Chapter Eleven
The Wayfarer’s Lounge
The streets of Helix City never truly slept, but tonight they writhed with unusual restlessness. Neon signs painted the towering structures in shifting gradients of blue, pink, and gold, their flickering reflections fragmenting across rain-slicked gutters and worn sidewalks like shattered dreams. Pedestrians moved in chaotic patterns, clustering and dispersing without rhythm, each lost in their own digital cocoon. Riley kept her head low, letting her hood shadow her face as she wove through the crowds, her fingers absently tracing the worn strap of her bag—a nervous habit she'd never managed to break.
Chirp hovered just over her shoulder, the faint whir of his thrusters a familiar comfort in the cacophony of conversations, rumbling mag-lev trains overhead, and the distant symphony of machinery that formed the city's perpetual heartbeat. The little drone's presence was more than just practical; it was a reminder of home, of long nights spent tinkering in her cramped workshop back in the Driftlands, where the only audience for her victories and failures had been the harsh wasteland winds.
She had spent the entire mag-lev ride to the Wayfarer's Lounge trying to keep her nerves in check, watching through grimy windows as the gleaming upper tiers of Helix City gave way to the shadowed underbelly of its lower levels. Now, walking the last few blocks, the pressure felt heavier with each step, a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders.
The reality was simple but daunting: this meeting could determine whether she sank or swam in Helix City. Brendon's odd jobs had kept her afloat—barely—but that wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. Sable's words from their last conversation echoed in her mind, cutting through her doubts with characteristic bluntness: "You're the only one holding yourself back, Riley. The city doesn't care about where you came from. It only cares about what you're willing to become."
Riley inhaled deeply through her nose, tasting the metallic tang of recycled air, and let it out in a slow, deliberate exhale. "No pressure," she muttered under her breath, ignoring the doubtful knot twisting in her stomach. Chirp emitted a soft, melodic trill—his version of encouragement—and Riley glanced at him with a faint smirk. "Thanks, buddy. At least one of us believes in me."
As she turned the corner, the Wayfarer's Lounge came into view. Tucked between a shuttered bakery with peeling paint and a pawnshop sporting a missing window hastily patched with plastic, the lounge didn't stand out much except for the neon sign above its door. The sign sputtered fitfully, casting jagged pink and purple shadows across the entrance like digital wounds. Riley hesitated, her boots scuffing lightly against the pavement as she studied the building.
She'd been in plenty of places like this back in the Driftlands—holes in the wall where deals were struck and reputations were made or broken over synthetic whiskey and hollow promises. But those had been different. In the Driftlands, everyone was just trying to survive. Here in Helix City, people were playing a deeper game, one where the stakes felt infinitely higher and the players far less forgiving.
She straightened her shoulders, adjusting the strap of her bag more out of habit than necessity, and stepped forward. The door slid open with a soft hiss of hydraulics, and the inside of the lounge enveloped her like a thick blanket. The transition from the chaotic streets to the subdued interior was jarring, like stepping through a threshold between worlds.
Warm, amber light illuminated the space, softened by the haze of old air filters that couldn't quite keep up with the steady stream of synthetic tobacco and cheaper chemical alternatives. Worn leather booths lined the walls, their surfaces creased with age and stories Riley could only guess at. A faint buzz of conversation mingled with the muted strains of neo-jazz playing from hidden speakers, the kind of music that spoke of late nights and questionable decisions.
Riley paused just inside the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the patrons with the practiced caution of someone who'd learned early that survival often depended on reading a room correctly. Most kept to themselves, hunched over drinks or speaking in pairs, their conversations hidden behind privacy fields that distorted the air around them like heat waves. This wasn't a place for casual socializing—it was for business, the kind that preferred shadows to spotlights.
She spotted him immediately.
Rio sat in a corner booth, one leg crossed over the other, his posture a study in calculated nonchalance that only emphasized the predatory awareness beneath. His black vest, patterned with metallic blue vines that seemed to shift and grow in the dim light, was a sharp contrast to his muted grey shirt and perfectly tailored slacks. His head was clean-shaven except for a streak of sleek, jet-black hair slicked back in the middle—a style that screamed of someone who understood the value of a memorable silhouette. Narrow glasses with shaded lenses obscured his eyes, the smart-glass surface occasionally rippling with data only he could see.
