April 26, 2021. 14:35. Burnaby. 3 days left till Italy.
"You're KIDDING me—she did WHAT?!" Remi's voice jolts me awake.
I jerk upright in the waiting-room chair, hoodie bunched at my neck, cap brim skewed. I check my phone, and the screen glares back. Holy shit. When did I fall asleep?
My hair's tied up, makeup's back to my "don't-look-twice" default. Nothing flashy.
I clock the room: Shock's curled sideways in a chair, boots kicked off; Remi pacing and half-yelling in Mister's room; Tetra slipping in from the hallway with a cardboard tray of coffees like a saint.
"Here," Tetra murmurs, offering the tray with a gentle smile. "Woke up just in time."
"Thanks." I take a cup and ask, "How long was I out for?"
"Hmmm… maybeeee a couple hours," Shock says, sitting up and stretching, wincing but awake now. "They got Mister off the heavy stuff. He woke up around like… twenty minutes ago? I was gonna shake you."
I'm on my feet before the cup hits my lips. "How is he?"
"He's alive," Tetra reports, steady as ever. "He can talk, at least. It's not much, but… it's a miracle he's up."
I give a quick nod to Shock and Tetra, then sip my coffee. "Thanks for the update." By the time I stand, Remi has opened Mister's door for us.
"Yo, chooms—get in. This shit's crazy."
He looks mildly pissed.
I don't answer, and just push through the door to the recovery bay.
Mister's room is dim, machines whispering in a calm that feels fake. He's propped at a slight angle, bandaged from the ribs down, IV lines spidering from both arms. The helmet's still on—straps reworked, tubing routed under the lower edge. Someone placed a neat trach below his jaw; the ventilator hisses, then yields, letting him breathe on his own between assisted cycles.
His visor tilts toward me. Then towards the nearby doctors. He rasps, "Give us privacy." The voice is gravel through a modulator that keeps glitching, but it's him.
The doctors exchange a look, then file out.
But the last doctor lingers, chart in hand, he glances at us. "One thing—his legs." He keeps his voice even. "There's bilateral trauma. We repaired several arterial tears, closed some, and left fasciotomy sites open to monitor swelling. Tendons and muscle took heavy damage; nerves are… mixed. He'll keep both legs, but function will be limited for some time."
"How limited?" I ask.
"Weight-bearing with assistance in a few days. Walking with a cane or frame in weeks. No running, no jumping, no heavy load or high-intensity work for months. Best case—with multiple reconstructive stages and months of aggressive rehab—he regains strong day-to-day mobility." He glances at the dressings. "Without augmentation, he won't be back to pre-injury speed anytime soon. It could take years."
"Is that the only option?" Tetra frowns. "That's… rough."
I nod. Grim, but expected. He's lucky to still have legs.
"Yeah… I'm not surprised. It's either conventional healing—slow but safest—or augmentation. It'll be faster, but it's invasive and costly." I offer a look of sympathy to Mister. "You'll be managing pain and stiffness for a while either way."
The news lands like a brick for the rest.
Shock winces, muttering under her breath, "Not slay…"
Tetra shakes his head, expression heavy. "Damn."
Remi blurts, "BRO—that's fucked! What."
Mister cuts the reaction with a small tilt of his head. "Later," he says. "My legs can wait."
The doctor gives us a professional, tired look. "Keep it brief. He needs rest." He slips out and shuts the door.
Silence holds for a moment.
Mister breathes, then focuses on us. "You need to know what happened with Azure."
We gather in close.
I plant myself at the foot of the bed, arms folded to keep from reaching. "So, what happened?"
He nods once.
"I went to fix my helmet." A breath. "Asked for upgrades. She asked for a different type of payment… fake IDs."
"What? Why?" My eyebrows furrow.
Tetra's jaw tightens. Shock looks at the floor.
"I didn't know either, so I pressed her," Mister continues—slowly. "She deflected and said she wanted 'insurance'. I pushed again for more details. Eventually, I realized she was planning to leave Vancouver—to run from Jenny. She then reached for something. I drew my weapon in defence."
"Well, that's fucking stupid. She just jumps ship and thinks it'll be okay?" Remi spits. "Gonk move, bro. She pulled out and ghosted?"
I raise an eyebrow. "That's kinda cold. Weren't you two—"
"Not anymore." Remi shakes his head, snorting. "I don't stand for people pulling backstabbing moves like that. Now my damn bike is gone 'cause of her. Besides, I thought we're a team."
