Chapter Two
Stacking Trouble
The air grew colder, biting against Riley's face as she adjusted her goggles and pulled her hood tighter. The night over the Driftlands was an uneasy thing—too quiet in some places, too alive in others. As she left the patchwork sprawl of Rust Haven behind, the distant hum of its overworked generators and shouted deals from its markets faded into a hollow silence.
Her boots crunched softly against uneven ground, the path shifting between gravel, shards of metal, and hard-packed dirt. Her HUD painted the landscape in data, warning her of hazards before she stumbled into them. Every step reminded her she was alone out here—alone except for the faint hum of Chirp's thrusters.
"Just a quick in and out tonight, okay?" Riley muttered, more to herself than to Chirp. Her father's warnings about night runs echoed in her memory: "Darkness hides threats, but it also hides you. Use it, don't fear it."
Still, the drone chirped in response, a sharp, encouraging note that almost sounded like agreement. Riley couldn't help but smirk. "Heh. Thanks for the vote of confidence."
The path ahead grew darker as the faint lights of Rust Haven disappeared over the horizon. The Driftlands swallowed everything here, turning the landscape into a jagged sea of rusted shapes and skeletal outlines. Overhead, the sky was a sickly purple-gray, the haze of pollutants blotting out most of the stars. The only light came from her goggles' soft purple glow and the faint shimmer of neon far in the distance—Helix City, always there, always out of reach.
Chirp's light swept over a nearby pile of twisted rebar and crumpled machinery, highlighting fresh graffiti sprayed across the wreckage. Her goggles' chemical analysis confirmed the paint was still tacky—recent. The jagged emblem of the Chrome Fangs stood out in bold red, slashing through the faded black of the Iron Jackals' mark underneath.
Riley slowed, her breath misting faintly in the cold. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."
The Driftlands weren't safe at the best of times, but this? This was bad. Chrome Fangs and Iron Jackals didn't share territory—they fought over it. If the Fangs were tagging over Jackal marks this close to Rust Haven, things were heating up faster than anyone realized. And here she was, stuck running a delivery straight into the middle of it.
She kept walking, her movements careful, deliberate. The package in her messenger bag was light, but it felt heavier with every step. Rourke hadn't said much about it—he never did—but his tone had been sharper than usual. She didn't need to ask to know it was trouble. Rourke only cared about two things: money and survival. If he said the job was important, it was because it put both on the line.
Chirp let out a soft ping, breaking her thoughts. Her HUD flickered with a marker—movement ahead. Riley crouched instinctively, her hand brushing the knife strapped to her belt. The marker faded after a moment, the shadows ahead resolving into nothing more than a swaying piece of scrap caught in the wind.
"Getting jumpy out here," Riley muttered, straightening. She pulled her jacket tighter, scanning the horizon. "Just need to keep moving."
A couple hours of walking and the terrain shifted again, the ground sloping upward toward a ridge. Beyond it, the faint hum of activity grew louder—a mechanical drone that set her teeth on edge. Riley climbed the ridge slowly, her boots slipping slightly on the loose gravel. At the top, she froze.
The Stacks loomed before her, rising out of the Driftlands like some twisted, impossible skyline. Shipping containers were stacked in chaotic towers, patched with scaffolding, tarps, and haphazard bridges. Lights flickered erratically across the structure—neon signs, floodlights, and the occasional spark from exposed wiring. The air buzzed with noise: voices shouting over one another, the whine of drones, the occasional crack of gunfire in the distance.
It wasn't her first time seeing The Stacks, but it still hit her like a punch to the gut. This place wasn't just dangerous; it was a living, breathing monument to desperation. Her goggles struggled to make sense of the chaos—power signatures overlapped and conflicted, heat traces painted confusing patterns of life and machinery, and the electromagnetic interference from jury-rigged power systems created static in her display.
"Real charming place, huh?" Riley murmured.
