Chapter Fourteen
Victim No More
The clinic's shadow faded behind her as Riley moved down the alley, each step unsteady on legs that felt like they could buckle at any moment. The distant wail of sirens mixed with the perpetual hum of Helix City, a symphony of chaos that matched the storm in her head. Her breath hitched with every other step, and she finally stopped, leaning heavily against a cold metal wall that seemed to pulse with the city's heartbeat.
The taste of copper filled her mouth, metallic and sharp. Her nose throbbed where Aura's cybernetic fist had connected, and her split lip stung with every breath. The bruises felt like they were spreading beneath her skin, a map of humiliation painted in shades of pain. She spat onto the ground, watching as her blood mixed with the perpetual drizzle, creating abstract patterns on the concrete.
Aura's mocking voice echoed in her head, each word a fresh wound: "Oh Rio, it was so sad. The poor rookie got herself caught." The words burrowed deeper than the physical pain, touching something raw and familiar—that old, bitter taste of being seen as disposable, worthless, just another piece of scrap to be discarded. Like back in the Driftlands, when the gangs would circle like vultures, waiting for any sign of weakness. The same dismissive sneers, the same calculated cruelty. The same look Flint had given her when she was strapped to his table.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. The betrayal twisted in her gut like a knife, but beneath it stirred something else—something that burned hotter than shame or fear. Anger. Not the quick, desperate kind that had kept her alive in the Driftlands, but something deeper. Something that had been building since the moment that cold storage door had slammed shut, trapping her in darkness with the sound of Aura's laughter fading down the corridor.
She could run. The thought whispered through her mind like a poisonous comfort. Disappear into the labyrinth of Helix City's lower levels, find another crew, start over. Let Aura have her lies, let the team write her off as another rookie who couldn't cut it. But then what? Another dead end, another fresh start, another story where she played the victim in someone else's game. The thought of it made her stomach turn.
"No." The word came out as a growl, surprising even her with its intensity. She straightened, wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her glove. The fabric came away stained, and she stared at it for a moment, letting the sight fuel the fire building in her chest. "Not this time."
The decision crystallized in her mind like ice forming in subzero temperatures—sharp, clear, and absolutely cold. She pushed off the wall, her boots hitting the pavement with newfound purpose. Aura wanted to cast her as the weak link, the failure? Fine. She'd show the team exactly who had screwed up tonight.
Her goggles flickered to life as Chirp hovered beside her, his presence a silent reminder that she wasn't completely alone. The drone chirped softly, a questioning tone that carried more concern than his simple programming should have allowed. His sensors were probably going crazy, tracking her elevated heart rate and the tension in her muscles.
"Wayfarer's Lounge," Riley said, her voice steady now, harder. "They'll be there."
The streets of Helix City stretched before her like an urban maze, neon signs cutting through the perpetual haze to paint everything in shifting colors. She moved with purpose, each step carrying her closer to confrontation. The familiar weight of Sable's pistol pressed against her side, and she found her hand drifting to it more than once as she walked. The weapon felt heavier now than it had during Sable's impromptu training session, weighted with intention rather than just metal.
The sounds of the city faded into white noise, drowned out by the thunder of her own heartbeat and the endless loop of Aura's taunts playing in her head. She barely noticed the crowds parting around her, perhaps sensing something dangerous in her determined stride. Her mind raced with fragments of memory—the cold bite of the storage room air, the sound of the lock engaging, the mocking echo of Aura's laughter. Each recollection stoked the fire burning in her chest.
When the Wayfarer's Lounge came into view, its flickering neon sign felt like a beacon calling her forward. The usual crowd of patrons lingered outside, their chatter a low murmur that barely registered. Riley's focus had narrowed to a laser point, everything beyond her target falling away into background static. The same door she'd walked through earlier now looked different—not an entrance to opportunity, but a threshold to confrontation.
