The den was carved into the bones of Sector Seven like a parasite that had learned to thrive. The entrance was through a maintenance shaft marked "HAZARD: COOLANT LEAK."

  The door slid open before Kivi could knock, and the man spilling into the doorway seemed to be assembled from conflicting reports.

  Late twenties, maybe. White hair stuck up in a calculated chaos that screamed either just woke up or used a cosmetic app. His eyes were a dark, watchful brown. Beatrix noticed an old prison code on his right forearm, circuit-like patterns of dead-white ink. Weird. Most people rushed to remove it once they were out.

  He didn't walk so much as tumble into the doorway with a grin already assembled. All open body language and narrow eyes, like a salesman who knew his product was dangerous and sold it anyway.

  "Customer," he said, looking Beatrix up and down with the kind of focus that felt like being cataloged. "Or walking security breach?"

  "Rain," Kivi said with the weariness of long familiarity, "meet the walking rumor. Beatrix, meet Rain."

  "Rain. Hacker. App-smith. Professional bad idea."

  "Beatrix. Professional worse idea."

  He laughed like she'd thrown him a rope. "So you're the one with the Dreadnought module." His eyes were already scanning something she couldn't see. "Military-grade integration, cellular-level bonding... that's beautiful work. Who did the install?"

  "I did."

  That made him pause. "Self-surgery with military hardware? You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly desperate."

  "Both."

  "I like her," Rain said to Kivi, then back to Beatrix. "Come on, let me see what you're running."

  She followed him through the doorway and stopped.

  Rain's workshop was bigger than it had any right to be, three rooms connected by holes cut through bulkheads. Holographic projectors filled the air with three-dimensional models, code cascading like frozen waterfalls, system architectures blooming like crystalline flowers.

  Along one wall, nestled between workstations, sat a terrarium. Inside, a Tenacious Starlobe spread its bioluminescent tendrils across synthetic soil, each tendril pulsing with soft blue light.

  "Gift from a grateful client." Rain noticed her staring.

  "That's expensive."

  "Yeah." His voice softened. "Keeps me honest. Reminds me there's more to build than weapons." He gestured at the terrarium with something close to tenderness. "Someday I'm going to have a whole garden. Real dirt, real sunlight. Not this recycled shit we breathe."

  A dreamer's garden in a hacker's den.

  "Over here." Rain led her to his main workspace, gestured for her to jack in. "Let's see what you're made of."

  Beatrix connected through a hardline port. Data flowed, her system architecture unfolded in the holospace above the console, the dense, terrifying beauty of the Dreadnought Protocol, its integration pathways branching like a fractal tree.

  Rain manipulated the display, peeling back layers. "You've got something signing your motor cortex. Can I meet it?"

  The response appeared in the holographic space. But more than that, Virgil's voice emerged from Rain's speakers, projected with digital clarity.

  Rain's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you're online-online. Hi, ghost."

  Beatrix snorted. "Virgil. Be nice."

  "What kind of name is Virgil?"

  "What kind of name is Rain?" Beatrix said, protective.

  Rain burst out laughing. "Did I just get roasted by a war ghost? Perfect." He spun his chair to face Beatrix, grin sharp and delighted. "Okay, I'm invested now. Tell me what you need."

  Kivi crossed her arms. "Rain. She needs Apps for the Grind."

  Rain's grin shifted into something different, still bright but with harder edges. "Right. But you're walking into the Culling in..." He glanced at a clock, then at the countdown in her shared HUD. "Ten hours. So we need a beta. Now."

  He pulled up holographic displays, streams of data cascading through the air. "This hardware you're carrying... you could build for balance.”

  Rain zoomed the holographic display into the current Apps in the Protocol.

  > COMBAT MODE

  > REGENERATION

  > FORCE FIELD

  > FIREWALL

  > [OPEN SLOT]

  “These are your defensive layers. The Protocol is built to survive."

  "Or?"

