Archive of Our Own

A loud alarm suddenly splits through the air, signaling the countdown for the elevator’s descent.

Using the time for something other than just sitting, you shrug your backpack off. The dark navy colour blends seamlessly into the darkness of the room, only making it harder to open the damn thing. With clumsy fingers, you feel around the side for the bag’s zipper.

Finally, after cursing at it for a solid minute, you find the zipper and open it, carefully sorting through its contents.

You had managed to scavenge some clean bandages, a couple shield recharges in mint condition, and even some heavy ammo for your Ferro. Nothing fancy, but useful enough for your next raid.

It’s just too bad you didn’t find anything else worthwhile. You had hoped to come across a blueprint or something of value to sell. Despite that, you won’t complain about some new medical supplies and gear.

Tugging the bag close to your chest, you rest your head atop it like a pillow.

Today has been exhausting.

Your body is only just now coming down from the adrenaline that had been pumping through your blood, leaving you more tired than you are.

Earlier this morning, on your hunt for loot, you had stumbled across some other friendly raiders at the power complex. It had been a tense couple of minutes, a stand-off to see if anyone would shoot. When everyone realised no one would, the tension eased away into something neutral. It was nice not having another person actively try to kill you.

Most raiders tend to avoid each other—greed always breeds hunger. A greedy raider will not hesitate to finish another raider off for some scraps. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case today. Everyone had gone about their own way to find loot for themselves, taking comfort in having others watch their back. The massive concrete building had enough nooks and crannies hiding loot that everyone could walk out with something.

You hadn’t found anything outstanding during your search for supplies, only the pack of heavy ammo tucked at the back of the drawer was a good find.

While half inside a locker, carelessly moving things around, you heard it.

A faint beep just off to your right.

Snapping your head toward it, you spotted a Wasp hovering outside the window, staring in.

The ARC had spotted one of the raiders near it through the glass. Blue lights flicked to yellow, then red in a heartbeat. In seconds, every nearby ARC was alerted to its location. From outside, a swarm of Wasps and Hornets swooped down, their mechanical wings slicing the air, driving everyone to scramble for cover. Their piercing scanners sliced through the room, leaving several raiders dangerously exposed.

You barely ducked behind cover before a Rocketeer blasted through the concrete wall. Dust and chunks of debris exploded in a cloud, skidding across the floor. The massive drone floated in effortlessly, its bulk filling the space with dread, its thrusters humming like a predator circling prey.

A raider to your left raised his weapon, firing at one of its thrusters, sparks scattering away in vain. The Rocketeer turned slowly, and with mechanical precision, unleashed a blast that tore the man apart. Shrapnel, blood, and gore sprayed across the floor, the screams of other raiders were swallowed in the roar of the drones as they entered the facility.

The ground shuddered from explosions as you pressed yourself lower to the ground, heart hammering, every second stretching into an eternity with bullets whistling past and rockets cracking the air.

As you peer past the container beside you, your eyes spot the Rocketeer above looking in the other direction, attention focused on another raider.

You take a deep breath, trying to even out the shallow, ragged gasps, escaping your mouth—you need to stay calm.

By some miracle, you spotted a small vent across from you—just large enough for a human to squeeze inside.

Using the chaos as a distraction, you slip out from your hiding spot and edge past the ARCs while their attention is elsewhere. You scurry toward the vent, fingers shaking as you pry the cover free, not daring to look back. The last sound you hear as you crawl away is a blood-curdling scream—cut abruptly short.

The carnage behind you slowly fades into the distance.

In the metal confines of the vent, your chest heaves, pulse hammering from the near-death encounter.

People might think a raider gets used to this—the constant death on the surface, a cycle that repeats without end—but not you. Every time you see someone fall, a sliver of your sanity frays. The brutality lingers, carving scars that never fade.

The elevator lurches downward, yanking you from your thoughts. Fists clenched, you force your breathing to steady as the yellow lights flicker out. A harsh static buzz fills the elevator, vibrating through the metal beneath you.