Her fingers brushed the pistol's grip again, and this time she let them linger. The weapon's weight was both foreign and grounding—a physical reminder that she wasn't powerless anymore. Aura's smirking face flashed through her mind again, accompanied by the phantom sound of that cold storage door slamming shut. Her jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
She paused outside the entrance, the neon light washing over her in waves of red and blue. Doubt crept in at the edges of her resolve—not about what needed to be done, but about her ability to do it. Her hands trembled slightly, and she forced them still. "You're not a victim anymore," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible over the ambient noise of the street. The mantra felt different now, charged with purpose rather than just desperate hope.
The door hissed open as she stepped inside, and the familiar warmth of the lounge enveloped her. Smoke hung in thick layers near the ceiling, creating a haze that diffused the already dim lighting. The scent of synthetic tobacco and cheap alcohol filled her lungs, mixing with the metallic taste of blood still lingering in her mouth. Conversations ebbed and flowed around her, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter.
Riley kept her head low as she moved through the main room, weaving between tables with practiced ease. Her goggle’s vision cut through the smoke, mapping the quickest path to the private rooms in the back. Each step felt deliberate, final, like pieces clicking into place in some grand machine.
The sound of Aura's voice reached her before she saw the room—that same nasal, self-satisfied tone that had haunted her thoughts since the betrayal. It leaked through the walls of the private room, the same one where they'd first met as a team. The irony wasn't lost on Riley.
"...yeah, she froze up. Total rookie move," Aura was saying, the words dripping with false sympathy. Riley's steps faltered, her breath catching in her throat as rage surged through her veins like liquid fire. "Had to pick up the slack. But hey, job's done. No harm, no foul, right?"
The anger that had been building since her escape crystallized into something sharp and dangerous. Riley's fingers wrapped around the grip of her pistol, the texture of the handle grounding her in reality as her mind threatened to spiral into pure rage. The blood pounded in her ears, drowning out everything except Aura's continued mockery.
Inside, Aura laughed, the sound grating like nails on metal. "More than likely she got picked up, if she even survived. Not like she'd have the guts to—"
Riley didn't let her finish. She kicked the door open with enough force to make it slam against the wall, the sharp crack cutting through the room. The conversation died instantly as all eyes turned to her. She stepped inside, her pistol already drawn and aimed squarely at Aura's chest.
The silence that followed was absolute, heavy with tension and unspoken threats. Riley's shadow stretched across the room like a dark accusation, but she felt smaller with each passing second. Her hands gripped the pistol tightly, both wrapped around the handle in a desperate attempt to keep it steady. The barrel wavered slightly as her arms trembled with the combined weight of anger, fear, and the unfamiliar weapon. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Aura sat at the table, leaning back in her chair with infuriating ease, one oversized cybernetic hand tapping her knee in a rhythm that seemed designed to mock. Her smirk cut through the tension like a blade, but there was something new in her spiral eyes—a flicker of uncertainty that hadn't been there before. "Echo," she said lazily, dragging out the name like it was a joke only she understood. "Didn't think you had it in you to show your face."
Riley forced herself to breathe, her chest heaving with every labored inhale. The smell of gun oil from the pistol mixed with the lingering scent of synthetic tobacco, creating a cocktail that made her head swim. "You left me to die," she spat, her voice trembling but gaining strength with each word. "Locked me in that room and ran. Took the samples and left me there."
Aura's smirk widened, her pink spiral eyes gleaming with amusement. But Riley caught it—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her cybernetic fingers gripped her knee a fraction tighter. "Oh, come on," Aura said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. Her head tilted, just enough to highlight the calculated edge beneath her feigned innocence. "You were dead weight. Pure and simple."
"That's a lie," Riley said, her voice low and sharp enough to cut glass. Her knuckles went white around the pistol, each word a controlled burst of barely contained fury. "You planned this from the start."
Aura sighed theatrically, her tone dripping with condescension. "Really? You fucked up and now you're blaming me?" She leaned forward slightly, her grin sharper than ever. "It's not personal. Just business."
Riley's breath hitched, her resolve wavering for a split second. The mocking tone, the easy dismissal—she'd heard it all before. Her mind flashed back to memories she'd fought to bury. Memories of Rouke selling her out. Memories of Flint telling her the exact same line. The weight of it surged through her like a breaking wave, threatening to drown her determination in old fears.
