Page 38 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter twenty-six

Beyond Borders

Orion

The fact that Dante had nothing to say was almost more satisfying than anything that happened in the back of the van.

Almost.

Orion shifted in the passenger seat, hyperaware of every place his body still hummed from Dante’s touch.

The buzzing heat receded to a manageable simmer after what they’d done—the first real sexual release he’d ever allowed himself during a heat cycle—but he could already feel it lurking beneath the surface, waiting to return with a vengeance.

For now, though, the reprieve felt like a miracle.

Don’t think about what just happened, he told himself firmly. Don’t think about how good it felt or how you begged or how he called you ‘baby’ like you meant something to him.

The van crested a small hill, and the world opened up before them.

The Neutral Zone was a sprawling collection of buildings that looked almost familiar at first glance.

The mixture of architectural styles, the improvised construction, and the general air of “make it work with whatever you have” reminded him of home.

But as they got closer, the differences became clear.

These weren’t SVI’s rugged, practical modifications born from necessity and ideology. This was something else —a place where different corporate styles and technologies collided and somehow learned to coexist.

“Holy shit,” Orion breathed, pressing his face to the window. “Those are Gensyn atmospheric processors next to SVI power converters.”

“First time seeing corporate tech outside territorial boundaries?” Dante asked.

“First time seeing it mixed. Look—that building’s using SVI solar arrays with generic structural supports. My father always said corporations would never share technology.”

A group walked past wearing modified gear from all three major corporations—SVI tactical vests with Gensyn communication devices, ISNA medical monitors integrated with SVI weapons.

“How is this possible?” Orion asked, his voice bright with curiosity. “SVI would never let us use Gensyn tech. They said it was inferior.”

“Everything is experimental in the Neutral Zones,” Dante said. “If it exists, someone’s found a way to commercialize it, weaponize it, or fuck it.”

They passed a market where vendors sold hydroponic produce next to what looked like weapons that hummed with electrical energy.

A woman with elaborate biomechanical prosthetics—sleek metal and carbon fiber that moved like natural limbs—was haggling with someone whose arms had been replaced with sophisticated tool attachments .

His father told him stories about the world beyond SVI territory, but the reality was so much more vibrant and impossible than anything he imagined. Even with his body’s traitorous biology still threatening to overwhelm him, the wonder of seeing something new—something forbidden—was intoxicating.

“The architecture doesn’t follow any building codes,” he observed, watching a structure that had been built up from a massive shipping container base, stories added haphazardly as the owner could afford them. “How does it pass any kind of safety inspection?”

“It doesn’t,” Dante replied. “That’s part of the charm.”

A checkpoint loomed ahead—a series of scanning arches that looked like they’d been assembled from corporate surplus.

Guards in ISNA uniforms carried standardized weapons, but their expressions suggested they were more interested in monitoring than protecting.

The whole setup felt less like security and more like data collection—exactly what he expected from the Incorporated States of New America, whose primary function was managing inter-corporate commerce rather than protecting citizens.

“Papers, registration, and purpose of visit,” the guard said in a bored tone when they pulled up. She was maybe Orion’s age, with regulation-short hair and the kind of dead-eyed stare that came from seeing too much and being able to do nothing about it.

Dante handed over a set of documents that Orion was pretty sure didn’t exist an hour ago. “Delivery run. Bakery goods to the Meridian Station.”

The guard scanned the papers with a device that beeped approvingly, then walked around the van. When she got close to Orion’s window, her eyes widened.

“That’s some serious pheromone load you’re carrying,” she said to Dante, but her eyes stayed on Orion.

“You sure you want to take him through the zone like that? There are a lot of Alphas in there who don’t give a shit about consequences.

And remember—if something happens to you in there, we’re not responsible for your safety. ”

The guard’s casual dismissal of human safety was textbook ISNA philosophy—the corporate federation valued economic stability above individual lives, focusing on maintaining trade routes and protecting valuable property while leaving actual people to fend for themselves.

Orion felt heat creep up his neck, but before he could snap out a response, Dante’s hand moved to rest possessively on his thigh.

“He’s mine,” Dante said simply. “That won’t be a problem.”

The casual claim sent a jolt through Orion that had nothing to do with his heat and everything to do with the way Dante said it—like it was just a fact, like there was no question about it.

His body responded with another wave of warmth, this one less urgent but a clear warning that his respite was only temporary.

The guard shrugged and waved them through. “Your choice. Try to avoid the Crimson Quarter if you can—there’s a pack of weird Berserkers that moved in last week, and they’re not real social.”

Suddenly, they were inside the Neutral Zone proper.

If the view from the hill had been overwhelming, being inside was like sensory overload.

The air thrummed with energy from a dozen different power sources.

Music spilled out of open doorways—not the sanitized corporate-approved songs Orion was used to, but wild, chaotic sounds that made his pulse quicken.

Street performers breathed fire while others manipulated LED displays in complex patterns. A group of people were engaged in what might have been a dance or a ritual or both, their movements synchronized to music pumping from massive speakers .

“It’s like...” Orion struggled for words. “It’s like someone took all the rules and threw them away.”

“That’s what they did,” Dante said. “The Neutral Zones exist because the ISNA allows them to—they need the trade routes between territories, but they also need a place to monitor people, track illegal substances, and gather intelligence. Every major territory has one of these surrounding their Static Zones, since no corporate territories share borders under the Tripartite Accord.”

They passed a building where the walls were covered in art that moved—digital displays that had been hacked and reprogrammed to create flowing, organic patterns instead of advertisements. Orion pressed himself against the window harder, trying to get a better look.

“How is that possible?”

“Hijacked advertising networks. Someone’s feeding them custom code instead of corporate messaging.” Dante’s voice carried a note of amusement. “Your father never taught you about network infiltration?”

“He taught me the theory,” Orion said, his voice tight. “But SVI doesn’t encourage that kind of experimentation.”

A drone swooped low overhead, its operator using VR goggles to navigate through the crowded airspace.

Orion caught a glimpse of modifications on some of the people—prosthetic limbs that were upgrades rather than replacements, retinal implants that glowed faintly in the shade, subcutaneous displays that showed vital signs or data feeds.

“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 a street 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.