Socket wiped a thick, dark smear of synthetic motor grease from her forehead using the back of her right forearm, covering her circuit tattoo in the substance. She was currently deep into the engine bay of the Svalinn-7, pushing deeper into it to reach a spark plug. Far deeper than her short stature allowed. The subterranean garage was usually a comforting sanctuary, a place where the chaotic noise of the city above could not reach her. Tonight, however, the silence was heavy, oppressive, and thick with an unspoken anxiety.
The midnight sprint felt like it was only hours away, and the stakes of the whole thing had never been this terrifyingly high. Jax's absolute freedom, the Star-Chamber, and their very lives were all balancing precariously on the edge of a single race. Socket finally reached the plug, tightening it just right.
She moved on to placing the vehicles titanium panels back on, securing each one just right. Once she got to the Cinder-7, she had tightened the last bolt that needed care. The core's delicate molecular structure of the engine faintly glowed with a dangerous light blue hue, indicating that it was perfectly primed and completely tuned.
Jax loved the twitchy, aggressive handling it provided, but Socket knew it required constant maintenance. If the core ever overheated during a race, it would not just stall; it would vaporize the entire machine, and him along with it. She stepped back from the Svalinn-7 as it purred to admire her work. Her heavy boots echoed throughout the garage as they met the concrete floor. Her braids swinging over her shoulders.
Jaxen was out today, he had left nearly an hour ago to navigate the bustling, rain-slicked black markets of Sector 4. They desperately needed a spool of military-grade EMP shielding tape. With Roxi planning to deploy a massive electromagnetic burst to blind the Nova Corp convoy, Socket hand to ensure the Svalinn-7's delicate telemetry sensors would not be fried in the friendly crossfire. Jax had promised to be quick, but his extended absence was making her stomach twist into nervous knots. She hated being separated from him, especially now that the Vulture had actively put a target on their backs.
Socket walked over to her massive flatbed hover truck. The bulky vehicle, originally designed for hauling heavy corporate shipping containers, served as her mobile pit stop. She affectionately patted the cold, chipped metal of its exterior hull. It was incredibly slow compared to Jax's interceptor, but it possessed massive torque and was virtually indestructible. She began systematically checking the magnetic tool racks, ensuring her equipment was firmly locked into place. The upcoming race would require a flawless mid-race rolling recharge, and she could not afford to be searching for tools while dodging the Peacekeeper skiffs.
Suddenly, the low, comforting thrum of the garage's main generator stuttered violently. Plunging the garage into darkness for a brief second before the emergency lights kicked on bathing the space in a pulsating dull orange light. The sound was similar to a massive beast choking on a bone. Socket froze, her eyes darting toward the heavy breaker panels mounted on the far wall. Her neon-green tattoo slightly came alive with luminescence in the dimly lit room, the engine core of the Svalinn-7 pulsed with an ominous violet glow.
What the hell was that? Socket thought, her breath catching in her throat. She quickly reached into her vest and pulled out a small, high-powered diagnostic flashlight, clicking in on. Its sharp white beam cutting through the sickly orange light that bathed the garage from ceiling to floor. She moved cautiously toward the primary generator terminal, her boots making soft, deliberate sounds against the concrete. The silence in the room, apart from the faint humming of the engine core, was now deafening.
As she approached the digital monitoring screen for the generator, she saw a series of angry red warning triangles flashing rapidly. She plugged her customized data-pad into the terminal, her fingers flying expertly across the cracked screen. The initial diagnostics did not show a mechanical failure or a blown fuse. It showed a deliberate parasitic draw. Something outside the garage was actively siphoning ninety percent of their power. This was not a random power grid fluctuation caused by the city's terrible lower-sector infrastructure. This was a targeted sabotage. Some one had manually tapped into their external junction box.
Socket's heart began to pound a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was entirely alone right now. The heavy metal door that served as the main entrance to the garage was electronically locked, but without the power from the main generator, the magnetic seals were incredibly vulnerable. She instinctively reached down and unclipped a heavy, industrial plasma torch from her belt. It was not technically a weapon, but the blinding hot beam could easily slice through steel like a hot knife cutting butter, which meant it would do horrific damage to flesh and bone.
