The rain didn't fall in Deadman's City. It tore. The skies cracked open like broken glass, slicing heaven with lightning, and poured its fury upon the concrete bones of a city that forgot what mercy meant. Here, sirens were lullabies, gunshots were punctuation marks, and corpses were cheaper than bread.
And somewhere in the alleys of District 9, Ravenna Noir—called Red Sin by those who feared or fucked her – lit a cigarette with the flame of a still-burning car wreck.
Her crimson leather coat clung to her like a second skin, blood-soaked and rain-slicked, the collar upturned like fangs. Hair matted across her face, hiding the hunger in her eyes. She didn't flinch at the sound of a man begging nearby. She stepped over him. He'd taken a bullet from her five minutes ago. He wasn't bleeding out fast enough.
"Should've known better than to touch my girl," she whispered.
The girl in question was twenty-one. Black hair, a shiv smile, tied naked to the back of Ravenna's bike like a rescued doll. A cartel whore, now freed. Now branded.
Ravenna flicked her cigarette into the dying man's eyes, and he screamed. Her boots crushed his ribs with the kind of rhythm that said she used to be a dancer. Or maybe a killer in a tutu. No one ever asked her past—only where the body went.
The city watched from broken windows. Drones buzzed overhead, ignored her. She was marked as "untouchable." Not even the city's fake cops—the Peace Syndicate—wanted a bite of her wrath.
Until he came back.
Jace Cross wore a suit like it was a lie. Black tie, white shirt, eyes too honest for a man who'd buried friends under hotel floors. He stood six feet and some sin, lean muscle packed under agency-cut threads. And he walked through the market like he still belonged here.
He didn't.
Ravenna saw him from a rooftop, crouched with a sniper scope aimed at someone else's skull. But her breath caught. Not because of the target. Because of him.
Jace. Her Jace.
The man who left with a kiss and came back with a badge.
The bastard.
Five months ago, Ravenna would've torn out her own heart before hurting him. But five months ago, she didn't know he was lying. That every moan he pulled from her lips was recorded. Every whisper in her ear, analyzed. That the man she let inside her wasn't just undercover—he was under orders.
She didn't kill him when she found out. She couldn't. But she did leave him in a bathtub full of ice and syringes. Let the rats get to his thigh before she called for an ambulance. She watched from a rooftop as he screamed into the night, pupils wide from whatever she'd injected into his veins.
Yet here he was. Alive. Breathing.
He moved with caution now, as if every corner held a shadow from their past. His eyes flicked—always scanning. He hadn't seen her yet.
But she saw him.
And fuck her, part of her still felt him.
The sniper round cracked the air, hitting the head of some cartel prince. Blood sprayed over street meat and cheap synth silk. Panic unfolded like a fan, and Ravenna ghosted backward off the rooftop like wind through ash.
She followed Jace. Quiet. Close. Closer than a pulse.
He moved into the alley behind Blackbone Market, stepping over trash fires and nodding at a fence dealer. He had a comms piece. She could hear the static.
"—target neutralized. On route to extraction. No eyes on Sin."
Sin. He still called her that.
Good. That meant he remembered.
She dropped behind him like a blade.
"Miss me?" she whispered.
He turned, slow, raising his hands.
"Raven."
That voice. It cracked her open like thunder through a coffin.
"You left me bleeding, Jace."
"You left me paralyzed."
She smiled. "And yet, here we are."
His jaw clenched. "I'm not here to finish what we started."
"Too bad," she said, twirling a blade between her fingers. "Because I am."
He stepped back, but not in fear. In memory.
She closed the space between them, finger on his chest. "Still beating," she whispered. "How tragic."
He swallowed hard. "I did what I had to. You know that."
"No," she said, tilting her head. "You knew what I would've done if I found out. And you gambled anyway."
"I tried to protect you."
She laughed, cruel and bitter. "You betrayed me to protect me? You're more twisted than I am."
Suddenly, a siren split the air. Not police—Peace Syndicate.
Jace's voice lowered. "They're after me too. Things went bad. I've been burned."
Ravenna paused. Read his face. He wasn't lying.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
He stepped close. "A second chance."
"Wrong city for redemption, baby."
"Maybe. But I still know things. Things they're planning. You're on the list, Raven."
Her eyes narrowed. "What list?"
He handed her a chip.
"Proof. Deadman's City has always had secrets. But this? This is war."
She took the chip.
And the moment she did, everything changed.
Ravenna didn't say a word.
She just turned.
Walked.
Not away, but toward her bike, that roaring metal beast she called Salvation. She climbed on without a word, chipped the ignition with her thumb, and stared at Jace with eyes like the end of the world.
"Get on."
He hesitated.
She revved the engine, flames bursting from the side pipes. "You've got five seconds before I change my mind."
