We kept walking, my heels clicking over the concrete, loud even over the music. The hallway opened into what had likely once been a production floor.
It was wide and massive, with steel-grate walkways crisscrossing overhead every fifty feet. Members in glowing masks patrolled above, some with automatic weapons tucked under their arms, others just lounging and hanging over the rails. I jumped when a glass bottle shattered below, tossed carelessly from one of the walkways.
The main floor was littered with tattered couches and mismatched furniture, screens mounted haphazardly on every available surface. I spotted VR setups, and more people playing games than I’d expected. On the far end was a makeshift gun range, where a few more members were casually firing off rounds, laughing and hanging off each other. Near the center,a boxing ring had been erected—currently empty—with a gym setup beside it.
Honestly, it looked like every sixteen-year-old boy’s dream hangout. And as I scanned the space, I realized most of the members probably were that age. Some looked maybe a bit older, but barely. Almost none were likely over twenty-one. They were covered in the glowing tattoos common among gang members—but that’s all they were. Tattoos. Paltry mimicry of the chrome that ran through Cy’s body like living circuitry.
Our host gestured to a couch that looked slightly less worn than the others. The guest couch. Cy plopped down like he owned the place and pulled me onto his lap. His fingers started tapping on my thigh, which might’ve just looked like him keeping time with the music—but a message popped up on my Vysor.
Cy: Scan?
DITA responded: “Signal detected. Scan initiated. Estimated remaining time: seven minutes, thirty-three seconds.”
I gave him a subtle nod. Cy grinned, relaxing back into the couch, but his hand didn’t leave my thigh. Instead, he started slowly tracing his fingers up and down the sensitive skin of the inner side. I shot him a glare, but he ignored it. My pulse spiked, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my stomach clenched as those fingers drifted higher. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.This pendejo.
I was about to risk telling him off when a few young men approached. Cy stood, unceremoniously dumping me off his lap, and clasped hands with one, pulling him into a short, masculine embrace.
“Akira, you fucker, you’re still alive?”
“They haven’t killed me yet,” Akira replied with a grin. His Vysor had the same holographic mask as the others, but without the fangs the front guards wore, so I could see his actualexpression. That seemed to be the norm for most inside the Den. “They even promoted me to lieutenant.”
I was surprised to see a genuine smile spread across Cy’s face. “No shit! Should’ve known. You’re like a roach—not even the end of the world could take you down.”
Something passed between them then, and Cy grabbed Akira by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Akira’s little teen cronies were all staring at Cy like he was glowing. I wondered what it was they saw. Was it someone who’d gotten out and moved up in the world? Or was it someone legendary—a powerful electroteknik who had once ruled these streets?
I watched as he chatted genially with them, and for a moment, Cy was almost human.
“Five minutes remaining.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin but took a deep breath. Not much longer now.
An older man approached, and Cy’s face hardened. He tapped Akira’s shoulder one last time, and the young man took off without another word, his posse trailing behind.
Cy faced the man. “Hinokawa-san” He gave a bow—so small it was almost mocking—before collapsing back onto the couch beside me.
“I hear you have some business for me, kyodai. Although I do not know why you needed to come here to discuss it.”
“Product was hot. Didn’t want to waste time with your subordinates. I need it moved fast.”
The older man’s face twisted into something that might’ve been a smile, but his age and clear contempt distorted it.
“Well, if it’s urgent, I’m sure we could move it for you—for a fee, of course. Forty percent.”
Cy made a harsh sound, and the two started negotiating in Japanese so rapid my translator could barely keep up. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t listening. This was all just to buy time.
“Three minutes remaining,” DITA chimed.
I took a deep breath. We were almost there.
Then, a negative chime made my stomach drop.
“Warning: Download interrupted.”
I started tapping on my thigh as discreetly as I could. Cy’s eyes snapped there as I typed:
Me: What issue?
No answer. Instead, I got:
