Chapter Seven
Mending Fractures
Riley stirred, her body sinking into the gel mattress like it was cradling her. The sterile white light above her blurred and pulsed faintly, making her head throb in time with her heartbeat. Everything felt wrong—muted, distant, like she was experiencing the world through a layer of static. The IV needle taped to her arm caught her attention, its quiet hiss a whisper of artificial life flowing into her veins.
She blinked against the clinical brightness, her father's warnings about medical facilities echoing in her memory. "Places like that strip away your humanity piece by piece," he'd said. "They see flesh and bone as just another machine to tinker with." The walls of smooth tile and brushed steel reminded her of somewhere else, somewhere that made her pulse quicken—but this room lacked that suffocating cold. A hint of lavender drifted through the air, and her shoulders eased fractionally. Since when did torture chambers smell like flowers?
The LCD window drew her gaze, its display showing an autumn forest scene. Golden leaves drifted down in an endless loop, each falling exactly as the one before it. Perfect. Programmed. Fake. Just like the safety this room pretended to offer. Her fingers twitched, instinctively seeking the familiar weight of her goggles, but they weren't there. The absence left her feeling naked, vulnerable—cut off from the data feeds that had become her second skin.
Memory crashed through the artificial calm like a hammer through glass. Dark walls. Metal restraints. Malicor's smile as he—
Riley jerked upright, her body moving before her mind could catch up. The room spun violently, and her broken thumb screamed in protest despite its neat bandaging. Her stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat as fragments of memory flashed through her mind: Flint's betrayal at the club, the cold metal table, the gleam of surgical tools. Stupid. Moving that fast was stupid. But staying still felt worse—felt like giving in, like accepting what they'd tried to do to her.
Then she saw them—the N-77 Neurolink, her goggles and Chirp's battered shell, waiting on the bedside table like old friends at a stranger's party. Her fingers found Chirp's cracked casing, tracing the familiar dents and scratches. The drone had taken as much of a beating as she had, maybe more. Its lens was dark, probably drained of power, but just holding it brought a measure of comfort. At least they hadn't taken this from her. At least she still had something real to hold onto in this sterile illusion of safety.
The sound of quiet breathing pulled her attention to the corner of the room. Sprawled in a chair, legs dangling over the armrest, was the woman from the raid—the one Riley had seen carving through gangers with her glowing blade. Her jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, leaving her in a dark tank top and tactical pants. She looked impossibly at ease, her short hair spilling messily against the headrest. Her eyes glowed faintly with the detached, glassy sheen Riley recognized as someone watching their retinal interface.
Riley froze, her heart quickening again. The mercenary hadn't noticed her yet, lost in whatever feed her RUI was playing. Riley's fingers twitched toward Chirp, instinctively searching for something—anything—to shield herself. The memory of that thermal blade slicing through flesh made her throat tight. She'd seen what this woman could do, how effortlessly she dealt death. And now here she was, lounging like a cat in the sunlight, as if she hadn't just turned that hallway into a abattoir.
The woman's glowing eyes blinked, and she stirred, stretching with a languid grace that reminded Riley of a cat. It took her a moment to notice Riley was watching her. When she did, she broke into a wide, unapologetic grin that seemed at odds with the casual violence Riley had witnessed.
"Hey, you're awake!" she said, her voice bright, almost too casual given the situation. She swung her legs off the armrest and sat up, fixing Riley with an easy gaze. "How you feeling? Doc said you wouldn't be out long, but I was starting to think I'd have to call her."
Riley opened her mouth but found herself unable to form words. Her throat felt dry, and she couldn't shake the image of that glowing blade slicing through the air. The casual way this woman moved between violence and friendliness set every survival instinct on edge.
The woman didn't seem to notice her hesitation—or if she did, she didn't let it faze her. "Right. Introductions. I'm ZigZag, but you can call me Z," she said, springing to her feet with a fluid, almost showy motion that made Riley flinch. "And you... well, you're the reason Sable's been in a mood all day."
