The ground was a thin sheet of white. Snow clung to the city for once. Turning streets into silent corridors. Freezing fog wrapped everything in a dense shroud; visibility was shot.

Aurum sent a car. No time for anything else—the client couldn't wait. The vehicle pulled up. Beat-up and nondescript. Nothing like a taxi. That was Aurum all over: things that looked like something they weren't.

She moved down the street. Her stride smooth despite the ice. The cold air bit at her face even under her mask, but she felt distant from it. The car's exterior was grimy but inside it was clean. Smelt faintly of citrus with a heavy side of ‘new car’. The driver nodded as she slipped in. The door closing with a soft thud. He needed no instructions; they were already on the move. Aurum had clearly given him the location.

They headed toward the old docks—the warehouse district. It had worn many names over the years. Industrial District West had stuck for a while. Once a thriving hub. Now a graveyard of decaying warehouses. Companies had left. Moving south. Leaving behind empty shells filled with gangs and the homeless.

The car sliced through the night, obeying speed limits. Despite the urgency Aurum wanted no attention drawn. She noticed the driver's professionalism. I should get this guy's card she thought. Lethanda wouldn’t have hesitated to add a good player to her friends list. Why do I?

Without further hesitation she leaned forward. "Can I get your contact info?"

He glanced in the rearview mirror a hint of surprise. "Sure thing." Over his shoulder he handed back a card with a simple handle on it. "Message me, I'll send you my rates. Any friend of Aurum's is welcome."

"Appreciate it." She slipped the card into her pocket, her movement fluid.

She realised she must look intimidating—a silent figure in an armoured coat. Rawshark mask on. Likely carrying heat. Maybe she needed to be more aware of that.

"What's the area like?" she asked, trying to break any lingering tension.

He seemed pleased to talk. "By day about three hundred thousand people. But it's rough. Gangs run the streets openly. Cops roll through. But only in packs. I get my news from the local Sodo Times—best source for what's really happening around there. You should check it out if you're working here for a while."

She nodded. "I'll do that." She thought of Riverside News; maybe they were connected.

"At night cops don't bother unless it's a full-scale riot. Citizen justice takes over. Not all gangs are bad though. Some are just folks protecting their own from worse."

"Must be tough living there."

He sighed. "It is. Abandoned warehouses fill up with homeless. On a night like this anyone sleeping rough outside might not make it till morning without shelter."

A ping in her neural link cut the conversation short. Aurum's message: "Lioncourt will meet you on-site. He'll direct you to the bounties."

Another message followed: "He'll be the one with the fake French accent. Roll with it. He's solid Leth. But beware: don't let him set you up with any of his friends on a blind date."

She smirked under the mask. Humour from Aurum, or a real warning? She typed back: "Dangerous?"

His reply was instant: "Absolutely. Met my wife that way. Damn dangerous."

Despite herself she smiled.

The car slowed as they approached the destination. She checked her gear—everything in place. The driver pulled up to the curb.

She stepped out. Movements precise on the slick pavement.

*

The freezing fog wrapped the world in grey. Muffling sound and blurring edges. Snow crunched softly underfoot as Lucy approached the fenced gate. Beyond a warehouse loomed—a dark shape against the night. The gate's lock hung mangled. Broken apart with brutal force.

She moved smoothly. Each step deliberate. The silence pressed in thick and oppressive. She suddenly regretted not taking Terrance's advice on ultrasonics. Or at least springing for low-light goggles. Visibility was a joke—twelve feet before everything faded into mist.

The client was supposed to be here.

Her hand hovered near her hip. Fingers flexing. Drawing her gun might spook him; not drawing left her exposed. She wrestled with the decision. Senses on high alert.

Slipping through the open gate she entered the driveway. The warehouse loomed. Larger shadows pooling around its base.

A whisper brushed her ear.

"Merci, for being on time," a voice murmured.

She flinched only slightly. Didn't gasp. The adrenaline shot hit her hard though, her heart sounded like a continuous cannon in her eardrums. She impressed herself by keeping her breathing even, extremely thankful suddenly for the mask hiding her absolute shock from view.

There had been no-one. Absolutely no-one, around just seconds before.

He stepped into view—a tall well-built man with golden blond hair and skin like ivory. Piercing blue eyes met hers. A hint of amusement there.

"My apologies Leth," he said, the French accent pronounced. A half bow. "It was unkind to startle you."

