Kirk couldn't help but notice that his tirade hadn't managed to earn him the privilege of riding shotgun. He slumped moodily in the back seat, arms folded, watching the streets flicker by with a hawk-like gaze. He didn't entirely trust Doser not to just lock the doors and drive them all back to the police station.

He still simmered with anger. For a moment, his imagination had run away with him, letting him think that some people in Hadrian actually wanted to help him. To help everyone. But no. Treysi wasn't part of the mission, so they were ready to dump her.

So far, they seemed to be staying on course.

His first sign of vindication wasn't long in coming. They swung out onto the street leading to the supposedly abandoned flatsite, and Kirk straightened up at the sight of a clump of structures nestled amongst half-finished superstructures and naked girders. They looked decidedly ad-hoc, and dimly lit by anaemic work lighting, but it was a sign of life. Maybe two floors, sprawling out with several repurposed corporate housing modules clamped together to form an odd clump that spilled through the abandoned construction site. It looked like a geometric oil spill.

In the front seat, Doser straightened up with a grunt. "Well, that's something I suppose."

"Abandoned, you said?" Kirk muttered.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Don't get too excited," Nevay said, though her tone betrayed her own interest. "Plenty of squatters in Hadrian."

"Even you don't stack your coincidences that high." He nodded to buildings. "That's where Treysi must've gone. Pull over. We show up in a cop car, whoever's there might put a bullet in us before they let us talk."

"He's right," Doser sighed, guiding the police cruiser to the sidewalk. "I don't wanna get this thing scratched up. I'm gonna be in enough trouble as it is."

Kirk rolled his eyes, still not quite ready to forgive and forget. He whacked the autobelt release bad-temperedly and slid out into the evening air. He took a deep breath and turned his gaze on their destination. Find Treysi; get one step closer to finding out just what in the hell was going on out here.

"Kirk," Nevay said quietly as she closed the car door. "This... this thing with the girl – Treysi..."

"Yeah?"

"Just wanted to say, sorry about earlier."

He looked at her in surprise as they started walking. "You're 'sorry'?"

"Jesus, Kirk, I'm not a fucking machine. Yeah, I'm sorry. Didn't think about what this probably means, you know, for you."

Kirk dug his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunching. "Meaning what?"

"I mean Piper."

He pressed his lips together hard, so hard it actually hurt, and he couldn't look at her. She waited, but he didn't really know what to say in response. Until she said the words he hadn't fully realised it himself, truth be told.

"You wanted to save her from the corps," Nevay continued after a moment, "and she punched you right in the heart for your trouble."

"It wasn't her fault," he protested weakly.

"Kirk, I don't give a fuck who's fault it is. You feel how you feel, don't you?"

"What if I do? That isn't going to change anything."

"Exactly. And that's what this is all about. Treysi's a second swing – round two of Kirk Balfour versus the corporations. That's why you're so hell bent on finding her, right?"

Kirk sighed. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Hey, I'm all for kiss'n'make up," Doser said, ambling along behind them, "but we're not on a fucking crusade right now, Kirk. Just, eyes on the prize, eh? We'll go in, ask around, see if anybody's seen her, and we're not going to pick any fights. You got me?"

"Do I look like want a fight?"

"Yes."

"Oh, shut up."

The trio fell into silence as they approached the cluster of structures. It wasn't anything particularly large or impressive. The upper levels looked like they could be dislodged with a stiff breeze, but there were plenty of people here. On the bottom floor, nestled amongst two naked girders, was a door that looked a lot sturdier than the rest of the place, solid metal and flanked by two bulky guards. He didn't see weapons on one of them, but the other had a home-made sawn-off shotgun resting over one shoulder.

Several haggard looking people lined up on either side, all of them trying to gain entry. Kirk slowed his pace a little, taking the chance to watch exactly what they were about to walk into. The first person in line had a brief conversation with the bulkier of the two guards – a woman easily six and a half-feet tall with a body like a truck. She waved him through.

