They didn't go to the clinic right away.
First, Jay cooked.
Not food. Product.
Shade-moss steamed in a jury-rigged distiller, turning the workshop into a wet, bitter lungful of forest. The richer variant simmered in a sealed column wired straight into Jay's wrist ports.
Barry sat on a crate, watching glass tubes sweat green.
"Explain this part again," he said.
Jay didn't look up. "No."
Barry squinted. "Because you don't trust me or because you think I'm stupid?"
"Yes."
He swapped lines. One vial filled with clear, faintly blue fluid.
"This," Jay said, finally, holding it up, "is tower-grade if they weren't cowards. Condensed binder. Filters particulates, soothes scarring. We cut it right, it stretches their shit instead of replacing it."
"For Lissa," Barry said.
"For Lissa," Jay agreed. "And for sale. But mostly Lissa."
The repeater slate on the bench chimed quietly with projected values:
HERBAL LOT SOLD (PARTIAL): +40.0 NCREMAINING STOCK: RESERVED
Barry blinked. "Forty already?"
"Left some with a backroom doc who isn't useless," Jay said. "He thinks it's boutique. Let him. That's almost three days at tower rates, plus what we're about to cheat out of their system with this."
He slotted two vials into a padded case, the rest into a locked drawer.
"Take the box," he told Barry. "We'll do this clean. Official first, then ours."
The MedTower always felt colder.
White light. Smooth floors. NEXUS sigils etched into glass. People hunched in plastic chairs beneath the giant wall of timers.
LISSA RANER — 8 DAYS.
Barry's shoulders loosened a little seeing it.
He and Jay stepped up to the payment console. Jay jacked in, authorized fifteen credits from the new total. Numbers rolled.
APPLY 15.0 NC? — CONFIRMED
Lissa's display flicked:
8 → 9.
Automatic. Indifferent.
Barry still felt it like a breath he'd been holding.
"Now the fun part," Jay muttered. "Doctor theater."
They went back to Ward 17.
Lissa looked smaller every time he saw her. Too pale, eyes too big, dark curls scraped back from the mask. Tubes in her arms. The steady hiss of filtered air.
She saw Barry and tried to sit up. The lines tugged; she stopped.
"You look like shit," she rasped through the mask.
"Heard plants help with that," Barry said, stepping closer. "How's extorting the machines going?"
"Slow." Her eyes crinkled. "You're limping less."
"Occupational hazard," he shrugged.
Jay waited at the door, letting them have space. For all the barking, he knew when to shut up.
Barry sat at her bedside. The plastene chair groaned.
"I heard the nurse," Lissa said. "Said I got 'renewed.' That's you, right?"
"Me and the old man scamming a forest," Barry said.
"Don't… make it sound heroic," she said. "It'll ruin your whole thing."
He huffed. "No risk."
She studied him. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Barry."
He looked away. "Still breathing. Gearing up. Not a smear on a wall. That's a win."
Her gaze flicked down to his upgraded chest plate, the new audio band, the faint bruise shadow on his neck.
"I hate this," she said quietly.
"Clinic décor? Yeah, it's—"
"I hate that you have to keep going out there," Lissa said. "For me."
He swallowed.
"Nobody has to," she went on. "You could… stop. Let it run out. Be less stupid."
"Not a good sales pitch," he said.
"I'm serious," she said. "I don't want you to get dead buying me bad days."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Yeah, well. Too late. Days bought. I'm non-refundable."
"That's not how—"
"Liss," he said, voice sharper than he meant. He took a breath. Softer: "If I sit here and watch that number tick down, knowing I can change it and chose not to? That's worse than any Round I've seen."
She went quiet.
Behind them, Jay cleared his throat, stepped in with the case.
"Good news is," Jay said, setting it on the counter, "we're getting more efficient."
He popped it open, showed her one vial.
"Side hustle," Jay said. "All from Field 5. Plant goop. I've tuned it. They approve."
Lissa's brows knit. "You're not supposed to—"
"You like breathing?" Jay said. "Then you like this."
The ward tech, a tired woman with a NEXUS badge, slid over, scanning the vial. The reader flashed green.