Your fingers dig into the wall and the strap of your bag in your lap. Falling wrenches the breath from your lungs. Teeth grind. Knuckles whiten. Chest constricts. Eyes squeeze shut as if that could stop it. Free-fall—one of the few things you truly despise—the sickening drop, your gut plunging ahead, dragged toward the depths below.

It lasts only a few seconds, but long enough for panic to claw up your throat, tight and choking.

By the time the elevator stops, your chest heaves, lungs aflame, sweat slick against your skin. Your pulse hammers in your ears, hands trembling violently. You force your heartbeat to slow, forcing your breath to follow. Breath shaky, you force yourself upright. Fingers ghost over your bag—once, then again before sliding the strap over your shoulder. Old habits die hard after a run like that.

"Welcome to Speranza. Please be mindful of your surroundings." The monotone voice of a woman drifts from a nearby speaker, the same automatic message that always plays when someone returns from these dingy elevators—familiar, impersonal, easy to tune out.

The metal doors grind open. Steam hisses from the pistons as they slide aside, the clang of metal echoing through the hall. Warm orange light washes over your face, forcing your eyes to squint against its glow. You step forward, letting your vision adjust to the familiar bustle of Speranza.

The faint clank of grated walkways punctuates the air, mingling with the hiss of pressure valves and the occasional spark from exposed junction boxes. Conveyor belts rattle in the distance, ferrying goods from one level to the next, while the low humming of turbines vibrates through the metal floors beneath your boots.

Thick cables snake between levels, powering lights, generators, and the occasional automated gate. On the platforms above, workers crouch over frayed wires and sputtering machines, sparks flying from their welding torches. Each clang of boots on metal intertwines with the groaning and whining of machinery—a rhythm that never sleeps.

You’ve seen this view countless times before, yet it never fails to enchant you. Even buried deep underground, humanity had carved out something alive—something that almost feels like it breathes. Streets stretch like veins through the city below, bustling with people, moving, shouting, selling, surviving.

Multiple floors stretch above each other, each with a distinct character: one vibrant with stalls spilling colourful goods into open courtyards—clothes swaying gently on racks, tools and scavenged gear stacked in neat piles; another darker, lit by neon signs above bars and steaming food vendors.

Pipes, vents, and conduits crisscross overhead, throbbing and sighing in time with the city’s pulse. Steam curls upward, catching the warm light, while the faint clatter of carts on grated walkways and murmured voices rise up from the streets below.

The scent of cooking drifts up, rich and inviting. Beneath it lingers the sharp, coppery tang of iron and oil, metallic and biting. A reminder that even deep underground, the city stirs in every corner with life.

People of every shape and style weave through the streets. Some show skin, curves accentuated by their attire; others cover up fully, masks hiding their faces, revealing nothing. Yet, all of them move with purpose, each leaving their mark. A city forged from survival, teeming with colour and life—proof that even in the dark, people find ways to make light.

Peering down from the high-rise platform, your body sags inward, finally allowing every muscle to unclench, your heartbeat slowing at last now that you’re back in Speranza—home. By habit more than thought, you move toward a hidden ledge and slide down the familiar ladder attached, hands gripping the cold metal sides as you let gravity do most of the work, arms burning as you struggle to stay steady.

With a solid thump, your boots hit the ground, jarring your aching legs.

You force yourself upright. Every movement strains against the weight pulling at your limbs.

Stretching your arms feels like dragging chains across raw muscles, every knot screaming in protest—a harsh reminder of the raid: gunfire, screams, the metallic tang of blood lingering in the air.

Sweat sticks to your skin beneath the gear, each ragged, shallow breath a tiny victory over exhaustion. Armor hugs you tightly, masking every curve—just as you intended. Being a woman in a male-dominated profession, unwanted attention comes with the territory; for your own safety—and peace of mind—it’s far easier to let people assume you’re a guy. The helmet’s built-in modulated voice box is old but reliable, its gruff timbre never failing to sell the illusion.

It’s helped you slip past raiders and the crowded streets of Speranza without a second glance. Most wear full suits, but few take precautions like you—few guard a secret so carefully.

You make your way toward the streets, each step a fight against the day still clinging to your limbs.