"It's fine," she replied evenly. Heart still pounding hard. They both knew he’d enjoyed it.

He arched an eyebrow. "Votre sang-froid is admirable."

She took him in. Impeccably dressed in stylish form-fitting body armour. A thick duster draped over him. Pockets bulging with ammo. A black SMG with an oversized suppressor hung from one shoulder. Across his back—some fearsome illegal beast of a weapon? Lucy was no gun-nut despite her range time. An auto-shotgun she guessed. Possibly more concealed.

A groove marred his cheek. Like a bullet had carved through but left no blood. The wound site looked almost ceramic. Cracks arching out.

His coat bore signs of heavy hits. But he stood as if untouched. Lucy knew the bruising impact of those kinds of hits well. To keep standing afterwards. To ignore the pain completely. That spoke of heavy enhancements.

"Shall we proceed," he suggested, gesturing politely.

She nodded. Falling into step beside him. Her movements fluid, almost effortless.

They circled the warehouse perimeter. The first body lay sprawled near a stack of crates. Lioncourt knelt gracefully commenting "He should have watched his flank, non?"

She pulled out her scanner tapping the dead man's eye. A soft beep confirmed the bounty claim.

"Bullet wounds don't match my nine-mil," she noted.

He smiled lightly. "Les flics won't mind. But if it eases your concerns - perhaps a discreet double tap?"

She considered it. "Good idea."

Drawing her backup pistol she fitted the suppressor with practiced ease. Two quick shots to the head. The sound muffled to a sharp crack. If the taxi driver was right about the police in this neighbourhood, no-one would be investigating those.

"Très efficace," Lioncourt remarked.

They moved on. The second body slumped against a wall.

"Poor aim," he observed. "C'est dommage."

Exaggerating for effect, Lucy noted silently. The poor sap hadn’t even cleared his holster, never mind shoot with poor aim. Lioncourt was quietly delighting in this ‘show and tell’.

She repeated the scan and double tap.

Third body was near the loading dock. She scanned. Dispatched.

"You've been busy," she said.

He gave a modest shrug. "A gentleman doesn't brag. But I am pleased you notice my artistry."

"None of them drew their weapons."

He nodded. "They lacked initiative. Unfortunate for them."

"Impressive," she admitted.

"Vous êtes trop aimable," he replied with a slight bow.

She felt a flicker of unease. Three bounties already. How many more before the police system flagged her?

He seemed to sense her hesitation. "Shall we venture inside? There are a few more awaiting your attention."

*

The sharp scent of antiseptic slammed into Lucy as she stepped inside. It mingled with an overpowering odor of bleach. Like someone had spilled barrels of it. Stark overhead lights blazed. Casting everything in harsh relief. The scene hit her like a gut punch.

An organ-harvesting chop shop. A place of cleavers, meat hooks and nightmares.

Lioncourt drifted past her unruffled. "Quelle horreur," he murmured, his French accent wrapping around the words.

She steadied herself. Trying not to see the details. But unable to unsee them. Four blood-soaked gurneys lined the room. Each held a victim. Coolers sat at the ends. Some open. She focused on Lioncourt and the bodies on the floor he pointed to. Narrowing her vision.

He stood beside the first body waiting quietly.

A ganger lay on the floor. Medical gloves slick with blood. Wearing a butcher's plastic apron drenched in gore.

She approached. Scanning the dead man's eye with her device. The confirmation ping sounded too loud in the oppressive silence. As she double-tapped his head with her silenced pistol Lioncourt mused, "Dante would have reserved a special circle of hell for one such as him."

They moved on. She tried not to look at the table—a young fragile form lay there. She didn't want to see. Knowing would be too painful. Instead, she stared at the "surgeon" nearby. But that was its own kind of horror.

The target had been cut in half at the waist. His torso lay several feet away from his legs.

Lioncourt had kindly turned the torso for her to scan. "Il mérite ce qu'il a eu," he said softly to her.

He retrieved a rough blanket from a corner. Lucy dared not look as he covered the child's body murmuring a prayer in French.

She scanned the surgeon's eye. No criminal record. No bounty.

"He's not a convicted murderer," she managed to say out loud, a knot forming in her stomach. "No bounty."

Lioncourt seemed unfazed. "Unfortunate about the bounty money," he said, touching the blanketed form. "But you think he is innocent? Après tout ce qu'il a fait?"

