Rain hammered the streets. A relentless curtain that turned the city into a blurred haze. Lucy moved through the downpour, cursing the endless wet that seeped into her bones. The glow of signs reflected off puddles casting distorted colours onto the grimy sidewalks.
Homeless clusters huddled, under makeshift shelters eyes hollow, shadows of people forgotten by the world. Gangers roamed, marauders in this urban wasteland. She wasn't in friendly territory.
She pulled her hood lower, the rawshark mask below concealing her face. The man who sold it to her had called it that—rawshark. She thinks it probably has some significance, the mask's surface shifted with moving inkblots. Patterns forming and dissolving. Sometimes she caught glimpses; Lethanda with her bow drawn, Delsadar wielding weapons in both hands.
Her mind drifted, tracing the designs. She snapped back, heart jolting. Couldn't afford distractions. Not here. Not now. Hesitation could kill her. This wasn't a game.
Focus. She told herself. The night was deadly and hesitation could kill her.
She was scouting tonight. Not hunting. But the streets were alive with danger. Killers lurked in every shadow. She was heading toward one, if "Riverside News" had it right.
She stopped before the corner. This was where her possible target bounty was said to operate. Rain sliced down but she could make out the figures beneath flickering streetlights. A rundown building loomed over a cracked parking lot further down the street. At its edge stood the man she sought. The ambient glow was enough to see him clearly enough even through the deluge.
Pulling up a detailed map on her datapad. She noted the alley running behind the building to the man’s left. An escape route for him maybe? Or an approach path for her?
Opportunity. If she could find a fire escape along the alley, gain some height. Better vantage, safer distance.
She watched the rain rolling off her new overcoat. This one was better than before, hydrophobic, water sliding off in sheets.
Two customers approached the man. Quick exchanges before they slipped back into the night. What were they buying? Drugs, illegal sims, something worse? Didn't matter. This wasn't a place for legitimate business.
Slowly she circled toward the alley entrance. Moving with purpose. A pair of gangers passed by, tattoos vivid even in the gloom. Her heart pounded but they walked on. She wondered why predators like them let someone like her be. She wasn’t oblivious to how she appeared—a figure shrouded in an armoured overcoat, masked, a hand gripping something beneath her coat. Not easy prey clearly.
She stepped over curled bodies in the alleyways. Homeless soaked to the skin, they must be, but their forms barely stirring. No fire escapes in sight. She muttered a curse.
Still, from here she was ninety feet out, with a clear line of sight. The alley was dark; she was cloaked in shadow. The target stood bathed in weak light, alone.
She synced her tablet. She re-confirmed it was her target. His face appeared, data scrolling alongside. Convicted. Killer. Multiple counts. Drug trafficking. A red flag caught her eye, she knew that one; cop killer. Another orange symbol was near that that she didn’t. Whatever it was, the message was simple; a very dangerous man. The bounty was substantial.
Customers came and went. One passed through the alley, forcing her to hide behind a dumpster. The stench was overwhelming, but the passerby didn't notice her. When it was clear she glanced back at the target. Still there.
She activated her gun link, the interface overlaying her vision. Distance: 87 feet.
"Target," she whispered. The word tasted bitter. Her stomach churned, but there was a strange calm settling over her.
This was real.
A nausea twisted her gut but beneath it lay a strange calm. A question whispered in her mind: What would Lethanda do?
She pushed the thought away.
Lethanda was a character—a fantasy. Not someone who could be raped, tortured, murdered. This wasn’t pixels and code. This was the real world. Unforgiving and raw. Yet a part of her knew that Lethanda wouldn't hesitate.
The conditions were as good as she'd ever get. Heavy rain for cover, and the darkness of the alley providing a concealed position. The target was illuminated, and caught completely unaware. But the distance was a problem. She'd never shot beyond sixty feet, and even then, under the controlled conditions at the range. At eighty-seven feet variables increased. The gun link could adjust for some factors, but not all.
If she could close the gap to sixty feet her chances improved.
"Am I really going to do this?" she whispered. This was supposed to be a scouting mission.
She looked at the homeless nearby. Then thought of her dwindling funds. The bounty would secure her future at least for a while.
Decision made. She moved forward.
