HUNT COMPLETE

  JOB STATUS: COMPLETED

  REWARDS WILL NOW BE AVAILABLE FOR PICK UP AT THE PYRAMID

  The blinding light faded, and the figure was gone. Vanished. Nothing left but a trail of glitching particles, flickering like static in the air.

  I tried to focus, to make sense of what I had just seen.

  His voice—

  It felt familiar.

  I searched my memories, clawing through the haze for an answer—

  But there was nothing.

  Just emptiness.

  A weak, ragged voice pulled me back.

  "Fuck... Kid... You’re... all right... Thank god..."

  Then—a body collapsed against mine.

  "Zara?!"

  Her weight dragged me down, her breathing shallow against my chest.

  "ZARA! WAKE UP! PLEASE! Zara, no... no, no, no, no..."

  My hands shook as I gripped her shoulders. Her back—charred black. Skin peeled away, revealing raw flesh, deep gashes carved down to the bone.

  Too much. It was too much.

  I can’t lose anyone else.

  Not again.

  This is my fault.

  Zara died because of me.

  A sob ripped from my throat. My vision blurred. Everything inside me caved in.

  Then—

  A snore.

  My breath hitched.

  She fucking snored.

  I dropped her back onto the ground. Hard.

  "AH! FUCK, KID!" Zara jerked awake, cursing as she smacked the ground. She blinked, groggy, rubbing at her face like she had just woken up from a damn nap.

  "I’M INJURED HERE. BE A LIL’ MORE GENTLE, WILL YA?"

  My head snapped forward. "YOU WERE ASLEEP?!"

  Zara groaned, rolling onto her back, fire bursting to life around her in small flickers as she stretched.

  "You know, kid, you really gotta learn how to let a girl catch some Zs," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Like, damn. Give a badass a break."

  A laugh—shaky, broken, full of relief—spilled from my lips.

  "Sorry..." My voice wavered, breath catching in my throat. "I thought..."

  The words wouldn’t come out.

  I tried to hold it in, but the moment she patted my head, soft and reassuring—

  The dam broke.

  Tears streamed down my face. Unstoppable. My body shook, my breath hitching as the weight of everything crashed down all at once.

  "I’m... so... sorry..." My voice cracked. "I really thought... that... that you died be... because... of... me..."

  Zara stilled for a second. Then—arms wrapped around me.

  Strong. Warm.

  She pulled me into her chest, holding me close.

  "Shh... It's okay, kid. Stop the waterworks now." Her voice, rough and exhausted, softened in a way I hadn’t heard before. "It ain’t your fault."

  I clung to her.

  Her words settled over me like fire in the cold.

  "You're just a kid. And you really shouldn’t be goin’ through somethin’ like this."

  Her grip tightened for a second before she leaned back, swiping the back of her hand across my tear-streaked face.

  She grinned. "Now how ‘bout we go get you that reward of yours? Job’s complete, kid!"

  I sniffed, wiping my face. "Okay. I would... like that. Thank you... for protecting me." My voice still shook.

  Zara rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Don’t even mention it. But—fuck, man, this burn actually hurts like a motherfucker right now. Check it out, kid."

  She turned around.

  My stomach churned.

  Her back—

  Charred. Blackened. Torn apart.

  Her once smooth, tan skin had become a grotesque canvas of scorched red and black, patches of burned flesh peeling away, exposing the bone beneath.

  A wave of nausea rolled through me.

  "Zara..." I swallowed. "This is—it's bad. Are you sure you’re okay? We should—we should get MedTech—"

  Zara waved a lazy hand. "Kid, I've had worse. Ima bounce back. We got more important things to worry about. Them Qis might still be around."

  Then—

  FWOOOSH.

  Her entire back burst into flames.

  I stumbled backward, eyes widening in horror.

  "WHAT THE HELL?!"

  Zara grit her teeth, biting back a scream as the deep blue fire consumed her wounds.

  "FUCKING HELL! This will never get easier—FUCK—" she growled through gritted teeth, body trembling from the sheer pain.

  I watched, helpless, as the flames seared into her wounds, cauterizing, healing—

  But at what cost?

  The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Smoke curled around her, wrapping her in an eerie, hellish glow.

  She gasped—the flames finally died down.

  Her back was no longer bleeding. But the wounds remained. Burnt, raw, grotesque.

  She let out a shaky breath. "Okay. That should help."

  Then—she smirked.

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  "Let’s get moving to the Pyramid." She stretched, rolling her shoulders like she hadn’t just set herself on fucking fire.

  "Your girl needs to be fixed up."

  Bright, orange flames erupted from her legs, her fiery halo flickering back to life.

  Then—BOOM.

  She launched into the sky.

  I stood there for a second.

  Shaken.

  Heart pounding.

  She almost died.

  I almost lost her.

  I clenched my fists. My new hands.

  No more running.

  No more hesitation.

  I took a breath.

  I jumped as high as I can go.

  Then—

  Zara caught me.

  Her arms wrapped around me, firm and unshakable, pulling me into her chest. The warmth of her flames licked at my skin, but they didn’t burn. Her grip was strong, protective.

  "Atta girl," she murmured, her voice carrying a smirk.

  Flames erupted from her legs, launching us both into the night sky.

  The cityscape stretched out below, a pulsing mass of neon lights and restless movement. From up here, the streets looked peaceful, glowing in a hypnotic rhythm, nothing like the warzone we had just crawled out of.

  But peace was a lie.

  Zara’s grip on me was ironclad, her fiery aura flickering as we cut through the sky. The wind roared past my ears, drowning out the distant hum of the city. My body ached, my lungs burned, but for the first time in what felt like forever—I was weightless.