Her left hand pressed against her temple, "Jax, do you copy?" She whispered into her comms unit, keeping her voice as low as possible. As she held the activation stud in-bedded in her temple, she waited for the familiar, stoic voice of her driver. All she heard was a harsh, crackling hiss of static. The local frequencies were being jammed. Her sense of dread multiplied tenfold as her thoughts ran through countless scenarios.
Meanwhile, three sectors away, Jaxen was standing in the middle of a crowded, neon-drenched alleyway. The rain was falling heavily, in relentless sheets, bouncing off the various glowing umbrellas of patrons who filled the narrow walkways of the market. The air smelled strongly of roasted chicken and soy, filtered ozone and the wet wood of the vendor stalls. Jax pulled the collar of his weather-beaten flight jacket up against the chill, his eyes constantly scanning the immediate environment.
He had just secured the EMP shielding tape from a highly paranoid, cybernetically enhanced merchant who operated out of a rusted shipping container. Jax tucked the small expensive package into his interior pocket. As he turned to navigate his way back to the transit hub, a subtle, unnatural movement in the crowd caught his attention. Two men were standing beneath a flickering ramen stall sign, completely ignoring the food. They were tall, athletic, and trying far too hard to blend in.
As one of the men turned his head to light a cheap cigarette, Jax clearly saw the edge of a silver stud in his ear and a heavy, customized leather jacket. He was clearly a member of the Chrome Crowns. Silas Thorne's personal street muscle. Jax's tactical mind immediately began processing the variables. Silas was arrogant, but he was not stupid. The Chrome Crowns were not here to start a public brawl in a crowded market; they were here to observe. They were tracking his movements for some reason.
He started to walk, his pace quickening with each step. At one point he looked over his shoulder to see if the two men were following him. Jax felt a sudden, icy jolt of pure adrenaline flood his system when he noticed they were weaving through the crowded market to keep up with him. He immediately tapped the comms unit in his ear. "Socket, secure the main door. I think you are about to have unwanted visitors."
Only a thick wall of static answered him. Jax did not hesitate. He abandoned the crowded walkways that crisscrossed the market space. Sprinting down a narrow, dark maintenance alley. He leaped over a pile of discarded cooling units, his boots splashing heavily through the toxic puddles. He needed to get back to the lower-sector immediately. If Silas had sent a sabotage team to the garage while it was completely undefended, the race would be permanently over before they even reached the starting line.
Back at the garage, Socket was still bathed in the dull emergency lights. She slowly backed away from the dead generator terminal. The air in the garage was growing uncomfortably cold without the ambient heating systems. She kept her flashlight trained on the main entrance. The heavy metal door stood silently, but then, she heard it. It was a low, distinct scraping sound of heavy steel tools sliding against the external ventilation grates located on the ceiling. They weren't trying to pry open the reinforced main door; they were trying to cut though the exhaust vents to drop directly into the workspace below.
Socket's mind raced through her options. She could not call for help, her comms were being jammed, and she could not run without abandoning the Svalinn-7. If they destroyed the interceptor, Jax would become Silas's indentured servant. That thought alone ignited a fierce, protective anger deep within her chest. She was not going to let some arrogant punks ruin everything her and Jax had built.
She quietly jogged back to her hover truck and climbed into the cramped cab, booting up the manual override systems. Its heavy-duty internal battery banks switched on with a click. The dashboard lit up with a warm, analog glow. She kept the massive repulsor discs powered down to maintain the element of surprise. Instead, accessed the vehicle's hydraulic pressure systems. The flatbed was equipped with a localized air-break (system) used to suddenly halt thousands of pounds of moving cargo. If she reversed the pressure valves, she could create a devastating, concentrated Sonic blast of compressed air.
Above her, a shower of bright orange sparks suddenly rained down from the ceiling vent. The bright sparks cut through the dull orange of the emergency lights as if they were lightning bugs falling to the ground. Whoever was trying to break into the garage was using a high-grade thermal cutter. The heavy iron grate groaned loudly, the metal warping under the extreme heat. Socket gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. She watched the glowing outline of the grate slowly give way.
With a loud, metallic screech that sounded unnervingly like nails on a chalkboard, the heavy grate was violently kicked inward. It plummeted to the floor, crashing against a metal workbench that echoed throughout the large space. Two figures, dressed in tactical and all black gear, dropped through the opening. Their faces were obscured by polarized visors. One of them carried a crackling shock-baton, while the other held a specialized corrosive explosive designed to melt engine blocks into puddles of molten metal.