The rain intensified. Drumming against her hood. Her boots splashed through puddles but she kept her steps light. At sixty feet she halted. The gun came up smoothly, the muscle memory of her practice sessions at the range kicking in.
"Bless my bow Lethanda," she whispered beneath the mask. "Bless this arrow."
She exhaled slowly finger tightening on the trigger. The gun link adjusted. Reticule aligning over the target's head. Time seemed to stretch. The city's noise fading into the background.
She fired. The recoil jolted her arm. The sound muffled by the suppressor but still sharp in the alley.
The bullet crossed the distance in a heartbeat.
*
She stumbled into Terrance's clinic clutching her side. The doctors symbol sign flickered above the door casting a sickly glow. Inside the antiseptic smell mixed with something metallic. Terrance looked up grinning wide.
"Lucy! Back so soon?" he chirped, hands busy organizing a tray of gleaming instruments. "You look like you've danced with a truck."
She forced a smirk. "Got clipped by a car. Jumped the curb. Didn't see it coming."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Those auto-drive systems, never can trust 'em." He gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let's take a look."
She eased onto the worn examination table, the vinyl sticking to her damp clothes. Terrance kept talking, his words a constant stream—stories about faulty AI, a joke about a toaster that tried to burn down an apartment. His hands moved deftly, peeling back her clothes to assess the damage.
She winced as pain shot through her left side. The new armoured coat had saved her life, but beneath it, her body was a battlefield of bruises.
"You're lucky," he said, fingers tracing where the dented armoured plates had impacted on her body. "Could've been worse."
Terrance hummed a tune - hands gentle but efficient. "Bruising's deep. Soft tissue damage. Got some nasty colours showing up already. You're lucky nothing's broken." He dabbed at a cut above her eyebrow. She’d hit the floor face-first, hard. She was lucky for just the cut. "Need to be more careful crossing streets. You know, saw a guy last week who tried to jaywalk on Fifth. Ended up with half his ribs shattered. At least you kept your organs intact."
She watched him. Trying to read his expression. He knew. Had to. But he kept chatting.
"Weather report says rain all week," he continued. "Good for business I suppose. People slipping, sliding, all sorts of accidents."
Her mind drifted back. The alley. The rain masking her footsteps. She'd fired three silenced shots from sixty feet. He shouldn't have seen her. But he’d moved like a ghost. Spinning and drawing even before her bullets landed. His gun flashed. Two return shots tearing through the night towards her. She felt the impact like a sledgehammer, the armour absorbing the worst, but not all.
"Hold still," Terrance instructed, pressing the hypo against her neck. A cold sensation spread, numbing the pain.
"Thanks," she murmured.
He waved a hand. "No problem. Gotta say, you handle yourself well for someone in a collision. Most folks would be out cold," Terrance noted, applying a cool gel to her shoulder. "Thinking about upgrades maybe? I've got new stock. Subdermal plating. Reaction enhancers. Bio-muscle toners. Top of the line."
She shook her head. "Not interested."
He chuckled. "Always say that. Until you need it." He tapped her arm lightly. "Could help prevent... future accidents."
He kept talking—about the latest cyberware trends, a funny story about a client who wanted a built-in espresso machine. All the while applying more gel. She tried to focus, but her thoughts drifted.
She swallowed hard. The symbol on the datapad—she hadn't recognized it. Military? Special forces? It must've meant stay away. Enhanced. Heavily so.
The speed of his movement had been terrifying. Unthinkable. How? Even now Lucy struggled to comprehend it. It seemed impossible. To both draw, and fire off a return shot, after you’ve been surprised. Ambushed. He had been laughably beyond her league.
Her first fight with the Wight flashed in her mind. The ease at which it had sliced through Druath.
She remembered getting up, trembling, the pain stark. Emptying the rest of her clip into the criminal’s unmoving body on the floor at distance, even as she walked towards it closing the gap. “Centre-mass” as Boris would say, fear and adrenaline driving her forward.
Even as it was clear the first three bullets had hit his head. Even after he was on the ground, she'd reloaded, ready to fire again.
Practical maybe, but also a sign she was in way, way over her head and scared witless at what she’d observed. She’d desperately wanted to unload the second clip into his still body.