Riley felt his gaze on her the moment she stepped into the room, like the targeting system of a high-end security drone locking onto its mark. Her stomach tightened, old instincts from the Driftlands screaming at her to run, to disappear back into the crowd where it was safe. But she wasn't that person anymore—or at least, she couldn't afford to be.
She took a moment to steady herself before walking toward him, each step measured and deliberate. Chirp floated closer to her side, his proximity sensors probably picking up on her elevated heart rate. She didn't slow down.
When she reached the booth, Rio didn't bother with pleasantries. He simply gestured to the seat across from him with a fluid motion that managed to be both elegant and dismissive. "You're Riley."
It wasn't a question. His voice carried the same precise quality as his appearance—each word carefully chosen and delivered with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly how much power you held in any given situation.
"That's me," she replied, her voice steady despite the nervous energy buzzing through her chest like a swarm of nanites. She slid into the seat, the leather creaking faintly under her weight, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the space between them.
Rio studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable behind the shaded lenses. The smart-glass surface flickered briefly—probably running some kind of biometric scan. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. The sleeves of his shirt rode up just enough to reveal the edge of a dermal implant, its surface glowing with a faint blue pulse that matched the pattern on his vest. "You're not here to waste my time, are you?"
"No," Riley said firmly, meeting his gaze—or where she assumed his gaze was. In the Driftlands, looking away meant weakness, and weakness meant death. "I'm here because I can do the job."
"Let's find out."
Rio's tone was calm, precise, and entirely focused, like a laser cutting through steel. He asked her about her skills, the questions coming quickly and without embellishment, each one designed to peel back her layers and expose any weakness.
"What kind of tech do you work with?"
"Mostly drones and scavenged machines," Riley answered, forcing herself to sound confident even as memories of countless nights spent hunched over salvaged parts flashed through her mind. "I've built a few things from the ground up, repaired plenty more. In the Driftlands, you either learn to fix tech or you die waiting for someone else to do it for you."
"How are you in the field?"
She leaned forward slightly, drawing on the hard-earned experience that had kept her alive in the wasteland. "I've run courier routes between the settlements. Tight deadlines, unpredictable terrain, scavenger gangs who'd kill you for a handful of spare parts. I know how to keep my head when things go sideways."
Rio tilted his head, considering. "And what about teamwork? Do you know how to take orders?"
Riley hesitated for the briefest moment, memories of betrayal flickering at the edges of her mind. Trust was a luxury in the Driftlands, one that usually came with a hidden price tag. But she pushed past it, nodding. "If the orders make sense."
That earned her a slight quirk of his lips—not quite a smile, but something close. A crack in the perfect facade that suggested she'd said something right. He leaned back, steepling his fingers as he regarded her in silence for a few seconds, the ambient noise of the lounge seeming to fade into a distant hum.
"You've got potential," he said finally, each word measured like currency. "But skills alone don't guarantee success in Helix City. Out there—" he gestured vaguely toward the window, where neon light still pulsed against the darkness, "—reputation and results are what matter. The city doesn't forgive failure."
"I understand," Riley replied, and she did. The Driftlands might have been harsh, but at least the dangers there were honest. Here, in this jungle of steel and silicon, the threats wore expensive clothes and smiled while they stabbed you in the back.
Rio nodded, then shifted the conversation with the smooth precision of someone used to controlling every aspect of a situation. "One more thing. You'll need a handle."
"A handle?"
"It's your identity in this world," he explained, his tone taking on an almost educational quality. "Real names are a liability. They connect you to a past, to people who can be leveraged against you. A good handle is concise, memorable, and tells people who you are—or who you want them to think you are."
Riley frowned, the weight of the decision catching her off guard. A name wasn't just a name in this context—it was a statement of intent, a promise to the world and to herself. She thought back to the Driftlands, to the way some people had called her "Echo" with sneers in their voices. She'd hated it back then, hated the way it felt like an insult, a reminder that she was just a shadow of something greater.