Her composure wavered. As far as the city was concerned Lioncourt had killed an innocent man. Murder. And she was implicated. Standing here scanning bodies.

He noticed her hesitation. "Is there a problem mademoiselle?"

"It's just..." She took a breath. "We're supposed to target criminals with bounties. This could bring unwanted attention."

He shrugged elegantly. "Les lois sont imparfaites. Sometimes we must act."

Lucy didn’t have the energy to even consider arguing the point. They moved to the next bodies. The two remaining gurneys held human wrecks—bodies already harvested. Coolers likely full. She noticed nearby boxes labelled for cyberware – a crude jar filled with bloody neural links.

She needed a distraction before she vomited. "Why are you here?" she asked, scanning and double-tapping another corpse. "Is this a gang hit?"

Lioncourt smiled faintly. "Non, just out for a stroll. Came across this haunt of organ harvesters. Thought it was my civic duty to tidy up."

She almost laughed despite herself. The way he said it sounded completely genuine.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"You're kidding," she said.

He met her gaze. "Je suis sérieux. One must contribué to société."

She approached the last body. Maybe there was a truth somewhere in what he was saying.

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"I heard from locals I was delivering food to that a chop gang had set up here," he replied.

She looked at him sceptically. "You deliver food?"

"Oui. To those in need."

She scanned the final eye. Confirmation pinged. Six kills. One problematic dead body without a bounty.

"Why help?" she asked holstering her device. "There's nothing in it for you."

"Au contraire, mademoiselle." He smiled. "That's why you're here. You make it worth my while."

To her horror he moved toward a door leading deeper into the building.

"Wait," she called out. "There's more?"

He glanced back. "But of course. Our work is not yet done."

*

They stood outside the warehouse. Dawn crept over the horizon. The sky bruised. Purple to pink. Casting long shadows. Lucy felt every one of the nearly twenty hours she'd been awake. Adrenaline crashes and the horrors inside the warehouse wore on her.

"Seventeen bodies," she said quietly. "Fourteen bounties."

"Oui," Lioncourt replied adjusting his coat with practiced ease. "A productive evening, non?"

"Three of them weren't on any list."

He smiled faintly. "Some evils go unrecorded mademoiselle."

She scanned his face again. No bounties, no criminal record. Model citizen. The scanner lied.

"It says you're legit," she said aloud. "If that's true - why do you need a Clean?"

He feigned offense a hand over his heart. "Vous me blessez. You wound me. Is it so hard to believe I am but a humble good Samaritan?"

She met his gaze. "Yes." He seemed to be enjoying her directness. She suspected that no-one ever spoke to him like this. Probably no-one had the guts once they knew how lethal he was.

He chuckled. "Very well. My ident is courtesy of a friend—Perilous. Short for Siege Perilous. Hacker extraordinaire. Aurum hasn't introduced you?"

She shook her head. "No." More nicknames. She’d have to look that one up with an AI too later.

"A shame. A woman of great skill and artistry." He looked out at the waking city. "Your ride awaits."

A sleek black and red self-driving Italian sports car pulled up. Purring softly.

Of course he would deliver charity food parcels in something like this, Lucy sighed. She was no car-geek, but everyone knew that hood-badge.

"I can get my own way home," she said hesitating.

"Nonsense." He opened the door with a flourish. "Please allow me."

She considered it. Despite everything, he seemed sincere. The most dangerous man she'd ever met. Yet he believed himself a gentleman.

She slid gracefully into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath her.

He joined her. The car gliding forward. The city unfolded before them bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. Towers pierced the sky. Their glass facades reflecting gold.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he mused.

She nodded. "Rare to see it like this."

"Too often we forget to look up," he said. "We're so focused on what's below."

She glanced at him. "Even you?"

He smiled. "Even me. Ma gracieuse mademoiselle. Even me."

They drove in silence for a moment. The events of the night pressed on her. The cages they'd passed. The freed captives.

"You’d let them go before I arrived," she said suddenly.

"Oui. Bien sûr! They deserved a chance."

A suspicion ran through her mind. "How many times have you done this?"

He chuckled. "Enough to make a difference."

"Why?"

He tilted his head. "Because mademoiselle, even in darkness one must kindle light."

She frowned. "You kill without remorse, collect the bounties, but free the victims?"

