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Day breaks, and the Volatiles—those skinless nightmares of the night—retreat to their dark nests.
Aiden and Hakon stumbled back into the safe house, gasping for air, their lungs burning from the dash across the hospital district. They had the medicine, but they were barely holding onto their humanity.
"Here. Everything you wanted," Aiden rasped, tossing the heavy backpack toward Kael.
As Kael reached for the bag, his movement didn't stop. With the fluidity of a Calculating Survivor, he stepped inside Aiden's guard, grabbed his wrist, and slammed him into the floor with a bone-jarring takedown.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Hakon shouted, reaching for his weapon.
The cold muzzle of Kael's pistol met Hakon's forehead before he could draw. "Hands behind your head. Down on your knees. Now."
Hakon looked into Kael's eyes—eyes that showed zero hesitation—and dropped. "Look, choom, we had a deal. We haven't caused any trouble..."
Kael ignored him. He pinned the struggling Aiden with one knee, his weight precisely calculated to suppress without crushing. He reached into Aiden's pocket and pulled out the GRE Access Key. It was a small piece of hardware, but in this city, it was the master key to every locked secret of the old world.
"Give... it... back..." Aiden wheezed, his face pressed against the concrete.
"You're here looking for Mia, right?" Kael asked, tucking the key into his coat. "I've seen the GRE records, Aiden. Your constitution is... unique. But your memory? That's just a side effect of the cocktail they pumped into you."
"You... you know?"
"I used to work for the labs. You and Mia weren't siblings, Aiden. You were just two lab rats in the same cage. You volunteered for the high-dosage trials to save her, and it turned your brain into a scrambled hard drive."
Hakon's face went pale. He'd been shifting his weight, looking for an opening, but Kael's peripheral vision caught the movement. The gun barrel twitched back to Hakon's eye.
"And you, Hakon. You've got a lot of nerve working for Waltz while pretending to be a savior. You killed Lucas, locked down the city center, and now you're playing house with a Pilgrim? If the Peacekeepers at the Bazaar find out, they'll hang you from the nearest windmill."
Hakon's silence was a confession. Aiden stared at him, eyes wide with betrayal. Hakon was a pawn for Waltz—the man who had conducted the experiments?
WHIZ—THWACK.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the wall inches from Hakon's head. Kael reacted instantly, kicking Hakon toward the inner room just as a second bolt whistled through the air.
"Your past flings have caught up with you, Hakon," Kael noted, looking toward a residential building a hundred meters away. A masked figure was perched on the roof, reloading.
It was Lawan. Even with the mask, Kael knew that silhouette anywhere. In his eyes, Lawan was more terrifying than a Volatile—mostly because her presence usually meant a drama-filled headache. Years ago, when Hakon first introduced them, Kael had reflexively pulled a UV light on her, thinking she was a mutant. They hadn't spoken since.
"Aiden, go deal with her," Kael commanded, nudging the young man with his boot.
"Me? You just pinned me and stole my key!"
"Because I have the truth about Mia. Now get moving. You're a parkour genius; go earn your keep."
Kael watched Aiden vault out the window. Aiden was the ultimate tool—the Peacekeepers used him, the Nightrunners used him, even the Renegades wanted a piece. Why shouldn't Kael use him too?
By afternoon, Hakon returned with a message. Waltz had agreed to a parley at the Quarry.
"He's in a hurry," Kael mused, checking the magazine of his pistol. "Planning to silence me, no doubt."
"I'm just the messenger, Boss," Hakon pleaded. He looked like a man who had realized too late that playing both sides only gets you shot from the middle.
They arrived at the Quarry to find a wall of Renegades. These weren't just thugs; they were Waltz's "enhanced" soldiers—men whose bodies had been pushed past human limits at the cost of their sanity. Waltz stood among them, his presence heavy and imposing.
"My key," Waltz demanded.
"Right here," Kael said, flashing the GRE hardware.
"What is your price?"
"WALTZ!!"
Aiden didn't wait for the negotiation. Fueled by years of suppressed trauma and the "mushroom-inhibitor" Kael had injected him with earlier, he lunged toward Waltz with a beastial roar.
Kael raised a hand to his face, sighing. The 'Calculated Survivor' logic dictates we talk first, Aiden. But I suppose we're doing this the hard way.
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