Shock squints at him. "Okayyy, pause… so like, for the record, what's the difference between Michelangelo and Azure?"
Surprisingly, Remi doesn't fire back right away. He frowns, arms folded, and actually thinks about it.
"To be fair… none of us really saw Michelangelo as a genuine OG teammate. Dude wasn't even added into the chat. Not to hate on him or anything, but we didn't trust him or Arasaka since day one. Azure's different. There was this… unspoken expectation with her. Implication hanging there, you know? Plus—" his voice dips, unusually reflective, "she was fine shit. Like, yeah, she threw red flags left and right, but I dunno… underneath all that sarcasm, I thought there was a decent person in there. Someone worth trusting."
"That's true…" My eyes drift to the floor, melancholy creeping into my chest. "I guess it wasn't enough."
But then I pause, surprise cutting through. "Wait a minute—what the fuck, Remi?" My gaze snaps up, and a sharp snort slips out—not because it's funny, but because he blindsided me, again. "'Fine shit'?"
"Bro, I'm just being honest here." He simply folds his arms, leaning against the wall. "Anyways, so that's when she lit Mister up, right?"
Mister only nods. "That's right. She didn't hesitate. There was a moment when she glanced back at me bleeding on the floor, but by then she'd already decided to leave."
"Wait… maybe… Mister pulling his gun is what set her off," Tetra interjects.
We turn to him. He sticks his palms out, waving them like he's proclaiming innocence before a judge.
"Not to stir the pot or anything. But… maybe she wasn't reaching for a weapon—just something else—and pulling a gun frightened her? I don't know. I'm just theorizing."
Shock shakes her head sharply. "Nuh uh, no wayyyyy. She was definitely reaching for something nasty. If it wasn't, then what? Candy? Azure was sooo ready to pull it. Plus, if she was always paranoid about getting found, she'd have wired her shop ages ago."
Tetra exhales through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it like the whole thing is giving him a migraine. "That's true. The whole situation still doesn't sit right with me, though."
My chest knots. I don't like any of this—not her asking for fake IDs, not Mister drawing his weapon first, not her torching the whole place.
I can't explain why, but part of me feels like maybe I could've done more.
"It doesn't matter now. She triggered the traps and ran." Mister's fingers twitch on the sheet as he remembers. "Regardless, the whole shop was wired." A pause—a colder tone creeps into his voice. "And I was fighting on her home field."
Shock sounds small. "So she burned everything down to cover her tracks?"
"Yes." Mister nods, the hint of coldness now unmistakable. "She wanted to erase it all and start over. I don't know where." He breathes out. "She said she wouldn't be dragged back."
We stand there, quiet. I ask the thing we all need to know. "Did Jenny show up?"
"I didn't see her." His answer is a rasp. "But Azure's scared. If she thinks running will fix things, she'll keep running until it doesn't work anymore."
Remi finally steps forward, knuckles white. "She could've killed you, man."
Mister's visor tilts, the motion an agreement. "Yes."
Tetra edges closer to the bedrail. "So… what now? Do we go find her?"
Mister measures the cost of words. After a thin pause he says, "No. It's not worth the effort. Not with Italy coming up. It's better to route this to Wissen and Dante."
Shock blurts, louder than she means to. "OH! Then what about the group chat? Her old number's still in it!"
Remi snaps his fingers, quick to answer. "Easy. Same as with Michelangelo. We boot her. Just us now."
Mister exhales, visor tilting in a slow nod. "That's for the best." His tone sharpens, anger finally breaking through. "Fuck her."
The room goes still. It's the first time any of us have ever heard him swear.
"Woooah." Shock blinks wide. "Okayyy, go off, queen."
Remi, oddly encouraged, grins through the sting of loss. "Hell yeah, choom! That's what I'm talkin' about! Group chat rename—'Azure's a Bitch.' Done."
Tetra frowns, uneasy. "Is that… really necessary? I mean—"
I hesitate, guilt twisting deeper. I don't know if I can back Remi on that either.
But before I can say anything, Shock nudges me lightly with her elbow. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up. You did everything you could."
"Mm." It doesn't stop the weight in my chest.
Meanwhile, Remi's already pulling his phone out, thumbs hammering across the screen. "Eh, too late for objections. Name's locked. History's made."
Tetra sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable…" He lets it drop.
The group chat pings across all our phones with its new name.