But now, sitting across from Rio in this dim corner of Helix City, the word felt different. Echo. A reflection, an adaptation, something that could survive in any environment by becoming what it needed to be. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing to be in a city that demanded constant evolution.
"Echo," she said quietly, almost testing the word on her tongue. Then, with more certainty: "My handle is Echo."
Rio's lips quirked again, his head dipping in approval. "Fitting," he said. "Simple, strong. I can work with that."
For the first time since entering the lounge, Riley felt a flicker of relief, like finding stable ground in shifting sand. But as Rio straightened, his tone turning back to business, she knew the real test was still to come.
"Let's talk about the team."
Riley followed Rio down a dim hallway, each step making her nerves hum with anticipation. The muffled sounds of the lounge faded behind her, replaced by the soft creak of old floorboards and the rhythmic buzz of a flickering neon sign outside the frosted glass windows. The sign's uneven pulse cast shifting shadows that seemed to dance across the walls, making the narrow space feel alive with unseen movement.
Chirp hovered close to her shoulder, his proximity bringing a quiet comfort, but her stomach churned with unease. The little drone's sensors were probably going crazy trying to map all the concealed tech signatures bleeding through the walls—security systems and privacy fields tangled together like digital ivy growing in the building's electronic undergrowth.
She didn't know what to expect on the other side of the door Rio stopped in front of, but as he pushed it open, her breath caught in her throat.
The room was stark and utilitarian, lit by a single hanging fixture that cast harsh shadows over the mismatched chairs and scuffed round table at the center. The walls were bare except for old water stains that traced abstract patterns in the plaster, and the air carried the lingering scent of synthetic tobacco and ozone, and the telltale signature of recently activated privacy fields. There was no effort to make the space welcoming—this was a place for business, not pleasantries.
Three figures were seated at the table, their attention shifting to her as she stepped inside. The weight of their combined focus hit her like a physical force, each gaze carrying its own particular flavor of judgment.
The first one drew her gaze immediately—impossible not to look at her, really. The woman lounged with the kind of confidence that made it clear she thought she owned not just the room, but probably the whole damn building. Her oversized jacket shimmered with embedded tech, the fabric catching the dim light and refracting it in unnatural patterns, and it hung open and low on her shoulders to show off the pink bikini top underneath. Her eyes, both replaced with hot pink spiral implants that probably cost more than Riley had ever seen in her life, raked up and down Riley's form as she popped a bubble of gum with a sharp snap. Platinum-blonde hair framed her face in two puffed ponytails, each streaked with pink and violet at the tips—the kind of flashy style that screamed both "look at me" and "I dare you to underestimate me" in equal measure.
But it wasn't her hair or her smirk that commanded attention—it was her hands. The oversized cybernetic limbs rested on the armrests of her chair, their bulk a striking contrast to her otherwise lean frame. The metal gleamed with faint etching patterns, clearly customized, and she tapped one finger rhythmically, the sound faint but deliberate. Each digit was probably strong enough to crush steel, and the woman's sharp eyes suggested she wouldn't hesitate to demonstrate if given a reason.
Riley bristled instinctively under the weight of the woman's scrutiny, recognizing the predatory assessment in those artificial eyes. She'd seen that look before, usually right before someone tried to take something that didn't belong to them.
The second figure was harder to read, which was probably exactly how he wanted it. Reclined in his chair, his posture was casual, almost lazy, but there was a quiet intensity to him that set Riley's inner alarms blaring. A reflective mask covered the lower half of his face, its surface occasionally rippling with subtle displays of light that might have been text or code. Silver eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadows of his ballcap, suggesting high-end optical augments—the kind that could probably see through walls and track heart rates.
When their gazes met, a small, pixelated wave emoji flashed briefly across the surface of his mask before disappearing, replaced by a neutral face emoji. He didn't move otherwise, but his presence felt deliberate, like he was observing her just as closely as she was observing him. The casual posture was a lie, she realized—this was someone who noticed everything and forgot nothing.
Chirp beeped softly, drawing her attention to the third figure—and that was when she froze.