She winked like it was a joke Riley was meant to be in on, but Riley just stared, her knuckles whitening against the sheets. The name 'Sable' triggered another flash of memory—the woman with the chrome arm who'd found her after Flint, who'd promised safety when promises felt like poison.
ZigZag hesitated, her grin faltering slightly as she took in Riley's tense posture. "Okay, uh... you're probably still pretty freaked out. That's fair. Let me go grab the doc, alright? She can explain everything way better than I can."
Without waiting for a response, ZigZag strode to the door. She moved with the same effortless confidence Riley had seen during the raid, like she owned the space around her. Pausing at the door, she shot Riley another grin. "Don't go anywhere, yeah? I'll be right back."
The door slid shut behind her, leaving Riley alone. The silence settled over her like a heavy blanket, and she exhaled shakily. Her gaze flicked back to the Neurolink and Chirp, her fingers brushing the devices again. The weight in her chest eased slightly, but the unease lingered. These people—whoever they were—had saved her from Flint and his gang, but that didn't mean she could trust them. Trust was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing the way her father had taught her. "Count the exits," his voice whispered in her memory. "Know your ground." But when she opened her eyes to scan the room, the clinical white walls seemed to close in around her. The window was fake, just a screen pretending to be an escape. The door was the only way out, and she had no idea what waited on the other side.
The door slid open again a few moments later, and Riley tensed, clutching the sheet in her lap like a lifeline. She expected ZigZag's chirpy grin, but the figure who entered was entirely different.
The woman had a calm, commanding presence that reminded Riley of the corporate executives she'd seen in old holovids. Her auburn hair was tied into a neat ponytail, with streaks of gray framing her face in a way that added to her air of authority rather than diminishing it. A pair of glasses perched on her nose, though the subtle glint of embedded lenses suggested they were more than just for show. Her white coat, pristine and crisp, swished softly as she walked. She carried a tablet in one hand, her other hand adjusting the frame of her glasses as she scanned Riley with a quick, clinical assessment.
"You're awake," she said warmly, her voice carrying the kind of confidence that came from years of expertise. "Good. I was starting to worry I'd missed something in your diagnosis."
Riley blinked at her, unsure how to respond. She felt her shoulders tighten, instinctively bracing for whatever was coming next. The woman's demeanor was nothing like Malicor's cold detachment, but that almost made it worse. Kindness had proven to be the sharpest knife of all.
The woman must have noticed because her expression softened. "I'm Dr. Sienna Kline," she said, stepping closer and pulling up a stool. She set her tablet down on the side table, her movements deliberate and unhurried. "You're in my clinic, and you're safe here. I promise."
The word "safe" felt strange in Riley's ears, like a language she'd forgotten how to speak. She glanced at the IV in her arm, then back at the doctor. The fluid dripping into her veins could be anything—drugs, sedatives, worse. "Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice hoarse from disuse.
Dr. Kline tilted her head slightly, studying Riley with a mix of curiosity and patience. "Why are you here, or why am I helping you?"
"Both," Riley croaked. Her fingers found Chirp's shell again, seeking comfort in its familiar surface.
Dr. Kline folded her hands neatly in her lap. "You're here because you were hurt. Badly. And as for helping..." She shrugged lightly. "It's what I do. When Ward brought you in, I could tell you needed care, so I gave it."
Riley's brow furrowed at the name. "Ward?"
"The man who found you," Dr. Kline clarified. "He and his team were... insistent that you be treated right away. I closed your wounds with micro-sutures, repaired your broken thumb with bone gel, and gave you about 300 milliliters of synthetic plasma to replace what you lost. You were very lucky." She gestured toward the IV. "You shouldn't feel any pain, though stiffness is normal."