"Got any painkillers for the next few days to take home?" she asked.
"Of course. But these extras aren't free." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. He named a price that made Lucy wince.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pad and flipped him the money. The bounty payout had been generous, but Lucy was already counting every expenditure. It had to last for a while.
"Excellent," Terrance beamed. "I'll get you the good stuff." He turned to a cabinet humming again. "You know enhancements aren't just for the crazies. They can keep you alive. Make you faster, stronger."
She watched his back. The way his hands moved with practiced ease. The idea unsettled her. She wasn't looking to become some augmented soldier or cyber-crazy. She just wanted to survive. She’d hated having the neural link at first, and only grown to accept it when she found she could use it for deep-dive gaming. The gun link had felt like a necessity. More?
Abhorrent.
"Take them every six hours. And seriously, think about what I said."
She stood slowly, testing her weight. The pain was dulled but present. "Thanks, Terrance."
"Anytime," he said, escorting her to the door. "And hey, be careful out there. Streets are mean these days."
She nodded. Slipping the meds into her coat. The weight of the night's events pressed on her. She'd killed a man. A dangerous criminal. But still a life taken.
"Anything else?" Terrance asked, returning to lean against the counter.
She met his gaze. "No, that's it."
He shrugged. "Door's always open."
As she turned to leave a realisation struck her. Her gut muscles protested for a second. She was a bounty hunter now. This was her life. The alley and the rain - the muzzle flashes - it all replayed in her mind.
Her stomach twisted. The adrenaline fading replaced by a cold dread. She thought about the man's face when she’d put the scanner to his eye to claim the bounty. The finality of that only remaining eye gazing at her. Her three pinpoint accurate bullets had done ugly things to the rest of his head.
Had any one of them not hit perfectly she’d be dead now in the alleyway.
"Hey, you okay?" Terrance's voice seemed distant.
She opened her mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come. A wave of nausea hit her hard. She doubled over retching. Terrance stepped back just in time as she vomited onto the floor.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She wiped her mouth, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah. Just... the meds hitting me."
He nodded slowly. "Side effects can be rough."
They both knew it wasn't the drugs.
"First time's tough," he offered softly. "Gets easier."
"I don't want it to get easier," she whispered.
He sighed. "World doesn't care what we want."
She straightened. Swallowing the bitter taste. She wanted to say “Thanks," but could just about manage a curt nod.
"Get some rest" he advised. "And seriously consider the upgrades."
She forced another nod, turning away.
As she walked into the maze of streets, rain continued to fall, cold drops mingling with the tears she refused to acknowledge. The city's lights blurred, colours bleeding into one another.
She pulled up her hood. Stepping fully now into the city’s night. Each movement a reminder from her injuries of how close she'd come to not making it back.
*
The first two days were hell.
Lucy lay on the stained mattress. Walls closing in. The city's hum a distant drone. Painkillers coursed through her veins, dulling the agony, but fogging her mind. The neural link sputtered. Couldn't hold a stable connection. Diving into the virtual escape was impossible. She was trapped in her own battered body. Nightmares haunted dreams, relentlessly, sapping any benefits of sleep.
Going without the drugs wasn't an option. She tried. Lasted maybe an hour before the pain roared back - searing and ruthless. Her shoulder throbbed. Ribs ached with every shallow breath. Terrance had promised they weren’t broken. If this was bruising, she'd never felt anything like it.
On the third day hunger gnawed at her. No food and no bottled drinking water in her room left. She couldn't walk straight still, the room tilting with each step. Ordering in was the only choice. She tapped a few buttons and waited. The delivery arrived, fists pounding on the door for five minutes before she registered the sound.
Her fortified door stood between them. In her haze it took ten fumbling minutes to dismantle it, the scraping metal plates clattering on the floor in disorder. The delivery driver glared - eyes scanning her dishevelled state. Disgust flashed across his face. He started to say something but she shoved a hefty tip into his hand. Money talked. Even drugged up she felt the sting of such a waste, but she hadn’t the strength to take a verbal beating right now.
She restocked the kitchens canned goods and instant meals. Reassembled the barricade. Each piece sliding into place with a now familiar click. Then she collapsed, with the world fading to more night-terrors.