Aura's grin twisted into something cruel as she sensed the weakness. "Face it, rookie. You'll never—"
The crack of the gunshot shattered her words, the sound impossibly loud in the confined space. Riley barely registered pulling the trigger, but the recoil punched against her grip like a living thing. She'd anticipated the weapon's kick from Sable's brief instruction, but this was different—raw and violent and real. Her inexperienced stance meant the weapon bucked wildly, throwing her aim off. Instead of the center mass shot she'd intended, the round tore into Aura's shoulder, a messy, uncontrolled wound that spoke more to raw emotion than precision.
The room exploded into chaos. Aura clutched her shoulder, her oversized cybernetic hand spasming as blood soaked into her flashy jacket, staining the iridescent fabric a dark crimson. The sight was both horrifying and satisfying in a way Riley wasn't prepared for. Signal and Phase were on their feet in an instant, Phase's rifle materializing in their hands with mechanical precision, trained squarely on Riley's chest.
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Riley's ears rang from the gunshot, a high-pitched whine that made everything feel distant and unreal. Her hands trembled—not just from adrenaline now, but from the shock of having actually pulled the trigger. The pistol felt alien in her grip, heavy with the weight of consequence and the knowledge that she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
"Enough!" Rio's voice roared through the chaos like a whip crack. In one fluid motion, his hand went under his vest, drawing a sleek, large-caliber pistol and aiming it directly at Riley's head. The movement was so smooth, so practiced, that it seemed almost casual—which made it all the more terrifying.
Riley's breath caught in her throat as she stared down the barrel of Rio's weapon. Her heart slammed against her ribs hard enough to hurt, each beat a reminder that she was still alive, still in danger. Rio's weapon didn't waver, its barrel gleaming under the room's dim light like a promise. His expression was cold, his shaded lenses hiding whatever calculation might be happening behind them.
"Put the gun down," he commanded, his voice low and edged with steel. The words carried the weight of absolute authority—this wasn't a suggestion or a negotiation.
Riley swallowed hard, her vision narrowing until all she could see was the perfect circle of Rio's barrel. Every instinct screamed at her to drop the pistol, to run, to do anything but freeze under his gaze. But her fingers wouldn't move. The memory of Aura's betrayal burned too brightly, keeping her hands locked around the grip despite the terror coursing through her veins.
"Rio," she started, her voice cracking on his name. "She—she left me—"
"I said, put it down," he repeated, sharper this time. His calm, measured tone was gone, replaced by something colder and infinitely more dangerous. The slight shift in his stance made it clear he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
Riley's legs wobbled beneath her, her whole body shaking as the weight of the moment bore down on her like a physical force. Her hands slipped slightly on the pistol, sweat slicking her grip. For a moment—a terrifying, crystal-clear moment—she was certain he was going to shoot her, and she forced herself to take a step back, her lips trembling with words she couldn't form.
"Echo!" Another voice broke through the tension. Signal stood from his chair, his reflective mask catching the light as he held up a hand. "Wait."
Riley's breath came in shallow bursts as she fought to keep herself together. Rio's pistol remained steady, its barrel an unyielding reminder of the thin line she was walking. Her mind raced between fear, anger, and the sharp sting of betrayal that had driven her here.
"Rio," Signal said, his synthesized voice calm but commanding. "Look at this."
Rio didn't lower his weapon, but his head tilted slightly, clearly watching something in his augmented display. Riley could see his jaw tighten, his expression still unreadable behind his shaded lenses. The tension in the room felt suffocating, the silence stretching like a wire about to snap.
There was a pause that seemed to last forever, and Riley's pulse thundered in her ears. Then Rio's expression changed—subtle, but enough for Riley to notice. His lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders stiffened, and the pistol lowered by just a fraction.
"Where did you get this?" Rio's tone was cold, like steel tempered in ice.
"Clinic's security feed," Signal replied. His mask didn't display anything, but his stance was steady, deliberate. "She's telling the truth."
