Page 17 of Neon Flux

“They’re moving to the east entrance.” Maddox’s voice came through my earpiece. “Two minutes out.”

His Air Flux let him manipulate the security drone outside effortlessly, silently.

“Copy,” I replied, slipping toward the building’s service entrance.

I reached out for the knob. The implants under my skin hummed as they focused the Flux flooding my blood and amplified it into something I could control. I felt the EM fieldaround me shift, and static bolts laced out of my palm and into the lock. The electronics fried and released, then the door popped open soundlessly.

Pain flared along my arm, and I heard the faint hiss as a capsule of military-grade Vector injected into my thigh automatically.

The lights in my HUD flared as the drug hit my system, and the pain subsided, at least to a manageable level.

The corridors were dimly lit, the smell of piss and chemical cleaners battling for dominance. I moved silently, letting the building’s layout unfold on my Vysor display.

Fourth floor, apartment 496.

“Black Legion entering the building now,” Maddox reported. “East stairwell.”

“Copy,” I murmured, already halfway up the west stairs.

My shoulder still throbbed, but I pushed the pain down where I always did—into that deep reservoir coiled at the base of my spine, hot and ready for a fight.

I reached the fourth floor, my Vysor highlighting heat signatures behind each door. Most were sleeping. A few were clearly fucking—something I’d normally take the chance to watch. But tonight, I was working, and this was all business.

Apartment 496.

I paused outside, listening. A faint hum of electronics, but no voices, no movement.

“Update,” I whispered.

“They’re on the second floor now. Moving methodically, room by room.”

“Amateur hour.” I sneered. “They don’t know which apartment?”

“Doesn’t look like it. You’ve got time.”

My shoulder gave another twinge. I rolled it, feeling the misaligned implant grate against bone. Annoying, but nothing I couldn’t push through.

The anger that powered my Flux stirred, always eager to be channeled through the crude hardware fused to my skeleton. Another burst of Flux from my fingertips, and the lock was done for.

I entered silently, my weapon raised. The stench hit me immediately, far worse than the rotting hallway. The most overwhelming was cat urine, but it wasn’t alone. Rotten garbage and a note of mold rounded the whole thing out. Piles and piles of junk cluttered the apartment. Books—actual paper books—lined every wall.

“How can anyone live like this?” Maddox grumbled. He saw everything I saw through my Vysor. It wasn’t much worse than where I had grown up, minus the cats. Those wouldn’t have lasted long when the neighbors were hungry.

I moved deeper into the apartment, nearly tripping when a rush of white fur bolted out from one of the piles. It hissed and disappeared, and I ignored the impulse to shoot it.

One door was ajar, and faint blue light flickered from inside. I slunk down the hall first, pushing refuse and the occasional creature out of the way with my feet.

I pressed the door open enough to see the target sitting at a desk, a holographic terminal screen flashing. She wasn’t wearing a Vysor. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a neat bun, sitting with her back to me.

“Don’t you know not to linger in doorways?” she asked.

I slipped inside just as Professor Tanaka turned in her chair. She didn’t look surprised. If anything, she looked almost…relieved.

“You’re not who I expected,” she said simply.

“Corporate asset A-117,” I replied with a mock half-bow. “At your service, Professor. And you’re about to have some very unfriendly visitors.”

Her eyes narrowed. “POM sent its attack dogs. I’m flattered.”