  His grin sharpened. "Or we can use the open slot to improve your [Combat Mode]. Adrenal hijacking, synthetic compound injection, pain threshold manipulation. Conservative parameters right now because nobody's been suicidal enough to push it."

  He expanded the display, showing the [Combat Mode] app architecture. Sliders floated in holographic space, most sitting at cautious mid-range values.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Right now it's calibrated to boost strength. Safe, relatively boring." He gestured at the controls. "But the framework can handle more stress. Theoretically."

  "How much more?"

  "That's the question." Rain studied her. "How much are you willing to break?"

  Beatrix looked at the display, seeing the sliders that controlled strength, speed, pain resistance. Seeing the red warning zones Rain had carefully avoided.

  "I need guaranteed kills," she said. "Not sustained combat. Not survival. I need a moment when nothing can stop me."

  "Oh." Kivi's hair cycled through worried colors. "You're not planning to survive this, are you?"

  "I'm planning to win. There's a difference." Beatrix pointed at the strength parameter. "Push that. As high as it goes."

  Rain's fingers hovered over the controls. "If I max strength output, your musculature will generate forces your skeleton wasn't designed to handle. Fractures, breaks..."

  "Max it."

  "Beatrix..." Kivi started.

  "Max. It."

  Rain moved the slider. The holographic model lit up with warnings, red cascading through the system.

  "Speed next," Beatrix said.

  Their eyes locked. The room stopped breathing.

  Rain's hand moved. More warnings bloomed.

  "Now pain resistance. All the way up."

  "That's not resistance, that's elimination." Rain pulled up medical data. "Pain exists for a reason. It tells you when you're damaging yourself. Without that feedback..."

  "Without that feedback, I won't stop when I should. That's the point."

  Rain looked at Kivi. Kivi's hair had gone flat gray, the color of ashes.

  "Tell her this is suicide," Rain said quietly.

  "It is suicide," Kivi agreed. "But I don't think that's going to stop her."

  Beatrix stepped closer to the display. The app's architecture was beautiful in its violence, every system pushed to breaking, every safety stripped away.

  "What are the effects?"

  Rain studied the monster they'd built. "You'll be something else. Fast, strong, unstoppable. Until your body gives out."

  "How long will it last?"

  "That's the thing, there's no duration limit. It runs until you manually deactivate it or your body fails. Could be two minutes, could be five."

  "And the damage?"

  "Starts immediately. Microfractures, muscle tears, synaptic strain." He zoomed in on a timeline. "But here's where it gets irreversible, around the ninety-second mark. That's when your skeletal system starts catastrophic failure. Neural pathways begin permanent burnout." His voice went clinical. "After ninety seconds, even if you shut it down, the damage is done. You'll need serious medical intervention. Might not walk right again. Not even your Regeneration App may fix you."

  "And if I don't shut it down?"

  "Then you keep going until something vital breaks. Heart, spine, brain."

  Beatrix stared at the beautiful, terrible thing floating in holographic space.

  "Build it."

  "No."

  The word came from Kivi, sharp and final. Her hair had gone furious red.

  "What?" Beatrix turned to face her.

  "No limit, no app." Kivi stood, crossing her arms. "I don't care if you sign a waiver. We're not building something with zero safeguards. That's assisted suicide."

  "It's my choice..."

  "And it's our work." Kivi's voice was steel. "You want to die for your brother? Fine. I'll give you tools that might kill you. But I won't give you a gun with no safety, nothing to stop you from painting the arena with your own organs because you forgot to count to ninety."

  "You don't understand..."

  "I understand perfectly." Kivi stepped closer, her hair cycling through every angry color. "You think if you just push hard enough, sacrifice enough, destroy yourself thoroughly enough, it'll be worth it. It won't. I watched my sister do the same math. She was wrong. You're wrong."

  The room was silent except for the soft hum of equipment and the Starlobe's gentle pulse.

  "Ninety seconds," Kivi said, her voice dropping but losing none of its edge. "Automatic shutoff. After that, the app forcibly disengages whether you want it to or not. You can use it for shorter periods if you're that determined to die, but you won't do it by accident."