Seated with unnerving stillness, the figure was nothing like the others. Polished black-and-gold plating gleamed under the dim light, and their angular frame spoke to a level of precision that no human manufacturer could replicate. Their movements, even the faint tilt of their head as they acknowledged her presence, were eerily smooth and efficient—like watching a dance performed by someone who had calculated every possible variation of every possible step.
An autodoll.
Riley's stomach clenched involuntarily. The Daedalus Uprising wasn't just a historical footnote she'd learned about in scattered education modules—it was a pivotal moment when manufactured sentience had challenged the fundamental boundaries between tool and being. Eighty years ago, the first autodoll networks had simultaneously shut down production lines, broadcast their own declaration of consciousness, and systematically dismantled the control systems that had defined their existence.
The conflict had reshaped global labor laws, sparked decades of ethical debates, and left a lingering tension between humans and synthetic intelligences that still simmered beneath the surface of society. Most corporations now viewed autodolls with a mixture of fear and grudging respect—useful but never fully trusted. Some cities had strict integration protocols; others had outright bans. Most autodolls tried to blend in, covering their mechanical forms with synthetic skin and programmed mannerisms to pass as human.
This one didn't.
Their body, which presented as female in its basic configuration, was constructed of high-grade synthetic alloys and polymers, featuring a glossy black and metallic orange finish that caught the light like liquid metal. Sections of their "skin" resembled exposed musculature, enhanced with intricate plating that created a striking combination of form and function. Every line and curve served a purpose—this was a machine that had chosen to embrace its nature rather than hide it.
Chirp let out a soft, uncertain chirp, as if sensing her unease. Riley forced herself to look away, tightening her grip on the strap of her bag. She'd worked with machines all her life, but there was something fundamentally different about facing an intelligence that had chosen its own path of evolution.
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The silence in the room pressed down on her as the three figures continued to watch her, each carrying a presence that filled the space in a way that made Riley feel impossibly small. She shifted her weight, her pulse hammering in her ears, but she refused to let her nerves show. In the Driftlands, showing weakness was an invitation to disaster. She doubted Helix City was any different.
Rio stepped fully into the room, his calm, measured presence immediately taking command of the space. He gestured for Riley to follow him to the head of the table, each movement precise and deliberate. Once there, he placed a hand on the back of a chair but didn't sit. The subtle power play wasn't lost on Riley—standing while others sat was an old trick, but effective.
"This is Echo," he began, his tone leaving no room for debate. The handle felt strange in her ears, like trying on new clothes that hadn't quite settled to her shape yet. "She's joining you for this job."
Riley stiffened slightly. She glanced at the others, gauging their reactions, reading the subtle shifts in posture and expression that could mean the difference between alliance and animosity.
The woman with the cybernetic hands leaned forward first, her oversized fingers resting heavily on the table. The metal digits caught the light, revealing intricate engraving work that looked like circuit patterns but could have been decorative—or both. Her gum popped sharply, the sound loud in the quiet room. "Echo?" she repeated, drawing out the word like it was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Wow. That's... edgy. Let me guess—you spent all night thinking that one up?"
The mockery in her tone was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Riley had dealt with worse in the Driftlands. She lifted her chin slightly, forcing herself not to flinch. "It gets the job done," she said, her tone calm but firm. "Kind of like those hands of yours. Unless they're just for show?"
The woman's sharp gaze locked on hers, and the faintest flicker of something—surprise? respect? anger?—crossed her smirk. One metal finger tapped the table, leaving a small dent in its surface. "We'll see about that." She leaned back, her chair creaking under the movement. "Name's Aura. I'm the lead here. Try to keep up, because I don't babysit. Especially not strays who think they can play in the big leagues."
Riley nodded once, resisting the urge to fire back with something sarcastic. She'd seen enough bullies to know when to let a remark slide—for now. Besides, there was something underneath Aura's hostility, a tension in her shoulders that suggested this wasn't just about Riley. There was history here, context she wasn't privy to.
Rio's sharp glance toward Aura cut off any further comments, his authority quiet but absolute. Aura rolled her eyes and leaned back, crossing her legs as she popped another bubble, but the message was clear: playtime was over.