He climbed on, arms around her waist like a memory he didn't deserve. The girl tied to the back moaned faintly, half-drugged and unaware of the storm brewing on two wheels.
They tore through District 9, engines howling, water slicing up around them like broken glass. Sirens shrieked behind. Red and blue lights flickered like guilt.
They didn't stop.
Couldn't.
They reached her hideout in the Spine District—a twisted jungle of abandoned industrial towers, vines of electric wire hanging like corpses. She dismounted, unstrapped the girl, carried her into the lower floor where patched medkits and bloodstained sheets made a home of war.
Jace followed. Quiet. Watching.
"She safe?" he asked.
Ravenna didn't answer. She laid the girl down, pulled a syringe from a dusty drawer, injected a blue serum into her neck. "She will be."
He looked around. "Still running solo?"
She chuckled. "You broke my team, remember? Snitching on Calyx. Blowing Vera's cover. Lynx got caught trying to save me from you. He died in a cell because of your intel."
He winced. "I didn't choose that."
"You chose me. Then sold me."
A silence. Thick enough to drown in.
She poured two glasses of something sharp and green. Sat across from him on a table made from a broken door. Legs wide. Staring.
"Talk," she said. "You've got five minutes."
Jace nodded. "They're building something under the city. Codenamed Golgotha. It's not just a prison—it's a factory. They're harvesting people."
"Organs?"
"Worse. Neural code. Memories. They're rewriting mercs like you into corporate assets. Ghost operatives. Killers without a past."
Ravenna's eyes glinted.
"I'm on that list," she said flatly.
"You're at the top."
A long moment passed.
She reached out. Took his tie. Pulled him across the table.
Their lips met in a kiss that tasted like blood and betrayal.
He didn't pull away.
She shoved him down, straddled him, eyes wild.
"You still want me, Jace?"
He grunted as her nails raked down his chest. "Always."
"Then you'll bleed for me first."
She pulled a blade.
Held it to his ribs.
He didn't flinch.
"Do it," he said. "Maybe that'll even the scales."
Instead, she dragged the tip across his skin, slicing shallow, just enough to draw blood. Then she licked it.
He groaned.
And she kissed him again, rough, desperate.
The gunfire outside interrupted them. Rapid. Close.
Peace Syndicate.
"Guess they tracked you after all," Ravenna said, rising, eyes flashing. "You brought hell to my doorstep."
"I brought a warning."
"And now I'm bringing war."
Ravenna didn't say a word.
She just turned.
Walked.
Not away, but toward her bike, that roaring metal beast she called Salvation. She climbed on without a word, chipped the ignition with her thumb, and stared at Jace with eyes like the end of the world.
"Get on."
He hesitated.
She revved the engine, flames bursting from the side pipes. "You've got five seconds before I change my mind."
He climbed on, arms around her waist like a memory he didn't deserve. The girl tied to the back moaned faintly, half-drugged and unaware of the storm brewing on two wheels.
They tore through District 9, engines howling, water slicing up around them like broken glass. Sirens shrieked behind. Red and blue lights flickered like guilt.
They didn't stop.
Couldn't.
They reached her hideout in the Spine District—a twisted jungle of abandoned industrial towers, vines of electric wire hanging like corpses. She dismounted, unstrapped the girl, carried her into the lower floor where patched medkits and bloodstained sheets made a home of war.
Jace followed. Quiet. Watching.
"She safe?" he asked.
Ravenna didn't answer. She laid the girl down, pulled a syringe from a dusty drawer, injected a blue serum into her neck. "She will be."
He looked around. "Still running solo?"
She chuckled. "You broke my team, remember? Snitching on Calyx. Blowing Vera's cover. Lynx got caught trying to save me from you. He died in a cell because of your intel."
He winced. "I didn't choose that."
"You chose me. Then sold me."
A silence. Thick enough to drown in.
She poured two glasses of something sharp and green. Sat across from him on a table made from a broken door. Legs wide. Staring.
"Talk," she said. "You've got five minutes."
Jace nodded. "They're building something under the city. Codenamed Golgotha. It's not just a prison—it's a factory. They're harvesting people."
"Organs?"
"Worse. Neural code. Memories. They're rewriting mercs like you into corporate assets. Ghost operatives. Killers without a past."
Ravenna's eyes glinted.
"I'm on that list," she said flatly.
"You're at the top."
A long moment passed.
She reached out. Took his tie. Pulled him across the table.
Their lips met in a kiss that tasted like blood and betrayal.
He didn't pull away.
She shoved him down, straddled him, eyes wild.
"You still want me, Jace?"
He grunted as her nails raked down his chest. "Always."
"Then you'll bleed for me first."
She pulled a blade.
Held it to his ribs.
