When she opened her eyes, she saw bursts of snow wrapping around Ksava, who struggled to stay airborne, clinging to unstable nano-electromagnetic waves.
Relentless weather.
The car flew to an airway and parked along the shoulder.
"Are we there?"
"Yes," the Technological Essence (TE) replied.
Before Ksava could follow with another question, Akilina opened the door and stepped out.
She sent a command for Ksava to find the nearest parking area. It obeyed.
White swallowed everything.
She narrowed her eyes.
Still, she could barely see ahead.
With each solar cycle, winters grew harsher—and summers, more lethal.
The last summer in Russia had surpassed forty-five degrees.
This cycle promised over fifty.
Winters easily reached minus twenty-five in Moscow, worsening every cycle.
Akilina had grown up hearing the same story.
Factories devouring green.
Damn techno-corporations profiting from scarcity.
Pure oxygen for the rich.
Semi-pure oxygen for those crawling through the underworlds.
Breathing well should belong to everyone.
But things were different—and that was why she burned with anger.
Her mother had gotten sick from that shit.
Respiratory problems.
Suffocating cough.
She had nearly coughed her organs out.
Akilina would still kill the bastard who sold that to Darya.
Even so, her mother still had breath left—to send all those messages, to make all those calls.
The thirty-fourth call from Mamochka blinked on the bioscreen.
In the dimness of Fluxluna, Akilina felt within herself the same moon that had once bled through Darya.
She closed the holoprojection.
What did she expect?
A hand covered her mouth—her nose squeezed—she was pulled backward.
Her head struck something.
When she opened her eyes, a man was smiling.
She rubbed the back of her neck, frowning, throwing him a look of pure contempt.
"You need to learn how to defend yourself, svoloch."
The tone cracked like a whip.
Blue eyes. Narrow. Almond-shaped.
The eyes of a domestic dog—one that would do anything for its master.
Rurik.
Her father's right hand.
Former Russian Army.
He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into her face.
"Answer, brat.
Stop looking at me like a shit-eating face."
His car hovered in the air.
The TE kept everything stable—effortlessly.
Of course it was a Duo or Una generation—top-tier.
Ksava was good—but factories had stopped producing Gen Nine TEs.
Even less her Ciotto model—
a 2120 classic, now a collectible.
How many idiots at the bar had tried to convince her to trade Ksava for disgusting implants and prosthetics?
She remembered Yegor's alcohol breath.
Half a million ninrubles for that "beauty."
She refused every time.
"Get lost, asshole."
Akilina drank more vodka.
The man laughed and left.
Another woman took his seat.
Always a different one.
She shook the thought away.
Looked back at Rurik.
"What the hell was that, asshole?"
You almost broke my neck.
"You know how to curse?
It's fucking terrible—but it can improve."
More smoke.
A crooked smile.
He failed to intimidate her.
She rolled her eyes.
"Your implant is shit."
She meant the metal half of his face—
skin stitched with cables, shaved sides framing a square jaw.
"Cleaning that dirty mouth, huh?"
Fuck, did he ever stop smiling?
She turned away and stayed silent for the rest of the ride.
Rurik didn't care.
Hours dragged slowly.
Akilina grew impatient.
Rurik noticed her restless fingers and offered a cigarette.
"What the hell is that?"
She frowned.
Tobacco—rolled between his fingers.
"You smoke that shit?"
"Shit is those synthetic neural drugs you kids shove up your ass."
He twirled the cigarette.
"This is good stuff.
Natural Cuban herb.
I roll them myself.
You should feel honored."
Akilina imagined the taste.
She liked inhaling nanodrugs—configuring her biochip so the effects lasted exactly one hour.
That prevented addiction.
This was different.
Natural drugs addicted.
Without biochip regulation, control vanished.
What kind of high was this?
She played with the cigarette.
He handed her a lighter.
Weird guy.
A lighter? Who used that?
She lit it.
Dragged.
The smoke burned her throat.
She coughed violently.
Rurik waited, hiding sarcasm behind his smile.
She tried again.
Again.
No effect.
Of course it wouldn't work.
She finished it.
Filled the car with smoke.
Leaned forward.
The world spun.
Pressure dropped.
A different kind of dizziness.
Earthy taste flooded her mouth—
the numbness compensated.
"Was I supposed to feel that?"
