Chapter 1 — The Girl Who Doesn't Run
Rain fell softly over Yopougon, turning the streets into mirrors reflecting neon lights. The walls of the alleys were covered in glowing graffiti and holographic ads promising fame, speed, and cutting-edge shoespeed and exo-limb modules. Kira didn't look at any of it.
She was bent over her cluttered workbench, surrounded by shoespeed with exposed micro-propulsion units and dismantled exo-limb modules. Cables hung like metallic veins, and a faint ozone smell lingered in the air. For two years, her world had been this: repairing and tuning other runners' equipment, while she—the prodigy once celebrated—had vowed never to run again.
Her fingers skimmed the neural sensors, checking propulsion modules and adjusting stabilizers. Each piece repaired reminded her of what she had lost: speed, adrenaline, night runs where the city became a ruleless playground. She exhaled and ran a hand through her dyed dreadlocks. Not tonight. Not yet.
The silence of the workshop shattered with a sharp crash.
The door burst open, letting in a gust of rain and neon light. A figure lunged in, soaked and panting. Kira frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone.
The girl collapsed a few steps inside, her exo-limb module sparking at the thigh. Sparks flew, ozone stinging the air. Behind her, the red glow of two surveillance drones drew closer.
Kira froze. Her gaze shifted from the shoespeed still open on the table to the drones now crossing the entrance. Sirens blared. Search beams swept the room.
Her legs hesitated. Her heart already knew.
She grabbed the girl by the arm, snatched a pair of freshly repaired shoespeed from the table, and snapped them onto her ankles. Moments later, she leapt through the emergency exit.
The world shifted.
The streets of Yopougon became a circuit. Her feet struck the ground with a force she had forgotten. Every step sent an electric pulse through her muscles, amplified by the exo-limb modules. Rooftops slipped beneath her, walls became ramps. The drones screamed behind, but none could match the pace of a Kira.
Kira dodged a laser beam, climbed a container, and slid into a neon-drenched alley. The injured girl clung to her shoulder, murmuring incoherently.
Kira pushed herself faster. Her shoespeed thrummed with heat, close to overload. But she didn't stop. Not tonight.
The girl who had stopped running was running again.
And the Shadows would soon remember her name.
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