"Off-book adjunct accepted," she recited. "Administered under Tower supervision."
She slotted it into Lissa's line.
Barry watched the drip start. Her breathing eased a fraction, the harsh whistle smoothing out.
"How's it feel?" he asked.
"Like… less knives," she said after a few seconds, surprised.
Jay's expression barely changed. His eyes went brighter anyway.
"That's ours," he said. "Not theirs."
Lissa understood the weight in that.
"You're both going to get in trouble," she muttered.
"Probably," Jay said. "We'll schedule it between Rounds."
She shot Barry a look. "He's making you crazier."
"He started it," Barry said.
She stared at him a long moment.
"Promise me you won't go in every time just because you can," she said. "Pick your Rounds. You come back looking a little more… different."
He frowned. "Different how?"
"Less surprised," she said. "I liked you better jumpy."
He didn't have an answer for that.
"I'll pick," he said finally. "No hero runs. No livestreaming my death. Goblin rules."
"Good," she said. "'Cause if you die, I'm not forgiving you."
"That's manipulative," he said.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Runs in the family."
A small cough rattled her; then she settled again, the new binder doing its work.
Jay clapped Barry's shoulder once. "Let her rest. We've got moss to stretch."
Back at the workshop, they upgraded.
Not in some dramatic "golden glow" way. In the petty, necessary increments that kept people alive.
Jay laid out what was left:
Remaining moss stock.
25 credits buffer after payments and sales.
Metal scraps from past bots.
Barry's old vest, new plate, busted straps.
"Alright," Jay said. "Welcome to Budget Armory."
He bolted Barry's better plate into a firmer carrier, adding a scavenged kevweave layer over his left lung.
"Why left?" Barry asked.
"You shoot right-handed. You lean that way," Jay said. "People hit what they see."
He reinforced the rig stitching, added proper mag pouches, a hidden slip-pocket for a medband.
"Holster's trash," Jay said. "We'll fix that next payout."
He gestured at the audio band. "How's it?"
"Too good," Barry admitted. "Heard a Blue-Eye scanning me."
"Good," Jay said. "You hear it argue about shooting you?"
"…Sort of," Barry said.
Jay's mouth went thin. "We log that later."
He dug into another crate, came up with a flat metal disc and a small toggle.
"What's that?" Barry asked.
"Noise pebble," Jay said. "Toss it, it gives you three seconds of fake footsteps and one gun click thirty degrees off. Enough to make a nervous idiot look the wrong way."
"For Riggs," Barry said.
"For anyone," Jay said. "Two credits. You're buying it."
Barry sighed. "Fine."
Ledger updated.
"Armor, ears, distraction, meds," Jay summed up. "You're now officially slightly less edible."
"Progress," Barry said.
Jay's gaze sharpened.
"Next," he said, "we look ahead."
He tapped the schedule.
"NEXUS is lining up a med trial in Field 3," Jay said. "Big crate run. Everyone and their dead cousin's going to dogpile it."
Barry thought of Lissa's easier breathing. The counter at 9.
"How big?" he asked.
"Big enough to get you killed twice," Jay said. "Also big enough to buy her a month if you don't."
Barry closed his eyes for a beat.
Lissa's voice: Don't go in every time just because you can.
Jay's: Pick your Rounds.
His own: If I don't, who does?
He opened them. "When's the trial?"
"Three days," Jay said. "We prep. You don't touch another Field till then. You heal. We map routes. You talk to Lena, maybe that quiet rifle idiot if you see him. You don't solo a crate run."
"Not a squad," Barry said automatically.
"A practical arrangement of overlapping selfish interests," Jay said. "Call it whatever helps you sleep."
Barry huffed.
Three days. Then a run that wasn't just about one more can, but a real shove against the timer.
"I'll talk to her tomorrow," he said.
"Lissa?" Jay asked.
"Yeah," Barry said. "And Lena."
Jay nodded once. "Good. Try not to pick anyone dumber than you."
Barry picked up his upgraded rig. It felt heavier. It felt right.
After they lost, love was stupid and practical at the same time: talk to your dying sister, shave percentages off her pain, tighten your straps, and plan the next crime against the machine that owned your sky.
He could live with that.
For now.