The notes of the violin keened through the hallways. The metal walls created an almost ethereal echo to the melody that Kirk couldn't decide if he liked or not. He moved his arm gently, fingertips walking across the neck of the instrument as he played. The tune was an old Pictish anthem – he didn't even remember the name. Just one of many antique little slivers of knowledge that went a long with all the rest.

Admittedly, this was a lot more pleasant than knowing about ancient kill bots and hideous human machine hybrids. As he played, he peered at Treysi out of the corner of her eye. So far she'd accepted the lie, and hadn't made any more escape attempts. The coils of thick cabling lay in the corner of the room, just in case that changed any time soon.

She looked mostly peaceful right now, save for the occasional involuntary twitch that told you all was not well beneath the skin. His fingers almost slipped when she gave a particularly violent jerk, her metal arm coming within a couple of centimetres of him before it clunked back down onto table. Readouts splurged across the screens Beela had hooked up. He didn't need to be a doctor to know they weren't saying anything good.

From what they could understand, they'd pulled Treysi out of that place before the butcher-surgeons had completed the finishing touches. Her biological components weren't accepting their new mechanical counterparts properly – angry lines of red burned across the skin of the joins. Her heart was unsteady, misfiring like a bad engine.

He finished his tune with the bleak thought that, by taking her from that place, he might have killed her.

Kirk swallowed that bitter taste down and stood up as quietly as he could. Treysi didn't stir beyond a faint moan, sedatives keeping her from experiencing the worst of the pain being generated inside her body right now. He clipped his violin back into its case and slipped out of the room, into the hall where Nevay was waiting.

"How's she doing?" she asked once the door had closed behind him.

"She's calm enough for now," Kirk said, slinging the violin case over his shoulder by its strap, "but it's not going to last. She needs help."

"Well, I'd love to figure that out, but AmpCore aren't exactly our best friends," Nevay replied peevishly, "unless you forgot what happened last time we danced with those freaks."

"I remember."
"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, then how the fuck do you expect us to be able to drag one of those wand-swinging cyborgs out here to fix your friends?"

"I don't know yet." Kirk sighed drumming his fingers on his thigh. "I... Piper, she's still there. She might help us."

"Piper Russell?" Nevay exploded, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "My hearing must be worse than I thought."

"Nev-,"

"Don't even..." She bared her teeth. "Your pycho ex murdered my uncle, in case you forgot."

"I didn't forget," he growled, shoving her hand away and squaring up to her, "but if you've got a better idea, I am all ears."

"I am not crawling on my hands and needs to Piper fucking Russell to beg for help. Besides, she's probably shut up in an AmpCore vault by now. Haven't seen sight or sound of her since she picked the corps over you."

Kirk stiffened. "I know what she did."

"Do you? Cos you're not acting like it."

"So you're going to condemn that girl in there to death because you can't put your bloody grudge aside for just a little while?"

"How would you even contact her?!" she exclaimed. "We don't have a direct god-damn line, do we?"

"We contact one corp to pass the message it'll get to her eventually," he answered. "And when she knows it's me, she'll come looking."

"Why? Why would she do that?"

"Because she knows I wouldn't ask for her help if I didn't have to." Kirk's tone hardened, those gut-wrenching memories creeping back to the forefront of his mind again. "You think I've still got some sparks for her? After everything?"

"I dunno, Kirk. Men are fucking idiots."

"She had a choice between me and the corps, and she chose them. I'm not dragging a fucking broken heart around with me, Nevay. We've got bigger things to worry about than my love life, don't you think?"

They stood there, glowering at each other for several seconds. Then an uncomfortable cough shattered the silence and they both whipped around to look. Beela stood awkwardly, an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ear and a much-modified data slate cradled in her arms.

"What?" Nevay hissed.

"I... err, sorry, boss. I just needed to check the rigs in there. But, also, you – your pal, Doser? The cop?"

"What about him?"

"He's here." She pointed with a thumb over her shoulder. "Settled in the kitchen. Said he had some info for you."

Nevay nodded, and paused long enough to shoot Kirk an acid glance. "We are not done." Then she was off, stomping down the passage. Rolling his eyes, he followed, sparing Beela a small nod thanks as he went.

They emerged into the living area, and found Doser already making himself comfortable, lounging in a chair at the table in the hideout's makeshift kitchen, with Targe sitting to his left. Both of them had a beer from the cooler stashed between the hotpoint and a supply cupboard.

"Hey, hey," Doser chuckled as he saw them, a smirk painted on his face. "So, dare I ask how you two've been getting on without me?"

"We haven't figured out how to get to AmpCore, if that's what you're asking," Kirk replied, casting a sour look at Nevay.