Riley's knees nearly buckled as the words hit her. The truth. It was out there now, undeniable and raw. Her grip on the pistol slackened slightly, her arms trembling more from exhaustion than fear. The adrenaline that had carried her this far began to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
Rio finally lowered his weapon fully, slipping it back into its holster with a deliberate motion that somehow carried as much threat as when it was drawn. His eyes turned to Aura, who was still slumped in her chair, blood dripping between her fingers as she clutched her wounded shoulder. The confidence and condescension she'd wielded so easily moments before were gone, replaced by wide eyes and a pale face that made her look younger, smaller.
"Explain yourself," Rio said, his tone sharp enough to cut through metal.
Aura's lips trembled as she tried to pull herself together, her usual poise shattered like cheap glass. "I—I did what I had to," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "She wasn't going to make it. I—"
"Enough." Rio's single word silenced her instantly. His tone was calm now, eerily so, but there was no mistaking the finality behind it. He turned his gaze back to Signal. "Send me the full feed."
Signal's silver eyes glimmered faintly, his attention elsewhere for a moment. Rio's head tilted slightly, and Riley realized the footage was being transmitted directly to his neurolink. The seconds stretched unbearably long as Rio reviewed it, each moment feeling like another weight pressing down on her chest. When he was done, his face hardened further, settling into something that looked carved from stone.
"You crossed the line, Aura," he said, his voice almost quiet. That made it worse somehow, like thunder rumbling just before a storm breaks.
Aura's breathing quickened, her hands gripping the table as if it could anchor her to reality. "Rio, listen—"
"No," Rio interrupted, his voice cold and final as a tomb door closing. "You're done."
Raw panic flashed across Aura's face, shattering what remained of her carefully constructed facade. She pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor with a sound like screaming metal. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor as she moved toward the door, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. "Get the fuck out of my way—fucking move—"
Riley instinctively stepped forward, her muscles coiled to pursue, but Rio's hand clamped down on her shoulder. The grip was firm, a clear warning that brooked no argument.
"She won't get far," Rio said, his tone low but steady. "And I'll make sure she's dealt with."
Riley hesitated, her anger still bubbling just beneath the surface like magma under thin ice. But she forced herself to nod, suddenly aware of how heavy the pistol felt in her hand. The adrenaline that had propelled her through the confrontation was rapidly dissolving, leaving behind tremors she couldn't quite control. Trying to keep her hand steady, she slid the weapon back into its holster.
Rio's hand released her shoulder, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cred stick that seemed to materialize from nowhere. He extended it to Riley, his expression unreadable behind those shaded lenses. "Here's your payment. You earned it."
Riley stared at it for a moment before taking it with trembling fingers. Her voice caught in her throat—too many words trying to escape at once—and she didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded again.
Rio gave her a slight incline of his head, his tone softening just enough to catch her off guard. "You did well, Echo. If you're still interested, I'll have more work for you going forward."
Riley didn't answer. She pocketed the cred stick and turned away from the fixer, her movements mechanical and distant, as if she were watching herself from outside her own body. Her legs nearly buckled as she made her way out of the private room, the gravity of everything that had just happened pressing down on her like a physical weight. The adrenaline that had driven her through the confrontation was completely gone now, leaving behind a raw, trembling exhaustion that seemed to reach down to her bones.
Blood and sweat had dried on her skin, creating a tacky, uncomfortable layer that seemed to amplify every bruise, every ache from Aura's earlier assault. The split in her lip throbbed with renewed intensity, a persistent reminder of the violence she'd just survived—and initiated. Her breath came in uneven gasps, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but she swallowed both down.
The lounge's dim lighting felt harsher now, the smoky haze stinging her eyes as murmured conversations blurred into an indistinct hum. She dropped onto a stool at the bar, her elbows resting on the polished surface as she let out a long, shaky exhale. The cred stick Rio had handed her felt like a weight in her pocket, a constant reminder of everything that had just transpired.
Glancing around the room, Riley couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that the gunshot and commotion hadn’t seemed to affected the other patrons at all. Either they trusted the security here to handle any trouble, or incidents like that were so common they were just ignored.
She signaled to the bartender with a flick of her trembling fingers, her voice hoarse as she ordered, "Whiskey. Neat."
