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As Danny half-carries, half-drags my barely-functional body into my flat, I'm hit by a wave of relief mixed with existential dread. I collapse onto the couch, the last of my strength bleeding out like the last shreds of my dignity.

"Danny," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath, "You know why nobody rates this story? It's not the gunfights, not the cyberpsychos, not even the reality-shattering meltdowns. It's the damn update schedule. No consistency. No rhythm. I just throw chapters out whenever I feel like it. That's why we're stuck screaming into the void, man. We need to keep the 8-hour rule... see what happens."

Danny doesn't answer. Just stares at me, probably wondering if I suffered actual brain damage or if I was just born defective.

Then—without a word—he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a slim, silver injector.

I barely have time to process before he jams it into my neck.

"Shit!" I jolt as the needle pierces skin, a cold rush of something synthetic flooding my veins. My vision snaps into brutal clarity—colors too sharp, sounds too loud, my pulse thundering in my skull.

"Keep your 8-hour rule," Danny mutters, thumb pressing down on the injector. The last of the dose surges into me. "But first, you need to stay on your feet."

I grunt, the burn of the stim firing through my system. It's not the good stuff—won't heal me, won't keep me running for long—but it's enough. Just barely.

A short-lived illusion of strength.

"You could've warned me," I mutter, rolling my neck, feeling my body adjust to the temporary high.

"You were rambling," Danny says, already checking his gun. "Seemed like a mercy."

I groan, rubbing my face. "Yeah? Well, let's see how merciful you feel when this wears off and I start crashing like a corpo stock after a PR scandal. Give me a sec, I feel fuzzy."

Danny just exhales sharply—somewhere between a sigh and a reluctant laugh.

Not long before a raucous noise jolts me from my fitful rest. The sound is grating, insistent, and all too familiar - it's Mendy Kaminsky, my neighbor. She's loud, intrusive, and has a knack for sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Her voice pierces through the haze of my semi-conscious state, dragging me back to the harsh reality of my battered body and aching head. 

Danny's voice rises in response, firm and unyielding. He's standing at the door, blocking Mendy's entry, their argument a cacophony of frustration and nosiness. I can hear her demanding to know what's going on, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity. 

I try to sit up. My vision is blurred, the room spinning slightly as I struggle to focus. I can hear Danny's voice, a low rumble of warning, telling Mendy to back off.

Jolted back to a semblance of consciousness by the escalating noises at the door, I attempt to gather my scattered thoughts. In the midst of this mental chaos, my hand brushes against something foreign attached to my head. It's a small, electronic device - a data stick - plugged into a socket I didn't even realize I had. Confusion and alarm surge through me as I gingerly touch it, the reality of the situation sinking in. 

"What the hell?" I mutter, my voice hoarse. With trembling fingers, I try to remove the data stick, each movement sending a wave of discomfort through my skull. 

As I struggle, Danny finally shuts the door on Mendy's insistent queries, her complaints muffled by the barrier he places between us and her prying nature. Turning his attention to me, he notices the data stick in my hands. His expression shifts from concern to alarm. 

"We're screwed," Danny exclaims, the gravity of the situation etched on his face. He rushes over, throwing a bundle of clothes at me. "Put these on, now!" 

The first item is a t-shirt, one I bought on a whim because it has a ridiculously large image of a cartoon cat wearing sunglasses. It's the kind of shirt that screams 'ironic fashion choice' at best. 

Next are the pants – bright yellow cargo shorts that I'm pretty sure I bought for a costume party and never wore again. They're loud, obnoxious, and clash horribly with the t-shirt. 

And to top it all off, there's a hat. It's not just any hat, but a beanie with two fake cat ears sticking out at the top. I remember getting it as a gag gift, never intending it to see the light of day. 

I look at Danny with a raised eyebrow, my expression is a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Really? This is the best you could find?" 

Danny, unamused and focused, just shrugs. "It's either that or you go out in a towel. Your choice." 

With a sigh, I start to put on the clothes. The shorts are a bit snug, and the t-shirt is one size too large, making the whole outfit look even more absurd. The beanie, with its cat ears, just adds to the comical effect. No linger, great.

As I dress, I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, if we run into trouble, maybe I can distract them with my impeccable fashion sense," I quip, trying to inject some levity into the tense atmosphere. 

Hastily donning the mismatched clothes, I try to steady my still-reeling senses. The absurdity of my outfit is a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation. 

Exiting my flat, the Mayan building greets us with its usual sensory overload. The hallways are dimly lit, but alive with the sounds of life in the city. Somewhere down the corridor, the thumping beats of a Raven band song pulsate through the walls. The lyrics, a gritty anthem of rebellion and survival, feel eerily fitting for the moment. "Killing in the name of truth," the iconic tune, fills the air, lending a surreal backdrop to our escape. 

