Kovacs returned from class, his limp more pronounced after the long day of walking across the sprawling campus. The familiar ache gnawed at his hip as he pushed open the door to his flat, the metal hinges creaking in protest. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped his bag by the entrance, too exhausted to care that it slumped onto the floor, spilling a few papers.

With a groan, he limped across the small space and collapsed onto his bed, the threadbare sheets rough against his skin. He sighed in relief as the pressure eased from his throbbing leg. The pain was a constant companion, an ever-present reminder of the injury he’d had for as long as he could remember. Living with it had become second nature, the limp part of his identity, but the sharp, stabbing pain that flared up at the end of each day was something he could never quite get used to.

His eyes drifted to the small medicine cabinet over the sink, where a half-empty bottle of pills sat behind a few worn toiletries. He knew exactly how many pills were left—enough for a few days if he rationed them carefully. The idea of taking one now was tempting, but he resisted, knowing he needed to save them for when the pain became truly unbearable.

Kovacs shifted his hip, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard mattress, but the ache persisted. He flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, the faint sound of traffic from the streets below lulling him into a daze. The day he had been long, filled with lectures, labs, and the ever-present challenge of keeping up with the demanding coursework. But he had made it through, and that was what mattered.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, a sharp knock echoed through the flat, jolting him upright. His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sudden movement sending a jolt of pain through his hip. The knock came again, louder this time, insistent.

Kovacs limped to the door, each step a reminder of how worn out he was. He hesitated momentarily, a sense of unease settling in his gut. He wasn’t expecting anyone and late-night visitors were never a good sign in his part of the city.

With a deep breath, he opened the door, only to be greeted by the imposing figures of two very large men. They loomed in the doorway, their broad shoulders filling the space. Kovacs immediately recognized the type—muscle for hire, the kind of enforcer who did the dirty work for the city’s less-than-reputable characters.

The man on the left, a mountain of a guy with a shaved head and a permanent scowl, spoke first. “Kovacs?”

“Yeah?” Kovacs replied, his voice steady despite the nerves tightening in his chest.

“You need to come with us,” the man said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kovacs’ eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

The other man, slightly shorter but no less intimidating, crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s just say you’ve caught the attention of someone who thinks you owe him.”

“Owe him?” Kovacs repeated, his mind racing to figure out what they were discussing. Then it clicked—the student he’d replaced in the mecha design program. Word had gotten around that someone had been pushed out to make room for him, and it seemed someone had friends in low places.

“He’s not happy about losing his spot,” the first man continued. “Thinks you owe him something for that. And we’re here to make sure you pay up.”

Kovacs clenched his jaw, the familiar mix of fear and anger rising. “I didn’t do anything. I earned my place fair and square.”

The shorter man chuckled darkly. “Doesn’t matter to him. He’s looking for compensation, and you’re it.”

Kovacs met their stares, his mind racing. He knew how these things worked; backing down would only worsen things. But he also knew he couldn’t take them on—at least not physically. He had to find another way out of this.

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“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, planting his feet as best as possible with his limp. “If your boss wants something from me, he can talk to me himself.”

The two men exchanged glances, and for a moment, Kovacs wondered if they would force the issue. But then the taller one shrugged, a grudging respect in his eyes.

“We’ll be back,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And next time, you’d better be ready to listen.” The second one stepped up and handed me a card. The first one eyed it. “Use it.” The first one said.

With that, they turned and walked away, leaving the young man in his doorway, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched them go, a mix of relief and dread swirling in his gut. He’d bought himself some time, but he knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As he closed the door and leaned heavily against it, the pain in his hip flared up again, sharp and unforgiving. He thought about the pills he had again and sighed he pushed the pain aside, he had to think. “This is gonna be a caonastica mess.” He sighed as he sank once more on his bed to try to think his way out of his problem. It was unwittingly coining a new word. “Fuckkk,” he moaned, lamented, knowing this would upend his life and not being able to fathom how.

***

Kovacs stared at the ceiling, the off-white card resting on his chest as if it weighed a ton. The simple, nondescript design belied the gravity of the situation it represented. Just a few hours ago, his biggest concern had been getting through the day’s classes, managing the pain in his hip, and keeping up with his studies. Now, he was entangled in something far more dangerous—a caonastica mess, as he had unwittingly dubbed it.

He picked up the card again, turning it over in his hand. The plain text seemed almost mocking in its simplicity: “To whom it may concern” and a contact number. There was no name, no details, just a cold, faceless threat that hung over him like a storm cloud.

He knew he couldn’t ignore this. The thugs who had shown up at his door weren’t the kind of people who let things slide. If he didn’t act, they would return, and next time, they wouldn’t be as polite. Kovacs sighed, running a hand through his hair, his mind racing his options. There weren’t many.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. The word felt inadequate to describe the sheer scale of his trouble. But lamenting wouldn’t solve anything. He needed to take control of the situation before it spiraled further out of his hands. He had to meet this head-on but on his terms.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Kovacs reached for his comlink. His fingers hesitated over the keypad, the weight of what he was about to do sinking in. There was no turning back from this. If he made the call, he was stepping into a world he had tried to avoid his entire life. But he knew he had no choice. He’d be running for the rest of his days if he didn't.

He dialed the number, his heart thudding as the phone rang. Each ring seemed to last an eternity until someone finally answered—a man with a voice as smooth as oil yet cold as ice.

“Mr Kovacs?” the voice drawled, the words laced with a knowing smugness.

“I need to speak to your boss,” Kovacs said, trying to keep his voice steady. “In person.”

There was a pause, a brief silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Then, the voice responded, a hint of amusement creeping into the tone. “And why would my boss be interested in speaking with you?”

Kovacs clenched his jaw, swallowing down his fear. “Because I’m the one he wants to settle the debt with. I’m not running, and I’m not hiding. If he’s got a problem with me, he can say it to my face.”

The man on the other end chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “Bold, aren’t you? Very well. Tomorrow, five PM. Come to the old warehouse on Ashen Street. Don’t be late.”

The line went dead, leaving Kovacs holding the phone to his ear, the silence almost deafening. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his hands trembling slightly as he set the phone down. It was done. The meeting was set, and there was no going back.

He knew what the warehouse on Ashen Street was—a notorious spot, long abandoned by legitimate businesses, now a haunt for those who operated outside the law. It was the kind of place where deals were made in the shadows and where people disappeared without a trace.

Kovacs glanced at the bottle of pills again, then shook his head. He needed a clear mind for what lay ahead. Popping painkillers to dull the ache in his hip wouldn’t help him survive this.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered as if the word would somehow prepare him for what was to come. He flopped back onto the bed, exhaustion tugging at him, but sleep was a distant possibility. His thoughts churned, cycling through scenarios, potential outcomes, and plans. He couldn’t afford to go into this meeting blind or unprepared. He had to stay sharp, think ahead, and, most importantly, keep cool.

He wasn’t a fighter, but he had his wits. And sometimes, that was more dangerous than a fist. He slipped the headset on and let his mind drop into Iron Reaper,, hoping his new mecha would help him devise a plan.