Silence follows—not awkward, just… different. Each of us planning our next move alone.
I clear my throat, breaking the silence. "I'll let Wissen know. He deserves to hear it first."
Just as I thumb out a message, Wissen himself already sends a text into the group chat.
"I see Azure has been removed. And Remi… colourful words, as always. I take it she won't be flying to Italy."
"Yes," I reply quickly. "She's gone. Ran away from Vancouver."
Dante's tag lights up—he's online too. Before I can type more, Shock mutters, "I'll… fill him in privately. It's better that he hears the whole story."
Wissen responds almost instantly. "Very well. Payments will be readjusted. Mister will be compensated."
Remi leans forward in his chair. He seizes the opening and sends his own message. "Yo, uhhhh Wissen. Since Azure fried my bike... can I get a new one as payment? Fair trade, right?"
For fuck's sake, Remi. I snort in disbelief and raise an eyebrow at him.
"What?! I think it's justified!" His eyebrows furrow, and he looks back at me defensively.
I shake my head. "You know what? I kind of respect it at this point."
For a moment, I expect to see a flat rejection. But then Wissen answers.
"That is fair. Dante, arrange this."
And to everyone's surprise, Dante actually replies. "Noted. It can be done."
Remi fist-pumps, loud enough to rattle the chairs. "HELL YEAH! Finally some justice! That's a preem ass W!"
I drag a hand down my face, groaning. "Remi… you sound like a twelve-year-old that just won their first VR match."
Shock groans but cracks a grin anyway. "Girllllll, you're way too into this. It's just a bike."
"Just a bike?" Remi gapes at her, hand pressed to his chest. "BRO! I gave y'all chooms the lore already! That was the bike. And I need an equally fire replacement."
Even Tetra's mouth twitches before he forces himself back to neutral. "Alright, guys, enough horsing around. Let's get serious." He leans back in his chair, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't think I really took Italy that seriously before. But…" He purses his lips.
"But?" I raise an eyebrow, gently nodding for him to continue.
"But Azure and Jenny… feels like a wakeup call. I wasn't expecting so much to hit back to back. And I think now is a good time to hit the market, pick up some gear. Does anyone wanna join?"
Shock stretches with a groan. "Yeahhhh, I'll come. But honestly? I might save my shopping for Italy. Free stuff sounds better." She playfully sticks her tongue out. "Maybe I can ask my family back home to do the same for everyone."
Mister's voice breaks in next. "That would be appreciated. Anything your family can spare helps. Otherwise I'll try to pull strings here in Vancouver. Whatever I can manage while I'm still here."
There's a pause—like there was more to add. His visor tilts slightly, but the words never come.
I notice, of course. A flicker of thought, someone else on his mind. Huh? But I don't press further.
Remi shrugs, already pulling his jacket on. "Fuck it. I wanna talk to Blake anyways."
I tilt my head. "Talk? About what?"
He smirks faintly. "I still got the Sandevistan thing."
Shock squints. "Wait, wait—you're actually thinking about implanting that? After everything we've learnt?"
Tetra frowns. "Remi, are you sure? That's… not exactly a casual decision."
"Fuck it," Remi repeats. "Azure left this with me. It's mine now. And why not? Can't let all this bullshit keep me down—or slow. Heard it amps up my speed."
I cross my arms. "You should think before—" I stop myself. He won't listen.
"Never mind. Just… make sure you're good to go before our flight." I rub the sides of my temples, a dull throb starting to build.
He gives me a two-finger salute and a smirk. "Yes, ma'am."
And still… part of me knows he's not entirely wrong. If Italy's going to be what I think it is, maybe I should settle my own business too.
Shock grins at me. "C'monnn, bestie. You coming with us?"
Tetra adds, quieter, "Yeah, it wouldn't hurt to stock up."
"… Not now," I say at last. Shock's disappointment flashes clear, but Tetra gives a small nod of understanding.
Still, I can't shake Azure's words echoing at the back of my head. I push them aside.
I turn to Mister. "Are you gonna be okay here?"
His modulated voice crackles, professional and steady despite the weakness. "If Wissen covers it, I'll be able to request early discharge. Walking aids, at minimum."
"Alright," I exhale, forcing myself to trust him.
And just like that, the team splits again.
I slip my hands into my hoodie pocket as I step outside, cap pulled low. "Yeah… I've got my own things to finish."
The words taste like an excuse, but it's all I can give.