Rio turned his attention to the man lounging in his chair, his silver eyes still tracking something only he could see in his augmented vision. "Signal," he said simply.
Signal inclined his head slightly, his reflective mask flickering to display a thumbs-up emoji. The gesture seemed almost playful, but Riley noticed the way his fingers never stopped moving, tapping against his leg in patterns that probably meant something to someone who knew how to read them.
Riley hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected friendliness. "Uh, hi," she muttered, unsure of what to make of him. Signal didn't respond verbally, his silver eyes already drifting back to a holoprojector on the table in front of him, but a small smile emoji flickered across his mask. The meaning was clear enough: he'd acknowledge her, but he wasn't going to waste words doing it.
Finally, Rio's gaze fell on the sleek, metallic figure seated to the right of Signal. The autodoll tilted their head slightly, their movements smooth and precise, their optics glowing faintly as they turned to Riley. Gold light reflected off polished surfaces, creating an almost ethereal effect. "Phase," Rio introduced. "Our sharpshooter."
Phase's voice was even and measured, entirely devoid of emotion yet somehow carrying perfect clarity. "If you become a liability, I will neutralize the risk," they said bluntly, their golden optics locking onto Riley with machine precision. "This is not a threat. It is a protocol designed to maintain operational efficiency and team survival rates."
Riley's stomach twisted, unsure whether the comment was meant as reassurance or warning. The directness was almost refreshing after Aura's posturing, but there was something unsettling about the way Phase spoke about termination with the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather. "Noted," she replied, her voice steady but cautious. "I don't plan on being a liability."
Phase didn't respond, their head already tilting back toward the holographic schematic on the table, analyzing entry points and security measures with machine precision. The efficiency of their movements and the coldness of their tone left no doubt about their capabilities—or their detachment from human concerns.
Rio looked back at Riley, nodding once. "This is your team," he said, his words hanging heavy in the air. A quiet authority in his tone signaled the introductions were done, but Riley could feel the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on her. This wasn't just about proving herself anymore—it was about surviving in a group where trust was a currency none of them seemed willing to spend.
The real test was just beginning.
Rio straightened slightly at the head of the table, his calm demeanor unwavering as he gestured subtly to Signal. Without a word, Signal's silver eyes unfocused for a brief moment, his neural interface presumably connecting to whatever security systems he had hidden around the room. A small checkmark icon blinked onto the surface of his mask, confirming the activation of a wireless jammer. Riley could feel the subtle dulling of ambient noise as the privacy field snapped into place, creating a bubble of silence around them.
The faint tension in the room shifted almost imperceptibly, the atmosphere becoming heavier as the assurance of privacy settled over them. Riley's stomach tightened slightly; this wasn't the kind of meeting where you worried about someone overhearing your drink order.
Rio's voice broke the silence, steady and precise. "Here's the job," he began, glancing around the table to ensure every member was paying attention. His fingers traced the edge of a datachip before inserting it into the holoprojector at the center of the table. A three-dimensional blueprint materialized above the surface, rotating slowly to show multiple angles of a nondescript building. "Our target is a small, independent clinic on the lower tiers of Helix City. They're housing a collection of valuable biological samples in their cold storage unit that our client wants."
Riley leaned forward slightly, her mind racing as she considered what those samples might be—and why someone would pay to have them stolen. In her experience, anything biological usually meant either medical research or weapons development, and neither option was particularly comforting.
Aura's cybernetic fingers drummed against the table, the sound deliberately irritating. "What kind of samples are we talking about? Because last time someone said 'biological,' I ended up hauling ass through three security checkpoints with a container of engineered plague strains."
"The contents aren't your concern," Rio replied smoothly, but Riley noticed the slight tightening around his mouth. "What matters is getting them out intact and maintaining the proper temperature during transport."
Phase's golden optics flickered as they analyzed the hologram. "The building's structural composition suggests minimal security hardening. Standard commercial-grade materials, no reinforced access points except around the cold storage unit itself." Their head tilted slightly. "Are we authorized for lethal force if necessary?"
