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"Danny..." I manage to croak out. "We need to get out of here..." 

 "Ryker... what was that... God. You have to explain me everything later!" He shouted trying to rise me up.

I nod, panting heavily.

With a Herculean effort, I push myself off the floor, every muscle screaming in protest. Together, we stumble towards the door. The corridor outside the bathroom is a narrow, claustrophobic nightmare, lined with doors leading to unknown dangers. Danny moves with the precision of a seasoned soldier. 

I'm leaning heavily on him, my legs barely able to support my own weight. My vision blurs at the edges, the world seeming to dissolve into a haze of pain and disorientation. 

The corridor is a death trap, a steel coffin lit by the sporadic bursts of gunfire. Danny moves ahead of me, a shadow cutting through chaos, his shotgun kicking like a beast with every trigger pull. Muzzle flashes carve brief, violent images into my brain—an Orc dropping mid-step, his head snapping back, his body folding. The blast still echoes as Danny reloads, fluid, precise, relentless.

Then—a door slams open.

More Orcs. They pour out, eyes gleaming in the flickering green light, weapons raised. One of them, a brute with a chrome-plated jaw and tusks like rusted daggers, snarls, "Bleed 'em slow, boys."

I barely register the words before Danny shoves me to the floor. I hit hard, breath knocked from my lungs, as bullets rip through the air where I was standing. Danny's already twisting, kicking off the ground, spinning mid-step. His shotgun erupts again—point-blank. The orc face disappears in a bloom of red and oil-slicked metal. The body crashes backward, lifeless.

But the others don't hesitate. They charge.

Danny doesn't miss a beat. He lunges forward, grabbing a grenade from the dead Orc's belt, yanking the pin with his teeth, and hurling it into the advancing crowd.

I brace for the explosion—but there's no boom.

Instead, the world fractures.

A pulse of energy rips through the hallway. The neon glow overhead flickers, then warps. A haze descends—a distortion in reality itself. The air feels thick, heavy, wrong. My vision stutters, as if my brain is struggling to process time itself. The gang members stagger, their movements sluggish, their eyes wide with confusion. One tries to raise his gun, but his arm lags behind, moving as if trapped in thick syrup.

Danny jerks. His body stiffens, a violent twitch snapping through him like a marionette yanked by invisible strings. His gun slips from his grip. He staggers, his breath shuddering.

Something is wrong. I hear it—a high-pitched whine, drilling into my skull like radio static on steroids.

Danny's pupils dilate, his cyberware glitching. His hands tremble, his muscles locking up. He gasps, his whole body arching against something, something tearing through his neural implants like a virus rewriting code in real-time.

He's being hacked.

Danny groans, his breath ragged. His own augments are turning against him. I see his fingers twitch, fighting the override. His lips curl back in a snarl—pure defiance—but his body won't obey.

I rush to him, grabbing his shoulders. "Danny—Danny, snap out of it!"

His eyes flick to mine, unfocused, frantic.

"F-Fuck," he grits out, every syllable a struggle.

I see the Orcs shaking off the grenade's effect, eyes narrowing. They see he's vulnerable.

The static in my skull sharpens. I swear I can hear the bastard inside his head, tearing through his neural pathways like a sadistic puppeteer. Danny groans, his breath ragged. He's fighting it. His teeth grit, his muscles flex against the invisible chains binding him. But the override is too strong. His hands jerk against his will.

They start forward.

My pulse pounds, blood roaring in my ears. Do something.

I grab Danny's face. "How do I stop it? Tell me what to—"

He seizes up. His breath catches. His body locks. His pupils shrink to pinpricks.

I am helpless.

The Orcs close in.

I can't fight. I can't shoot. I can't even think.

I see their hands reaching for us.

And then—

Something inside me shatters—like a cord snapping under pressure, like glass fracturing against the weight of the ocean. A dam rupturing and flood is roaring through my veins. I feel it before I see it.

The pulse.

Golden light detonates behind my eyes. The air ignites.

Then my vision erupts.