Riley didn't know what to say. The explanation was straightforward, almost too simple. It didn't make sense—why would strangers go to this much trouble for her? "I can't... I can't pay for this," she muttered, her voice cracking. The thought of owing someone—of being in debt—made her stomach turn. Debt was just another kind of chain.
Dr. Kline's brows knitted together in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned. "Ward covered the costs," she said gently. "You don't need to worry about that."
Riley stiffened. The idea of someone doing anything for her without expecting something in return set her teeth on edge. Her father's voice echoed in her head: "Nothing's free in this world, Riley. Everything has a price, even if you can't see it yet."
"Why would he do that?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly. "What does he want from me?"
Dr. Kline didn't flinch at the outburst. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her voice remained calm, like someone trying to coax a frightened animal from a corner. "I can't speak for Ward's reasons, but I can tell you this: not everyone is out to hurt you. Some people see someone in need and want to help. No strings attached."
Riley wanted to believe her. She really did. But Flint's betrayal was still too fresh, his promises of help echoing in her mind like a cruel joke. She looked away, her gaze landing on Chirp's battered shell. Her fingers twitched, longing to pick him up and hold onto something real.
Dr. Kline gave her a moment of silence before standing. "I'll give you some time to think," she said. "For now, you should rest. Your body needs it."
She started toward the door but paused, glancing over her shoulder. "I'll bring you something to eat. Real food—not the synthetic stuff. You look like you could use it."
With that, she left the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.
Riley slumped back against the pillows, her mind racing. Dr. Kline's warmth and professionalism had been disarming, almost too much so. She wanted to trust the doctor, but the scars Flint had left on her psyche refused to let her lower her guard. Every kindness now felt like a potential weapon, every smile a mask hiding darker intentions.
Her gaze drifted back to the N-77 and Chirp, their presence a small comfort in the sterile room. She reached out and picked up Chirp's shell, cradling it in her lap. The cool metal was scratched and battered, but it was hers. A reminder that she was still alive—still fighting, even if she didn't know how much fight she had left.
Riley's grip on Chirp tightened as the silence settled around her. Her eyes flicked between the gleaming surface of the N-77 sitting on the small table beside her bed, then down to Chirp in her hands. The drone's broken lens stared back at her, lifeless and dim, a reminder of everything she'd been through. Her thumb throbbed faintly under its bandages, though the sharp sting had dulled into a distant ache.
Stolen novel; please report.
Her thoughts spiraled, tangled in everything that had happened. Flint's grinning face haunted her mind, his voice dripping with mockery as he held her fate in his hands. A shudder ran down her spine, and she hugged Chirp closer, as if the little drone could protect her now as it had so many times before.
Her gaze landed on the N-77, its surface smooth and unmarred despite everything. That tiny piece of tech had been at the center of her troubles—Rourke's betrayal, her desperate flight from the Driftlands, and the nightmare she'd endured under Flint's watch. The thought made her stomach twist, anger and despair bubbling to the surface. It felt like the device had cursed her, pulling her into chaos with every step. Flint had seen her as an easy target, a lone Drifter with no cybernetics to protect her, but somehow, she had survived to sit here now.
Her father's voice echoed in her head, low and insistent. "Cybernetics strip away your humanity, piece by piece. Don't let them make you one of their machines."
But wasn't survival its own kind of humanity? She looked down at her bandaged thumb, remembering the crack of bone as she'd dislocated it to escape those restraints. How many times had her unaugmented body failed her? How many times had she barely scraped by, relying on luck and desperation while others moved through the world with steel-reinforced confidence?
Riley exhaled slowly, leaning her head back against the pillow. She hated how fragile she felt—like every breath could crack her open further. She didn't trust these mercenaries, no matter how kind they seemed. ZigZag's easy charm, Sable's protective demeanor, even Dr. Kline's soft-spoken reassurance—it all felt too good to be true. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Her eyes drifted to the window display, the forest scene glowing softly in the sterile light of the room. It felt artificial, like the safety around her, but she couldn't help but let her gaze linger. The colors were soothing, the gentle rustling of leaves from hidden speakers almost convincing. She had never seen a forest like that. In the Driftlands, the closest thing to nature was the occasional hardy weed pushing through the cracks in the concrete.