The bartender nodded, pouring a measure of amber liquid into a glass and sliding it over to her. Riley picked it up but didn't drink right away. Instead, she stared into the whiskey, watching the faint reflections of the lounge's neon lights ripple across its surface like luminant ghosts. The glass felt cool against her palm, an anchor to reality when everything else seemed to be sliding sideways.
Her mind raced, replaying the scene over and over—the look on Aura's face when she pulled the trigger, the cold certainty of Rio's pistol being drawn, the absolute finality in his tone when he said Aura wouldn't get far. The memory of the gunshot still echoed in her ears, a percussion that seemed to have permanently altered something inside her. The smell of cordite lingered in her nostrils, mixing with the synthetic tobacco haze of the lounge.
She raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip, the burn of the whiskey grounding her in the present moment. The warmth spread through her chest, dulling the edges of her frayed nerves. She set the glass down carefully, her fingers lingering on its cool surface as if afraid to let go of something solid and real.
Footsteps approached, and she didn't need to look up to know who it was. Signal settled onto the stool beside her, his presence as quiet and unobtrusive as always. He reached across the bar, plucking a bottle of beer from the counter.
Without turning her head, Riley spoke, her voice flat and tired. "Why didn't you show Rio the footage earlier?"
Signal didn't answer immediately. He unscrewed the cap from the bottle, and set it down with a soft clink that seemed to echo in the space between them. When he finally turned toward her, the reflective surface of his mask caught the dim light, giving away nothing of his expression.
For just a moment—so brief Riley might have imagined it—something flickered behind his solid silver eyes. A hesitation? A calculation? A hint of something that might have been regret, or perhaps something more strategic. It was gone almost before she could register it, like a glitch in old security footage.
He shrugged once, a small, noncommittal gesture, before standing and walking away without a word. The silence he left behind felt heavier than any explanation could have been.
Riley watched him go, frustration flickering in her chest before being smothered by exhaustion. She turned back to her drink, gripping the glass tightly enough that her knuckles whitened. The sound of another chair shifting beside her pulled her attention, and this time she glanced up to see Phase taking the seat Signal had vacated.
The autodoll's golden optics glimmered faintly in the dim light, their angular frame reflecting the neon in ways that made them seem both more and less than human. Phase inclined their head slightly, their voice smooth and measured as precision machinery. "You handled yourself well."
Riley blinked at the unexpected praise, her grip on the glass loosening slightly. "I almost fell apart," she muttered, her gaze dropping back to her whiskey. The amber liquid seemed to mock her with its stillness.
"Almost," Phase said, the word carrying the weight of mathematical certainty. "But you did not. You acted decisively, and that is what matters."
Their tone carried no hint of judgment or emotion, only pure observation. Riley looked up again, studying their polished, expressionless face. In their perfect stillness, she found an odd sort of comfort. "Thanks, I guess," she said softly, unsure how to respond to such clinical approval.
Phase nodded once, standing with fluid precision that made human movement seem clumsy by comparison. "If the opportunity arises, I would work with you again," they said simply before turning and walking away, their footsteps silent against the floor.
Riley sat alone once more, the warmth of the whiskey doing little to chase away the hollow ache in her chest. Her thoughts turned inward, cycling through anger, hurt, and a tentative sense of validation that felt foreign and strange. Aura's betrayal still stung deeply, reopening wounds she thought she'd buried. But Rio's approval and Phase's words offered a peculiar kind of balm—not comfort exactly, but something adjacent to it.
She lifted her glass again, taking another slow sip. The burn felt different this time—less like a punishment, more like a reminder that she was still here, still standing. Still breathing when Aura had tried to ensure otherwise.
Chirp hovered nearby, his familiar presence a reminder of everything she'd built from nothing. Every piece of tech she'd salvaged, every system she'd learned to hack, every skill she'd developed through necessity and determination—it all led to this moment. To becoming someone who wouldn't be discarded or forgotten.
For the first time since entering the lounge, she let herself consider the possibility: maybe she could get used to this life after all. Not just survive in it, but thrive. The thought settled over her like armor, protective and empowering in equal measure.
She wasn't a victim anymore. And she never would be again.