We hurry down the stairs, the music fading into the background as we navigate the labyrinth of the building. As we reach the street, the night air hits me, a mix of neon lights, city sounds, and the unmistakable energy of a place that never sleeps. Our brief moment of respite is shattered by the arrival of a black van with big Orcs logo on it's side, screeching to a halt near us. Six Orcs spill out. 

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

I glance up following the voice. Mendy was at her window, mouth agape.

"Great," I mutter. "The one time she actually follows through on her threats to call the cops."

"We've got to move, now!" Danny hisses, grabbing my arm. We turn to run back. 

"This damn data stick is a tracker?" I exclaim, my voice laced with sarcasm and a tinge of panic. "Fantastic. We're a cybernetic breadcrumb trail." 

Danny, his expression grim, nods. "We need to move, and fast. They're on us." 

I pull myself together, a plan forming amidst the chaos. "Follow me," I say, leading the way.

"We're going to have to go through Mendy's place," I tell Danny, already anticipating his reaction. 

He gives me a look that's half incredulous, half resigned. "You're kidding, right?" 

"Nope," I reply with a grin that doesn't reach my eyes. "It's our best shot." 

As we approach Mendy's door in the hallway erupts in gunfire.

Bullets rip into the walls, chewing through plaster and neon-lit steel. Orcs have spotted us. 

"MOVE!" Danny roars, yanking me forward just as a round screams past my ear, so close the heat of it burns against my skin.

I stagger, body still sluggish from the stim shot barely keeping me upright. Another shot slams into the wall beside us, showering me in hot debris. Heavy boots thunder behind us. Shouts, curses, the click-clack of weapons reloading.

Danny scans ahead, eyes locking onto the elevator.

Then he makes a decision.

A fast, reckless, desperate decision.

I don't even get a second to process before he grabs my collar and hurls me toward it.

"Ryker, GO!"

I crash into the elevator, barely catching myself. My hand slams against the metal railing, vision spinning as I twist back toward him. He smashes the control panel in an instant, rendering it inoperable. With a violent jerk, the elevator begins its descent. 

The Orcs are charging, weapons up.

Danny pivots, fires.

Boom—boom!

The shotgun roars, lighting up the hall. One Orc crumples mid-step, his chest a mess of metal and blood. Another spins sideways, gun clattering to the floor.

More are coming. Fast.

Then—

CRACK.

Danny jerks.

His body twists mid-motion, his shoulder snapping back as a round punches into his upper arm. His breath hitches, teeth clenching against the pain as blood spatters against the wall.

"Danny!" I yell, panic clawing up my throat.

He stumbles, his gun sagging for half a second—then he forces himself back up.

"I'm fine!" he growls through gritted teeth. A lie.

He switches hands, gripping his shotgun one-handed, blood dripping onto the floor.

He lunges for Mendy's door, slamming into it with his full weight. The lock groans. The wood splinters. But it doesn't break.

Another bullet slams into the frame, inches from his head.

He grits his teeth, plants his boot, and kicks.

The door EXPLODES inward.

"GO!" he roars, staggering into the apartment.

The last thing I see before the elevator goes down—

Danny disappearing into Mendy's place, blood trailing behind him.

Orcs rushing after him. The elevator lurches downward, my stomach flipping like I just got thrown into the abyss. The gunfire outside is muffled, but still deafening.

Danny's up there. Injured. Outnumbered. Alone.

My fingers dig into the railing, my breath coming in ragged, shaky gasps.

I squeeze my eyes shut. He better have a plan.

Because if he doesn't?

This story is about to get a whole lot shorter.

In the dimly lit expanse of the parking area, my heart still racing from the close call, I freeze at the sight that greets me. There, standing by a sleek vehicle, is Skaya. Her blue eyes, always so piercing and intense, are now locked in a serious conversation with a figure I can't quite make out from my vantage point. Her presence here, in the midst of my desperate escape, feels like a bizarre twist of fate. I watch them from the shadows, trying to gauge if this meeting is friend or foe. 

Their conversation seems intense, urgent even. Skaya's gestures are animated, her body language indicating of frustration. The other person, a tall silhouette against the dim light, nods occasionally, but their face remains obscured. I'm torn between approaching them and staying hidden. I weigh my options quickly; time is a luxury I don't have right now. 

Taking a deep breath, I decide to take the risk. I step out from my hiding spot. Skaya's eyes catch mine immediately, a flash of surprise quickly replaced by recognition. 

"Ryker?" she exclaims, her tone a mix of disbelief.