The door opened, breaking her reverie.
Riley tensed immediately, her body coiling like a spring as her gaze snapped toward the sound. Dr. Kline stepped into the room first, her movements calm and deliberate. She carried a tray with something on it, her expression warm but measured. Behind her came the two mercenaries Riley already recognized.
Ward's relaxed posture and easy grin were unmistakable, even out of his combat gear. He was dressed casually now, his coat slung open over a simple shirt, but he still moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they were dangerous. The neatly trimmed mustache above his grin gave him an almost playful air, though his sharp green eyes missed nothing.
Sable followed close behind, her presence a stark contrast. She had swapped her tactical vest for a plain black jacket, her hair tied back neatly. Her chrome arm hung at her side, its polished surface catching the light, but her dark eyes remained guarded as they settled on Riley.
"Look who's up," Ward said, his voice breaking the silence like a casual breeze through a tense room. His grin widened as he stepped closer, hands resting loosely on his belt. "Feeling better, I hope?"
Riley didn't answer immediately, her body still stiff with tension. Her fingers tightened around Chirp as she nodded once, the motion barely perceptible. The casual way Ward carried himself reminded her too much of Flint's easy charm, and she had to fight the instinct to run. But there was something different in his eyes—a sharpness that suggested his relaxed demeanor was genuine rather than a mask.
Dr. Kline smiled gently, setting the tray down on the small table beside the bed. "I brought you something to eat. Thought you might need a little energy," she said, her tone calm and reassuring.
Riley glanced at the tray, her eyes widening slightly as she registered the slices of apple neatly arranged on a small plate. Real apples. Not the synthetic kind she'd grown used to in the Driftlands.
"They're fresh," Dr. Kline said with a wink. "One of my regulars grows them. A little luxury for a special occasion."
The scent hit Riley before she could stop herself from reacting. Her eyes widened, and her stomach twisted with want. Real fruit. When was the last time she'd—
"Go ahead," Sable cut through her thoughts. She was still by the door, arms crossed, but her voice had lost its edge. "Can't heal if you don't eat."
Riley picked up a slice, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the apple might vanish if she moved too quickly. She bit into it hesitantly, the crisp, sweet flavor bursting across her tongue. It was the first real food she'd tasted in... longer than she cared to admit. The taste brought back fragments of memory—her father sharing an orange with her on her birthday, the last fresh fruit they'd been able to afford before everything went wrong.
"Good, right?" Ward said, his grin shifting into something softer as he watched her. "Doc knows how to take care of people."
Riley swallowed, her throat tightening as she set the half-eaten slice back on the plate. The kindness felt overwhelming, almost suffocating. She forced herself to meet their eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you helping me?"
Dr. Kline straightened, her expression calm yet earnest. "Because you needed it. You were hurt, badly. No one deserves to be left like that."
"And because fuck those guys," Ward added, his casual tone hardening just slightly. "The ones who hurt you? They don't get to win."
Riley's lips pressed into a thin line. Their words sounded genuine, but trust didn't come easy anymore. Still, her fingers relaxed their death grip on the blanket just slightly, and she allowed herself a small breath.
Sable made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "Speaking of—how'd you end up in their territory? Steel Sharks don't exactly advertise their address."
Riley frowned. "Steel Sharks?" she repeated, unfamiliar with the name.
"The gang," Sable said. Her mechanical arm whirred softly as she shifted. "The ones we pulled you from."
A bitter laugh escaped Riley, her shoulders sagging. "I didn't know who they were. I didn't even know this city had gangs like that." She stared down at her lap, her hands trembling slightly as the memories clawed their way to the surface. The warmth of the apple slice turned to ash in her mouth.