  "That's not what I need..."

  "It's what you're getting." Kivi looked at Rain. "You agree with me or are you going to help her kill herself?"

  Rain was quiet for a long moment, eyes moving between the specs and his terrarium where the Starlobe breathed softly. When he spoke, his voice had lost all playful edge.

  "Ninety-second hard limit. Forced shutdown." He met Beatrix's eyes. "That's the beta build for your Culling. Take it, or walk into that meat grinder with what you've got."

  Beatrix wanted to argue. But she looked at Kivi's face, not angry anymore, just sad and certain, and saw Kivi's sister there. Saw every desperate person who'd ever convinced themselves that more damage meant more love.

  Ninety seconds.

  "Fine," Beatrix said. "Build it that way."

  "I already accepted."

  Rain's fingers moved through the interface, adding the constraints. The app's architecture shifted, new protocols weaving through the dangerous beauty.

  "There," he said, pulling up the new specs. "[RAGE MODE - BETA]. Ninety seconds of being a natural disaster. Then it puts you in time-out. The damage will still be catastrophic if you use it stupidly, but you'll probably live to regret it."

  Kivi's hair settled into cautious blue. "Better."

  "Still insane," Kivi added. "But survivably insane."

  Rain pulled up a liability waiver, text scrolling in the holographic space. "Read it. Out loud."

  Beatrix scanned the document. "I understand this application exceeds safe operating parameters and may result in permanent injury or death. I accept full responsibility for all consequences." She met his eyes. "Build it."

  Rain held her gaze for another moment, then nodded. "It'll be ready in… nineteen hours and fourteen minutes." He pulled up the final specifications. "You're going to call it something, right?"

  "Rage Mode," Beatrix said.

  "Perfect." Rain's grin was sharp and sad. "Pure rage, no limits, no brakes."

  Rain looked between them. "Do you two always argue like this?"

  "Don't flirt with my Humanware," Beatrix said.

  Rain grinned wider. "If he's got better taste than you do, maybe I've been chasing the wrong partnership."

  "Stop encouraging him, Virgil."

  Beatrix stepped away from everyone. "Payment. Fifteen percent of my winnings."

  Rain tilted his head. "Ten percent. And dinner after your first win."

  She stared at him. He didn't look away. "Twelve percent. We'll see about dinner. And you don't sell my build to anyone. Ever."

  For the first time, the smile went away. "I don't sell people. Ever."

  "Ten percent," Kivi interrupted. "You saved my life. That buys you a discount."

  Beatrix opened her mouth to argue.

  "And remote monitoring," Kivi continued. "Read-only access to your diagnostics during the Culling. We can't change anything, but we can flag problems before they kill you."

  "Fine," Beatrix said. "Monitor. But if I catch you doing anything besides watching diagnostics..."

  He stood and extended his hand. When Beatrix took it, his grip was warm and firm. "Strictly professional," Rain promised, his grin returning, though it was thinner now. He extended his hand again. This time when she took it, he didn't let go immediately. "I'll have Rage Mode in your system before you board. "And Beatrix? Call me when you want me in your head."

  "Don't say it like that."

  He winked. "Then ping your app-smith for patch notes, Operator."

  "Stop flirting," she told them both.

  She turned to leave. For one dangerous, warm moment, standing in the glow of the holoscreens and the Starlobe, with Kivi's worried gaze and Rain's sharp grin, she almost felt it, the terrifying, alien sense of being part of something. Of having a team.

  She left before the feeling could put down roots.

  The corridor outside was cold. The station's recycled air smelled of decay and anticipation. The countdown in her vision read 08:18:55.

  In her system, soon, would be a button labeled RAGE MODE. A sword she could wield for exactly ninety seconds before it tried to swallow her hand.

  And in a hidden workshop, two people who barely knew her would be watching her vitals, hoping she didn't need to press it.

  Beatrix adjusted her pack and walked toward the transport hub, the weight of their investment settling on her shoulders, heavier than any weapon, and infinitely more dangerous to lose.