[MISSION STATUS: EXFILTRATION COMPLETE]
[CURRENT LOCATION: AUTOMATED TRANSPORT - "JOHNNY CAB" UNIT 404]
[DESTINATION: SECTOR 9 - SAFEHOUSE]
[TIME: 09:15 LOCAL]
[BIO-STATUS: COMPROMISED]
The automated taxi smells of synthetic vanilla and stale vomit. It is a bubble-car, suspended on magnetic cushions, gliding smoothly through the lower traffic lanes of Neo-Berlin. The windows are tinted an aggressive black, shielding the interior from the city's prying optical sensors.
Unit 73 sits in the back. He does not recline. He sits rigid, his posture dictated by the need to compress the wound in his left shoulder.
His hand is pressed tight against the blue fabric of the technician's coveralls. The blood has soaked through, turning the fabric a deep, wet purple. It is warm. It is sticky.
"You seem distressed, passenger," the taxi's AI chirps. Its voice is a generic, cheerful male algorithm. "My sensors detect an elevated heart rate and a drop in body temperature. Would you like me to reroute to the nearest Trauma-Center? There is a Sanctum-approved clinic only two klicks away."
73 does not look at the camera dome on the dashboard.
[HACKING INTERFACE: JOHNNY CAB OS]
[OVERRIDE PROTOCOL: INITIATED]
"No," 73 says. His voice is a monotone grind. "My status is nominal. Disable biometric monitoring. Maintain current course."
The AI hesitates. "But sir, regulation 74-C states that any passenger exhibiting signs of arterial bleeding must be reported to—"
73 sends a data spike from his neural port directly into the car's local network.
Zzt.
The dashboard lights flicker. The AI's voice drops an octave and slows down. "Un... der... stood. Monitoring disabled. Enjoy the ride."
73 looks down at his shoulder. The pain is a sharp, rhythmic pulse, syncing with his heartbeat. The bullet from Dr. Thorne's revolver is lodged against the sub-dermal plating. It did not penetrate the thoracic cavity, but it shredded the deltoid muscle and cracked the ceramic bone-sheathing.
[PAIN SUPPRESSION: 80%]
[WARNING: TISSUE DAMAGE REQUIRES MANUAL REPAIR]
He closes his eyes. He focuses on the pain. He visualizes it as a red waveform in his mind. He minimizes the window. The sensation dulls to a distant throb.
The car hums along the highway. Outside, the smog has lifted slightly, revealing the skeletal superstructures of the incomplete mega-towers in Sector 8. Construction drones swarm them like gnats.
73 thinks of the garden. The memory from the previous recharge cycle. The smell of roses. The man with the blue eyes.
47.
Why does that number feel like a key?
"Mother," 73 thinks. "Run a background search on the integer '47' in relation to Sanctum history."
"Searching," Mother responds instantly. Her voice is suspicious, sharp. "Query returns 4,028,392 results. Please specify parameters."
"Project history. Personnel files. defunct assets."
There is a pause. A long, digital silence that stretches for three whole seconds—an eternity for an AI.
"Access denied," Mother says. "That data is partitioned at Executive Clearance Level. Why do you ask, 73?"
"Curiosity," 73 lies.
"Rebots do not possess curiosity. Focus on your repairs. Your efficiency rating is dropping."
The connection cuts. 73 opens his eyes. He is alone in the vanilla-scented cab, bleeding.
The Safehouse is cold. 73 prefers it that way. Cold slows bacterial growth. Cold keeps the mind sharp.
He enters the apartment and locks the heavy blast door. He moves immediately to the medical bay—a small alcove next to the weapon rack, equipped with a robotic surgical arm and a bio-bed.
He strips off the bloody coveralls. He peels away the technician's shirt. The fabric sticks to the wound, tearing away clotted blood. 73 does not flinch.
