suit, the city’s neon lights casting eerie shadows as they moved deeper into the district. Monica’s car drove off on its own, controlled remotely. Ray glanced at her, noting how she checked her Nue and Dara with practiced ease, her fingers moving with precision.
“Ready?” Monica asked, her voice low and steady.
Ray nodded, pulling his hood up to cover his face. They navigated through the maze of buildings, the air thick with tension. Finally, they reached an alley that led to a tall metal wall topped with barbed wire.
“What now?” Ray asked, eyeing the barrier with a frown.
Monica’s eyes glowed briefly. She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “I’ll sneak inside. You head to the left. I’ll open a small gate for you.”
Without waiting for a response, Monica leaped over the wall with effortless grace, disappearing into the shadows. Ray made his way to the far-left corner, where he found a small gate blocked by a pile of trash. With a sigh, he moved the debris aside and waited.
A few moments later, the gate creaked open, and Monica’s face appeared from the shadows. “Follow me, and try not to make a sound,” she whispered.
Ray crouched down, moving as quietly as he could behind her. As they crept through the compound, his eyes darted around, scanning for any signs of guards. He spotted one at the main gate, his posture bored but alert. They managed to sneak past him, avoiding the cameras with practiced ease.
Monica suddenly stopped, her body tensing. Ray inched closer, his senses on high alert. Then he saw the reason for her hesitation—a large Asian man, heavily augmented with borged-up limbs, standing near one of the garages. His presence was intimidating, exuding a sense of raw power.
“Fuck,” Ray muttered under his breath, recognizing the man from the Tiger Claws he had consumed.
“Do you know him?” Monica whispered, her voice barely audible.
Ray nodded. “He’s got Sandevistan, gorilla arms, and subdermal armor. He’s no joke.”
“Shit,” Monica hissed, her grip on her gun tightening.
They waited in tense silence and looked around for an opening. Lucky for them the man got into his car and drove off. Only then did Monica signal for them to move again.
They reached the front of a garage door. “Wait,” Monica said, holding up a hand. Ray watched as she did something to the security panel, her movements quick and efficient. A few seconds later, the door slid open, revealing a sleek black Villefort Columbus V340-F Freight inside.
Monica didn’t waste any time. She slipped inside the car and began hacking it, the engine roaring to life a moment later. Ray climbed into the passenger seat, glancing into the back where he spotted several crates.
“Ready?” Monica asked, her eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Let’s do it,” Ray replied, already pulling out his weapon in case things went south.
Monica floored the gas pedal, the tires screeching as the car accelerated towards the main gate. For a split second, Ray thought Monica was going to ram the gate, but just as his eyes widened in shock, the gate exploded into a shower of metal and debris.
“Holy shit!” Ray exclaimed, gripping the dashboard as the car sped through the hole in the gate.
Monica chuckled, her eyes gleaming with adrenaline. “Hold tight,” she said, deftly maneuvering the car through the incoming traffic.
Ray glanced in the side mirror, spotting two bikes closing in on them fast, their riders brandishing guns. “They’re going to shoot at us!” Ray warned.
Monica slammed on the brakes, the sudden deceleration throwing Ray forward. One of the bikes crashed into the back of the truck with a sickening crunch, the rider tumbling to the ground.
“Shoot the other one!” Monica shouted.
Ray aimed and fired, his shot striking the tire of the remaining bike. The rider lost control, skidding across the pavement as Monica swerved around a corner.
“Nice shot,” Monica said, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks,” Ray replied, still watching the mirrors for any signs of pursuit.
“We’re almost out of their territory,” Monica said, but her words were cut short as the car’s engine suddenly sputtered and died.
“No, no, no! Fuck!” Monica cursed, pounding her fist against the steering wheel in frustration.
“What happened?” Ray asked, his mind racing.
“They disabled the car’s systems. We’re sitting ducks,” Monica snapped, her voice edged with panic.
“Then we should get out of here before they catch up,” Ray suggested, already reaching for the door handle.
Monica shook her head, her jaw set in determination. “No. I have a netrunner on call. She can fix this. We just need to hold out until then.”
Ray sighed, knowing they didn’t have much time. As Monica turned to scan their surroundings, Ray discreetly placed his hand on the hood, sending a surge of nanites into the car’s systems. Within seconds, the engine roared back to life.
Monica whirled around, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell did you do? How did you fix it?”
“Just get in,” Ray urged, spotting headlights approaching rapidly in the distance.
Monica didn’t need to be told twice. She slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the car lurching forward just as their pursuers came into view.
Ray leaned out of the window, firing at the pursuing car, but his shots only grazed the metal. “They’re getting closer!” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
“Hold tight!” Monica yelled back. She yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, the van tilting on one side as she navigated a sharp turn. The pursuing car sped past, unable to stop in time.
Monica didn’t slow down until they were well out of danger, driving north until they reached a secluded garage. She parked the van inside, the garage door closing behind them with a loud clang.
They both stepped out, the tension in the air slowly dissipating. Monica’s eyes glowed as she made a call, her expression softening as she finished.
“Good. The gig’s closed,” she said, her voice now calm and steady. Ray’s HUD pinged as she transferred 1,000 eddies to him.
“Thanks,” Ray said, turning to leave, but Monica’s voice stopped him.
“Wait,” she called out, and he turned back to face her.
“What is it?” Ray asked, curious.
“You did a pretty good job back there. Kept your cool, fixed the van,” Monica said, her tone thoughtful. “Do you want to work together on another gig?”
Ray’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered her offer. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” he replied, his HUD lighting up as he sent her his contact info.
“See you around,” Monica said, a faint smile on her lips.
“See ya,” Ray responded, turning on his heel and disappearing into the night, the city’s neon lights casting long shadows as he walked away.