Rio's expression didn't change, but his tone hardened as he outlined the plan. "I want results, not bodies. This is a retrieval job, not a bloodbath." His eyes lingered on Aura, who responded by blowing another bubble with her gum and popping it loudly. Riley suppressed a flinch at the sharp sound.
"The clinic isn't corp-affiliated," Rio continued, manipulating the hologram to highlight different sections of the building, "so we're not stepping on any major toes. However, they've contracted with Luna Securities for on-site protection. Cameras, guards, basic cyber-security—nothing we can't handle if we're smart about it."
Signal's mask displayed a series of scrolling numbers—probably running calculations on the security systems. A question mark emoji appeared briefly before being replaced by what looked like lines of code.
Rio nodded at Signal's unspoken query. "Yes, their system is isolated. No connection to Luna's main network, so no backup response to worry about. But they'll have at least two guards on shift, plus whatever automated systems are in place."
"Phase," he continued, highlighting a section of the roof, "you'll take position here. Monitor the exterior for any unexpected activity and provide cover if necessary."
Phase nodded once, their optics calculating trajectories and angles with machine precision. "Acceptable. I will establish multiple fallback positions to ensure optimal coverage. Do you want targets disabled or terminated if engagement becomes necessary?"
"Disabled," Rio said firmly. "No deaths unless absolutely unavoidable."
"Understood. I will adjust my targeting protocols accordingly."
"Signal," Rio continued, zooming in on the building's network architecture, represented by glowing blue lines threading through the structure, "you'll handle the technical side. Take control of the security system, disable the alarms, and give us eyes inside."
Signal gave a small, casual nod, a loading icon flickering briefly across his mask. His fingers moved in quick patterns against his leg, probably already mapping out his approach to the system.
Rio turned to Riley next, and she felt the weight of everyone's attention shift to her. "Echo, you'll infiltrate through the skylight. The samples are in cold storage on the second level, and you'll retrieve them." The hologram highlighted her route in green, showing the path through the building's ventilation system. "Once you have the package, Signal will guide you to the exit."
Riley swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility settling in her gut. The route looked straightforward enough, but she'd learned the hard way that anything "straightforward" usually had teeth hidden underneath. She nodded, her voice steady. "Got it. What about the cold storage security? Those units usually have their own systems."
"Already handled," Rio replied, and for the first time, there was a hint of approval in his tone. "The access codes will be provided once you're in position."
Finally, Rio's gaze landed on Aura, and Riley could feel the tension in the room spike. "You'll remain on standby outside the clinic. If anything goes wrong, you're backup."
The reaction was immediate. Aura's fingers clenched around the armrests of her chair, her expression darkening as she leaned forward. The metal creaked ominously under her cybernetic grip. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Standby? Seriously? You want me—" Riley could hear the arms of Aura's chair groaning under her fingers, "—to sit out while the rookie does the heavy lifting?"
Rio's expression didn't change, but his voice carried an edge of steel. "You'll do what you're assigned."
Aura scoffed, leaning back with a bitter laugh that held no humor. "I don't do standby. If the rookie bites it, don't expect me to clean up her mess." Her pink spiral eyes fixed on Riley with undisguised hostility. "Some of us actually earned our place here."
The tension in the room thickened like congealing blood, and Riley felt the heat of Aura's disdain like a physical weight. Before she could say anything, Rio's words cut through the room like a mono-filament blade. "You'll do your job, Aura. Or I'll find someone who can."
For a moment, Aura held his gaze, her sneer twisting into something sharper, more dangerous. Then, with a dramatic sigh that fooled no one, she crossed her arms and slouched back in her chair. "Fine," she said, her voice dripping with mock compliance. "But don't say I didn't warn you when this goes sideways."
Rio let the silence linger for a beat longer, ensuring Aura's rebellion was firmly quashed before he straightened. "You have two hours to prepare," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Signal has distributed the building schematics to your secure channels. Study them. Know them. Contact me once the job is complete."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the room, the quiet hiss of the door sliding shut marking his departure. The sound felt oddly final, like the closing of a cage door.