He sighed softly. "Life is a tapestry of contradictions. I eliminate monsters so others may sleep peacefully."

"But who decides who's a monster?"

He looked at her. Eyes reflecting the rising sun. "Sometimes we must."

She looked ahead. "And if you make a mistake?"

He shrugged. "We all must answer for our actions. Dans cette vie ou la prochaine."

She absorbed that. Wishing somewhat that she’d gone for an AI translation module for her neural link. Was this how Piopei felt all the time?

Watching the streets blur past. His words unsettled her. Yet there was a strange comfort in them.

The car slowed as they neared her stop. She'd given an address two blocks from home.

"Thank you for the ride," she said.

"Le plaisir est pour moi." He paused. "Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a drink tomorrow night?"

She hesitated. "I'm... I'm gay." She was glad the mask hid how flustered she was at the question.

His face lit up. "Magnifique! Even better. I know just the place. I assure you - pure friendship and good company."

She searched his expression. Sincere.

"Okay," she found herself saying. "Why not?" She flicked him her app contact.

"Parfait! I shall send details."

She opened the door stepping out gracefully. The morning air was crisp. Carrying the scents of a city waking up.

"Until tomorrow, mademoiselle," he called.

She nodded. Closing the door. The car slipped away.

Underneath the accent and charm she sensed loneliness. A dangerous man seeking connection? He’d enjoyed the challenge in her voice. Delighted in her questioning.

She walked the remaining blocks home footsteps light on the pavement. The world around her stirred. Oblivious to the night's shadows.

Inside her apartment she locked the door. Leaning against it. Her barricade against the world awaited being rebuilt. Exhaustion washed over her, but sleep wouldn't come easily.

Why did she agree to drinks? The motivation for agreeing seemed elusive. Ceri’s reminder that "sometimes a leap of faith is what's needed" echoed in Lucy’s mind. Drinks with the morally ambiguous, and terminally dangerous, maybe weren’t what were meant.

Lioncourt seemed to derive pleasure from killing. He was ruthless, manipulative even. A different brand of calculated charm and charisma than Aurum maybe, but still the same methods.

She moved through the small apartment space. Each action measured. Setting her gear aside. Washing her hands splashing water on her face.

Her reflection stared back from a mirror.

She repeated Lioncourt’s words to the empty room in her best faux-French accent. “Life is a tapestry of contradictions.”

*

The last task before bed. Lucy pulled up her account. Fourteen bounty claims processed on high-value targets. She summoned an AI bot to crunch the numbers—her 18% cut amounted to a tidy sum. Almost five times what she'd earned on her first bounty.

An hour slipped by. Then another. Didn’t know what to say to Aurum. She’d screwed up by taking that many.

Fatigue gnawed at her edges but she knew sleep wasn't an option yet. She needed to close the loop. She initiated a vid call. No texts this time. Face the music time.

He answered promptly. "Leth."

"Aurum."

"First things first," he said. "Transfer the funds minus your cut to the interim account I just sent. Then run the executable."

She complied. Instantly her screen flooded with a cascade of transactions. Receipts for e-products she'd never use. In-game purchases for games she'd never played or heard of. Credits for a theme park half a continent away. Hundreds—no thousands—of micro-transactions painting an elaborate e-trail of her splurging a small fortune.

"Creative accounting?" she remarked.

He chuckled softly. "Smoke and mirrors. Keeps the taxmen and other eyes uninterested."

She watched the digital whirlwind settle. "Client satisfied?"

"Very. But – fourteen, Leth?"

She paused. "Problem?"

"Even Lioncourt was surprised you didn't stop after six. Most Cleans would've."

She suppressed a grimace. Internally she screamed at herself.

I could have stopped?

The conversation replayed in her mind. He’d never insisted she continue. Just gentle nudges.

"Our work is not yet done," he’d said in that damned faux-French accent of his. She cursed under her breath. She'd been played.

Aurum filled the silence. "Look it's not an issue. Just unexpected. You're thorough—I'll give you that."

"Client's happy," she said evenly.

He noted her tone. "True. Everyone profits. Just concerned about your exposure. Fourteen bodies will bring heat. You will be talking to a cop soon."

She clenched her jaw. "Lioncourt knew what he was doing."

Aurum's voice softened. "He can be... persuasive. But that's why he's a valuable part of my crew."

She exhaled slowly. "I'll handle any fallout."

