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Chapter 2 - CHAPTER TWO

The manhole cover groaned in protest, its rusted edges scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Then, a bloodied hand shot upwards, fingers desperately clawing for purchase. With a final heave, Izari Rurik dragged himself out of the sewers, his left hand clamped tightly against his wounded side. He collapsed onto the pavement, a strangled grunt escaping his lips, his body trembling from exhaustion.

Sector 7 loomed above him, a grotesque monument to metal and filth. He longed for a glimpse of the moon, but the towering structures and the suffocating smog denied him even that small comfort. The air, thick and acrid, burned his throat with every breath, weakening him with each passing second.

His vision blurry, Izari scanned his surroundings. Soulless workers trudged home, gang enforcers exchanged cryptic signals, drones whizzed past, and cyber-junkies lurked in the shadows of neon-lit doorways. Some ignored him completely, their averted gazes screaming, "Not my problem." The city had long since stripped them of their empathy.

A bitter laugh died in Izari's throat. He was losing. The city was winning.

Just as he teetered on the edge of surrender, a cybernetic hand reached out.

"Izzy."

He focused on the figure crouching before him. Janice, his partner in crime. A 25-year-old woman, slightly taller than him, was light-skinned with long curly hair, almond eyes, a pointed nose, and thin lips. She wore a dull yellow bolero that covered a green, thick-sleeved t-shirt along with black baggy pants held together by an old grey holster, almost covering her black boots. A relieved sigh escaped his lips. "Thank goodness..." he murmured before his head slumped back.

She hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. "You stink," she muttered, wrinkling her nose.

Izari let out a weak chuckle, grimacing in pain. "Crawling through the sewers tends to do that."

Janice's sharp eyes assessed him, noting the blood soaking his shirt. "What the hell happened down there?"

"Ran into a... I don't know, some kind of mutant." Even saying the mutated creature's name sent a chill down his spine. " That damn thing nearly tore me in half."

She cursed under her breath. "Well, as much as I'd like more about that right now, the enforcers were around earlier. That's bad news because they usually don't show up in these parts." Izari looked up at her, surprised. "Wait, enforcers?"

Her warning was cut short by a looming shadow at the end of the street.

A Black Lexor Enforcer.

He emerged from the alley beside an abandoned antique shop, a monstrous figure clad in a heavily armored exosuit. Thick black plating covered his chest and limbs, designed to withstand even the most brutal street skirmishes. A long, tattered overcoat, stained with the city's grime, draped over his shoulders, its sigil - the mark of the city's enforcers – barely visible. His face was hidden behind a gas mask, its twin red lenses glowing like the eyes of a mechanical predator. In his right hand, he carried a Shock Maul, its serrated edges crackling with electric energy. He was closely followed by a grey robotic hound, its neon green visor glowing brightly as it scanned the nearby residents.

Izari and Janice lowered their heads, bodies tensing. To be caught staring was to invite death.

The Enforcer stopped, his gaze falling on them.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of them breathed. Instinctively Janice reached into her pockets and removed a crumpled piece of paper. Reaching out to the enforcer she pointed at a fading grey stamp, the hound stepped forward scanning it. It then walked past her to Izari who had now fished out a worn out card which the hound scanned before moving back to the enforcer. Its visor displaying details on the both of them, the enforcer looked at it intently.

Then he moved on, his heavy boots thudding against the pavement. They waited until he disappeared around a corner before slipping into the nearest alleyway - a narrow, wretched passage choked with filth and overflowing trash. Izari covered his nose, his stomach twisting.

Janice gagged. "I swear; this city gets worse every damn day."

Izari took a deep, wheezing breath as he struggled to form words, " I have to tell you something about Roy…"

"Oh, shut up. You need to rest first." Janice assured him as they pushed through the crowd of pedestrians.

They pressed on, emerging onto the main street of Sector 7. Neon lights buzzed and flickered, illuminating the chaos of urban decay. Towering buildings stretched towards the sky, their jagged forms disappearing into the toxic haze. Hustlers and beggars, black-market vendors selling cybernetic scraps, and drug peddlers lured in desperate souls. Bright holograms advertised pleasure dens, combat pits, and illicit cyber-implant clinics.

Izari's vision blurred. The lights became smears of color, the sounds distant echoes. His body sagged. He stumbled.

"Damn it..."

The world went black.

He awoke to the dim flicker of a dying ceiling light. The air was heavy, tinged with rust and mold. He sat up with a groan, his fingers brushing against the fresh bandages wrapped around his wound.

He was in his room.

A cramped, suffocating space within one of West District's dilapidated complexes. The walls were cracked and stained, his bed a thin mattress shoved into a corner. An old mini-fridge hummed weakly, threatening to die altogether.

A rickety shelf filled with a few battered books, a small wooden table, and a small, dented drawer was illuminated by a single flickering neon tube. Janice sat beside him, flipping through one of his books. "You're finally awake."

Izari groaned, rubbing his temples. "How long was I out?"

"A few hours." She snapped the book shut. "So where is it?"

Izari ran a hand through his greasy hair. "Did... did the boss send you?"

Janice's eyes narrowed. "He wanted to know if you brought back the data chip. Said it was time-sensitive."

"I... I didn't get it. By the time I got there, Roy ..." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. "There was no data chip."

Janice's face darkened. "Was there anyone else there?" Izari averted her gaze as he shook his head.

