As the sun filters in amongst the piercing, electric city lights, so do more pedestrians begin to clog the streets. I arrive at the street corner where Talc and I met last time. A subway car rumbles overhead, sending vibrations under my feet as it zooms through the tunnel high above.

Down the street, Talc approaches in the same black hoodie as before. His dark brown eyes raise from the cement and lock with mine. I look to the side, then flick my head to the left before walking in that direction. I don't look back to see if Talc is following me. If he were smart, he would.

Several blocks down, I duck into a comic stand and lift a magazine from the shelf. The girl behind the counter barely notices me, flipping through a brightly-colored comic. Her page turns are punctuated by the snap of bubblegum.

I glance outside the window. Talc is hurrying down the street, just about to come to the shop. I place the comic back on the stand, then leave, headed for a staircase winding upward from the shop. Talc and I reach it at the same time.

"What's... up..." he pants.

"It's best not to meet in the same place," I say. "We don't want there to be a pattern of being seen together. Makes it harder if anyone stumbles onto what we're doing." I step up the stairs. Behind me, Talc's shoes clang on the metal.

"How would that even be possible?"

"Best to take precautions before the measures are necessary."

We stop on a slim, balcony ledge on the side of the glass high-rise. I glance around but spot no one passing through this way. The lights inside the high-rise are dim, so more than likely, the businesses inside won't open until later in the morning.

"I found some very important pieces of information. Well, one is information. The other is a map." He removes a pod from his pocket, powering the large screen on. His fingers grip the sides of the large screen, and the Gang One logo appears.

"Standard issue?" I ask.

Talc nods. "We have to trade them in every year. We're only allowed to work with the latest model. Even if it sucks." Several more seconds pass. "Seriously, this dumb thing is slower than my Grandma."

Another several seconds tick past. Finally, the lock screen appears. Talc unlocks his device, then navigates to a screenshot of the map he found. "It's a detailed blueprint of the CryoFuture's entire building."

Talc is right. The document he uncovered is a treasure-trove, depicting every detail of the building, from the voltage levels in each room and door to security camera locations to window positions.

"I can work with this," I murmur. "Send it over and give me twelve hours to come up with a plan. When's the best time to break in?"

"Funny you should ask. I also found the security guard postings. It appears that there is more surveillance at night than during the day. I noticed a few gaps in the guard changes around noon, during the lunch hour. That's when most people leave the building, too."

"Noted. Anything else?"

"Actually, yes. The computer I hacked into was actually the personal device of Emery Stands. It was actually sent to our group to be wiped and rebooted for future usage. And it was the most recent model, too early to trade in for a new one. You know what that means."

Either it wasn't working properly, or the organization had another reason for wanting to get rid of the device.

"I looked through the names of the people who signed up for The CryoFuture." A spreadsheet fills the screen. Talc through the names and pictures. The smiling faces blur together. Somehow, there's something sinister in the way everyone grins at the camera, like innocent lambs about to be butchered.

"Wait," I say. Talc jumps, and his fingers loosen around the pod's sides. They clasp tight again just before it slips to the metal stairs. "There weren't any pictures on the previous spreadsheet."

"I found a more advanced version," Talc replies. "And try not to scare me again like that."

He'd better mentally prepare himself if he's jolted by a single, calmly-spoken word. Breaking into the CryoFuture is no easy feat.

"There," he says. He stops on the picture of a woman with maroon-dyed dreadlocks framing her face. "She signed up for the CryoFuture project, too."

"Either that or she was forced to join."

Talc shrugs. "Perhaps."

A face catches my eye. "Scroll down further." He goes down a few rows, stopping on another picture.

It's the woman from the bank smiling back at me, her hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"Jem Conl." I look up. "Did she ever work for the CryoFuture or Gang One?"

Talc's brows knit together. "I'm not sure. I could try to find out. Why?"

"Because the last time I ran into her, she was a weapon-wielding cyborg."

"And she signed up for the CryoFuture." Talc and I stare at one another. Surely both of our thoughts are headed in the same direction.

"Can you find any records on her as a civilian?" I ask. "Anything indicating that she had a cybernetic surgery?"

"I'll work on it."

"Good. I'll contact you around five tonight. You're off work?"

"Yeah." He glances around. "Where do we meet?"

I think for a moment. "Let's meet in the Underground district. Northside. There's a newsport by the restaurant 'Streetside.'"

***

My hands buried in my cloak pockets, I trudge through the dingy streets, passing beneath the subway tunnel that runs over top of my flat. A few pebbles rain from the sky as it whooshes overhead. My pace hurries to a slight jog. I approach my door, fingers on autopilot as I enter in the passcode to unlock it.

Thoughts swirl inside my head. It can't be a coincidence that the person who attacked me happens to also be part of the CryoFuture. Could that be the hidden aim of the project? To create cyborgs out of all who sign up for it? But what purpose does that serve?

I enter the last digit, and my door slides open. I close it behind me, then start through the kitchen, toward the couch in the living room.

The floor rustles. I freeze in place. Squinting, I rise on my tiptoes, noting the shadows around the room.

A beat passes. Two. Three. Four.

Electric blue pellets shoot at me from behind the couch. I dive under the table, readying my dagger in one hand, my gun in the other. A figure leaps over the couch, and I fire at the gun in her hand. The large metal gun flies from her hand, skidding across the floor.

I fire a series of shots at her. Some land in her chest, riddling her black, leather jumpsuit with holes, while others catch her hands and legs. She scrambles to her feet and goes after her gun.

Bulletproof vest. Figures.

Darting from under the table, I reach for the weapon. But my assailant jumps on top of me, hands grappling for my neck. I flip her over, crashing her back onto the floor. My arm twists in the process, and my grip releases from around my own gun. It thuds to the ground. I dive toward it, but my assailant kicks it.

The gun hits the other one, and both skitter away into a dark corner.

Dardroids.

I reach for my knife, but my arm is wrenched behind me. The woman shoves me forward, and I kick my foot backward. We both tumble to the ground. An ache richoches through my limbs, and a blow sends an explosion of pain in my jaw. I blink in time to see another fist headed for my face. My arm connects with hers, blocking the blow, then I hit her stomach twice.

The woman grasps for my hair, but the short strands slip through her fingers. I roll over, then send a flurry of blows to her face. Her arms writhe, reaching for her sides. I glimpse a small object, knife-shaped, beneath her clothes. My hand flies out to stop her.

Smack! Her knee flies out, knocking my back. I sway to the side, stunned enough for her to throw me off her. She reaches for her pocket, but I dive for her stomach. We fly forward, crashing into my kitchen table. She lands amongst the wooden boards. Splinters dig into the flesh on my arms. I block a punch, then pummel her with three of my own. Blood stains my knuckles, either from cuts or from the sticky red dripping from her nose.

My hand dips into my pocket. Gold flashes through the air. The woman's eyes widen, and she raises a hand to strike the object from my hand.

But this time, I'm quicker. I plunge the dagger into her abdomen. She collapses, hand falling away from her side pocket. I grab hold of the woman's neck, and with one swift blow, slice.

She falls limp. Feeling for her wrist, I know for certain her heart beats no more.

I inhale a few deep breaths, steadying my panting lungs. Once my breathing settles, I reach inside her pockets.

A knife. Extra bullets. A pod.

My eyebrows twitch. I turn the small, rectangular device over.

That logo seems to be everywhere these days. Yet another person affiliated with Gang One. My eyes drift back to the woman, her eyes staring blankly into my dark flat.

A person from Gang One was sent to kill me.