Your stomach growls, empty and insistent. The last thing you ate was a couple of eggs at sunrise, hours ago—and now the sun dips below the horizon. Food would hit the spot right now, a rare comfort after everything you’d endured.

You thread through the crowded streets, keeping your distance from everyone. Speranza bustles, but danger hasn’t gone anywhere. The ARCs aren’t watching—but raiders and locals with ill intent still stalk these streets, violence hiding in every shadow.

A shoulder crashes into you, sending you off balance. The jolt stings across your side. You plant your feet, spin, and meet the culprit’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry—Viper?” 

You blink behind your mask as the tension coiled in your muscles finally unravels. A short, stocky woman with warm chocolate skin smiles up at you, dark brown eyes bright with recognition. Her hair is tied back and wrapped neatly out of the way, a brow piercing catching the light. Round features soften her solid frame—familiar enough to ease the last of your guard.

She’s dressed in black pants, a dark blue crop top, and an olive green jacket thrown over it—practical, unmistakably her.

“Kaia?” you blurt, surprised to see her anywhere but buried deep in her med bay.

Kaia snorts, leaning forward to poke you teasingly in the chest.

“Uh, duh. Who else looks like your one and only best friend?” She crosses her arms, an easygoing smile tugging at her lips. “I’m one of a kind, baby. Ain’t nobody else like me.”

You shake your head, a quiet chuckle escaping.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that,” you say. “I just—I don’t see you leave your little med bay much. You practically live in there.”

Kaia sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes.

“I can’t really argue with you,” she admits. “Nia’s told me the same thing. More times than I can count, FYI.”

You huff a breath of amusement.

“Guess great minds think alike.”

Kaia jabs a finger at you, wagging it like a warning. “Don’t even start with me! Living with Nia and copping her crap is bad enough—I don’t need my best friend dishing out the same nonsense. You’re supposed to have my back!”

You poke her on the nose, smirking as her face scrunches up. She wipes at it, sniffing her fingers suspiciously. Her brown eyes snap onto you in an instant.

“What happened?”

You bite your tongue, swallowing the easy answer: nothing.

Tilting your head, you pause, weighing your words.

“Viper. What happened? You smell like smoke... and gravel.”

Sighing, you lift your hands loosely.

“I wouldn’t say gravel... maybe more like smoke and dust,” you murmur, voice low and measured.

“And how do you manage to smell like smoke and dust?”

Kaia’s eyes narrow, brows furrowed, her gaze sharp.

“It’s nothing, really,” you explain, hands raised. “Had a run-in with some ARCs—ran like hell out of there. Just a couple of explosions from their shitty aim. I’m fine, I promise.”

You know your half-hearted explanation isn’t fooling her. She’s known you too long for that—she could probably tell you what you wore this morning. Kaia has been your closest friend since you made it down here.

Shaking her head, Kaia sighs, her eyes taking in your scuffed gear and battered clothes.

“You look like shit.”

A short, startled laugh escapes you.

“Thanks, Kaia. I can really feel the love right now.”

Rolling her eyes, she punches your shoulder playfully.

“Ouch! Now we’re resorting to violence? That’s no way for a woman to treat a man,” you tease.

“You watch yourself,” she teases, a sly smile on her face. “I’d be more than happy to show you how I treat a man.”

“Ha. Ha,” you deadpan, suppressing a grin.

“Say, how about we grab a bite? You’re probably buggered from your expedition and could use some refreshment. On me.”

You purse your lips, thinking it over for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, that sounds amazing. I’m starving—I could eat for two."

Kaia grabs your arm, sliding you to her side.

“Then let’s not waste time! Business can wait—food always comes first!”

With a strength you hadn’t expected, Kaia tugs you along, her grip firm and steady. Neon lights from stalls and vendors spill across the streets, painting faces and merchandise in sharp, flickering colors—gear, clothes, trinkets, food—all layered in organized chaos. Despite the iron-tight hold on your arm, there’s comfort in it, a tether to something familiar amid the madness.

After today’s brutal raid, her hand feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded, pulling you away from the whirlwind of thoughts threatening to drag you under.