Golden light detonates in my eyes. The world shifts—lines of code explode outward, wrapping the air itself in digital tendrils. I see them. The connections. The threads of power linking the gang members, their weapons, their implants, their everything.

And I reach out. The pulse hits like a supernova. A shockwave bursts from me, blinding, scorching, deafening. The walls shudder. The lights die. The building itself screams.

Electricity collapses.

Every cybernetic implant fails in an instant. Guns spark and die in their hands. Augments short-circuit, sending the Orcs crashing to the floor, convulsing.

Danny is ripped free from the hack. His breath slams back into his lungs, his body shuddering with regained control. He stumbles, catching himself on a knee, shaking from the aftershock.

The Orcs?

They're down. Every single one of them. Twitching. Unconscious. Some barely breathing.

The air stinks of burnt circuits and static. My vision swims. The golden glow fades, leaving behind a blackness that devours my strength. My legs buckle. The floor rushes up to meet me.

Danny catches me. His hands grip my arms, shaking me.

"Ryker—" His voice is sharp, raw. "What the fuck was that?!"

I try to form words, but my throat is dust, my brain a static-filled mess. Instead, I laugh. A broken, weak thing. My lips barely move, but the words come out anyway.

"Think we'll... get a five-star review for that?"

Danny just stares at me. At the wreckage.

Then, without a word, he hauls me up. The exit looms ahead, the door hanging off its hinges. Beyond it, the neon-drenched abyss of Neon Mirage City.

As we stumble into the night, the air hits me like a slap of reality. Cold, sharp, reminding me that we are very much still alive. Danny exhales, scanning the streets. "We're not safe yet."

And from the distant wail of sirens, the approaching buzz of drones, and the city's electrical rage, I know he's right. I shake my head, wheezing out a laugh. "Y'know... If this is a serialized story, I'd really like to have at least one follower. Feels discouraging, putting out all these chapters with no damn ratings."

Danny just gives me a wierd look. He doesn't respond with words. His eyes lock onto a car. Nothing fancy, nothing high-end—just a decent, low-profile ride parked under a flickering streetlamp. An Atlas Viper 77, scratched-up body, reinforced plating, tinted windows. Probably a some low-tier corpo's attempt at blending in. Not anymore.

Danny stalks up to it. Instead of fumbling with the door, he slams his cybernetic hand against the driver's side panel. Sparks crackle where metal meets metal.

For a second, nothing.

Then—the car spasms.

The security system flickers, the onboard AI sputtering out some weak attempt at protest—"Unauthorized access detect—" Zzzt. Dead.

The locks snap open with a mechanical hiss.

Danny doesn't celebrate. Doesn't hesitate. He just rips the door open and turns to me.

"In."

I hesitate. "Y'know, I think this belongs to someone—"

Danny grabs my naked butt and shoves me inside with zero patience. That's subplot I did not sign up for. I hit the seat with a grunt, half-twisting to right myself as he slams the door behind me.

A second later, he's in the driver's seat. No key needed—his cyberware is still hijacking the ignition. The dashboard flares to life, and the engine growls like a pissed-off animal.

Danny grips the wheel. Floors it. Tires screech, smoke kicks up, and we peel into the night.

He keeps his eyes on the road. "Ryker... what the fuck is going on with you?"

I smirk, stretching out in the backseat. "I would want to know, but no one's rating these chapters anyway. Feels like I'm screaming into the void here."

Danny exhales sharply—either a sigh or a half-laugh. Maybe both.

As the city blurs past us, I lean back, trying to focus through the pain and disorientation. 

Danny keeps his eyes on the road, driving with a reckless speed that only someone accustomed to Neon Mirage City chaos can manage. He's silent, his focus entirely on getting us to safety. I can tell he's pushing his own limits, his body bearing the marks of the brutal encounter. 

When we finally screech to a halt outside my flat, I'm barely conscious, the world fading in and out of focus. Danny helps me out of the car, his grip firm but careful. "We're here, Ryker. Just hold on a bit longer," he says.