Dr. Kline moved closer, perching on the edge of the bed. Her presence was quiet, unobtrusive. "Take your time," she said softly.
Riley nodded faintly, her voice hesitant as she began. "I was a courier. A Drifter. I'd take jobs to keep my head above water—scavenging, deliveries, whatever paid enough for food and fuel cells."
She swallowed hard, her voice growing quieter. "Rourke—he was my fixer—gave me a job. Deliver a package to the Stacks. It sounded simple enough, but..." Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep going. "I didn't know how dangerous it was. I didn't know it would..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Sable's eyes narrowed, her hands curling into fists.
"I tried to run," Riley continued, her voice trembling now. "I thought maybe if I could get far enough, I could disappear. Get lost in the city."
Ward, still leaning casually against the wall, tilted his head slightly but stayed silent, listening.
"Then I met Flint." The name tasted like poison. "He acted like... like he gave a damn. Like maybe someone finally—" She cut herself off, jaw tight. "Stupid. Should've known better."
Riley paused, her hands tightening around the blanket as she tried to keep the tears at bay. She didn't want to cry. Not again. Not in front of them. She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her voice to harden. "But all I was to him was a payday. A piece of meat to sell."
Sable's sharp intake of breath cut through the air. "He was the one, wasn't he?" she asked, her voice steely. "The one you killed?"
Riley hesitated before nodding faintly. The memory of the knife sliding into Flint's throat flashed through her mind, and she had to suppress a shudder. She'd never killed anyone before that moment. Had never thought she could.
"Good," Sable muttered, her tone cold. Her eyes darkened, and she shook her head. "Bastard deserved worse."
Riley flinched at the venom in Sable's voice. Something in the mercenary's tone suggested personal experience, a familiarity with the kind of betrayal that left scars deeper than any blade. Dr. Kline reached out gently, resting a warm hand on Riley's shoulder. "You've been through enough," the doctor said softly. "You don't have to relive it all now."
Riley's shoulders trembled. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. The gentle touch on her shoulder—so different from the clinical prodding of Malicor or the rough handling of the gangers—broke something loose inside her. Her breath hitched as she fought against the tears threatening to spill over.
"I can't..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. The words felt inadequate, unable to capture the storm of emotions raging inside her—the fear, the anger, the crushing weight of everything she'd lost.
"It's alright," Dr. Kline said, her tone steady and calm. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."
The quiet reassurance broke through Riley's defenses, and the tears came despite her best efforts to hold them back. Her body shook with silent sobs, the weight of everything crashing over her all at once. Each gasping breath felt like surrender, like weakness, but she couldn't stop. The trauma of the past days—Rourke selling her out, the flight from her home, Flint's betrayal, the operating table, the desperate fight for survival—poured out of her in waves.
Dr. Kline stayed beside her, offering quiet comfort. Sable stood nearby, her expression unreadable but her fists still clenched tightly at her sides. Even Ward remained where he was, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watched over the scene. None of them tried to rush her or dismiss her pain. They just let her cry, giving her the space to break down without judgment.
Finally, as Riley's sobs subsided into ragged breaths, Ward broke the silence. "Do you have anywhere to go?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Anyone waiting for you?"
Riley shook her head, her voice a whisper. "No. I have nothing. No one." The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of how completely her world had collapsed. The converted gas station that had been her home was probably already picked clean by scavengers, every trace of her former life erased.
Ward exchanged a glance with Sable, who stepped forward. "You can stay with me," Sable said simply, her tone matter-of-fact. "At least until you figure out your next move."
Riley looked up at her, startled. Her mind struggled to process the offer, searching for the hidden angle, the catch that had to be there. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"Because you need a place," Sable replied bluntly. "And I've got one." Her chrome arm gleamed as she crossed her arms, the motion somehow making her look more awkward than intimidating. It was the first crack Riley had seen in her tough exterior.
