The mall at night was a corpse left to rot—metal ribs exposed, old neon bleeding into darkness, the air thick with mildew, old synth oil, and the burnt-sugar tang of some backroom fire. Fabienne kept one hand on her pulse pistol, the other checking Cypher's feed, as she slipped through the maze of broken stalls and sleeping tweakers. Her boots crunched glass with every step.
"You see, Cypher?" she whispered, voice low, nerves jangling. "Dis de kinda place only ghosts and fools come at night, wi."
A dead vending machine spat sparks as she passed. Cypher's reply buzzed in her ear, chopped by static:
"Urban legend says it's haunted now. Dead Voodoo Boyz or whatever. But you chose the place. No sense in complaining now."
Fab snorted. "Next time, when it ain't about Arasaka... Maybe I pick somewhere wid real light, y'know?"
She skirted a collapsed hologram ad, finally reaching the food court—a graveyard for corporate mascots and shattered plastic tables. That's when she saw it: a coil of smoke curling from behind a toppled kiosk, illuminated by the cold flicker of a dying screen.
"You really tink de smoke signal help your camo?" Fab called, eyes narrowed but smiling crookedly. "All dis tech, an' you can't hide your vices."
K shimmered into view, skin and cloths, boots scuffed and eyes hard. He snuffed his cigarette, crushing it to ash.
"Old habits," he grunted.
"Oui, but dey make you easy to find." Fab's voice was teasing, but her fingers were restless on her weapon. "Names Fabienne. You can call me Fab. Tell me...you always dis tense, chéri?"
"Just tell me why I'm here already," K shot back, jaw set. "This is already too fucking sketchy for my taste."
She shrugged, amused by his frost. "Relax. I got info. Arasaka secrets, straight from de lion's den."
K raised an eyebrow while rubbing the scruff of his chin.
"And the catch?"
"No catch at all. I'm just a fan, wi. Somebody gotta stand up for de dead. Or you prefer to sit here and sulk about it instead?"
K ignored her jabs, looking away as Fabs eyes lit up blue.
Fab turned, gaze flicking to her HUD. "Cypher, start de transfer, please."
But Cypher's voice—usually quick and clever—hiccuped, glitching:
"Ini—ini—initiating uplink… transferring—error—track—track—tracking—"
A cold stab of dread hit Fabienne's gut. She felt the virus crawl up her spine, freezing her for half a heartbeat.
"No. No no no. Merde… what did I miss?"
Her mouth went dry. "K, something wrong. Real wrong."
He stepped closer, concern finally breaking through his armor. "What? What's wrong? Who's Cypher?"
Fab's hands danced across her virtual displays, feverish. "Is my netrunner AI—he never glitch like this before. The file got teeth, man! Soon as we touched it—tracker lit up, clear as day. He been watching us from jump. Just waiting for this moment.
K's mouth set in a grim line. "Who's coming, Fab?"
Her blood ran cold as the realization slammed her. "Smasher? Non—can't be."
He scoffed, but unease gnawed at his eyes. "He's dead. Been that way for years. Any gonk can tell you that."
Fab shook her head, sweat dotting her brow. "He's here."
Silence pressed in from all sides. Fab's pulse hammered as she and K eyed the gloom—like the whole mall was holding its breath, waiting for the real monster to show. Nothing at first. Then they heard cold, hard footsteps echoing ominously just beyond the wall.
Then—
A sound, low and growing.
BOOM!
The wall behind them exploded inward, raining bricks and smoke and old mall rot. Fab hit the ground hard, rolling through a snowstorm of dust.
A massive figure strode through—white armor gleaming, neon red eyes burning, lighting up every surface around them. He moved with a smoothness that made her skin crawl, and his face showed no emotion. His gaze locked on her—dead, red, unblinking. It was the kind of look that let you know: 'I found you. There's nowhere to run now.'
Smasher's voice was all mechanized contempt.
"Nibbling at our walls, little rat? Thought you'd leave no trace?"
Fab tried to scramble back, fury and fear clashing in her chest. "You should be dead, bèt. Arasaka must be real desperate to drag you from de trash."
Smasher didn't answer. He simply raised his arm, wrist splitting open, barrel sliding into place with a slick hiss.
"All vermin must be eradicated."