It’s as if the raging storm inside you has softened into a calm breeze.

Glancing away from Kaia, your eyes sweep the street warily. This part of Speranza isn’t exactly dangerous—most people here avoid trouble—but shadows still shift, and you’ve learned better than to trust appearances. Every face, every movement flickers at the edge of your vision, threatening to snap you back into high alert.

Exhaustion drags at your eyelids; lights blur and bleed together. Your chest tightens as you focus on breathing evenly, trying to keep your racing heart from giving you away. Blinking hard, you force your vision to sharpen, straining to make sense of the bustling streets around you.

“Hey,” Kaia says, glancing at you. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

You tilt your head toward her, shaking it faintly.

“Nah... I’m good,” you breathe.

Kaia frowns, her grip tightening just enough to remind you she’s there.

“We’re almost there. Just stay upright a bit longer. Once we sit, you can relax—and you definitely need food in you.”

Too tired to respond properly, you manage only a small nod, letting her presence steady you as your legs threaten to give out.

You pass clusters of people on the way to the food courts; the clang of metal and overlapping chatter hits your ears a little too loudly. The scent of food—growing stronger with every step—has you perking up in Kaia’s grip. As if on cue, your stomach growls loudly.

Kaia laughs.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Hey, I only had eggs this morning. My gut’s just expressing itself.”

“Viper, c’mon,” she says. “I’ve told you about eating properly. Do I need to threaten you with the special spray oil?”

You shudder at the memory.

Kaia had somehow managed to combine the most vile scents imaginable—oils so potent they burned your sinuses. The last time you smelled them, the stench clung to you for days. Literal days. She’d been experimenting with scent blends for Nia’s birthday... and you’d been the unfortunate test subject. Needless to say, no oil scents were gifted that year.

“No. No, please don’t,” you groan. “That’ll kill my appetite. I’ve never been so nauseous from a smell in my life.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Kaia?”

“Yes?”

“Please—just stop talking.”

She just laughs and pinches you in return, an easy smile lighting her face.

The familiar back-and-forth eases the last of your frayed nerves. The quiet anxiety in your chest fades to a whisper. Even though your body feels like it could give out at any moment, walking beside Kaia makes you feel present.

You trust her with your life.

“Hey,” she says. “We’re here.”

Looking up, you spot the familiar neon sign of yours and Kaia’s favorite pub, The Iron Kettle, flickering bright green. Kaia wastes no time dragging you through the door. Inside, the pub is clean yet cozy, the cool green lighting softening its industrial edges. The two of you make a beeline for your usual table tucked off to the side. Settling in gingerly, you’re careful not to pull any muscles.

A sigh slips from your lips as you finally settle into a comfortable position. Across from you, Kaia sinks into the plush cushions, letting out a contented sigh of her own.

“Man,” she says, “next time we go out, I’ve got to bring Nia. Too bad she didn’t come with me on the errand run, she could be stuffing herself with some warm food with us.”

“That’ll teach her to help her big sister out more,” you smirk. “Free food’s always the best.”

“Of course you’d never pass up free food, you fatty,” Kaia teases.

“Wow,” you drawl, a smile threatening to break through. “Did we come here to eat or just bully me?”

“Both,” she says easily, reaching for a menu.

Shaking your head, you grab one too. You know the menu by heart, but you still scan it—sometimes they run specials, and it’d be a crime to miss out.

It doesn’t take long before a waitress approaches, pen in hand, ready for your orders. 

You go with a burger and chips, and a glass of Coke. The young woman—pale-skinned, brown hair tied back—smiles, jotting it down before turning to Kaia.

“Chicken wrap and a glass of water for me, please,” Kaia says.

The waitress confirms the orders once more before heading toward the kitchen.

Relaxing into the chair, you lean forward, resting your head in your hand.

The place isn’t too loud—a small mercy for your sensitive head.

As your eyes sweep the few occupants around you, a prickle creeps up the side of your head. Someone’s staring. You turn slightly, meeting Kaia’s gaze head-on.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Kaia purses her lips. “Viper, be honest with me. Are you really okay? You seem... shaken.” Her voice softens. “I’m worried about you. I know how savage the surface can be.”