Her hands pressed into the seat.
Slow blinking—like she was reassembling reality.
"Good, right?"
Rurik dragged again.
"Shut up. Give me more."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Hedeon said you were like this."
He handed her another.
"We treat our own with respect.
Watch your mouth, svoloch."
"Yeah.
Breaking each other's necks?"
A sideways smile.
"You're not one of us yet."
She took the cigarette and slipped it into her pocket.
Two hours of travel.
Four cigarettes.
In future cycles, she would discover Colombian herbs—better ones.
Her fingers would never leave a cigarette again.
Three packs a day.
Who would choose otherwise in that kind of life?
Rurik parked.
The walls of the Vorovskoy mir rose like a fortress carved in ice, near historical ruins buried under snow and dead vines.
Akilina moved forward, fighting the freezing gusts pushing her back.
Above, guards blurred in white mist aimed their weapons.
Real.
Forward only.
Two members—one human, one android—blocked the path.
Rurik kept walking.
Recognition struck them—shame followed.
Second most powerful man in the global Vorovskoy mir.
Anywhere he entered, the local Pakhan bowed.
Akilina looked around.
Massive warehouses.
Each one—a different destination.
She avoided imagining what happened inside.
If they trained her to replace her father, she would have to swallow morality.
That was the price.
All she wanted was to be close to him.
Everything else—she would endure.
They passed nanometal warehouses.
Ahead—the castle of Khalmer-Yu.
Gray concrete.
Poisonous vines clinging like traps.
Hidden micro-blades in the walls—capable of flying a hundred meters to slit throats.
Anyone outside the nanosystem would be cut down instantly.
The fortress was controlled by Una—the most advanced TE of the Vorovskoy mir.
Its database updated daily.
Motherboards hacked from the corporations ruling the world.
The filth.
The world.
Her father.
Their destinies intertwined.
Soon—hers too.
The wind cut like blades, stealing breath.
That place was a prelude to cruelty.
Would she live there?
If that was the price to be near him—
she might endure every cut.
The gate opened automatically as they crossed a frozen garden.
Dead shrubs.
Trees petrified by cold.
Fallen leaves shimmered under muted light.
Winter days yielded little.
Here—even less.
She would get used to it.
Inside, heat boiled against her skin.
She removed her coat, holding it in her arms.
A robotic coat rack leaned toward her.
"May I take your coat, Akilina?"
Too polite for that place.
She handed it over and followed Rurik.
He walked without looking back.
Long corridor.
Doors everywhere.
He stopped at the last one.
Two knocks.
A sharp voice—like a bullet tearing air—allowed entry.
Akilina stepped inside.
A monumental golden frame held a portrait of two elders.
Her grandparents?
Walls filled with shelves of paper books.
She knew they still existed—
but never imagined her father kept a collection.
She would soon learn:
Paper could be the most powerful weapon on a nanotech planet.
The world's rats—those who held everyone's information while no one held theirs.
The Russian criminal organization drowned in cybercrime.
They hacked corporations, blackmailed billions.
Trillions.
If payment failed, they leaked it—
crashing markets.
Often, the Russian monarchy bought the data—
using it to blackmail other governments.
Paper became the safest place for secrets.
Impossible to hack.
Hedeon lifted his eyes from the documents.
A gray chip in his cheek glowed faintly.
Every Pakhan had one.
His pale skin—like hers.
Green eyes—like hers.
Cold.
A sigh.
He set the documents down, running fingers through dark brown hair—like hers.
Truth?
She had seen him once—
in a photo her mother showed her.
They had never exchanged more than voice calls.
His severe features were exactly as she imagined.
"You're late, Rurik."
Rurik stepped in, leaning against a table.
"The girl delayed us an hour."
Finally—he looked at her.
"Trix. Welcome."
Trix?
How long since she heard that name?
She couldn't even remember who gave it to her.
Only her mother used it.
Trix.
She repeated it silently.
Akilina Orlov Volkov would have to disappear in that life.
She walked forward, dragging her feet across the black carpet.
She missed having her coat pockets.
Not knowing what to do with her hands—she crossed her arms.
"So?"
Her father raised an eyebrow.
"Your mother taught you to speak like that?"
He looked at Rurik.
"Everything ready?"
Rurik nodded—and left them alone.