Chapter One: Harvest

  It was a hive of forbidden activity in the underground world, and every so often the pest controllers came—drones, poisoners, and the whole swarm of enforcement. Life scattered. But over time, it always reassembled. The swarm of people—rejects, hybrids, indolents—would coagute again, always at a different pce, but with the same window dressing: gray wires hanging like discolored veins from the neurocity's fnks.

  Vendors moved cautiously under dim, stolen lighting, repurposed safety mps casting an uneven glow over rust-colored market stalls. The backdrop was filth and desperation, painted in grime and desperation, yet made gaudy with discarded industrial waste turned into commercial dispys.

  Dante stood alone across from the butcher's, trying to look innocent. There weren’t many people here—a solitary figure was easy to notice. He didn’t even flinch when a drip from the cavern ceiling hit his shoulder. Down here, stactites dripped both poison and water, and the puddles they made often glowed, gmorous and toxic.

  The butcher’s stall was heavily fortified—as always. It was housed in a concrete storage facility, massive and forgettable, one of thousands in the maze. Above ground, everything was clean. Sterile. Shiny. Down here? Wet. Sticky. Rotted. Dante felt the decay in his bones. He didn't belong in the sunlight. This was his pce. And today, they had to fight for what was inside.

  Elsewhere, Ava worked her magic. Dante's cybernetic companion was buried deep in the byrinth's interface, her neuronic impulses slithering into the neurocity's patchwork infrastructure. It was never maintained. There was always a way in.

  It took patience. Finesse. Ava had both. Dante didn’t.

  Marcus, the beast of the trio, was hiding in a truck heading into the facility. He y in the fridge, enveloped in cold, hanging like meat among the other sbs. He didn’t mind. It reminded him of the Arctic, of darkness and lights. The truck stopped. No scans triggered. Vampires, he figured, weren’t so different from dead meat.

  The pn was simple: Marcus infiltrates. Ava disables. Dante watches her back and gets them out.

  But the price of flesh had risen. The Red Sons had new security. Up above, there was no shortage of clean meat. Down here, forbidden contraband was priceless.

  Dante saw the swarm before he heard it. Drones erupted from the rooftop, screaming toward Ava. They had her location. Her worms had disturbed the nest.

  He ran.

  Through vendors, through panicking shoppers, through stalls and scrap, he moved with unnatural speed. He activated the remote drive on the getaway car. One hand on the controls, one hand on his weapon. He zeroed in.

  But when he reached Ava, the drones were nowhere to be seen.

  It was a trick. He’d led them right to her.

  Back inside, Marcus heard the arm as he climbed from the meat hook. At first, he thought he’d triggered it. But the facility was sterile, still.

  There was still time. Maybe.

  He pushed forward through the sughterhouse—through dripping meat, rusted drains, and automated butchers with bloodless bdes. Through a garage filled with transport trucks, he found one carrying liquid cargo. He climbed atop it and inhaled.

  Ava y cocooned in a nest of wires. Close to the infrastructure hub. Unmoving.

  Dante arrived seconds before the drones. He tore at the net, shouting. EMP device in one hand, the other ripping wire.

  The drones came. Piercing rounds shredded the wood. No cover left. Nothing but metal spikes on all sides. He couldn’t detonate the EMP—not yet. She wasn’t conscious. He couldn’t risk her.

  The drones reloaded.

  A bst shook the market. A truck crashed through the wall. Marcus. Confidence surged.

  Dante hit the switch.

  No spectacle. Just results. The drones fell like broken birds. Ava convulsed.

  He picked her up and ran for the roof.

  Marcus checked the mirror. The truck was intact. Barely. But the cyber-mercs were catching up on maneuver bikes.

  He took sharp turns. Narrow alleys. One bike caught up—he smmed it into the wall. Something moved on the rooftops.

  Dante was bleeding. Poisoned. Regeneration sluggish. Ava still unmoving. But he ran. Rooftop to rooftop, chasing the truck. Below: bikes. Above: skiffs.

  Two guards leapt ahead. One knocked Dante down. Ava tumbled.

  He was out of time.

  He went for the throat.

  Fangs sank. Power flooded him. Time stopped.

  But the taste was wrong. Synthetic. Tainted.

  He spat the cyborg out. The other guard was dispatched quickly.

  Ava in his arms, vitality returned, he leapt to the truck. Cws extended, he tore into the roof and held on as red liquid spilled out behind them.

  The mercs panicked.

  Missiles flew. Chaos reigned. One exploded into the tanker. Fire. Shrapnel. Carnage.

  The truck overturned. Dante fell. Into the pool. Ava stirred. Marcus, battered, kicked open the cab.

  They were alive.

  But the blood. The scent. It overwhelmed him. He dropped Ava.

  He staggered.

  Only Marcus spping him brought him back. Shots rang out. Reinforcements incoming.

  They fled.

  Into the deep.