Chirp let out a low, skeptical beep. "Yeah, that's what I thought," she muttered, tightening her grip on her bag. "Let's just get this done."
Riley descended the ridge carefully, her boots skidding slightly on loose gravel before finding purchase on firmer ground. The hum of The Stacks grew louder with each step, a cacophony of generators, shouting voices, and the occasional metallic crash. The air was heavier here, laced with the acrid tang of burning plastic and oil. Her HUD marked potential toxins in the air—chemical runoff from illegal manufacturing, the byproducts of makeshift power cells, fumes from hidden chem labs.
As she approached the outer perimeter, the sprawling chaos of The Stacks came into full view. Shipping containers formed the bones of this makeshift city, stacked haphazardly into jagged towers. Her goggles highlighted structural weaknesses—load-bearing points near failure, unstable connections held together by spot welds and prayer, patches of scaffolding that swayed dangerously in the wind. Neon lights buzzed and flickered, painting the landscape in eerie greens and blues that reflected off the warped metal.
The streets were a maze of tight alleys and uneven paths, crowded with people who moved with a practiced wariness. Her goggles tagged potential threats: the electromagnetic signatures of concealed weapons, the power draw from combat augmentations, the occasional thermal bloom of overclocked cyberware. Vendors yelled from their makeshift stalls, offering salvaged tech, questionable food, and outright junk. A child darted past Riley, clutching a scavenged piece of wiring, his dirty face streaked with determination. His pursuer—a scrawny teenager with neural routing circuits visible beneath grafted skin—stopped short when he saw her, eyeing Chirp for a moment before slinking back into the crowd.
"What a hive," Riley muttered, adjusting her goggles. Chirp's proximity alerts were pinging constantly now, marking the crush of bodies and machinery around them. She kept her head down but her senses sharp, following the path Rourke had specified while watching for any sign of trouble.
She moved carefully, her bag clutched tightly to her side. Her father's voice echoed in her memory: "Everyone's looking for an easy score. Don't advertise what you're carrying." The package itself wasn't much to look at, but in The Stacks, people killed for less.
Her path took her deeper into the maze, where the air grew thicker and the noise sharper. Music blared from somewhere above—a grating mix of distorted bass and synthesized beats. Surveillance drones zipped between the towers, their scanning beams sweeping the crowd. Through her goggles, she could see their search patterns, marking which ones belonged to gangs and which to private security. She kept her head down and her movements purposeful.
Her HUD pinged softly, marking the route to the drop point. According to Rourke's intel, it was deep in Iron Jackal territory, past the heart of the market and through a narrow alley flanked by rusted container walls. The closer she got, the more her stomach tightened. Her goggles were picking up increasing signs of gang presence—more serious hardware, more combat augmentations, more organized patrol patterns.
When she finally reached the storage unit, she exhaled softly, her grip on her bag loosening just slightly. The Iron Jackal insignia was spray-painted across the metal door—jagged black lines outlined in silver. Two guards stood nearby, their patchwork armor gleaming faintly under the harsh light of a hanging flood lamp. One had a shotgun slung over his shoulder, thermal vents running down his arms suggesting enhanced strength augments. The other cradled a modified SMG, his spine lined with targeting processors that connected to the weapon's systems.
"Courier," Riley kept her voice steady, hands raised slightly. "Got something for you."
The guards exchanged looks. The one with the SMG jerked his head toward the door, voice muffled behind his mask. "Get in."
Riley slipped past them as the metal door hissed open. The storage unit's dim interior barely justified the single overhead light fighting against the shadows. Her goggles adjusted automatically, compensating for the low light while scanning for threats. A grizzled man stood near the back, tapping a synth-cigar against a makeshift desk with his cybernetic arm. His eyes cut to her, quick and sharp.
"You the runner?" Gravel in his voice.