By day four she cut the meds in half. The fog lifted slightly. A notification blinked on her pad—message from Boris. She hesitated before opening it. Apparently she'd sent him a sobbing voice note apologising for missing her regular gun range sessions. Mortification washed over her.
But Boris was unflappable. His reply was cheerful and asking how she was holding up. Said not to worry, he'd been in worse shape after getting "hit by a car." She could almost hear the air quotes in his words. Boris being Boris.
She cringed but felt a flicker of warmth. At least someone didn't think less of her.
She’d pulled up a Trauma AI Chatbot, inputted the nightmare symptoms. The soulless machine’s mental and breathing exercises seemed trite. “Try and get to the root cause of the dream.” It recommended. Another AI Chatbot was pulled up.
She inputted her numbers. 60ft. 9mm Parabellum round. What was the travel time of a bullet? How fast do people react to stimuli? What was an average reaction time to draw, aim and shoot? The chatbot crunched its numbers to the queries. The target had reacted ten to twenty times faster than a normal human.
The Traumabot didn’t know shit, knowing was worse – all that’d done was put truly petrifying real numbers to a feeling of just how overmatched she’d been. But the nightmares hadn’t been as bad that evening. The meditative exercises were followed.
Day five the pain dulled to a manageable throb. The half-dose left her head clearer. She eyed the neural link cable and headset, the sleek device resting on the cluttered desk. Fingers traced its contours. Time to return.
She settled into her bed taking a deep breath. Connected the jack to the port at the base of her skull. She ran the link diagnostic. All green. The interface hummed to life, a cascade of code and light enveloping her senses.
She dived in.
*
The sun cast a warm golden glow over the bustling streets of Aletra. The air seemed alive with the mingled scents of spiced meats, freshly baked bread, and exotic perfumes. Colourful banners fluttered from every rooftop their vibrant hues dancing in the gentle breeze.
Lethanda strolled leisurely through the marketplace. Her fingers brushing against the soft petals of flowers displayed in overflowing baskets. The texture was velvety under her touch, and she smiled at the simple pleasure it brought.
"Honestly do you have to sample everything?" Ceri piped up beside her. A mischievous grin spreading across the gnome's face. "At this rate, we'll never make it to the quest board."
Lethanda chuckled. The echoes of Druath’s teases in the Forest didn’t go unnoticed. She lifted a ripe apple to her lips, taking a crisp bite, the sweet juice burst across her tongue. She closed her eyes to savour it. "But how can one resist when Aletra offers such delights? Each flavour tells a story of the land."
Ceri rolled her eyes dramatically. "Spoken like a true 'sensationalist.' Next you'll be composing odes to the texture of cobblestones."
"Now that's an idea," Lethanda mused tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Though I might focus on the melody of the fountain's waters instead."
They weaved through the crowd, the city's energy invigorating them. Artisans showcased intricate jewellery that glittered in the sunlight. Street performers played lively tunes on lutes and flutes. Lethanda felt the rhythm of the music resonate within her, and each note seemed a heartbeat of the vibrant town.
Ceri nudged her playfully. "Did you hear about PWNSTARRR?"
Lethanda sighed, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. "You mean Arcanis Flameweaver?"
"Yes, yes, but he'll always be PWNSTARRR to us," Ceri joked. "Apparently, he can only join us for three hours maximum each night."
"Parental controls," Lethanda said, shaking her head with a wry smile. "Who would have thought?"
Ceri giggled. "I didn't even realize this game was rated fifteen. Makes you wonder what content they're trying to shield us from."
A fleeting thought crossed Lethanda's mind—those early days with Druath and their curious explorations. She remembered the way they tried to push the boundaries only to find that their avatars were impervious to certain sensations. That some areas were simply... absent. It was also impossible to remove certain garments. Leaving them perpetually modest.
Ceri noticed the distant look in her eyes. "Thinking about your 'experiments' again?"
Lethanda laughed openly, the sound light and unguarded. "Perhaps. I can’t believe sometimes I actually told you about that. Just reminiscing about the limits of our world."
"Well, at least you saved me the trouble of finding out the hard way," Ceri remarked with a smirk. "Imagine my disappointment when I couldn't swindle a drunken noble out of his coin with a little... charm."