A vein throbbed in her temple. "Are you kidding me, Izzy? Do you have any idea what this means? That data chip was supposed to be our ticket. Our down payment to get out of this hellhole." She paced the small room, her movements sharp and agitated. "Damn it, Izzy! I put everything on this! I even... I even agreed to those extra shifts the boss wanted in the sewer system." She spat on the floor. "The things I had to do..." Her voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

Izari looked away, slowly getting irritated. "No one warned me about a freaking abomination moving about the streets," he mumbled. "I barely survived that thing." "I can't say the same for Roy, it..." He suddenly stopped as a sharp, piercing pain probed his side. He struggled to look up. "He's dead, Janice. That thing ripped into him."

He then faced her "I had to choose between saving myself or getting that damned chip!"

Janice gave him a surprised look, slowly processing the news. She sank back to the chair, face down. Izari could have sworn he heard her gasp faintly. Roy was her friend too; however, he suspected that something was going on between them. Janice quickly recollected herself and continued, "He's dead now, you, on the other hand, are alive and that's all that matters."

Izari replied, "I froze, and I paid dearly for it. Besides, I don't know why you don't have to worry that much; we have something to tell the boss in case he comes snooping around."

Janice sighed. "We're all on a deadline. Esme has already started charging interest, and you know how he deals with late payments. He won't hesitate to have us turned over to the factories." She tapped a long, black nail against the table. "Okay, I understand your situation, I mean I would do the same if I were in your shoes, but let's face it, Izzy. We're screwed." She slowly exhaled. "We have bills, debts, and whatever shit boss comes up with when his pockets are empty. I don't know what to do."

"He does that every week, and what does he do when we fail?" Izari retorted.

This caught Janice by surprise. "Nothing… but you still remember that one time he..."

"Exactly, all he did was just threaten to send us back to the forges." Izari cut her off, "He's all bark and no bite."

"I don't want to go back there." Janice's face became stern, an attempt to veil the fear that was growing inside. This unsettled Izari for a moment. He took a deep breath before looking up at her, a thin smile formed on his lips. "Hey, don't forget, we're in this together." He was trying to assure her that he was going to be there for her. This seemed to work as Janice calmed down.

"I am here for you, okay, we'll just have to figure out another solution."

"But we only have a day," Janice replied. He then added wryly. "You'll still have to start without me, though." He gestured towards his bandaged wound, a sly smile on his face.

Janice buried her face in her hands. Of course, she was going to clean up his mess. " I am going to find a way to bail us out and maybe have a talk with him. Better pray to the saints that he's in a good mood."

She sighed and stood, heading toward the door. "Honestly, I can't keep telling you to be careful...

"Likewise," Izari interjected.

Janice shot an irritated look before continuing, "I'll be back with a reply."

Izari called out to her, "Hey Jan, I'm sorry about Ro..."

She slammed the door behind her.

Silence filled the room.

Izari's gaze lingered on the door before he pulled back his bandages. His wound had already healed.

His fingers traced the smooth, unbroken skin.

A slow smirk crossed his lips. Izari sat on the edge of his bed, absently running his fingers over the smooth skin where his wound had been. It should have killed him—or at least crippled him for days. But here he was, healed as if nothing had happened. But something caught his eye, beneath the smooth skin, right where the wound was, a slightly visible dark network of veins. They pulsed sporadically as they started to spread throughout his body, and as he began to hear a slight ringing in his ears, it wasn't painful, just drowsy. He slumped back, unaware of what to do before it dawned on him that he should probably go get that checked. There was only one problem, he didn't have the money. He let out a tired groan as he rolled into a fetal position.

The neon hum of West District bled through the thin, cracked walls of his room. The distant wail of sirens, the occasional whirling of drones and droids, the rhythmic thumping of industrial machinery—it was all part of the city's lullaby. But something felt different tonight.

A sound. A presence.

Instinctively, Izari grabbed the rusted knife hidden beneath his mattress. He stood slowly, his senses on high alert, looking down at the wound, realizing that the weird feeling had gone, but the veins were still there. The air inside his cramped space felt heavier, thick with tension. Then came the knock. Three slow, deliberate taps against his metal door.

He didn't answer immediately. He had learned that hesitation could sometimes be the best weapon.

Then another knock. Harder. Desperate. Then another. The noise of frantic fists slamming against metal echoed down the corridor.

Izari wasn't the only door the man had tried.

Through the thin walls, he could hear muffled curses and the sound of doors locking. Whoever this was, he had already knocked on half the doors in the building, pleading, moving from one to the next in sheer desperation. The ragged, broken voice outside murmured something to itself between knocks, too quiet to make out at first, then clearer.

The last knock landed on Izari's door, heavier than before, followed by a sharp intake of breath, as if the man were bracing for rejection.

Izari pressed his back against the wall, knife ready. "Who is it?"

A voice—gruff, urgent, barely above a whisper. "Please… Help us! I promise, it's not the enforcers."

Not an enforcer didn't mean not a threat. But curiosity got the better of him. He cracked the door open, just enough to see the figure standing outside. A man, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a long, tattered coat that barely concealed a heavily modified pistol holstered at his hip. His face was rough, angular, scarred from a life of violence. Izari had seen him before, in passing, in the alleys and backstreets. But it wasn't the man who made Izari's blood run cold.

It was what he carried.

A girl, unconscious, her body limp in his arms. She couldn't have been older than fifteen. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow. And then there were the wounds—deep lacerations carved into her flesh, raw and jagged like she had been flayed alive. Blood soaked through her tattered clothes, pooling against the man's coat. Her chest barely rose with each breath. "I don't know where else to go. She needs help… Please, I'm begging you…"

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