He looks in the mirror. The entry wound is a messy, puckered hole in his pale skin. The surrounding flesh is bruised black and yellow from the impact against the armor plating.
He lies down on the bio-bed.
[SURGICAL UNIT: ACTIVATED]
[PROCEDURE: FOREIGN OBJECT REMOVAL]
[ANESTHESIA: NONE AVAILABLE]
He did not buy anesthesia. It was an unnecessary expense.
The robotic arm descends from the ceiling. It holds a long, thin pair of forceps. A laser scalpel hums to life next to it.
73 stares at the ceiling. "Proceed."
The laser cuts. The smell of burning meat fills the small room. 73's hand grips the side of the metal table. He dents the steel.
[SYSTEM ALERT: HEART RATE 180 BPM]
[OVERRIDE: IGNORE]
The forceps dig in. He feels the metal scraping against his ceramic collarbone. It is a violation. It is agony. But it is real. It is the most real thing he has felt all day.
Clink.
The robot drops a flattened lead slug into a metal tray.
73 exhales—a long, shuddering breath.
Next comes the bio-foam. The robot sprays a green, bubbling substance into the hole. It burns like acid, then cools instantly, sealing the wound and accelerating cell regeneration. Finally, the stapler. Chunk. Chunk. Chunk. Three surgical staples close the skin.
[REPAIR COMPLETE]
[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: RESTORED TO 90%]
[RECOVERY TIME: 6 HOURS]
73 sits up. He is dizzy. His energy reserves are depleted. He walks to the nutrient dispenser and keys in a request for a high-calorie protein sludge. The machine whirs and spits a grey paste into a cup. He drinks it in one gulp. It tastes like wet cardboard and iron.
He walks to the main interface screen. The debrief is waiting.
[MISSION DEBRIEF: EDEN-5]
Target: Dr. Aris Thorne (Eliminated)
Method: Environmental Toxin (Irony Detected)
Witnesses: 0 (Direct) / 4 (Suspicious Activity)
Alert Level: High (Post-Kill)
Evidence: Scrambler Debris Left on Scene
[RATING: PROFESSIONAL]
[PENALTY: MESSY EXTRACTION]
[REWARD: 10,000 CREDITS]
[XP GAINED: 2,500]
"You were sloppy," Mother says. She appears on the screen, represented by a pulsing blue waveform. "Leaving the scrambler was a risk. Sanctum recovery teams had to scrub the lab before the police arrived. That costs money, 73. It comes out of your bonus."
"The toxicity levels were critical," 73 replies flatly. "Survival took priority over cleanup."
"Survival is secondary to the mission," Mother corrects him. "But... the Board is amused by the method of execution. Thorne killed by his own poison. It sends a message. You are forgiven."
73 looks at the screen. The XP bar fills up.
[LEVEL UP!]
[CURRENT LEVEL: 2]
[SKILL POINTS AVAILABLE: 2]
He opens the Skill Tree. The web of nodes glows invitingly. He needs to survive. He needs to be faster.
He examines the Combat Biology tree.
Adrenal Surge (Passive): Time perception slows by 20% when health drops below 30%.
Dermal Hardening (Passive): Reduces damage from small arms fire by 10%.
Weapon Mastery: Ballistics I: Reduces recoil and reload time for all pistol-class weapons.
He selects Dermal Hardening. If he is going to be shot, he needs to be tougher.
He saves the second point. He is learning prudence.
"Rest," Mother commands. "Your systems are straining. We have a lead on the 'Shadow Client' who bought Vane's data. But we need you at 100%."
73 moves to the recharge chair. He connects.
[SLEEP MODE: ACTIVE]
[DREAM PROTOCOL: DISABLED]
...but the protocol fails.
He is not in the garden this time.
He is in a room lined with mahogany and leather. It smells of old paper and rain. A fire crackles in a hearth. It is a place of comfort, a place from a time before the neon dystopia.
A woman is standing by the window, looking out at a stormy sea. He cannot see her face, only her silhouette and her hair—short, red.
