The rain was radioactive tonight—sheets of neon washing the gutters with a pulse that matched the hum of city drones above. Nova's vision blurred. Blood trickled past the chrome plates embedded in her ribs. The data shard she'd lifted was still humming in her coat pocket, hot like a live wire. Her optic display kept glitching: HEART RATE CRITICAL. SEEK MEDICAL INTERVENTION.
"Fuck off," she mumbled to the display.
She stumbled into the alley behind what looked like an abandoned mechanic shop—steel doors rusted, flickering holo-signs barely readable. But the grid said this was the place.
She slammed her fist against the door.
Nothing.
Then, footsteps. Slow. Heavy. And then he appeared.
Ash.
He stood tall, lean muscle under a sleeveless, oil-stained shirt, arms bare and tattooed in jagged lines that looked more like scars than ink. His face was partially shadowed, save for the pale blue glow of one synthetic eye.
"You're bleeding on my threshold," he said flatly.
"And you're wasting my time. Let me in."
He studied her. He wasn't one for mercy, that much she knew. But there was something else in his eyes—recognition. Maybe admiration. Maybe something darker.
He stepped aside. "Inside."
---
The shop smelled like ozone and smoke. Wires coiled across the floor like sleeping snakes. Machinery hummed softly. Ash led her to a slab covered in stained sheets and peeled her coat off, revealing the damage.
"You took a grazer to the side," he muttered. "Could've shredded your synth-lung. Lucky girl."
"I make my own luck."
"Bullshit."
He peeled her shirt up, revealing smooth skin interrupted by carbon-fiber panels and bruised muscle. Her breathing hitched as his fingers traced the edges of a cracked implant.
"Hold still."
He pulled out a dermal torch. The heat kissed her side. She winced but didn't cry out.
"Pain turns you on, doesn't it?" he said.
She turned her head slowly to look at him. "Only when it's worth it."
---
Title: Neon Burn
The rain was radioactive tonight—sheets of neon washing the gutters with a pulse that matched the hum of city drones above. Nova's vision blurred. Blood trickled past the chrome plates embedded in her ribs. The data shard she'd lifted was still humming in her coat pocket, hot like a live wire. Her optic display kept glitching: HEART RATE CRITICAL. SEEK MEDICAL INTERVENTION.
"Fuck off," she mumbled to the display.
She stumbled into the alley behind what looked like an abandoned mechanic shop—steel doors rusted, flickering holo-signs barely readable. But the grid said this was the place.
She slammed her fist against the door.
Nothing.
Then, footsteps. Slow. Heavy. And then he appeared.
Ash.
He stood tall, lean muscle under a sleeveless, oil-stained shirt, arms bare and tattooed in jagged lines that looked more like scars than ink. His face was partially shadowed, save for the pale blue glow of one synthetic eye.
"You're bleeding on my threshold," he said flatly.
"And you're wasting my time. Let me in."
He studied her. He wasn't one for mercy, that much she knew. But there was something else in his eyes—recognition. Maybe admiration. Maybe something darker.
He stepped aside. "Inside."
The shop smelled like ozone and smoke. Wires coiled across the floor like sleeping snakes. Machinery hummed softly. Ash led her to a slab covered in stained sheets and peeled her coat off, revealing the damage.
"You took a grazer to the side," he muttered. "Could've shredded your synth-lung. Lucky girl."
"I make my own luck."
"Bullshit."
He peeled her shirt up, revealing smooth skin interrupted by carbon-fiber panels and bruised muscle. Her breathing hitched as his fingers traced the edges of a cracked implant.
"Hold still."
He pulled out a dermal torch. The heat kissed her side. She winced but didn't cry out.
…
She stayed for days.
What began as necessity became survival. The city was boiling—her face flagged on every bounty network. Corp drones were sweeping sectors. The data shard? Useless now. It didn't matter. Ash never asked what was on it. That was rare. Kind. Dangerous.
He let her stay. She helped him solder a few boards, rewired a burnt-out synth-spine for a smuggler, and shared his food packets without a word of complaint.
But one night, the sirens got too close. Blue light washed the shop's windows. Ash reached for a hidden gun.
"We have to run," he said.
