The engine of my bike purred like a predator beneath me, the matte-black body slicing through the smog-laced air as I wove through Onyx City's streets. The glow of neon signs blurred past, advertising everything from body mods to weapon paraphernalia. My helmet's HUD tracked the route ahead, guiding me toward Adrianna's penthouse in the sparkling core of the city.

Onyx City FM blared through my helmet's speakers, the bass-heavy rap track vibrating through my bones. The lyrics painted a picture of the streets—fast cash, high-tech heists, the constant grind of survival. It was a love letter to the city's chaos, perfectly capturing the rhythm of my world. The beat was catchy, but it also carried an edge of menace.

I sped through Haelstorm territory in my haste to get out of there, the district living up to its reputation. Trash piled in alleyways, the air thick with the scent of burnt rubber and engine grease. Gangers leaned against rusted-out vehicles, eyes tracking me as I passed. Augmented pit fighters sparred outside makeshift arenas, their cybernetic limbs whirring as they clashed in brutal, unsanctioned fights. 

I merged onto the high-speed expressway that led to the city's corporate heart. The transition was jarring—grime and rust gave way to mirrored skyscrapers and automated transport pods gliding overhead. The air began to smell fresher, crisp and artificial, scrubbed clean by the filtration towers that lined the district borders.

Nyx Robotics headquarters loomed over the streets, its mirrored surface reflecting the city's neon glow in distorted, shifting patterns. Unlike the other corporations, Nyx wasn't about brute force—it was about omnipresence. Their holographic billboards showcased their latest AI-driven security drones, sleek and menacing, patrolling city blocks with unerring precision. Their motto—'Tomorrow's Protection, Today'—wasn't a reassurance. It was a warning. Everyone knew that once Nyx's machines took over a district, it meant total surveillance, total control. If you found yourself flagged as a 'threat,' you were already as good as dead. They didn't need assassins or bounty hunters. Their predictive algorithms ensured they eliminated problems before they ever became one.

A few blocks down, Zenith Industries stood in stark contrast. Their tower was a fortress, a slab of reinforced steel and unmarked surveillance arrays. Unlike Nyx Robotics services to control crime under a watchful eye, Zenith Industries made their credits through brute force. Their mercenaries weren't faceless machines; they were veterans, ex-military, trained killers who specialised in war zones both in and outside the city. Their contracts didn't rely on predictive models; they relied on bullets, bodies, and bloodshed. If Nyx was the eye always watching, Zenith was the hammer that came down when watching wasn't enough.

The music in my helmet shifted, the beat growing more aggressive as I entered Red Knives territory. I slowed, my hair prickling at the back of my neck. The Red Knives were a gang of speed freaks and high-stakes saboteurs, always chasing the next thrill. Their signature crimson motorcycles lined the streets, engines idling, waiting. A few of them were gathered near an abandoned storefront, where a young corpo exec was on his knees, hands bound behind his back. I kept my head down, but my helmet picked up snippets of conversation. They were shaking him down for access codes—probably a way into some high-end corporate vault. The guy was stammering, pleading. I already knew how this was going to end. One of the gang members, a woman with a stainless-steel cybernetic jaw, unsheathed a monoblade from her forearm. She didn't hesitate. One clean slice, and the exec slumped forward, blood pooling at their feet. I didn't slow down. This wasn't my business. Not tonight.

By the time I reached the pristine centre of OC, the crime and grime of the lower districts felt like another world. The transition from chaos to control was seamless, with polished concrete sidewalks, air drones humming overhead, corporate enforcers stationed at every corner. The city's elite lived here, high above the streets, insulated from the rot beneath them. 

The elevator ride to the top floor was smooth, soundless, save for the old world jazz that flowed from the inbuilt speaker. Adrianna's place was high above the filth of the streets, removed from the noise and violence she profited from. That was her way. Keep the blood at a distance, and let others do the dirty work while she played queen of the underworld.

The doors slid open, revealing a space drenched in dim golden light. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the sprawl of the city below, stretching to the horizon in endless, flickering lights. Plush leather furniture, sleek surfaces, a bar stocked with liquor worth more than most people made in a year. And Adrianna. 

She was draped in a crimson dress that clung to her like liquid silk, high-slit and sleeveless, designed to highlight every calculated movement. Her blond hair was pulled into a sleek, razor-sharp bun, not a strand out of place. Lips painted the same deep red as her dress, she looked every bit the predator she was. The kind of woman who could command a room with a glance, who turned danger into elegance and made it look effortless.

Leaning against the marble counter, a glass of deep amber whiskey in her hand, Adrianna smirked like she owned me. "B," she purred, swirling the liquor in her glass. "You always did know how to make an entrance."

I stepped inside, letting the doors seal shut behind me. "You could've just stayed on comms."

"I wanted to see you."

"Bullshit."

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. "Maybe. Maybe not."

I ignored the way my pulse kicked up, the way her voice curled around my spine like a promise. This was a game we'd played before. A game I wasn't in the mood for.

"You didn't bring me here to flirt," I said, cutting to the point. "What's the real reason?"

Adrianna sighed, setting her drink down with a soft clink. "There's no getting anything past you. Fine, I need you to pinch something for me."

I stiffened. "That wasn't part of the contract."

"It is now."

I folded my arms. "Then it's gonna cost extra."