They both burst into laughter drawing a few curious glances from passersby.
"Ah, but the thrill is in the attempt isn't it?" Lethanda said her eyes sparkling. "Besides there's plenty of adventure to be had without resorting to such tactics."
"Speaking of adventure," Ceri gestured toward the grand hall at the end of the street. "Shall we see what grand quests await us today?"
Lethanda took a deep breath, the aroma of roasting chestnuts filling her senses. "Lead the way."
As they approached the hall, a familiar towering figure emerged from within. Delsadar the mighty barbarian stood head and shoulders above the crowd, his armour gleaming. A cluster of admirers surrounded him, their faces alight with admiration.
"Looks like he's as popular as ever," Ceri noted raising an eyebrow.
"Can't blame them," Lethanda replied. Tank rarity had been a perpetual VR MMORPG issue from even the earliest games. There was never enough to go around. "A warrior of his calibre is a rare find."
They waved to catch his attention and Delsadar's face broke into a wide grin when he spotted them. He strode over, the crowd parting before him.
"Lethanda! Ceri!" he boomed. "Good to see you both."
"Likewise," Lethanda said warmly. "We were beginning to think you'd been swept away by your adoring fans."
He chuckled deeply. "They do seem eager don't they? Unfortunately just logged on quickly to let you know I won't be able to join you tonight. Duty calls in the real world."
Ceri pouted theatrically. "And here we were, hoping to delve into the deepest dungeons with our fearless barbarian friend."
"Fear not," Delsadar assured, placing a hefty hand on her tiny shoulder. "I'll be back soon enough. In the meantime, keep our group chat lively. Your tales always brighten my day."
"We'll hold you to that," Lethanda said, giving him a mock stern look.
As Delsadar departed blending back into the throng, Ceri sighed. "Seems everyone's time is limited these days."
"True," Lethanda agreed. "But at least we have each other. And there's no shortage of newcomers seeking guidance."
Ceri's eyes twinkled. "Speaking of which, I heard there's a fresh batch of adventurers at the tavern. Think they'd be interested in a quest or two?"
"Only one way to find out," Lethanda replied, a hint of excitement in her voice.
They made their way to the tavern, the wooden doors swinging open to reveal a lively scene. The air was thick with the scent of spiced ale and the sound of hearty laughter. A bard strummed a lute in the corner singing tales of heroes and forgotten realms.
"Ah the sweet aroma of opportunity," Ceri quipped, scanning the room.
Lethanda felt a thrill run through her. The textures around her were vivid—the worn grain of the wooden tables, the smooth coolness of the tankard she absentmindedly picked up, and the warmth radiating from the fireplace. Yes, she admitted to herself, she was every bit the ‘sensationalist’ that Ceri mocked her for being.
They approached a group of clerics engaged in animated discussion. Ceri wasted no time. "Greetings! Care to join forces with two seasoned adventurers?"
One of the clerics, a young woman with a serene expression, smiled gently. "We seek to bring light to the shadows of this land. Your offer is most welcome."
"Excellent!" Lethanda exclaimed, her enthusiasm genuine. "Together we can achieve greatness."
*
As the evening wore on the tavern began to empty. The warm glow of the lanterns cast a cozy hue over the few remaining die-hard patrons. The in-game day ran much quicker than a real one, with six night and day cycles to every one outside. But the server itself was still set to Pacific Time and most of its denizens where US account holders. For many, 3am was far past time to be logging off.
Ceri leaned back in her chair stretching her arms above her head. "You know, helping the newcomers has its perks. I think we've earned ourselves quite the reputation."
Lethanda sipped her mulled wine. The spices tingling on her tongue. "And with all the major quests here completed, it's nearly time for us to venture into new territories."
"Think Delsadar and PWNSTARRR—sorry, Arcanis—will be ready soon?" Ceri asked, her tone hopeful.
"They're catching up," Lethanda said thoughtfully. "We can afford to wait a little longer. After all, the journey is richer when shared."
Ceri smiled softly. "Ever the sentimental one."
"Perhaps," Lethanda admitted gazing into her cup. The reflection of the flickering candlelight danced in the liquid. "But there's something to be said for cherishing these moments."