Riley hesitated, her gaze falling to the N-77 on the table. "I could sell it," she murmured. "The Neurolink. Maybe that'd be enough to start over." The thought of parting with it made her chest tight, but she needed to consider every option. In the Driftlands, survival often meant sacrificing the valuable for the necessary.
Dr. Kline picked up the device, examining it with a practiced eye. "It's valuable," she said thoughtfully, "but not enough for anything long-term. A few thousand credits, maybe. Enough for supplies, maybe a cheap room for a while."
Riley's shoulders slumped at the thought. Even this—her one piece of valuable tech, the thing that had started all this trouble—wasn't enough to buy her real freedom.
"There's another option," Dr. Kline added gently, holding up the N-77. "You could chip it. A Neurolink like this opens up a lot of doors. IDs, connections, opportunities."
Riley's chest tightened, her father's voice echoing faintly in her mind, warning her against cybernetics. The thought of permanently connecting herself to technology, of letting it become part of her... "I don't know," she said, her voice shaky. The memory of Malicor's augmented eye whirring as he examined her, talking about her "market value," made her stomach turn. But then she thought of how easily ZigZag had moved, how confidently Sable carried herself. Would augmentation make her stronger, or just make her more vulnerable to people who could hack and control technology?
"You don't have to decide now," Ward interjected, his tone calm. "Take your time. Rest. We'll figure it out when you're ready." He straightened from his position against the wall, stretching casually. "World's not going anywhere."
Dr. Kline set the Neurolink back on the table, giving Riley a kind smile. "He's right. No rush. But think about it, okay?" She adjusted her glasses, the embedded lenses catching the light. "Sometimes the tools that scare us most are the ones we need to embrace."
Riley nodded numbly, her emotions a tangled mess. She didn't know what to think—about the Neurolink, about these people, about herself. Every certainty she'd held onto in the Driftlands felt hollow now, but she wasn't sure what to replace them with.
"We'll let you rest," Ward said, nodding toward the door. "Come on."
Sable placed a hand briefly on Riley's shoulder before following Ward. The touch was gentle despite her mechanical fingers, and Riley found herself leaning into it slightly before catching herself. Dr. Kline lingered a moment longer, her voice soft as she said, "If you need anything, just call. I'll be close."
And with that, they left, the door clicking softly shut behind them. Riley sat alone again, the Neurolink and Chirp's shell her only companions. Her gaze fell on the device, her thoughts a storm of fear, anger, and uncertainty. Her father had always said cybernetics were a trap—a way for corporations to control people through their own bodies. But maybe, like so many things, he'd been wrong about that too.
She picked up the N-77, its weight familiar in her palm. The surface caught the light, reflecting the sterile brightness of the clinic room. Inside this tiny piece of tech was the potential for transformation—for strength, for independence, for survival. But also for vulnerability, for exploitation, for loss of control.
Riley set the device back down and curled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest. She was so tired of being afraid, of being weak, of being at the mercy of others. But the path to strength seemed paved with compromises she wasn't sure she was ready to make.
The LCD window continued its endless loop of falling leaves, the artificial nature scene a quiet reminder that sometimes the most comforting things were the ones we knew weren't real. Riley closed her eyes, letting the soft rustle of digital leaves lull her toward sleep. Tomorrow would bring more decisions, more challenges, more reasons to be afraid.
But for now, in this moment of artificial peace, she allowed herself to rest. To breathe. To exist in the space between what she had been and what she might become.
The Neurolink waited on the table, its surface gleaming with possibility and threat, a mirror for all her hopes and fears about this strange new world she'd stumbled into. As sleep began to take her, Riley wondered if her father had been right about cybernetics after all—or if, like the rest of his warnings about Helix City, his fears had been born more from pain than truth.
Either way, she knew one thing for certain: she couldn't go back to what she had been. The only way forward was through, whether that meant steel in her veins or not.