  For a second, I let my head rest against her shoulder.

  The Pyramid loomed ahead, its monolithic structure piercing the skyline like a jagged tooth. The massive, faceless sentinels guarding the entrance didn’t flinch as we touched down, their glowing red visors scanning us. Zara’s flames sputtered out as she landed, her grip on me tightening for a fraction of a second before she let go.

  The weight of the world returned.

  We stepped inside, the cold, sterile air of the Pyramid swallowing us whole. The holographic terminal flickered to life, its artificial voice ringing through the space.

  "NAME AND HUNTER STATUS, PLEASE."

  I swallowed, stepping forward.

  "Marilyn Ridgewood. Hunter."

  A pause. Then—

  "MARILYN RIDGEWOOD, HUNTER. JOB STATUS: COMPLETED. REWARDS: BIONIC EYE. PREPARE FOR OPERATION."

  My stomach dropped.

  Operation.

  No.

  The last “operation” left me without hands. Now, my eye?

  Two MedTechs approached, dressed in pristine white, pushing cold metal chairs. My pulse spiked. Before I could react, the chairs' mechanical arms clamped around us, locking us in place. A tray was wheeled in—scalpels, clamps, tongs, anesthetic injectors. The sight made my skin crawl.

  The injectors pressed against our necks. A sharp sting.

  Then—numbness.

  Zara grunted as the MedTechs started working on her back, her muffled curses mixing with the low hum of machinery. My own MedTech turned to me.

  I tried to move. Tried to scream.

  I couldn’t.

  The scalpel sliced into the skin around my eye. I felt nothing. But I heard it—the slick, wet sound of metal against flesh. The MedTech’s hands moved with surgical precision, cutting, separating.

  Then—

  The pressure in my skull vanished.

  Darkness swallowed half my world.

  A metallic clang echoed in the room.

  My eye.

  It was on the tray.

  A part of me, ripped away.

  The MedTech didn’t hesitate. They lifted a jar, revealing a cold, mechanical replacement—the bionic eye. Tubes, wires, and a metal stem where veins should have been.

  I wanted to scream.

  They brought it close, a wire slithering from the eye to the severed end of my optic nerve.

  Click.

  Pain.

  No—not pain.

  Electricity.

  My body arched, my head snapping back. A million volts of raw data poured into my brain, rewriting everything I understood about vision.

  Then—

  I saw.

  Not just the room.

  Everything.

  Numbers. Heat signatures. Lines of code flashing in my vision. The world was no longer just the world—it was a system, a machine, a puzzle laid bare before me.

  The MedTech stepped back, staring at the monitor. Their fingers danced over the controls.

  "Calibration complete. Finalizing operation."

  A final jolt. A final rush of data.

  The chair released me.

  I slumped forward, gasping. My new eye whirred, adjusting. My breath hitched as my reflection flickered across a metallic surface—

  My right eye glowed.

  Not human. Not anymore.

  Zara groaned beside me, stretching as she was released from her chair. “Well, that sucked ass.”

  I was still reeling. Still adjusting to the unreal sharpness of my vision. But I nodded.

  We made our way to the holographic terminal.

  "PROCEDURE COMPLETE. RETURN TO YOUR DUTIES. A NEW JOB WILL BE ASSIGNED SOON."

  The words lingered.

  New job.

  Another hunt.

  Another fight.

  Zara’s arm slung around my shoulder, her smirk as cocky as ever. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you some bullets for that gun you stole.”

  We headed toward the ammunition shop. The moment we stepped in, Droge’s laughter greeted us.

  "Well, well. Look who it is. The two reckless sons of a bitch who actually hunted down THE Qi Anran."

  Zara leaned against the counter, grinning. "Told ya we would, Droge. If we hadn't, you'd be scraping us off the pavement with a spatula."

  Droge let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

  "You two are something else. Damn near insane. What do you need?"

  Zara tossed a finger toward her legs. "Gas for these beauties. Got any back there? Might grab a weapon for the kid too."

  Droge jerked his thumb toward the back. "Plenty. And don’t worry about the price. Special discount for my favorite psychopaths."

  A grin pulled at Zara’s lips as she strode toward the shelves stacked with canisters of gasoline. "Damn, Droge. You sure know how to treat a lady. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink later."

  Droge snorted, already scanning the weapons rack. "I’ll hold you to that. Hey kid—pick something that won’t get you killed."

  I stepped forward, my fingers trailing over cold metal. Pistols, shotguns, modified automatics. Too bulky. Too loud. Then—a dagger. Simple. Worn. A strip of cloth wrapped around its hilt like a forgotten promise. I reached for it.

  Droge grabbed it first.

  He turned it over in his hands, eyes narrowing. "Good choice. This one’s got history."

  "Whose?"

  He grinned. "Not yours. But if you live long enough, maybe it will be."

  He handed it to me. Cool metal. Well-balanced. Deadly.

  I nodded. "Thanks."

  "Just don’t die."

  Zara sauntered back, arms stacked with fuel. "Ain’t that the plan?"

  As we stepped outside, the city swallowed us again—neon and shadows, movement and silence. The world didn’t stop, didn’t care, didn’t notice the bodies we’d left behind.

  Then—

  Screech.

  A car tore through the street.

  Black. Windows tinted. Engine growling.

  The doors slammed open. Barrels flashed.

  Gunfire erupted.

  Zara grabbed me.

  Heat. Motion. My back slammed into the pavement as we hit cover behind a crumbling wall.

  A sharp, searing burn.

  I looked down.

  Blood.

  My arm.

  I’ve been shot.