Fab's heart hammered. She looked around, eyes wide. K was gone. Did he really cloak himself and delta? She cursed under her breath, anger mixing with fear. "Mwen damné. Man really left me to die?"
There was no point in worrying about him now. Death was at her doorstep in the form of a murderous killing machine. The red glow from his eyes illuminated the fear on her face. This was it.
Just as Smasher's cannon hummed—clang! A knife bounced off his shoulder, sparks dancing across the white plating.
"Shit." K's whisper echoed off the ruins.
Smasher's head snapped, scanners cycling. The cloaking was no use. He spotted K's heat signature in a blink. K turned to run down a dimly lit corridor.
"Another rat." His form glitched, and he was gone—reappearing in the hall behind K impossibly fast.
He aimed his arm again. Then a thunderstorm of bullets erupted, shattering kiosks and tile. K's upgrades kicked in. Reflex augment--allowing him to react and move faster than humanly possible. K dashed toward Fab and grabbed her by the wrist. He yanked her into a sprint, his augments doing most of the heavy lifting.
"You was really about to leave me, non?" Fab gasped as they ducked behind a shattered ice cream stall, heart pounding.
"Maybe I should have," K replied, watching Smasher stalk after them, each step a threat. "Fuck…is that really him?"
"Virt sigs don't lie."
K's entire body tensed at her answer. "He's got more chrome than a fucking dealership now."
Smasher rounded the corner, shifting as another compartment on his arm opened—a grenade launcher, mean and sleek.
"No use running," Smasher intoned. The launcher thumped.
K's world slowed. He dashed toward the grenade, cybernetics howling as he slid. He flicked the grenade up with his foot, spun, and sent it arcing right back with a spinning kick.
It hit, detonating against Smasher's armored chest with a flash and a burst of fire. Smoke and flame billowed, but Smasher barely staggered.
Fab, even through panic, whistled over the comms:
"Mwen renmen sa! Dat was most impressive, chéri."
"Was a striker in high school," K grunted, already running, the blast throwing smoke and debris behind him. "Guess muscle memory still works."
But Smasher was relentless—a white blur, smashing through obstacles, landing in front of K with a speed that should've been impossible. He punched. K's reflexes reacted. In a split second, blades shot out the back of his calfs. They curved under his boots like downward facing scythes. He raised a leg right before impact, blocking Smasher's attack with his bladed leg, steel screeching against armor, the impact sending him grinding across cracked tiles.
Smasher leaned in, voice distorted, almost echoing two voices at war:
"Futile… FIGHT—RUN—KILL—"
His head twitched, optics flickering.
K caught a glimpse of something. This maniac might be a force of nature, but he's also unstable like one. He used the space created to flee again. His eyes lit up.
"Fab. You catch that?"
"Wi, sa m' di. Even the biggest machine have crack, non?"
The chase became chaos—K sprinted, then leapt down a flight of stairs. He used his mantis blades to grind the railing. He skated and vaulting debris while Smasher bulldozed through everything. His blades sparked against every surface.
Smasher let off a volley of shots. K evaded by skating along the wall, but Smasher closed the gap quickly. He swung as K flipped off of the wall. He missed, but the punches kept coming. K used his legs to block and dodge the onslaught. Sparks flew after every contact. He was barely keeping up. Barely staying out of death's reach.
Smasher finally connected. A sharp kick landing in K's chest sent him tumbling into a stone pillar. The wind was completely knocked out of him. He forced himself up through the pain while Smasher stepped closer, confidently.
"I sure hope you have a plan." K winced, struggling to his feet.
Fab's voice stayed in his ear, sharp and focused, even as her fear bled through.
"Get him to the main hall, wi! It's right below you. Trust me—I got a surprise."
"I don't think he wants a tour," K hissed, nearly out of breath. "Just nearly fucking killed me."
"Den run, chéri! Don't attempt to tango wid 'im!"
That's when he saw it. A glass floor looking down over the main atrium. Smasher went to shoot, but K was already moving. He dashed toward square of glass. Smasher attempted to stop him, but K jumped into the air, evading his grab.