He didn't flinch.
"Do it," he said. "Maybe that'll even the scales."
Instead, she dragged the tip across his skin, slicing shallow, just enough to draw blood. Then she licked it.
He groaned.
And she kissed him again, rough, desperate.
The gunfire outside interrupted them. Rapid. Close.
Peace Syndicate.
"Guess they tracked you after all," Ravenna said, rising, eyes flashing. "You brought hell to my doorstep."
"I brought a warning."
"And now I'm bringing war."
Jace barely had time to catch his breath.
Ravenna was already by the window of the hideout, wiping blood from her jaw, peeking past the cracked blinds into the night. Rain fell like needles. The sirens had faded, but only because the Peace Syndicate was regrouping. They didn't retreat. They recalibrated.
Her voice came low. "They'll come harder next time."
Jace adjusted his grip on the sidearm, still half-hard from the rawness they'd just shared, but his mind was locked in combat mode now.
"They want the chip."
Ravenna's eyes narrowed. "No. They want me."
She slid her blades back into their sheaths, then walked barefoot across the room like a panther that just finished feasting. Her bare skin still glistened with sweat and blood, and the tattoos running down her spine—those same coded runes from her old merc days—seemed to shimmer under the flickering light.
Jace stood. "We need allies."
"You burned mine."
He didn't flinch. "Then we make new ones. There are still factions out there not under Syndicate control. The Dust Scars. Ghostwires. Maybe even Dagger Saints."
She scoffed. "You think the Saints will work with me after what happened in Dagon Port?"
"You saved their leader's sister."
"I also blew up their cathedral."
"They forgive sins, don't they?"
She smirked. "Only after a blood tithe."
He nodded. "Then we'll bleed."
They headed out just before dawn.
Ravenna wore a new coat—black with crimson lining. Her old one had too much memory stitched into the leather. Too many ghosts.
The girl they'd rescued remained with Delphine, locked away and monitored, injected with nano-probes to track withdrawal symptoms. Ravenna had left a blade on the table beside her. Not for protection. For identity. The girl would understand when she woke.
As they hit the street, Ravenna glanced at Jace. "If we die, I'll kill you again in the afterlife."
He chuckled. "Fair."
They moved through the ruins of the old eastern sectors. Streets where even drones didn't fly anymore. Burned-out vending bots. Piles of bone and metal. Streetlights that flickered like dying stars.
The city whispered around them.
Graffiti glowed faintly on crumbling walls:
TRUTH IS A BULLET. LOAD IT WISELY.
RED SIN RISES.
NO GODS HERE. ONLY GHOSTS.
They passed through Hollow Spine, a place where old mercs used to settle down, build homes out of scavenged armor and broken promises. Now it was a graveyard.
"Stop," Ravenna whispered.
Jace paused.
She knelt by a torn tarp. Pulled it aside.
Beneath it lay a corpse—fresh. Peace Syndicate insignia still blinking red on the sleeve.
She turned the body over.
No bullet wounds. No blade cuts.
Eyes wide open. Skin pale.
"Drained," she muttered.
Jace tensed. "What kind of tech does that?"
"Not tech," she whispered. "Not anymore."
"What then?"
She looked at him. Cold.
"Something older. Something they dug up under the city before Golgotha even had a name."
He stared. "You're saying... supernatural?"
"I'm saying the Syndicate's not just cloning killers or rewriting memories." She touched the corpse's temple. "They're channeling something else. Something wrong."
A faint click echoed behind them.
Both turned—guns raised.
From the mist emerged a figure in a tattered Syndicate coat, face hidden behind a gas mask molded like a skull.
"Specter sends his regards," the figure rasped—and threw a smoke grenade.
The smoke exploded into the air—thick, choking, and laced with electric static. Ravenna's eyes watered. Not just smoke. This was destabilizer gas—military grade, meant to fuck with equilibrium and neural focus. The kind used on rogue cyborgs in the Iron Districts.
Ravenna dropped low. Rolled.
Jace was already moving, blind-firing into the mist. His HUD lens clicked down over one eye, scanning heat signatures.
"One target—no, two!" he barked.
Too late.
The first hit came like thunder.
A boot to Ravenna's ribs knocked her into a stack of rusted crates. She hit hard, the breath forced from her lungs. Rolled just in time to dodge a follow-up strike. A figure emerged from the haze—tall, feminine, face hidden behind an angular chrome mask. A red X glowed over one eye.
"New toy?" Ravenna growled.
The masked woman didn't answer. She spun a carbon-blade staff like a blur, slashing downward.
Ravenna caught the staff with both hands, sparks flying as metal scraped skin. She grinned.
"I like you."
She twisted, pulling the staff off-balance, then drove her knee into the woman's stomach. A crack echoed.