He seemed to smile. "That's the spirit. I knew you'd be a solid Clean. You go all in."

"About the three without bounties," she began.

"No such thing," he interrupted.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no record of unsanctioned kills," Aurum explained. "Lioncourt tipped off a cop friend about the warehouse. Made him look good—a neat bust. Chop shop shut down. Bodies attributed to a bounty hunter. Paperwork's clean. All like a Christmas present wrapped with a nice bow for him."

She rubbed her temples. The weight of exhaustion pressed harder. "So it's handled."

"Precisely. No one wants extra complications—not the cops. Not Lioncourt. Not you."

She searched for words but found none. Her moral compass was spinning wildly. She didn’t want the trouble yes – but three supposedly legit people had just disappeared without a trace.

Aurum misread her silence. "You did exceptionally well. Just be prepared—the police will have questions about fourteen claims in one go."

"I'll deal with it," she repeated, trying to keep her voice level despite her seesaw of emotions.

"That's why I trust you."

There was a moment of quiet. Then Aurum added casually, "Oh, and Lioncourt mentioned he's taking you to Echochamber tomorrow night."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is he now?"

"Says he's finally introducing you to Peril."

"Peril?"

"Our resident digital phantom. I apologise for not connecting you two sooner. She's crew like Lioncourt. Play nice."

She smirked slightly. "Is that a warning?"

"Friendly advice," he replied his tone light. "Peril can be... particular."

She leaned back, the edges of her vision blurring. "Noted."

"Get some rest Leth. You've earned it."

"Will do."

"And Leth?"

"Yes?"

"Impressive work tonight." Damn him. Both him and Lioncourt. Both deployed charm like weapons.

She disconnected without replying. Letting the silence settle. Questions swirled in her mind. A fatherly warning from Aurum? Three dead bodies just vanished by a cop? Why didn’t she think to stop at three or six? The last one she cursed Lioncourt’s name for yet again.

She stood. Crossing the room to her bed she caught her reflection in the window—a figure moving with uncanny grace barely disturbing the shadows.

Sleep. She desperately needed sleep.

*

She woke as dusk settled. The city's hum seeping through her window. Moving with quiet efficiency Lucy gathered her gear and headed out. The snowy streets were a blur of neon and shadow as she made her way to the range. Boris had been busy, with two weeks till Christmas even he had slung up some decorations and a surprisingly good tree.

Boris greeted her with a curt nod. "Looking for something new?" he asked.

"Thinking about goggles," she said. Remembering her experiences. "Need better vision at night. Small ones that can operate under a mask."

He scratched his chin, but smiled. "I like it. Many folks go for cybereyes these days. All the gadgets built-in. Horrifying things. Can you imagine it? Volunteering to get your eye’s scooped out? Not you Lucy. Not you.”

She shook her head. "Not me." She repeated.

He smirked. "Got a set that syncs with neural links. Designed for 'night-time big game shooting.'" He didn't physically use air quotes, but she felt them anyway. He shuffled off to a backroom, returning moments later with a bright cerulean box.

"Sounds ideal." She examined the goggles. Thin as she needed. Top-end model. Ultrasonics upgrade included. The specs claimed seamless integration with neural link software.

"Gear upgrades," she murmured, a faint grin touching her lips. Even the box it came in was blue for rarity.

He raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Christmas present for myself." She set the goggles aside. "I'll take them."

"Good choice."

She spent the next few hours on the range. Her grip training with tennis balls had paid off. The weapon felt like an extension of her arm now. Draw. Aim. Fire—each motion fluid and precise. Boris watched from a distance arms crossed.

"That joint mod of yours," he called out. "Still think it's a shortcut."

She holstered her gun smoothly. "Helps with speed."

He nodded begrudgingly. "Can't argue with results. But muscle and bone—that's where real strength is."

She nodded silently. She agreed completely. But the enhancement was becoming second nature.

Night deepened. The range emptied out.

"Take care" Boris said as she headed out.

Another nod. He deserved more, she thought. Maybe she should buy him a present? It was tough to know. She’d never been good at understanding social niceties. Even as a kid - especially as a kid.

Back at her apartment she moved through the space with practiced ease. Before logging on, she checked the group's out-of-game back-channel.

Her eyes scanned the messages.

Then froze.

A devastating post from Ceri drove her to her knees in an instant: Delsadar is dead.