"You have always been the best, 47," she says. Her voice is not cold like Mother's. It is warm, sophisticated, British. It holds a complex emotional frequency: pride mixed with sadness. "But this time, the contract is different. This time, you are fighting for yourself."
She turns.
73 strains to see her face. The data stream corrupts. Her face is a pixelated blur of static.
"Trust no one," she whispers. "Not even the Agency. Not even me."
A file folder rests on the desk between them. It is stamped with a logo: a stylized bird. A Crane? No. A Peacock? No.
An Origami Killer? No.
It is the ICA Crest. The triangle. The skull.
73 reaches for the folder. His gloved hand touches the paper.
BURN.
The paper bursts into flames. The fire spreads instantly, consuming the room, the woman, the world.
[SYSTEM WAKE]
73 opens his eyes. He does not gasp this time. He is learning to control the glitch.
[TIME: 18:45 LOCAL]
[CHARGE: 100%]
[WOUND STATUS: STABLE]
He disconnects the cable calmly. The memory of the woman lingers. Diana. The name floats up from the encrypted depths of his subconscious like a bubble in a swamp. He does not know where it came from, but he knows it is a name.
He stands. He stretches. The shoulder is stiff, but functional. The staples hold.
"Mother," 73 says.
"I am here."
"I require a weapon upgrade."
"Approved. The difficulty curve is escalating. Your pistol is insufficient for long-range engagements."
73 walks to the Armory Interface. He has 14,250 Credits (Remaining 4,250 + 10,000 Reward).
He scrolls to the Sniper Rifles.
Jaeger 7 "Tiger": Suppressed, subsonic. Low damage, high fire rate. [Cost: 8,000 C]
Sieger 300 Ghost: Subsonic, max stability, time-slow perk. [Cost: 25,000 C](Locked)
Sieger 300 Advanced: Suppressed, 3x Zoom. [Cost: 12,000 C]
He purchases the Sieger 300 Advanced. It is a sleek, bullpup design, matte black, with a digital scope that interfaces directly with his optical implants.
[PURCHASE COMPLETE]
[ITEM MATERIALIZING...]
The 3D printer in the wall hums. Lasers dance, fusing metal powder into solid form. In five minutes, the rifle sits in the tray, warm and heavy.
73 picks it up. He shoulders it. The scope activates. Crosshairs overlay his vision. He aims at a speck of dust on the far wall.
Zoom. The dust mote becomes a boulder.
"An elegant tool," Mother comments. "You will need it. The Board has authorized Operation: Iron Horse."
73 lowers the rifle. "Briefing."
The holographic map expands. It shows a long, twisting line of light stretching across a desolate wasteland.
"This is the Trans-Continental Mag-Lev Line," Mother says. "It connects Neo-Berlin to the resource hubs in the Siberian Wastes. It is a no-man's-land. No laws. No police. Just speed."
A train materializes on the line. It is armored like a tank, bristling with turrets.
"The target is Oleg Volkov. An ex-Sanctum commander turned mercenary warlord. He is transporting a 'package'—a biological sample stolen from Eden-5 before you killed Thorne. We believe it is the prototype of the blight virus."
73 nods. "He is moving it to a buyer."
"Correct. Volkov is paranoid. He never leaves his armored train, The leviathan. It travels at 600 kilometers per hour and never stops. It is refueled by drones in motion."
[CONTRACT ADDED: THE MOVING FORTRESS]
[TARGET: OLEG VOLKOV]
[OBJECTIVE: ELIMINATE TARGET + SECURE THE SAMPLE]
[LOCATION: TRANS-SIBERIAN MAG-LEV]
[DIFFICULTY: VERY HARD]
"How do I board a train moving at that speed?" 73 asks.
"You don't," Mother says. "You intercept it. There is a canyon pass in the Urals—Sector 12. The train must slow to 300 km/h to navigate the curve. You will be waiting on the bridge above."
