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Without warning, a blur appeared just as a blast aimed at his forehead exploded all over him.

Thousands of electrons ratcheted through his bones and arced with such velocity that he lost control of his weapon.

It clattered to the ground as his limbs spasmed and jigged, his noids trying to fight off the electric pulse.

It was useless; his meta-atoms gave out, and his body began to shutter.

He had no time to react, just enough to send a preset command to Mirage before he fell backwards, limp and inert, his metanoids in complete shutdown.

Just as he hit the floor, a face appeared above him. His entire being, soul and mind, lurched in wild response.

Darkness’ blessed embrace arrived like a slap to the mug as Riv passed out.

3

Ghostly Desire

RIV

He came to with a start.

Gasping, he levered himself upright.

His eyes stabbed through the darkness, not finding much light.

He ran his hands over his body and then slumped in relief. He was unharmed.

But where was he?

He tested his neural node and metanoids, and they wheeled inside him like sluggards, slow to fire up.

In time, his meta-sight adjusted for the gloominess.

He was in a storage hold.

Nada, scratch that—a cell within a small internal bay.

It was tiny, musty, reeked of old leather, stale Tansinian cloves, dust, and murkiness.

Riv’s breath hitched as a silhouette materialized in his nodal view.

His eyes locked onto a lilac iris staring at him from the shadows.

Fokk, it couldn’t be!

His mind reeled, and his heart beat so hard that the pounding bounced off the walls around him.

The singular gaze remained trained on him as a barrage of scents exploded.

Spice, blossoms, musk.

A fusion so rare it had never left him, not in all these years.

It had wafted into his dreams and haunted his waking hours. It’d often drifted into the air unannounced until it became an essence he conjured up by thought alone.

He’d yearned, pined, and ached for it over the years.

It was more potent than ever now because it was real and fokkin’ present.