Ceri broke the silence with a playful nudge. "So care to sample the famed honey cakes before we call it a night? Or is that too ‘sensational’ even for you?"
Lethanda laughed. The sound bright and unrestrained. "Lead the way my friend. Let's indulge in all the delights Aletra has to offer."
They stood, making their way to the bar where a platter of golden pastries awaited. As they bit into the sweet treats, the rich flavour enveloped their senses.
"Delicious!" Ceri exclaimed, crumbs dotting her chin.
Lethanda nodded in agreement, savouring the taste. "Worth every moment."
As their night drew to a close, they stepped outside into the cool evening air. The stars glittered overhead like scattered gems, and a gentle breeze carried the distant melody of a flute.
"Another day well spent," Lethanda mused, her gaze fixed on the horizon where new adventures beckoned.
Ceri placed her hand around Lethanda's. "And many more to come."
*
She woke to the soft hum of the city. A distant symphony of machinery and life. Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across the room. Lucy sat up, her muscles no longer aching. The memories of pain and meds now three weeks behind her. The apartment was tidy. Everything in its place. Her oiled gun rested in its holster beside the bed.
She swung her legs over the edge, feet touching cool floor. The routine was comforting. A quick stretch, a glance in the mirror. The face staring back looked rested and sharper. She carried a little bit more lean muscle now. Boris’s advice on push-ups and sit-ups being better than any paid-for corporate gym was paying dividends.
She dressed efficiently—utility pants, good worn leather boots, a plain shirt. Functional – she had no-one – no-one in this world anyway – to play dress up for. Her new second-hand armoured overcoat was hung on the back of her chair. She’d watched a vid recently on how to check over for any damage to the armour plates on used jackets, and pencilled in today as the day.
Her pad blinked on the table. A soft blue light pulsing. A message waiting. She picked it up surprised to see Terrance's name. He never reached out unless there was something in it for him.
She tapped the notification, and the message unfolded. Typical Terrance—probably meant to be brief but turned into a ramble.
"Hey there Lucy! Long time no see. Hope you're keeping out of trouble—or into it, if that's your thing. So, funny story: this client of mine, Aurum—real character, let me tell you—was in yesterday getting some mods tweaked. We got to chatting or rather I was chatting while he grunted now and then. Anyway, he mentioned needing someone reliable for special deliveries. Discreet, you know? Naturally, I thought of you.
"Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Terrance, why are you volunteering me for your shady contacts?' But hear me out. Aurum's legit, or as legit as they come these days. Pays well, too. I might've mentioned your name as a solid person—just in passing! And, well, he seemed interested.
"Look, I wouldn't bring this to you if I didn't think it could be mutually beneficial. Times are tough, and bit of extra cash never hurt anyone, right? Plus, it'd make me look good for the referral, and you know I love looking good. And... I kinda already took some cash from Aurum for saying I’d reach out to you.
"So if you're interested let me know. If not no hard feelings. Just thought I'd connect two capable individuals. Stay safe out there! And drop by sometime—got some new tech you'd find interesting. Cheers!
—Terrance"
She read the message twice - processing. Terrance selling her out? Not exactly. More like cashing in a favour she didn't know she owed. She doubted he knew any details about her bounty activities other than possible vague suspicions. Police bounty claims weren’t 100% anonymous, they had to pay out to a legit person’s account after all. But who they paid out to was always seen as super-secure, beyond the abilities of even the best hackers.
She typed a terse reply: "Terrance, set up the meet. Introduction only. If I don't like the job, I walk."
A response pinged back almost immediately.
"Fantastic! I let Aurum know. He agrees to your terms. Meet tomorrow noon at the old plaza café—place with the red awning. He'll be the one looking like he owns the place, trust me, you won’t need a description. Thanks, Lucy! You're a lifesaver."
She set the pad down. Mind turning. Extra funds would help. Rent was coming up and while the last bounty money was still good, it was slowly dwindling. She'd be cautious. Terrance might be self-serving, but he wasn't stupid. If he thought this was worth her time maybe it was.
“Won’t need a description?” wondered Lucy out loud. “What the hell does that mean?”