Riley pulled the package from her bag. "Last time I checked." She held it out, her goggles analyzing his cybernetics as she moved. Skeletal reinforcement ran through his arms and chest, the power draw suggesting enhanced strength and reaction time. Neural processors lined his spine, their heat signature visible through her thermal overlay. This was someone equipped for serious combat, not just another gang lieutenant.
The man studied her for a long moment, like he was solving a puzzle. Finally, he stepped forward, metal fingers taking the package with unexpected delicacy.
He weighed it in his hand. "Awful light for something that's got everyone spooked." He set it on the desk. "Let's crack it open."
"Hey." Riley's voice hardened. "Contract was delivery. You want to play show and tell, that's fine—after I get paid."
He barked out a laugh. "In this climate? With every Fang in the area out hunting? Not a chance I'm handing over creds before I see what I'm buying."
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Riley's retort died in her throat as engines growled in the distance. The rumble grew closer, rattling the unit's walls. Her HUD lit up with proximity warnings—multiple vehicles approaching fast, their power signatures far exceeding standard gang transport. The man's face went slack.
"Ah, shit." He snapped toward the door. "That ain't one of ours."
Riley's HUD lit up as Chirp pinged a warning. Multiple heat signatures converging on their position—fast. She backed toward the wall instinctively, her fingers brushing the knife at her belt. Her goggles' readouts were going crazy: power signatures from high-end weapons, electromagnetic interference from combat-grade augmentations, thermal blooms from overclocked cybersystems.
The rumble of engines turned into a roar as an explosion rocked the unit, the door blowing inward in a shower of sparks. Riley threw herself to the ground as debris rained down, her ears ringing from the blast. Through the haze of smoke, figures poured in—Chrome Fangs, their hardware a mix of salvaged military tech and black market combat mods.
The storage unit erupted into chaos. Gunfire and shouts filled the air, blending into a cacophony of violence. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the metal walls, and the smell of burning electronics mixed with blood and smoke. The Chrome Fangs fired indiscriminately, cutting down the Iron Jackals before they could mount a proper defense. One of them, a hulking figure with reinforced joint servos that hissed with each step and subdermal plating that turned his skin into a maze of geometric patterns, bellowed commands to the others.
The lieutenant roared, drawing his weapon, but he didn't get far. A shot cracked through the air, and he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Through her HUD, Riley watched his vitals flatline, his heat signature rapidly cooling.
Chirp let out a sharp, urgent ping, snapping her out of her frozen state. Her goggles highlighted a possible escape route—a service hatch near the back of the storage unit. It wasn't far, but the path was exposed, and the Fangs were spreading out, their augmented bodies moving with inhuman precision. One of them pivoted on hydraulic ankles, muscle-strand enhancements rippling beneath grafted skin as she raised her weapon.
Riley bolted. Her boots slammed against the ground as she darted between crates and shattered machinery. The Fangs shouted, their voices rising above the gunfire. A burst of energy bolts seared the air just inches from her shoulder, and she ducked instinctively, sliding across the ground as she reached the hatch. Her fingers scrambled for the latch, yanking it open just as a ganger lunged toward her—the servos in his neck whirring as optical implants glowed in the dim light.
The hatch slammed shut behind her, cutting off the noise for a brief, blessed moment. The narrow tunnel ahead was dimly lit, its walls coated in grime and rust, but her goggles' night vision painted a clear path forward. Chirp zipped ahead, marking hazards on her HUD as she sprinted forward.
The muffled sounds of pursuit echoed behind her—shouts, banging on the hatch, and the hiss of plasma cutters. The Fangs weren't giving up. Through the walls, she could hear their augmented voices, distorted by vocal modulators and command-link processors:
"Don't let her get away! Rourke said she'd have it—take her down!"
The words hit harder than the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Rourke? Her mind reeled, but there was no time to think. The tunnel opened into a wider chamber, a tangled mess of catwalks and stacked containers. She barely slowed, her legs burning as she leapt onto the first walkway and grabbed the railing to steady herself. The catwalk groaned under her weight, its bolts straining against years of rust, but it held.