They fled through a maintenance shaft, crawling through steaming pipes and choking smoke until they emerged in the tunnels below the old train lines.
Down there, it was quiet. No drones. Just wet walls and the echoes of their breath.
They slumped against opposite sides of the tunnel.
"You good?" he asked, voice softer now.
She nodded. "I've had worse."
"What does that even mean, 'worse'?"
She hesitated.
Then: "My sister. Gone. Overclocked her synapse net to survive a corp test lab. It fried her. I saw her twitch and scream and smile all at once. She kept saying she could see the code. Like it was beautiful."
Ash stared. "Shit."
"I was twelve."
He didn't speak. Just looked at her like he finally saw her.
"Your turn," she said.
He wiped sweat from his brow. "I used to run black ops for WraithTek. Enforcer unit. They dropped us into riots to pacify 'unruly sectors.' I thought I was a soldier. Turns out I was just a tool with a shiny label."
She tilted her head. "What made you quit?"
He tapped the synthetic eye. "This. They made me kill a kid who glitched a checkpoint system. Said he was a security risk. I watched the feed on repeat for days. Then I walked. They tried to kill me for it."
"You're not what I expected," she said quietly.
"Neither are you."
They sat in silence.
"You ever think about disappearing?" she asked.
"Every day."
"With someone?"
Ash's gaze held hers. "Maybe."
They moved closer. No rush. No fire. Just the warmth of someone who sees the cracks and doesn't flinch.
---
A soft beep echoed.
Nova sat up fast. Her eyes locked on a flashing red icon in her HUD. "Drone proximity alert."
Ash was already moving, grabbing a short-range jammer. It screeched in her ear for half a second, then died.
"One got through," he said. "It's tagging our location."
Then the metallic whine of rotors. From the shadows above, a recon drone descended—eyes glowing red.
Ash shot it with one clean round, but it was too late.
"We run. Now."
They sprinted down the tunnel. Behind them, metal feet hit the concrete—multiple. Heavy. Then the thud-thud-thud of mech-battle drones. Not recon. Not scouts. Kill units.
Ash turned down a maintenance corridor. Nova slid after him.
"We can't outrun them," she said.
He dropped his pack, already ripping open compartments. "Then we hold. Cover me. I'm building something explosive."
She drew her pistol, took cover behind a broken support beam. When the first drone rounded the corner, she dropped it with a headshot. The second took four rounds. The third fired a volley, nearly shredding her shoulder.
"Ash!"
"Almost there—"
He clicked two wires together, slammed the core into the bomb casing, and stood. He held the grenade-sized bomb, eye wild.
"Get down."
He hurled it.
It landed in the center of the advancing line of machines.
Then: white flash. Thunder. Heat.
Nova shielded her face.
When the smoke cleared, the drones were slag.
Ash was on the ground. His arm—gone below the elbow. Blood soaked the floor.
"No," she whispered.
---
Back in the shop, she stabilized him. Hands slick, eyes stinging.
"Stay with me," she kept whispering. "You're not dying. Not after that."
She disinfected, cauterized, cleaned. Then she took his schematics, wired in parts, soldered nerves to metal. Rebuilt him. Bit by bit.
He woke as she was adjusting the actuators.
"You fixed me," he rasped.
"Took me long enough."
He looked at the new arm—sleek chrome, powered fingers flexing.
Then he looked at her.
She was smeared in grease and blood.
They leaned in, slow. This kiss was fire—raw, desperate, messy. He pulled her onto his lap, hands exploring her with the urgency of someone just returned from death.
She pulled her shirt over her head, kissed down his throat. He lifted her, carried her to the bench.
They undressed each other between gasps and sighs, flesh against metal, hot and human.
When he entered her, it wasn't slow—it was claiming. Her hands gripped his back. His mouth stayed on her neck, tasting her pulse.
Their bodies moved like code syncing—flashes of pleasure, data loops of sensation. She moaned his name, bit his shoulder. He growled into her ear, filled her deep.
They came together, hard, the aftershocks trembling through her thighs and his spine.
When it was done, they stayed tangled, warm despite the cold night outside.
"That was worth almost dying for," he murmured.
She smiled. "We're not done yet.