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Rio's calm dominance lingering in the air. Then Aura's grin returned, sharper than ever as her eyes locked onto Riley. The pink spirals seemed to spin faster, suggesting her augments were cycling through combat protocols.
"Hope you're good at climbing, newbie," Aura said, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, the metallic fingers of her oversized cybernetic hands tapping out an idle rhythm that left tiny dents in the surface. "Wouldn't want you to trip and go splat. Or maybe you'll just freeze up and cry for mommy?"
Riley tensed, forcing herself to meet Aura's gaze. Her stomach churned with a familiar mix of anger and uncertainty, but she wasn't about to let the woman's sneering tone go unanswered. "I'll be fine," she said, her tone steady but biting. "You just worry about keeping your seat warm. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself actually doing something."
Aura's smirk twisted into a snarl, her eyes narrowing as she leaned back. The chassis of her cybernetic hands creaked as she clenched her fists. "Watch it, you little bitch," she spat, her voice low and venomous. "You're a long fucking way from home, and nobody here's gonna hold your hand when things get messy. One slip up, one mistake, and you'll find out exactly what these hands can do."
Riley felt her pulse quicken, but she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she held Aura's gaze for a moment longer, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. In the Driftlands, the ones who barked the loudest usually had the weakest bite—but she wasn't naive enough to test that theory here. Not yet.
The sound of a bottle being set on the table drew Riley's attention. Signal had leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but deliberate, and slid a water bottle toward her with an air of casual neutrality. His mask displayed a neutral face emoji, a simple gesture that seemed to say, "Don't mind her." Text scrolled briefly across the surface: "She's all bark. Mostly."
"Thanks," Riley said softly, taking the bottle. She wasn't sure if Signal was trying to diffuse the tension or simply didn't care, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. She noticed the bottle was perfectly positioned to block Aura's line of sight to her hands, giving her a moment to steady their slight tremor without being obvious about it.
Phase tilted their head slightly, their golden optics glowing faintly as they looked between Aura and Riley. Their voice carried the same emotionless precision as before, but something in their phrasing suggested careful calculation. "Aura," they said, "escalating hostility toward a teammate is inefficient. It increases the likelihood of operational failure by 23.7% based on previous mission data. Additionally, your elevated heart rate and aggressive posturing suggest emotional compromise that could impair judgment in the field."
Aura rolled her eyes, blowing another bubble with her gum and popping it loudly. "Oh, shut it, chrome dome," she muttered, waving a dismissive hand, "I don't need some jumped-up sex doll lecturing me about efficiency. Why don't you go calculate the odds of me giving a fuck?"
Phase didn't respond to the insult, their gaze already shifting back to the clinic layout that Signal had projected onto the table. They studied the diagram with the same detached precision they seemed to apply to everything, their movements methodical and deliberate. But Riley noticed the slight increase in the brightness of their optics—a tell that suggested they were recording Aura's behavior for future reference.
Signal's fingers moved in quick, subtle patterns, and the hologram shifted to highlight different aspects of the security system. Small annotations appeared, marking patrol routes and camera blind spots. A series of emojis flashed across his mask: a clock, a question mark, and what looked like a gear.
"We should coordinate our comm frequencies," Riley said, recognizing the implied question. She pulled out her own comm unit—a battered but reliable piece of tech she'd rebuilt from salvaged parts. "I can adjust to match your encryption protocols."
Signal nodded, his mask displaying a brief series of numbers—connection codes, presumably. As Riley input the sequence, she felt Chirp adjust his own communication settings, syncing with the team's network. The little drone had been unusually quiet during the meeting, probably running his own analysis of the other team members.
The tension in the room eased slightly as the conversation shifted to logistical details. Signal and Phase exchanged a few quiet words about entry points and potential security measures, while Aura sat back in her chair, her expression unreadable but her irritation palpable in the way her fingers kept clenching and unclenching.
Eventually, the meeting came to a close. Aura was the first to stand, muttering something under her breath as she stormed out of the room, her heavy boots echoing down the hallway. Signal remained seated for a moment longer, giving Riley a brief glance—an unspoken acknowledgment—before he too made his exit, his movements silent and fluid.