The next person did not get the same treatment. A brief argument ensued, and then ended when the bouncer grabbed the complainant by the throat and tossed him like a sack of floor. He slammed into the ground several meters away and crawled off moaning into the shadows.

"Fuck me," Nevay murmured. "Okay, let's not mess with the hired help, Kirk?"

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Let's just see what the deal is. They say no, we'll back it up and see if there's another way in," Doser said quietly. "Everybody just keep it cool."

Kirk nodded, joining the line of downtrodden men and women. Cigarette smoke wafted over him from a couple of people up ahead. A few more people were allowed entry; others were turned away. Some violently.

As they got closer, he saw the glint of solid metal around the throat of the hulking female bouncer that disappeared beneath the collar of her jacket. He looked closer at her hand, the one that seemed to be doing most of the heavy lifting.

Metal as well. The colour of iron.

"She's got grafts," he murmured. "Hell of a lot of them by the look of it."

They didn't any more time for examination. The grizzled older man in front of them scurried away under the watchful eye of the other bouncer's shotgun. Kirk stepped forward without really thinking, and found himself face to face with the augmented woman. She stared at him, and he realised her actual eyes had been tattooed to make her pupils seem like the point of a cross-hair.

He swallowed hard.

"Speak or get out of here," she growled thickly. "Private clinic, invite only. No corps."

"Do I look like a spiv to you?" Kirk blurted.

"No, but your friends don't look like they're here for a service." She glanced suspiciously at Nevay and Doser. "Packin' a lot of heat too."

"So are you," Nevay replied, her tone civil as she nodded to the woman's metallic hand.

"Keeps the chaff in line." She turned expectantly at Kirk, holding the metal hand out to him, palm outstretched. "Well?"

He blinked. For a moment he went blank trying to think what she wanted. He saw the fingers of her metal hand begin to curl to a fist. Then a thought occurred to him. He leaned towards her and spoke quietly.

"Every revolution is a freak, a mutant, a monstrosity," Kirk said. A light blinked green on her wrist and she withdrew her arm.

"Okay." The guard still didn't look totally happy about his presence, but she edged to the side just enough to allow him to get past. "You can go in."

"Thanks, thanks." Smiling nervously, he glanced back at his companions and beckoned them forward.

"Hey, no, no, no, no. You two back off," the hulking woman growled, swivelling her half-mechanical mass to block the way. She nodded to Kirk. "I said you can go."

"Me?!" It came out in a startled squawk and Kirk quickly cleared his throat. "I... I mean, why? We all got the message."

"No. You got the message. You got the print. You're the one who's meant to be here. We don't do package deals."

"The what?"

"If you have to ask, maybe you shouldn't be here," she grated, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Besides, I don't like the look of your friends. Don't think they'll be a good fit for our establishment."

For a split second, panic flustered his thoughts, before he realised they didn't have any real choice.

"No, no! Sorry, it's okay. Yeah, just me."

Nevay took a step forward. "Woah, Kirk, what are-,"

"Like she said, I got the print." He turned, quickly mustering up what acting skills he could. "Ease off would you? I don't need a fucking security escort from you two! God, let me do something for myself for once! No need got get jealous cos you're not invited."

Spinning back around and doing his best to ignore his heart smashing off his ribs, Kirk gave the bouncer a nod. "Ready. I want to fight back. I want to win."

She smirked. "Then head on in."

He cast one more warning glance at Nevay and Doser, then squared his shoulders and walked into the clinic.

The smell of metal and antiseptic engulfed him as the heavy door banged shut, enclosing him in a hallway lit by red emergency lights. Another guard waited a few meters down the hall – a lanky man with blotches of dark metal visible beneath his tank top and ragged jeans. He smiled, revealing a set of metal teeth.

"Follow."

The voice sent shivers straight up Kirk's spine – a snake's hiss of a thing – but he fell in line nonetheless, battling down his disgust and fear for another day.

He heard noise as he went deeper. The passage sloped downward, turning at right angles before depositing them on the floor below. Clamouring voices echoed beyond a set of broad double doors, coupled with the rattle of machinery. So many questions bubbled in his mind, but Kirk kept his mouth shut. Apparently he was already supposed to know whatever was going on here.