Adrianna tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "Oh, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

She gestured toward the sleek holo-display embedded in the coffee table. I followed her to the living room, sitting on the leather couch at her insistence. The screen flickered to life, displaying a 3D render of an implant—sleek, metallic, laced with glowing blue circuitry. It pulsed like it was alive.

"This," Adrianna said, "is the Genesis Implant."

I frowned. "Never heard of it."

"No one has. It's bleeding-edge biotech, still in development. NovaCorp has been keeping it under wraps, but I got a leak from one of my contacts."

I glanced at the rotating render. "What's it do?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

I shook my head. "No way. You hired me for a hit, not to klep some experimental tech."

She stepped closer, the scent of expensive perfume curling around me. "Come on, B. You're already going in. What's one extra detour?"

"One extra detour," I echoed, voice dry. "That's how you're selling this?"

Adrianna reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. Her touch was light, barely there, but it sent a sharp jolt through me anyway. She was always like this—too close, too dangerous, too damn good at getting what she wanted.

"This isn't just about money," she murmured. "This is about power. Information. Leverage."

Before I could pull back, Adrianna closed the distance and kissed me. It wasn't soft or gentle, but her lips caressed mine in carefully measured control, bending me to her will, knowing that I would. My fists clenched at my sides, torn between the instinct to push her away and the desire to lean in. When she finally pulled back, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Do you kiss all your mercs, or am I just special?"

Her smirk deepened. "You've always been special, B."

She went to stand, but I grabbed her wrist, my grip tight. "I don't work blind, Adrianna."

"No, you don't. But I also know you can't resist a challenge."

I let go, grinding my teeth in annoyance. "You always love pushing your luck."

She laughed. "It's part of my charm."

I knew I shouldn't have even considered it. Too many jobs had gone to flux when a secondary objective was involved. It divided focus, and more often than not, the sorry bastard trying to pull the job off got sent home in a shoe box. What was left of them, anyway. But even so, Adrianna was right. I couldn't resist one last challenge. I sighed, running a hand through my dark hair. "Who's my support?"

Adrianna's expression shifted, the teasing gone. "Echo."

"Thought he was retired."

"He was. But for this job? He's willing to come back."

I didn't like it. Echo was good—damn good—but something about this still felt off. Adrianna must've seen the doubt in my eyes because she leaned in again, her fingers trailing down my arm.

"Trust me, B. This is worth it. I'll even triple your cut."

I didn't trust her. But I needed this payout. Needed to disappear. Needed to be free of her. One last job. One last challenge.

I sighed. "Fine. I'm in."

Adrianna's smirk returned, triumphant. "Good girl."

I clenched my fists, shoving down the heat that flared in my gut. "Don't push it, A."

She laughed, standing back up, lifting her glass in a silent toast. "Too late."

As I turned to leave, Adrianna's voice followed me, smooth and laced with amusement. "When this is over, I might finally fuck you."

Without missing a beat, I threw a glance over my shoulder. "You already have."

******

I took the long way back to my apartment, weaving through the backstreets, the neon-drenched skyline blurring as I rode. The northern districts weren't as pristine as the corporate core, but they weren't slums, either. They were the in-between, where those just trying to survive carved out an existence. The mega-towers loomed in the distance, their lights burning through the smog.

The base of my building was a market square by day, a black-market hub by night. Food vendors sold steaming noodles, skewers of synthetic meat, and protein-packed dumplings to the kind of people who had credits to burn but no time for a proper meal. Gun stalls displayed everything from low-calibre pistols to military-grade firearms, sellers touting silencers, smart bullets, and off-grid mods like they were selling candy. Black-market tech dealers set up tables cluttered with neural implants, stolen ID chips, and coded bypass keys.

I parked my bike in the underground garage, flitting past the usual loitering dealers and junkies, and took the stairs up to my place. The elevator had been broken for weeks, but I preferred the stairs. Kept me sharp. Kept me moving.

My apartment was a studio on the twelfth floor. One main room, a small bathroom, a reinforced steel door that had saved my ass more times than I cared to count. The window stretched nearly floor-to-ceiling, offering a view back toward the corporate centre of Onyx City, its skyline a jagged silhouette of gleaming towers, their glass surfaces reflecting the glow of the streets below. Even from here, I could see the towering headquarters of Hyperion Data Industries and NovaCorp, their logos shining like artificial stars against the night sky.

Inside, the space reflected everything I'd been, everything I'd become. The walls were lined with remnants of past lives. A faded photograph of my mother, half-creased from being tucked into too many pockets. A military-issued combat knife, its handle worn but blade still sharp. My set of old dog tags I never wore anymore. There were medals, certificates, things that once meant something.

Now, my world was in the converted walk-in closet, transformed into a personal armoury. The reinforced walls were lined with weapon racks, a biometric lock securing the entrance. Inside, an arsenal of meticulously organised firearms of every calibre, combat knives balanced for precision, a stash of mod chips, ammunition, and prototype gear collected from past jobs. A workbench sat in the corner, cluttered with half-assembled weapons, a flickering data pad cycling through security protocols to ensure I couldn't be hacked or traced. I lived light, but I lived armed.

I tossed my jacket onto the chair, peeled off my gloves, and leaned against the window, staring at the sprawl below. The market was still alive, the city humming with its own heartbeat. Another night in Onyx City. Another step closer to getting out—if I survived long enough.

I sighed, rubbing the tension from my temples.

One last job, I reminded myself. One last job, and I was done.

I just had to make it through.