Doser raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Uh-huh?"

"Stupid bastard thinks we can call up his ex-girlfriend and she'll come running," Nevay snapped.

"I'm still waiting on your plan," Kirk sneered back.

"I bet we could find plenty of dockside sawbones who could take a swing at this. Shit, for the right money I bet Scay'd take a look."

"The Saw? You think that's a better option?"

"Keeps us clear of the spivs, wouldn't it?"

"Fuck me," Doser laughed, punctuating the statement with a hiss has he cracked open the beer. "Quiet in the nursery, eh? If y'can both take a breath long enough to listen, I might have the answer to this little... problem."

Nevay blinked. "You do?"

The detective gave them an impish grin. "Maybe. It might just be your lucky day. Our lucky day, I suppose."

Kirk dragged a chair into place and sat down opposite Doser, spreading his hands apart on the table. "Then just tell us, already!"

"Like I told you, I was just checking in back at the station – a bit of due diligence on the cases I'm actually supposed to be working," he explained, lounging back gratefully down into a chair with the beer clamped in one big hand. "Not much to it at first, but I took a trawl of the tip line just to see if there was anything on those chop-shop surgeons. Turns out, I had a burst through from one of my skimmers."

"What, like informants?"

"Somethin' like that. Just some folk who're happy to keep an ear open if they can count on a few crypts for their trouble."

Kirk's eyes lit up. "And they know something about those people?"

"Better, if the rumour mill's holdin' up."

Nevay took a seat, catching Targe's eye sceptically. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, so long as my guy's not been at the heavy pharm, apparently one of those AmpCore spooks has set up shop a stone's throw from where you're sitting."

Kirk's eyes widened and he recoiled a little. He waited, but apparently Doser was serious.

"Just one of them?" he asked. "Out in AllChem, all alone?"

"That's what I got told."

"Why?"

His smirk broadened and he raised the beer to them in a mock toast. "I reckon we'd best go out there and find out, don't you?"

*

"What the hell's a random AmpCore agent doing slumming out here, alone?" Kirk asked, unease coiling through him with every step they took towards the dockside motel.

"How should I know?" Doser muttered as he clumped along ahead of them. "I'm just following the bloody evidence." He'd donned his full police gear to give as much authority as he could – a flak vest bulking out his already considerable frame, and his detective's badge fixed to the outside of his heavy dark coat. The coat hung open, leaving his gun clear to see.

The motel itself was a long, heavy-set rectangle of galvanised steel quite literally bolted to the river bank, protected by sloped flood breaks and anti-corrosion misters that puffed at regular intervals. People trudged in and out, and a thump of gentle electronics mixed with some kind of synthetic bastardisation of bagpipes burbled from the windows.

He could see the lights of the built in bar that filled the entire right half of the lower flower, anaemically lit with blue-green lights along the front, advertising a host of supposedly home-brewed spirits.

Kirk suspected anything home-brewed here would probably cause internal bleeding.

And this dump was supposedly hosting an AmpCore agent. Why in the hell someone with the resources of Hadrian's overlords would drop anchor somewhere like this was beyond him, but the corps did a lot of strange things to keep their grip on the city.

He let Doser lead the way, the detective easing the door open and sidling through, his free hand never straying far from his holster. The bar's patrons spared them wary glances, brows furrowing at the sight of Doser's badge, but no-one moved to challenge him. Kirk followed him through, feeling the bulk of his own gun holstered beneath this hoodie. Behind him, Nevay's big knife was all she needed in these close quarters.

The music blended with the rumble of conversation as they made their way through the bar. Doser caught the eye of the brawny young woman behind the counter; she gave a tiny dip of her head towards the far end of the room, around the corner where the lights struggled to fully penetrate.

When they rounded the corner, they found a dim section of sparsely populated seating. Cigarette smoke swirled from ashtrays, the bar's filters rattling gamely to try and clear some of it away. He saw a handful of men and women, one of whom was actually slumped forward asleep, a half-empty beer clutched in a grimy hand.

Past them, though, to the darkest back corner where a small table was nestled behind a supporting pillar, was their quarry. Doser spared them a small glance back over his shoulder.

"Easy, now," he said quietly, his gaze shifting pointedly to Nevay. "We ain't here to pick a fight."

"Just go," Nevay hissed under her breath.

Kirk nodded, giving Doser a gently thump on the shoulder as the man turned back around. They trudged through the detritus of empty food wrappers and half-cleared tables until they rounded the pillar and got a good look at its occupant.

He was surprised to find a young woman sitting there.