K crashed through, falling into the central atrium—a dead temple of commerce, banners drooping, a wall of dead screens staring down. He rolled as he landed. Every nerve screamed from the fall and hits he'd taken. He tried to scramble up, but Smasher was too fast—already dropping into the atrium with a bone-shaking quake, cracking the floor like a stone spiderweb.
Smasher didn't rush. Instead, he paused and cocked his head, his red eyes studying K in a way that felt almost…personal. A slow, metal smile crept onto his face.
"Well, look who crawled out the gutter. I remember you, rocker boy. You were there the night the music died." Smasher's voice buzzed with sadistic glee. "All the better. Two rats, one stone."
K's blood went cold as the meaning landed, hate burning through the haze.
"Wait…you—"
He remembered now—the figure standing in the crowd that day. A flash from that moment zipped through his mind. He could see those same eyes, and the arm raised at his bandmates. He was the one who changed everything.
He tried to lunge, but Smasher's hand shot out—lightning quick—closing tight around K's throat.
"Now now…don't fight the inevitable." He said, raising K higher off the ground. "You really should've stayed in your fucking hole. Now…you die. Just like your rodent friends."
Smasher squeezed, the grip inhuman, and his arm sparked with electricity. Pain flared—electric, searing, frying through K's cybernetics and flesh.
Then he slammed K into the display at the center of the atrium. His body sunk into the metal screens as Smasher held him down. His eyes went blank white, mouth hanging open with blood leaking from his head and his mouth.
Vision fading. Everything's white. Is this it?
Smasher's other arm raised up, releasing a hidden arm blade gleaming, inches from K's heart.
"One rodent down," he said, cold, final.
On the upper balcony, Fab's glowing eyes flicked back and forth as she worked her way through the mall's network. She worked quickly, but was running out of time even quicker.
"Hold tight, mizisyen. I got you, wi."
Suddenly, the atrium erupted—screens flickered to life, old mall ads screamed at max volume, emergency strobes lighting the world in sick neon. Fab had hacked the system, unleashing a wave of chaos.
Smasher spasmed, his head snapping back and forth, the lightshow triggering something deep and broken inside. For a moment, two voices warred in his throat—rage and calculation, murder and orders.
He released K, grabbing at his own skull trying to silence the noise. He growled in frustration. It was too much. The two personas were fighting for supremacy. He stumbled, still holding his head. Each direction he looked caused sensory overload. He snapped.
"COME OUT RATS! I'LL EXTERMINATE ALL OF YOU!"
He raised his gun arm and began firing at shadows, every direction, circuits hissing. He shot out screens, old fixtures, and destroyed stalls. The room was literally falling apart all around him as he raged.
Fab burst out, straining to haul K to his feet—he could barely see, legs moving on memory, head splitting.
"Move it, K! I ain't carrying you out, so walk dammit!"
She dragged him through the chaos, slipping away as Smasher melted down behind them, his fury echoing through steel and stone. At the exit, Fab slammed the old mall barriers with one last hack, the metal shrieking as it locked Smasher inside—at least for a moment.
In the thick, hot air outside, they stumbled to K's car, K half-conscious and shaking. His cybernetics glitched, every nerve burning, but they were alive.
K's body felt lifeless and heavy, especially with all the chrome. With a sharp grunt, she let him down on the side of the car, taking a moment to catch her breath. His blood was all over her clothes. That should've freaked her out, but she was more worried about the damage he'd taken during the scrap, and the overclocking of his chrome. Plus that jolt Smasher gave him couldn't have helped matters.
She knelt down, hooking his personal link into the port on her neck, and running a diagnostics. K's breath was shallow, but the light in his eyes was slowly returning.
Fab looked him over, breathless, hands trembling but eyes hard. She scanned him, eyes glowing as she checked his vitals. He'd definitely overdone it with his chrome. She could see that it was new. His body could've fallen to pieces had he continued to push. His neural cortex was nearly fried—right on the edge of a full meltdown. Funny enough, the shock probably kept him from going full cyberpsycho. It was a miracle he could even move.
"You really saved my ass back there, you know dat, rocker boy? M'ap admit, I owe you."
K coughed as a smirk found his face. "Next time, if you want to thank me, pick somewhere that ain't cursed, y'hear?"
She smiled, taking his complaint as a sign that he hadn't lost it, at least not yet. She set him up in the car and hopped in the driver seat, using a hack to start it up. "Sorry, no time for keys. We gotta delta now."