Her eyes seem to burn through your mask, searching for the truth beneath.

You lick your lips, weighing your words carefully—not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

You love Kaia like a sister and trust she can handle herself, yet part of you aches to shield her from it all—the torn bodies, the gunfire, the wreckage left behind by ARCs and humans alike. She isn’t naïve; she knows the cruelty of the surface. But knowing isn’t the same as living it.

“No... I don’t think I am,” you admit quietly. “You’re smart—you can probably put two and two together about what I deal with up there. I just... I want to forget about it for now. Please.” You hesitate, then add, voice tight, “It was a rough day. Things went south with some ARCs. A building got blown up... there were people still inside.” Your voice drops.

“I got out fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” you finish in a whisper.

A hand shoots out, gripping yours and stilling you.

Kaia turns your hand over, slipping her fingers gently between your own. Even through the glove, you feel the warmth of her skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat, your gaze rises from your intertwined hands to her face.

She wears a sad, open smile, eyes raw and unguarded—something that tugs at you, makes your chest ache with relief and worry all at once.

“Viper,” she murmurs, “don’t you dare ever think I don’t worry about you. Every time you go up there, I’m thinking about you—every second, every heartbeat.” Her grip tightens. “You’re not just another person to me. You’re family. And family sticks together—we survive the highs and the lows, together. So please... don’t tell me not to worry.” Kaia’s voice drops to a small, raw whisper, desperation shining in her eyes.

Shame presses down, and you can’t lift your eyes to hers.

“You’re right,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Kaia squeezes your hand once more before letting go, giving it a reassuring pat.

“You don’t have to tell me every detail,” she says gently. “But don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re not. I know you better than anyone—you know that.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, fists clenching at empty air. “You always are.”

“Of course I am,” Kaia grins, lifting some of the weight between you.

The waitress returns not long after your conversation, bringing both your food and drinks. You lift your helmet just enough to eat and sip your coke without revealing your face. The heaviness between you and Kaia softens as the minutes pass, the two of you slipping back into familiar banter, poking fun at each other like nothing happened.

Starved as you are, you finish your meal and drink in record time. Now you sit back, watching Kaia struggle through her own food.

“I seriously don’t understand how you devoured that like an endless bloody vacuum,” Kaia says, eyes squinting at you. “I swear you’ve got some kind of side compartment in your stomach that just sucks everything in. Five minutes, Viper. Five.”

You snort, leaning your head back against the cushion.

“I did warn you I only had two eggs this morning,” you tut, your voice modulated through the helmet.

“Girl, that still doesn’t explain how you scoffed it down like a trash can,” she deadpans.

“What can I say?” you shrug. “I’m good at disposing of things.”

Kaia’s hands freeze mid-motion.

You watch her grip the wrap a little tighter, a forced smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes squint just a touch too much—unnatural.

“Yeah...” she murmurs.

You straighten, lean forward, eyes narrowing behind your helmet.

“Alright,” you say. “Spill.” 

Kaia glances at you, then quickly looks away, setting the wrap down and fidgeting with a napkin.

“There’s... been some talk lately,” she says carefully.

You nod, waiting.

Licking her lips, she keeps her gaze averted. “Some raiders came into my clinic earlier. Offered a decent sum of credits for a quiet patch-up. I took it—everything went fine. They were polite enough.” She hesitates. “But they talked while I worked.”

“About what?” you ask, curiosity pricking.

She sighs. “Weird ARC movement up west. Patrol groups splitting off in patterns no one’s seen before. Numbers increasing—more than anyone remembers dealing with.”

Your posture subtly shifts. “Go on.”

“They mentioned a rumour,” Kaia continues quietly. “A supply drop crashing near the spaceport. High-value cargo. Worth thousands.”

Your interest sharpens. “Did they say anything else?”

Kaia finally meets your eyes, suspicion knitting her brow.

"Why?"

You shrug, tilting your head. “Curiosity.”

“No,” she snaps immediately. “Absolutely not. You are not going there. Are you insane, Viper?” Her voice drops, sharp and furious. “Every major raider crew will be crawling all over that place. Fake intel or not, people won’t pass it up. It’ll be a bloodbath.”