Behind her, the hatch burst open with a metallic screech, and the Fangs spilled into the chamber like a flood. One of them pointed, shouting, "She's up there! Get her!"
Chirp pinged another route, but the markers flashed red—unstable terrain. Riley had no choice. She vaulted over the railing, landing hard on a lower platform. The impact jarred her knees, but she rolled with it, momentum carrying her toward a narrow ladder leading upward. Her hands gripped the rungs tightly as she climbed, sweat slicking her palms.
The Fangs were relentless, their footsteps pounding closer. Her HUD tracked their heat signatures, marking their cybernetic enhancements—neural boosters that accelerated their reactions, hydraulic limb reinforcements that let them move faster than any natural muscle. One of them took a shortcut, augmented legs propelling him across a gap with impossible speed. He landed ahead of her, blocking her path. Her goggles highlighted the hardware built into his frame: a targeting system wired directly into his brain stem, reflex enhancers that made his movements unnaturally smooth.
"Nowhere to run, bitch," he snarled, his voice distorted by the modulator embedded in his throat. A blade extended from his forearm, its edge vibrating with a high-frequency hum that her goggles registered as a serious threat.
Grabbing the catwalk railing, Riley vaulted over the side and swung herself onto the roof of a nearby container. Three quick steps and she was sliding on her hip down a slanted roof toward open air. She pushed herself off as she hit the edge and reached for another bridge, catching the edge with her fingers and grunting with the strain of pulling herself up.
Chirp's light flickered, and a faint warning beep filled her ears. She glanced at the drone, her heart sinking. Its thrusters sputtered, and its battery indicator flashed a dire red in her HUD.
"Don't quit on me now," she whispered, her voice tight. "Just a little further."
The final stretch of her escape was a blur of collapsing walkways and frantic leaps. Without Chirp's full scanning capability, she had to rely more on instinct and memory, her goggles providing only basic environmental data. Each footfall was a gamble—the structural warnings in her HUD flickered and jumped, struggling to keep up with her movement.
By the time she reached the edge of The Stacks, her body was screaming for rest. She spotted a narrow maintenance shaft, its entrance half-hidden behind a fallen support beam. Her goggles confirmed no heat signatures inside. Perfect. She slipped through the opening, the sound of her pursuers fading into the distance.
The tunnel she'd found herself in was narrow, claustrophobic, and reeked of rust and old grease. The faint echoes of distant shouting filtered through the walls, a reminder that she wasn't safe yet. Riley slumped against the cold metal, her chest heaving as her hands trembled around the package. Her goggles pinged softly, marking her location on the edge of Chrome Fang territory.
Her mind raced. "Rourke said she'd have it." The words rang in her ears, louder than the gunfire she'd just fled. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her back against the wall as if she could push the betrayal out of her head.
Chirp hovered weakly beside her, its light flickering. The drone let out a faint, apologetic whine before its thrusters sputtered and it powered down completely, dropping gently to the ground. Riley stared at it, numb. Without Chirp's enhanced scanning capabilities, she was half-blind in enemy territory.
"Great," she whispered hoarsely. "Just... great."
The quiet pressed in around her, heavier than the chaos she'd left behind. Her home felt impossibly far away, and the weight of the package in her bag felt like a curse. But there was no time to sit and wallow. She forced herself to her feet, her legs shaky but steady enough to move.
"C'mere," she muttered as she scooped Chirp up and stuffed the drone away. "We're getting out of here. Sort this mess out later."
The night was colder than before, the chill cutting through Riley's jacket as she trudged through the outskirts of The Stacks. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, and every sound in the dark felt like a threat. Without Chirp's sensors feeding data to her goggles, the landscape felt more hostile, full of blind spots and potential ambush points. She clutched her messenger bag tightly, the package inside now a heavy, unwelcome burden.