They reached the door, and his chaperone snapped out an arm with a serpent's quickness, plunging inside Kirk's cut and whipping his pistol from its holster. He barely felt it happen.

"Wha- hey?!" he blurted, staring at the gun in shock.

"No heat in the theatre," the man rasped. "You'll get it back when you leave."

Kirk cleared his throat, eyed the guard uneasily, and then nodded. "Okay."

"Welcome to your new life, kid."

The doors opened.

He instantly smelled scorched flesh and blood that mingled with the chemicals and cologne in the air. Breathing lightly, he stepped through into the cluttered space that was filled with people. The room was long and rectangular, with a low ceiling propped up by industrial girder columns, and crammed with makeshift benches. He recognised a few figures who'd come in just before him, along with dozens of others, lounging on seats and talking animatedly.

On the walls around them, the same words from the advert pulsed in black letters against crimson light panels.

Kirk steeled himself. Remember why you're here.

He started walking through the throng, examining the place carefully, and trying to see if there were any other exits that didn't involve fighting his way out the way he came in. Peering through the clustered pillars, he could what looked like an operating theatre at the far end of the room, sealed from prying eyes by opaque plastic curtains and three bulky guards. A fourth guard, shaven-headed and so pale his skin was almost chalk-white, walked among the closest people in the ragged gathering.

Every now and then he would place a gentle hand on someone's shoulder, whisper something in their ear, and then lead them behind the curtain. Beyond it, he could hear the faint whirring of machines.

He noticed that no-one who went through that curtain came back out.

Then he saw it – a mass of frizzy dark hair, pushing out from behind one of the pillars a few meters ahead. Kirk's heart juddered in his chest as he began to pick his way closer. He circled to the right, twisting his body this way and that through the tangle of ragged, oily men and women who filled the place like cattle.

Eventually he could see her face.

Treysi Cabrera sat there. She wore a short denim jacket over a black tank top, with a short patchwork skirt and tights above a set of heavy-looking work boots. Her arms were folded, her head resting against the pillar as she stared intently at the operating theatre. He had no doubt it was the girl from the Cabrera house – same long slender nose, same full-lipped mouth and slumberous dark eyes.

She looked utterly at ease. No sign of kidnap or torture or anything else. With a twist of his gut, he admitted that Scay had been telling the truth. Treysi was here because she wanted to be.

But why?

Only one way to find out. Kirk took a deep breath and crossed the space between them, lowering himself into the seat beside her with a weary sigh.

If she was surprised by his presence, she didn't show it. Treysi pivoted on her hips to face him, her expression more curious than anything else. For a moment he didn't look at her, closing his eyes and blowing out his cheeks in a long show of exhaustion.

"Long day?" she said after a moment, her thrum of Galacian not quite as pronounced as her parents.

"Is there any other kind around here?" he gave her a bleak smile. "I'm Kirk."

"Hello, Kirk." She shifted her seat slightly to face him. "You local?"

"AllChem. Dockside salvage." He snorted lightly. "Peak living. What about you?"

"Came a little further from the river." Her eyes searched his face for a moment, before she extended a hand. "Treysi."

"Good to meet you," he replied, doing his best to battle down the warring emotions in his chest. Excitement, trepidation, bafflement, smugness. The skin of her left hand was soft, save for the callouses on her fingertips. "What do you play?"

Treysi gave him a mischievous look. "You can tell?"

In response, he tapped his own calloused fingertips against the girder beside him. Tap, tap, tap. "Me too."

"Small world," she laughed, a pleasant sound that had no place in this strange, dark den in Hadrian's depths. "I play guitar. Haven't had much time for it recently though. Life's been a little... different. Lots of bad things happening in Hadrian these days."

"Is that what brought you out here?" he ventured, making a vague gesture to their surroundings.

Treysi smiled, in a twisted parody of the happy picture on her wall. It was a smile of lust; almost sadistic and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"I'm here to join the revolution, Kirk," she told him. "Aren't you?"

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