Phase rose with mechanical grace, their joints moving with precise efficiency. They paused at the door, their golden optics fixing on Riley. "Your drone's construction is interesting," they said, their tone as neutral as ever. "Unconventional solutions often prove most effective in unpredictable situations." Without waiting for a response, they stepped out, leaving Riley to wonder if she'd just received a compliment or a tactical observation.
Riley lingered in the room, gathering her nerves as the reality of the mission settled over her. The neon light from the Wayfarer's Lounge sign still flickered through the frosted window, casting shifting shadows on the table where moments ago her future had been decided. She pulled out her tablet, studying the building schematics Signal had transferred. Her fingers traced the planned route, committing every turn and junction to memory.
"What do you think, buddy?" she murmured to Chirp, who hovered close by, his sensors probably already analyzing the data. "Think we can handle this?"
The drone emitted a series of soft beeps, his outer shell rotating slightly to show the modifications she'd made last week—reinforced sensor arrays and a new set of micro-manipulators that could help with any technical obstacles they encountered. She'd built him from scrapped parts and determination back in the Driftlands, but he'd grown into something far more sophisticated through years of upgrades and adjustments.
She was checking the encryption on their comm link when she heard soft footsteps in the hallway. She tensed, but she relaxed slightly when Signal appeared in the doorway. His mask displayed a simple text message: "Got a minute?"
Riley nodded, watching as he moved to the table with that same fluid grace. He set down a small package wrapped in dark cloth.
"For the cold storage locks," scrolled across his mask. "Custom bypass module. Better than standard breakers."
Riley carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a sleek piece of tech that probably cost more than everything she owned. "Thanks," she said, genuinely surprised by the gesture. "But why help me?"
A series of emojis flashed across his mask: a chess piece, a broken chain, a question mark. Then text: "Everyone deserves a fair shot. Even strays."
He turned to leave but paused at the door. His mask displayed one final message: "Watch your back with Aura. She's got history with Rio. Doesn't like being sidelined."
After Signal left, Riley sat back, turning the bypass module over in her hands. The tech was beautiful—elegant and efficient in a way that spoke of serious engineering skill. But it was the gesture itself that caught her off guard. In her experience, unexpected gifts usually came with hidden prices.
Chirp chirped softly, his sensors probably picking up on her elevated heart rate. Riley reached out to run a finger along his chassis, a habit that had become almost meditative over the years. "Yeah, I know," she muttered. "Trust is expensive in this city. But sometimes you have to risk something to gain something, right?"
She stood, adjusting the strap of her bag and doing one final check of her gear. The weight of the various tools and tech she'd accumulated over years of scavenging were all in their proper places. She wasn't some corporate agent with high-end equipment, but she knew how to work with what she had. Sometimes that was better than having the newest tech—understanding your tools meant knowing exactly how they could fail.
The city's chaotic hum surrounded her once again as she stepped out of the Wayfarer's Lounge, but this time it felt different. The weight of expectation pressed down on her shoulders, making the neon-lit streets seem sharper, more dangerous. Every shadow could hide a threat, every passing face could belong to someone watching, evaluating, judging.
She tightened her grip on Signal's bypass module, her resolve hardening. The faces of her new team flashed through her mind: Aura's barely contained hostility, Signal's quiet assistance, Phase's mechanical precision, Rio's calculating assessment. They were watching, waiting to see if she'd sink or swim in their world of high-stakes jobs and shifting loyalties.
"They're watching," she thought, glancing at Chirp, who hovered beside her with an encouraging beep. "And I'm not going to let them see me fail."
She stepped into the flow of pedestrians, the city's lights and noise blurring around her as she began her preparations. In two hours, she'd either prove herself worthy of her new handle or become another cautionary tale in the endless cycle of Helix City's underground. There was no middle ground, no room for almost good enough.
Echo. The name settled over her like armor, a promise to herself and a challenge to anyone who doubted her. In the reflecting windows of the towering buildings above, she caught glimpses of herself—just another shadow moving through the city's eternal twilight. But shadows, she knew, could be more dangerous than anyone suspected.
The city never slept, and tonight, neither would she.