"Secure the car!" the larger intruder barked, his voice muffled by his helmet. "Plant the change on the engine core and let's get the fuck out of here before they get back!"
They took exactly two steps toward the Svalinn-7 before Socket hit the hydraulic release.
BOOM!
A massive, concussive wave of highly pressurized air erupted from the front of the flatbed. The invisible shockwave hit the two intruders with the force of a speeding freight train. The sheer kinetic impact lifted them entirely off their feet, throwing them violently backward in to the concrete wall behind them. Destroying a shelving rack that held spare suspension coils. The explosive charge skittered harmlessly across the floor, spinning away into a dark corner of the garage.
Socket powered up the flatbed's primary repulsor discs. The four oversized circular pads roared to life, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust and metallic shavings. It hovered ominously, the hull looking like an angry, mechanical predator in the darkness. She revved the engine aggressively, the deep, vibrating torque rattling the tools on her racks as if the hover truck was a large rattlesnake waiting to strike.
"Get up!" the first intruder groaned, struggling to his hands and knees. He looked up at the massive hovering platform, clearly terrified by the aggressive display of force. They had expected an empty garage, or at most, a helpless mechanic. They had not expected to face a fully operational, Weaponized tow-rig and a crazy woman.
Before the saboteurs could fully recover their bearings, the heavy corrugated metal door of the garage suddenly shrieked to life as the emergency manual release was thrown from the outside. The door flew upward with incredible speed. Jaxen stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hazy, neon-drenched rain of the alleyway. He was breathing heavily, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. In his right hand, he held his heavy, customized kinetic pistol, the barrel pointed directly at the two Chrome Crown operatives.
His eyes swept the room in a fraction of a second, registering the destroyed vent, the dropped explosive, and Socket sitting in the cab of her hover truck. The stoic mask he constantly wore slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of absolute, lethal fury. "You have exactly ten seconds to explain why you are in my garage," Jax stated, his voice a deadly quiet calm that cut through the roaring noise of the hover truck's repulsor discs.
The two intruders did not hesitate. They scrambled to their feet, completely abandoning their weapons and their pride in the process. They sprinted toward the open doorway, desperately diving past Jax and disappearing into the rainy darkness of the Lower Sump. Jax did not shoot them. Firing a weapon in the Lower Sumps would attract the immediate attention of Nova's Peacekeepers, and they could not afford any corporate entanglements tonight. He slowly lowered his pistol, engaging the safety before tucking it back into his jacket. He walked over to the main generator terminal and with a few strokes of the keys the generator spooled back up. The shop lights flickered on, banishing the dull orange hue that had bathed the room moments earlier.
Jax walked quickly over to the flatbed platform. Socket powered down the engines of her flatbed, the massive machine settling back down onto the concrete floor with a solid thud. She practically jumped out of the driver's seat, her whole body shaking with residual adrenaline.
"Are you hurt?" Jax asked, His voice returning to its normal, steady cadence. He reached out, his hands gently gripping her shoulders. He looked her up and down, genuinely terrified that he had arrived almost too late.
"I'm fine." Socket breathed out, her hands resting briefly against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering as hard as hers. "They tried to drop through the vents to slag the interceptor. I think they are actively trying to ensure you don't even make it to the starting line."
Jax looked past her, his eyes locking onto the pristine, untouched frame of the Svalinn-7. He then looked back at Socket, his expression softening with a deep, profound gratitude. "You saved the car. You saved us."
Socket offered a weak, shaky smile. "Well, someone has to protect our asset when your reckless ass goes shopping."
Jax pulled the package of EMP shielding tape from his pocket and tossed it onto the nearest workbench. The danger had passed for the moment, but the reality of the night was settling heavily upon their shoulders. Silas was playing incredibly dirty already, and who knew if Nova CorpSec had laid any traps ahead of the cargo transfer. Vicenzo was also eagerly anticipating their absolute failure.
"The race launches in less than three hours," Jax said, his tactical mindset rapidly reasserting itself. "We need to finish these modifications, load the flatbed, and get to the starting grid. It is time to show Silas and the Chrome Crowns exactly why they should fear the Ghost-Line."
Socket nodded, her fear slowly being replaced by a fierce, undeniable courage. She reached down and picked up her heavy soldering iron. The shadows in the vents had been defeated, but the true battle in the neon canyons of the city was just beginning.