You raise your hands in surrender.

“Okay. Okay—chill. I’m not going,” you say quickly. “I just wanted to understand what’s happening up there. You can’t blame me for that.”

Kaia exhales heavily, pinning you in your seat with a hard look.

“Fine,” she says, watching you like she’s weighing every word, sharp and wary.

Sighing, you glance around the pub, eyes catching a group laughing loudly in the corner.

“Alright,” you say quietly. “Fine. I won’t ask about that anymore.”

A beat.

“But I do want to know about the Black Ledgers.”

Kaia flinches at the name, just slightly—but you catch it from the corner of your eye.

"...Viper."

She shifts in her chair, discomfort written across her face. A grimace twists her features; her eyes dart everywhere but at you, fingers drumming unevenly against the table, restless.

Alarm bells ring in your head.

“Kaia,” you say slowly, voice tightening. “What did they do?”

She bites her lip, nerves etched deep.

“Look—I don’t want you doing anything about it, okay?” she rushes. “Please. Just... let it be. I’ve got it under control.”

“What happened?” you growl, desperation clawing its way up your chest.

The Black Ledgers are bad news. You wish Kaia had never crossed paths with them—but what’s done is done. There’s no undoing it now.

She lets out a heavy sigh, eyes flicking to you for just a heartbeat before dropping again.

“They came by the shop earlier today.”

It feels like a pin just dropped.

“...What?”

“I know,” she rushes. “I know.”

“Kaia—why didn’t you tell me this the moment I saw you?” you snap, worry and anger tangling together.

She drags a hand down her face, frustration sharpening her glare as she finally meets your eyes.

“Because I didn’t want to tell you at all,” she fires back. “Especially after watching you cling to me earlier like you were about to collapse. You can barely stand after raids lately, Viper.” Her voice drops, stripped bare. “How can I add my mess to yours when you’re already carrying so much?”

The words hit like a slap to the face.

You lean back, forcing your chest to rise and fall.

Silence settles between you, thick and heavy, the pub’s noise fading to a distant hum, irrelevant and muted.

You never realised how Kaia must’ve felt until she said that—how every time she saw you battered and bruised after raids, it chipped away at her. It was your own fault for not noticing sooner, for missing how she bottled up her problems so you wouldn’t worry about her.

How annoyingly selfless.

You bite back your anger, reminding yourself it comes from care. Kaia doesn’t want you pushing yourself for her sake.

“Kaia,” you say quietly, breaking the silence.

“If you want to be angry, then be angry,” she whispers. “But I don’t regret what I was going to do. You already do so much for me and Nia. The least I could do was not burden you with my own problems.”

Her eyes glisten beneath the pub’s lights.

Your heart tugs painfully. You want nothing more than to pull her into a hug.

She clenches and unclenches her fists, cursing softly as tears spill down her face. Snatching up a napkin, she dabs at her eyes with rough, frustrated motions.

“I don’t want to push my problems onto you after everything you already do for me,” Kaia sobs, hiding her face in her hands. “Every time you go up to the surface—face those horrors—and still come back to help me, lend me credits for my mistakes...” Her voice breaks. “You don’t understand how much that means to me.”

You reach across the table, gently catching her arm and easing it away from her face.

Brown eyes, heavy with sorrow, meet yours.

“Kaia,” you murmur. “I’m not angry that you tried to hide this. I worry about you just as much as you worry about me. Seems like we’re both pretty bad at this.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “I just want you safe. I hate what the Black Ledgers are doing to you, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to get you out of their debt. You can count on me.”

Your thumb brushes soothingly over her arm.

She chokes on a sob, a sad smile breaking through.

Looking at you through tears, Kaia nods.

“I know,” she croaks.

The two of you sit in silence, basking in the trust and comfort you share. With careful movements, you rub your hand along Kaia’s arm, trying to smooth away the worry lodged deep in her bones. Your best friend is one of the strongest women you know—strong enough to face the Black Ledgers alone, just to spare you the weight of her fear.