He was even more surprised to realise that he recognised her. Kirk's mind flashed back to the fabrication yard – that huge metal space that in the end was the final resting place of the dockside ganglord Cutter Jennings. In the end, gangs and corps and codewraiths had collided in a glorious bloodbath, with him trapped in the middle of it. That was when he got his first look at just what Piper was capable of once the corps had finished turning her into a weapon. It was not a happy memory.

Holly. That was what the others had called her. Her hair was longer now, and she looked considerably more haggard that he remembered, but it was definitely the same person. She sagged in the chair like a sack of rivets, ankles crossed, her head resting against the wall, a half-empty bottle of savage-looking local whisky sitting on the table in front of her. Her long, scuffed coat hung open, and he could see the glint of one of the AmpCore wands in a sheathe there.

Her bloodshot eyes drifted upward as she belatedly noticed their presence. She squinted for a moment, looking from Nevay, to Doser, and then to Kirk. Her gaze fixed on him for a moment. One eyebrow climbed, almost in slow motion.

Then her face split into a grin and she started laughing. The sound made him wince – a hysterical, half-hoarse cackle that cut through the din of the bar with ease. She luched forward on the chair, still laughing as she dug the fingers of both hands into hair and leaned her forehead on the grimy tabletop.

"Of course," she spluttered between giggles, "it would be you wouldn't it?" Heaving in a huge breath, she rocked back again, almost falling off the chair as she slammed back into it. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just cursed." Wiping her eyes, she refocused on Kirk with some effort. "So what did I do to earn a visit from Kirk fucking Balfour?"

"So... you guys have met?" Doser gave him an expectant look.

"Kind of a long story."

"I recognise her," Nevay hissed, fingers dancing murderously over the pommel of her knife. "She was there."
He nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

"She was where? What the bloody hell are you two talking about?"

"Cutter Jennings," Kirk elaborated. "She was part of the AmpCore team. She was there when..."

"When little Piper killed my uncle."

Holly let out a snort of derision. "Yeah, she's a real pain in the ass, isn't she? Crazy bitch wouldn't even fucking talk to me."

"You've seen her?" Carefully, Kirk lowered himself into the seat opposite her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh, yeah. Her, and a lot more besides."

"When?" he asked instead.

"Believe it or not, last night."

"But... what the hell happened to you? Why are you even out here? Why is she out here?"

"I'm guessin' somebody was on the wrong side of that shitshow with the codewraiths," Nevay said, edging a little closer. "You were there too, in that factory, weren't you? Gutted one of those other AmpCore freaks from behind."

Holly's eyes sharpened at that and she sat a little straighter in her seat. "Yeah. I was there. And after everything that happened there, my employers decided I was a loose end, and an 'unreliable asset'. That is why I am sitting in this shitty dive drinking myself to death, alright?" Her gaze flicked suspiciously to the bar behind them. "How did you find me anyway?"

"That's our business," Doser grunted, "and as much as I'm enjoying the little trip down memory lane, we didn't drag ourselves down to this shithole to rehash the good times. We need an AmpCore agent."

Holly smirked. "Sure you do."

"He's serious," Kirk said. "We're serious."

Holly took a sip; coughed violently. "Sorry, Kirk. Whatever it is, I can't help you. There's a lot going on out here that none of you understand."

"I wouldn't bet your pretty crypts on that," Nevay grated. "We know that some fucker crossed over from Hadrian South, cut one of the local gangs to pieces, and has been slicin' its way through the docks for the last couple of weeks, while your precious corps sit with a rod rammed right up their arse and watch."

Holly blinked. She lowered her glass and inclined her head slightly. "Go on..."

"We also know that they've started black-market grafting new recruits," Kirk continued. "We found one of their surgery workshops. They're pulling people in, promising them they can fight back against the corps, and then turning them into fucking killing machines. We don't know who's pulling the strings – not exactly, but we managed to get somebody out that place."

"You did?" Holly sounded incredulous.

"Yes, we did. But she needs help. We pulled her out before the grafts had fully meshed with her biological components and its messing her up." Kirk leaned forward, looking her dead in the eye. "But it's more than that. I think they've... done something, to her brain at the same time. Plenty of us hate the corps, but not like this. It's like she can't stop herself anymore. Like it's some kind of command implanted right in her head."

Holly stood up sharply, the whisky forgotten, sending her chair clattering over onto the floor. Kirk leapt to his feet, his hand falling towards his gun, but he didn't draw it. Holly stared at him for a few soul-scorching seconds.

"You're absolutely sure about this?" she asked. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flared, the implants under her skin glowing a fierce red.

"As sure as we can be."

"Then show me," she said. "Now."