The journey back to the gas station was a blur, her thoughts spiraling in endless loops around what she'd heard. Rourke had sold her out. The words felt unreal, a cruel twist that refused to make sense. Rourke might've been rough, greedy, and short on patience, but betrayal? That wasn't supposed to be part of the deal.
By the time the faint outline of the Quantum Fuels sign appeared on the horizon, Riley's chest felt tight with a mixture of relief and dread. The sign leaned precariously as always, but something was wrong. The air smelled different—thicker, acrid. A faint orange glow lit the edges of the scrap heaps surrounding her home. Her goggles' environmental sensors screamed warnings about heat signatures and chemical compounds in the air.
Her pace quickened, a sinking feeling twisting her gut. As she climbed the final rise, the gas station came into full view, and the sight hit her like a punch to the stomach.
Flames roared through the structure, licking hungrily at the roof and walls. The battered sign had collapsed, its warped letters barely visible in the flickering light. Even without Chirp's enhanced scanning, her goggles picked up the devastating data: temperatures hot enough to melt metal, toxic chemicals releasing from burning synthetics, structural integrity failing in dozens of places. Smoke billowed upward, blotting out the hazy sky, and the faint crackle of burning wood and metal filled the air.
The single word caught in her throat: "No..."
Her feet moved on their own, stumbling down the slope toward the blaze. But as she drew closer, her goggles highlighted movement in the shadows around the fire. Chrome Fang gangers milled near the wreckage, their augmented bodies casting strange shadows in the orange glow. One of them leaned casually against a rusted scrap heap, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Another kicked at the smoldering remains of her father's workbench, laughing as sparks flew.
Riley froze, ducking low behind a twisted piece of metal. Her chest heaved as she tried to quiet her breathing. The scene before her felt surreal—like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Her home was gone, and the people who had taken it from her were still here, searching, waiting.
One of the gangers—a broad-shouldered man with neural routing circuits tracing patterns down his neck—spoke up, his voice carrying through her goggles' audio enhancement: "She's gotta come back eventually. Ain't nowhere else for her to run out here."
Another ganger snorted, pistons in his reinforced spine hissing as he shifted. "You sure she didn't bite it back at The Stacks? Place was a shit show from what I heard."
"If she's dead, she's dead. But Rourke said she'd run here if she made it out. We wait."
Riley's fists clenched, her nails biting into her palms. The flames weren't just destroying her home—they were burning away the last illusion she'd held onto. Rourke hadn't just betrayed her at The Stacks. He'd handed her over completely, given them everything they needed to trap her.
Her heart hammered as she crouched lower, her mind racing through options. She couldn't fight them—not with their augmentations and heavy weapons. And now, without Chirp's scanning support, even running felt more dangerous. Her goggles could only tell her so much about the terrain ahead, the loss of the drone's enhanced sensing capabilities leaving her half-blind.
The package in her bag dug into her side as she shifted position. She hated it—hated the weight, the danger, the reason for all of this. But it was the only thing she had left, and for better or worse, it was her only bargaining chip. Her father's tools, his workbench, the wall of photos and magazine clippings that had fueled her dreams of Helix City—all of it was feeding the flames now.
Riley's eyes darted to the edges of the scene. The gangers weren't paying attention to the surrounding terrain, their focus fixed on the blaze and the hope that she'd walk straight into their trap. She forced herself to breathe slowly, her fingers trembling as she reached for the bag's strap.
The firelight flickered against her goggles, and for a moment, she glanced toward the faint glow of Helix City on the horizon. The towers seemed impossibly far away, their neon lights a cruel contrast to the destruction before her. But for the first time, Riley felt something sharper than longing when she looked at the city. She felt determination.
She tightened the strap on her bag, her knuckles white as she backed away into the shadows. The gangers laughed and jeered, oblivious to her retreat. With every step, her breathing steadied, and her mind cleared.
With nothing left to lose, there was only one direction left to go: forward