“You are not a burden to me, Kaia,” you say firmly. “You will never be.”

She swallows hard.

“I feel so helpless sometimes,” Kaia admits quietly. “I could never be like you—go up there and face all of that.”

Her fingers curl into a fist. “All I have is my medical knowledge, and it’s never enough. Not for the rent. Not for Nia.”

Her jaw tightens, shame flickering briefly in her eyes before she looks away. You gently pry her hand open, clasping it tightly in yours.

“Hey. Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that,” you scold softly. “You’re an amazing, talented, intelligent woman. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me—how much you’ve helped me grow. I wouldn’t be the person sitting across from you if it weren’t for you.” Your grip tightens just a little. “You’re more than just a person to me. You’re family.”

A small, choked laugh escapes her, and her fingers squeeze yours back.

“You can’t steal my words,” she mutters, laughing through her tears.

“Well,” you say, unrepentant, “tough shit. I just did.”

Kaia’s hand trembles in yours as she draws a shaky breath.

“Viper,” she whispers. “They threatened Nia... my baby sister.” Her voice cracks. “They want double the payments I already give them. I don’t know what to do. We can’t make that work.”

Your thumb moves in slow circles over her skin, your mind racing with every possible way to fix this.

The Black Ledgers had demanded eight hundred a month.

If they doubled it—

“They want sixteen hundred?” you whisper.

Kaia nods, her bottom lip trembling.

The weight of it sinks in, pressing down like a stone.

Kaia barely makes enough credits to scrape together a hundred for the Black Ledgers. You’ve been bringing in most of the money from the raids—and even then, sixteen hundred a month is impossible. Unless you struck gold with a rare blueprint or high-tier loot, there’s no way to meet their demand.

“We’ll figure something out,” you say, your mind already racing for ideas.

Kaia sniffles, wiping at her face with the napkin in hand.

“We can’t,” she wheezes, voice breaking. “I don’t have that kind of money—and neither do you.”

“Kaia.” You lean forward. “Look at me.”

Her tear-filled brown eyes lift, locking onto your helmet.

“Do you trust me?”

She scrunches her face, mouth opening—

“Just answer the question,” you say softly. “Do you trust me, Kaia?”

She blinks hard, then nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I trust you with my life.”

“Then trust that we’ll figure this out,” you say firmly. “We’ll get through this. Okay?”

Kaia swallows, nodding again—reluctant, but yielding.

"Okay... I trust you."

“Good. Now finish your meal, and let’s head home. Forget the errand—I’ll run it for you.”

“But you just got back from a raid—” she protests.

“—and I’m still standing,” you cut in lightly. “I just needed food. I feel way better now, thanks to you.” You pat her hand before letting go. “Go home to Nia. She’s probably offended she didn’t get dinner with us. Go spoil your sister for me.”

Kaia exhales, clearly defeated.

“I’m only agreeing because Nia’s just as bad at feeding herself,” she mutters. “Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easily.”

You grin beneath your helmet, giving her a playful nudge.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Kaia tries to finish her wrap but gives up after struggling to swallow another bite. After paying, the two of you step out of the pub and make your way through the streets toward her place. The warm scent of food gradually fades, replaced by the sharp tang of copper and oil. She’ll hand over the address for the errand once you’re back at hers.

Steam hisses from vents and valves as you descend into the housing blocks. This part of Speranza isn’t fancy—far from it. Most people here can barely afford the small sanctuaries they call home.

The sheltered pathways screech with the grind of metal gears, a constant reminder that this place never truly rests. Rent is cheap for a reason. No one chooses to live here if they can escape. The air tastes of steel, ozone lingering on your tongue, and the deep hum of generators never stops. Forget a full night’s rest—the machinery grinds endlessly, denying residents any real peace.

You and Kaia stop in front of a door dented and scarred from years of use.

Stepping closer, Kaia reaches into her jacket and pulls out a set of keys.

She fits one into the lock, twisting it until it clicks, then nudges the door open. 

You follow closely behind.

“Nia! I’m home!” Kaia calls, moving down the narrow hallway.

You close and lock the door behind you, following after.

“Nia!” Kaia calls again, louder this time.