…
April 26, 2021. 19:21. Vancouver. 3 days left till Italy.
The phone's wedged between my cheek and shoulder as I scrub down my workshop counter. The guns and gear along my walls shine back at me, and a half-dozen unread emails blink across my armoury terminal screens.
"Souvenirs," my mom insists through the line, her voice firm but cheerful. "If you're going all the way to Italy, you'd better bring me something back."
I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. "Maaa… do you want a magnet or something? A snow globe?"
"Snow globe?" She gasps like I've cursed. "What am I, a tourist grandma? No. A scarf. Silk. Red or green."
I huff a laugh, shifting the phone back into my hand so I can flick through an agency email with the other. "Silk scarf. Got it. Anything else, Your Majesty?"
"Don't you sass me now, miss," she says, mock stern. "You never bring me anything from your—oooh, Italian shoes! I've wanted a replacement for a while. Size seven. Don't forget!"
"Yeah, because I'm totally checking luggage for your shoe collection," I tease, but I'm already typing a mental note into my planner.
Onscreen, one agent's email confirms another photoshoot slot for later in the year. Another comes in from the Artemis website, flashing important: updated contract info for payout and intel.
I set my rag down and swipe through them with quick glances.
"You're distracted," Mom says suddenly, sharp as ever.
"Not distracted," I reply quickly, tucking the phone into the crook of my neck again while I fire off a response email. "Just multitasking. Cleaning. Handling emails. Being responsible."
"Mmhm," she hums knowingly. "Sure."
There's a pause—one where she could easily call me out for working myself too hard—and I half expect it. But the conversation goes quiet. A million ways for it to play out, and yet neither of us continues.
We don't need to.
Little cleaning drones whir by my ankles, dutifully vacuuming up dust along the hallway floor.
That is until I break the silence. "Oh! Ma, did you want to eat dinner somewhere later tomorrow?"
"Of course," she answers right away, voice bright. "It's been too long since we sat down properly."
I think for a moment, tapping my foot against the floor. "How about Cardero's? It's a nice spot, and it's by the seawall. We can grab dinner and walk after."
"Ooooh, fancy. What should I wear?"
"Smart casual, Ma. Nothing too formal, but no sweats either," I say with a smile. "I'll swing by to pick you up around six-thirty."
"That works," she replies warmly. Then her tone softens, carrying that familiar weight. "And… I know Italy's coming. Don't wander around too much at night. It might be safer than here, but don't risk it."
I pause, staring at my reflection on the screen.
"I'll be fine, Mom," I say quietly. "Promise."
Her voice softens further. "Alright. But don't forget the scarf."
I chuckle, tension breaking. "Noted. Red or green, size seven shoes, and maybe a snow globe just to spite you."
She laughs, bright and warm, and for a moment my chest doesn't feel so heavy. The call ends shortly after we say our goodbyes. I set the phone down, exhaling slowly.
The workshop smells faintly of gun oil and detergent as I continue cleaning the armoury, checking over racks and locking down panels.
A checklist builds in my head—everything I'll need to keep moving and not fall behind.
Prep the gear, make sure the makeup kit's packed so I can swap looks on the fly, and probably bring a wig or two. I need to blend in—not just with locals, but with the mafia too. They'll expect polish: suits, cocktail dresses, tailored coats. Nothing that screams "tourist."
My eyes skim the rifles and pistols lining the wall.
The last job against the mafia flashes back—assault rifles and sidearms, the kind the hit team sent for Dante used.
The ones in Italy will probably have even more armour and firepower. Shotguns for close range, handguns for concealment—those are musts. Maybe an SMG for insurance: light enough to move with, heavy enough if things go sideways. The long rifle is probably overkill. I'll also pack EMPs and a couple of grenades just in case.
Still, I catch myself staring at the long gun longer than I should and force my attention back.
What else? Walking into Italy half-armed is stupid, but walking in with the wrong look is worse. If I overdress for one meeting and underdress for another, I'll stick out. I'll need to research dress codes—what the dons wear, what their associates wear.
Ugh, I'll need to pull up the fashion archives and study the trends.
My brain keeps circling, piling notes on notes until the noise gets too loud: clothes, guns, wigs, cosmetics, paperwork, travel. Too many details at once. I shake my head and force myself to stand.
One step at a time, Gina. Finish cleaning first. Then research. Then plan.
With Italy looming over the horizon, I should be ready—or at least, look like I am.