Page 81 of The Sterling Acquisition

“Do people choose to look like that, or...?”

“Choose, mostly. Some of its functional—enhanced limbs for manual labor, improved senses for dangerous work. Some of it’s aesthetic. Some of it’s just because they can.” Dante navigated around astreet festival that seemed to have sprung up spontaneously. “Freedom looks different to everyone.”

The word hit Orion harder than he expected. Freedom. He was free. For the first time in his life, he was outside SVI territory, outside corporate control, in a place where people could be whatever they wanted to be.

“Can we stop?” he asked. “Just for a minute?”

Dante shot him a sharp look. “Orion, we need to—”

“Five minutes,” Orion said, his voice carrying a pleading note he didn’t try to hide. “I’ve never... Please. I just want to see.”

There was something in his expression that must have gotten through to Dante, because the Alpha sighed and pulled into what looked like a parking area between two buildings.

“Stay close to me,” he said. “If we’re stopping even for a little bit, we need to at least find a pharmacy with a real pharmacist—or at least one that attended some schooling.”

Orion was out of the van before Dante finished speaking, his bare feet hitting the ground with a new sensation: freedom, choice, possibility. The air was different here, thick with scents he couldn’t identify and sounds that made his heart race.

He was free, and despite it all—despite his chaotic biology, despite Dante, despite the danger they were running toward—he had never felt more alive.

Chapter twenty-seven

Tourist Attractions

Orion

“Here,”Dantesaidashe pulled a spare shirt from his pack before tossing it to Orion. “We’re in the Neutral Zone, you still need to wear clothes like a human being.”

He pulled the shirt on, grateful for the coverage even as the fabric felt strange against his still-sensitive skin. “Do we just ask around for a pharmacy?” he asked.

“We need to find an ATM first,” Dante said, scanning the immediate area. “Then shoes, then a pharmacy. Stay close.”

This is real,he thought, watching people move freely between vendors and buildings.No corporate housing assignments. No designated paths. No permission required.

They found an ATM built into the side of a converted shipping container, its interface a patchwork of different corporate systems somehow made to work together. Dante approached it with thecasual confidence of someone who’d done this before, inserting a card retrieved from his back pocket.

“What’s that?” Orion asked, watching the screen light up.

“Emergency funds,” Dante said, navigating the menus. “Corporate discretionary account for operational expenses.”

The screen flashed a balance that made Orion’s breath catch: 35,847,293 iscs.

“Thirty-five million?” Orion whispered, staring at the number. “That’s more money than most people will ever even dream about.”

Dante glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression. “Gensyn pays well for certain types of work.

Dante withdrew a stack of cash—actual physical iscs, which Orion had only seen a few times in his life. In SVI territory, everything was digital credits tied to work performance.

“Come on,” Dante said, pocketing the money. “Let’s find you some shoes.”

They made their way deeper into the market area, and Orion couldn’t stop turning his head to take in new sights. A group of children were playing with toys that moved on their own—not advanced AI, but simple mechanical creations that responded to touch and sound. An elderly man was repairing what looked like a Gensyn communication device using SVI tools and generic components.

“How do they know how to fix equipment from other corporations?” Orion asked.

Dante’s lips quirked into what might have been a smile. “Necessity. When you can’t afford new equipment or can’t get parts through official channels, you learn to improvise.”

A vendor called out to them—a woman with short-cropped hair and scars along her tanned jawline. Her stall was filled with footwear ofevery type, from corporate-standard boots to handmade sandals that looked like they’d been crafted from recycled materials.

“Buenas tardes, pretty boys. Looking for shoes?” she asked, her voice carrying a slight rasp. As they got closer, Orion noticed something odd about her scent—or rather, the lack of it. She smelled like leather and metal polish, but nothing else. No designation markers at all.