“Yeah! I’m in here!” a younger voice shouts back, punctuated by shuffling feet. “Don’t bother me—I’m busy!”

Stepping into a small open space where the kitchen and lounge meet, you see Kaia standing near the stove, arms wrapped around a smaller figure. The two share a brief hug before pulling apart. Smiling down at her sister, Kaia’s attention shifts to the pan sizzling on the burner.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Kaia asks, brow arched.

Nia huffs, crossing her arms defensively.

“I was making food. I got hungry.”

Kaia glances between her and the pan. “And what exactly are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

Kaia hums. “Fair enough.” She turns and heads toward another room, leaving Nia to her cooking.

Left alone in the kitchen, Nia’s gaze roams over your scuffed armor like it’s a horror exhibit.

“Wow. You look like someone beat you with a wrench and called it fashion,” she scoffs, arms crossed, smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll try not to judge... too hard.”

You shake your head, lifting your helmet off. Cool air kisses your skin like a calming balm. You draw in a slow breath through your nose and let it out.

“Thanks, I appreciate it, Nia,” you drawl, grinning. “Your fashion advice is invaluable, truly.”

“You’re welcome,” Nia smiles.

“You should go rest,” she adds. “You just got back from the surface?”

You nod.

“Yeah. But I promised Kaia I’d run an errand for her before heading home.”

Nia narrows her eyes, worry flickering for a moment, then shrugs. “Suit yourself, I guess,” she mutters, turning back to the stove—but the pause in her shoulders tells you she’s not really okay with it.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you watch Nia silently make herself some food. The smell quickly fills the small apartment. Luckily, you’ve already eaten—otherwise, you’d probably be drooling on the floor over something as simple as pancakes.

Letting your gaze wander, your eyes settle on a framed photo hanging on the wall. Nia and Kaia beam at the camera, flanked by a woman and a man. Their smiles are a whisper from a simpler time, a glimpse of happier days now gone.

You already know who they are—Kaia has told you about her parents countless times.

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder, making your heart jump.

“Holy shit, Kaia—a little warning next time,” you quip, clutching your chest dramatically.

Kaia raises a brow, amused, and shoves a piece of paper into your hands.

“Here. This is everything you’ll need for the errand. I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

You unfold the paper carefully: an address and a short list of supplies. Glancing back at her, you purse your lips. “Med bay supplies?”

Kaia grimaces and nods. “I ran out of burn ointment, and I’m running low on pain meds. Unless people want to start toughing out injuries, I need them.”

You nod, expression sobering.

“This is a private seller?” you ask quietly. “Not the Black Ledgers?”

She nods immediately. “I’m not making any more deals with them. You know that.”

Your eyes flick briefly toward Nia, still oblivious as she hums over the stove.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just don’t want you pressured into more debt.”

Kaia exhales heavily, her shoulders sagging. “Me too. Trust me, I don’t want to owe those bastards more than I already do.”

You step forward and pull her into a hug.

“Be careful, yeah?”

She scoffs softly, hugging you back before pulling away. “I should be the one telling you that.”

“Well, for your sake, I’ll be careful,” you reply with a grin. “Get some rest. Take care, Kaia. See you around, Nia!”

“Bye Viper!” Nia calls back.

You grab your helmet and pull it on, noticing the small smile lingering on Kaia’s face as she walks you to the door. She shuts it gently behind you, a soft “goodbye” escaping her lips.

Clutching the paper tightly, you tilt your head back, eyes tracing the maze of pipes and power lines crisscrossing overhead. Kaia and Nia are in danger. The Black Ledgers might not be demanding payment yet, but they will come knocking—sooner rather than later.

One month.

That’s all you have to come up with the credits.

As you stand there, something clicks into place.

Kaia mentioned earlier that something strange had been happening with the ARCs.

A possible jackpot.

You told Kaia you wouldn’t get involved.

But if it could clear her debt—if it could keep them safe—then the risk was worth it.

Stepping away from the door, your figure melts into the shadows, swallowed by steel and steam. Only faint footprints mar the dust—the last evidence that anyone had been here at all.