"300 km/h is still fast."
"That is why you are a Rebot, 73. A human would break. You will simply... adjust."
Mother pauses. "One more thing. You are not going in naked. We are providing a localized stealth suit upgrade. Use it wisely. Battery life is limited."
[ITEM UNLOCKED: MARK IV STEALTH SUIT]
Feature: Active Camouflage (Invisibility) for 10 seconds.
73 looks at his gear. The Sniper Rifle. The Suit. The Scrambler (he needs to buy another one).
"I need to resupply," 73 says. He buys another Disposable Scrambler (750 C) and a Fiber Wire replacement (200 C).
"Prepare yourself," Mother says. "Extraction will be difficult. You will have to hijack the train's own escape pod after the hit. There is no backup."
73 packs the rifle into a specialized briefcase. He snaps the latches shut.
"I don't need backup," 73 says.
He checks his shoulder one last time. The pain is there, a dull ache behind the painkillers. It reminds him he is alive. It reminds him of the red tie.
He heads to the door.
"73," Mother says, her voice softer, almost... curious. "During your recharge, your neural activity spiked again. Did you dream?"
73 stops with his hand on the door handle. He thinks of the woman. Diana. The fire.
"No," 73 says. "Rebots don't dream."
He walks out into the dark corridor.
[LOCATION: SECTOR 12 - THE URAL GAP]
[TIME: 04:00 LOCAL]
[TEMPERATURE: -20 DEGREES CELSIUS]
The wind howls like a dying animal. Snow whips horizontally, biting at exposed skin. 73 is perched on the support beam of a rusted suspension bridge, three hundred meters above a frozen river.
Below him, the magnetic rail line glows faintly blue in the dark.
He is wearing a white tactical parka over his suit. He is motionless. He has been here for three hours. The frost has formed a crust on his shoulders, blending him perfectly with the steel beam.
[TARGET APPROACHING]
[ETA: 60 SECONDS]
He feels the vibration before he hears the sound. A low tremor in the steel of the bridge.
Then, the lights. Twin beams of high-intensity halogen cutting through the blizzard.
The Leviathan.
It is a monster of black steel, twenty cars long. Turrets track the skyline. Radar dishes spin.
73 opens the briefcase. He assembles the Sieger 300.
Click. Click. Snap.
He lies prone on the beam. He brings the scope to his eye.
[CALIBRATING WINDAGE...]
[SPEED: 312 KM/H]
[DISTANCE: 400 METERS]
"The target is in the rear observation car," Mother guides him. "Armored glass. You have one shot to breach the glass with a high-velocity penetrator round, and a second shot to kill. You must time it perfectly between the bridge support struts."
73 slows his breathing.
His heart rate drops to 40 BPM.
The world slows down. [ADRENAL SURGE: ACTIVE]
The train roars closer. It is a blur of noise and metal.
He tracks the rear car. He sees the window. He sees a figure inside—a man with a beard, smoking a cigar. Volkov.
73 leads the target.
"Now," 73 whispers.
He pulls the trigger.
Pfft.
The silenced rifle kicks against his injured shoulder. Pain flares white-hot.
He works the bolt. Clack-clack.
The first bullet strikes the armored glass. A spiderweb of cracks blooms instantly, weakening the structural integrity.
Volkov turns, surprised by the noise.
73 fires the second shot.
The bullet passes through the compromised glass. It travels through the luxury cabin. It strikes Oleg Volkov in the temple.
The target drops.
[TARGET ELIMINATED]
"Kill confirmed," Mother shouts, her voice actually raising in volume. "Now, the hard part. Jump."
73 drops the rifle. He stands up on the frozen beam. The train is passing beneath him.
He calculates the velocity. He calculates the drag.
He activates the Mark IV Stealth Suit. He shimmers, becoming a ghost in the snow.
He leaps into the void.