Meanwhile—
Inside the ruined atrium, dust and neon haze swirling, Smasher finally ceased his rampage. The chaos settled around him—a gutted cathedral of commerce, full of mangled stalls and shattered glass. He stood still, scanning, breath rumbling behind metal.
A faint noise—movement under a broken display. Smasher's eyes narrowed. Trapped in the wreckage, a wiry tweaker tried to pull himself free, face smeared with panic.
Smasher stalked forward, slow and methodical. The man whimpered, scrambling back, but Smasher just knelt, head cocked to the side like a predator examining prey.
He asked, voice eerily calm: "Is there any others here?"
The man shook his head frantically. "No, man—no, I didn't see nothing, I swear! Nobody here but me, I ain't see nothin'!"
Smasher's lips curled into something that almost resembled a smile. "Don't worry. I know you didn't. None of you did."
He reached out, massive hands encasing the man's head. Slowly, Smasher pressed his thumbs over the tweaker's eyes. The man shrieked, voice ragged with terror, as Smasher drove his thumbs into the sockets—pressure increasing, blood spilling. The screaming faded into choking, then silence.
Smasher let the body drop, wiped his hands, and triggered his thermals—hunting for any other survivors, any stray witnesses. One by one, he would erase them all.
Arasaka couldn't know about his little side quest. And he'd kill as many as it took to keep it that way.
[The Next Morning] – Arasaka Broadcasting Tower
Ruki sat in the makeup chair, motionless, staring into the mirror. The studio lights cast her reflection in perfect clarity—porcelain skin, subtle chrome highlights along her jawline, pupils calibrated to be just the right shade of "resilient."
The makeup artist dabbed at her cheek with a sponge, talking about lighting and angles, but Ruki didn't hear her. It was just muffled noise behind the storm in her mind. She was still a prisoner, and she was starting to realize she might have been one since the moment she was hired. But now her friend's life hung in the balance, and she had her role to play.
The room was luxurious—elegant chrome fixtures gleamed under the perfect ambient lighting, walls lined with expensive panels and minimalist statues that looked more like surveillance than art. One side of the room flickered with silent screens showing feeds from the show floor, shifting between camera angles like watchful eyes. Despite the sheen, despite the wealth, it all felt cold. Controlled. Artificial.
She was staring past her reflection, past the carefully constructed mask, trying to remember what her real face looked like before the lies hardened over it.
Behind her, the Arasaka exec loomed.
She saw him in the mirror—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit that cost more than most mercs made in a year. It was the same man from before—the Arasaka executive with the mannequin mask for a face and eyes that never blinked. Executive Inoue.
She felt him move closer. The makeup artist stepped back instinctively, excusing herself.
He leaned down, placing large, jeweled hands—adorned with rings that glittered like trophies—on each shoulder, lips inches from her ear.
"You're a symbol of strength, Ms. Fujioka. People are depending on it. Especially your little friend. Chiyo—was it?"
The name slid like a knife between her ribs. The stench of his expensive cologne almost made her sick. But there was no fighting it. Not now. Not at this stage. Chiyo was her priority. For her sake, she would have to play nice, and do what she's told.
Her throat tightened, but she didn't blink. Didn't move. She just kept staring straight ahead—perfect posture, flawless face, hands folded in her lap like a good little doll.
Don't react.
Don't give him the satisfaction.
She forced herself to breathe, just once, before nodding faintly.
A voice crackled over the studio intercom.
"Ms. Fujioka, we're ready for you. Thirty seconds to air."
The exec straightened, smoothing the collar of his suit. He looked at her through the mirror, his synthetic half-smile reflecting back at her—just human enough to be unsettling.
"Show time," he said softly, almost singing it.
Ruki rose from the chair, spine stiff. She walked toward the stage lights, each step echoing like a death march down a hallway of lies.
She was trapped, forced to perform the same polished charade for her captors—her every word scripted, every smile weaponized. If not for Chiyo, she might've let herself shatter under the weight of it all.
She marched onto the set as the host's voice rang out, announcing her like a prize they'd polished up and put on display.
All for a lie. A lie with teeth. A lie as lethal as the people who built it.
Chapter End—