Jace fired behind her—two rounds, center mass. The second assailant dropped. But the woman didn't even flinch.
She just—glitched.
Jace's eyes widened. "She phased—! She's using Ghostcore tech!"
The woman shimmered, momentarily flickering like a bad signal, then reappeared behind Jace.
Ravenna's scream was primal.
"JACE, DOWN!"
He ducked.
The staff slashed over his head, cutting a fire escape pipe in half.
Steam hissed into the alley.
Ravenna launched at the masked woman, knives in both hands now, fighting with the fury of betrayal and memory. Every movement was poetry and slaughter. Her body moved like it had rehearsed this a thousand times in dreams soaked with blood.
She landed three hits. Ribs. Shoulder. Thigh.
Still, the woman fought like a machine.
Ravenna growled. "Who are you?!"
The woman said nothing—until she finally stopped mid-strike, cocked her head, and whispered in a voice that was both hers and not hers:
"Red Sin must burn."
And then—she exploded.
Not with fire.
With light.
A blinding flash detonated from her chest, tossing Ravenna and Jace into opposite walls of the alley. The masked woman was gone. No body. No signal.
Only the lingering echo of her words.
They limped back into the hideout, bloody and disoriented.
Jace collapsed into a rusted chair, clutching his shoulder. "That wasn't just a hit squad. That was precision. Tactical. And that woman—she wasn't human. Not fully."
Ravenna hissed as she ripped her coat open. A deep bruise spread across her ribs. "She had Ghostcore phasing, but it felt possessed—like something else was in there."
"Did you hear her voice?"
"She spoke in code." Ravenna opened a drawer, pulled out a cracked tablet, and typed in the phrase: RED SIN MUST BURN.
An old file pinged open.
Video surveillance. Four years ago. A Syndicate blacksite known as The Hollow Forge.
Ravenna watched as her past self walked down a corridor, flanked by four operatives. Jace was there too—fresh-faced, pre-betrayal. They were escorting a prisoner. A woman with no eyes. No mouth.
But the prisoner smiled.
The same smile the masked woman wore in the alley.
"What the fuck is this?" Jace asked, watching the footage.
Ravenna's voice was cold. "The first test subject of Project Golgotha."
"You saw this before?"
"I buried it."
Jace looked at her. "They resurrected her."
Ravenna leaned back, exhaling. "No. They cloned her."
It was almost dawn when they both finally calmed down enough to think.
Jace cleaned his wounds in silence, and Ravenna patched her ribs with a dermal seal. She lit another cigarette, staring at the cracked ceiling of her hideout.
He broke the silence. "You didn't ask me how I survived."
She blew smoke. "Didn't care."
He smirked. "I flatlined for six minutes. They brought me back. Not the Agency. Specter."
Ravenna turned. "You worked for him?"
"No. I escaped. Barely. But he branded me. Literally." He pulled back his shirt collar.
There it was—etched into his skin like molten steel. A symbol. A triangle inside a broken circle.
Ravenna's face went cold.
"That's the mark of the Vultures."
"Yeah."
"The mercs they couldn't kill… they turned them into assets."
Jace nodded. "And Specter's building an army of them."
"Using Golgotha's tech."
"They're turning the city's deadliest into programmable soldiers. No past. No pain. Just kill-codes."
Ravenna stood. "Then we torch the lab. We burn Golgotha to the ground."
Jace shook his head. "You don't even know where it is."
She leaned close. "No. You don't."
He frowned. "You've known?"
"I helped build the outer layer. Before I found out what it really was. Before you betrayed me."
He didn't look away. "Then lead the way."
She grabbed her weapons, eyes burning red under the neon glow.
"I'm not just leading. I'm cleansing."
And just like that, Red Sin was reborn.
Four Years Ago
Blacksite: The Hollow Forge
It smelled like ash and copper. The walls bled warmth—thick pipes hissed and pulsed like arteries in a dying god. Red lights strobed the corridor in slow, throbbing intervals. Deep underground, far from city noise, time moved differently.
Ravenna—code name: Red Sin—walked with purpose, black ops uniform slick with grime and ghost residue. She was younger, her eyes still bright with the illusion of purpose.
Beside her walked Commander Vex Strahm—Specter's old warhound. All silver hair, cold eyes, and surgical cruelty. He spoke like a teacher, but taught death.
"Phase-One testing is complete," he said, gesturing toward a reinforced vault door. "The subject exhibits a 72% retention rate. Pain response still unpredictable, but it's learning. Relearning."
"Relearning what?" Ravenna had asked.
Strahm didn't look at her. "Humanity."
The door groaned open.
Inside the chamber was a woman—not bound, not restrained. She simply stood in place, her skin pale and translucent like a moth's wing. Veins pulsed violet beneath her flesh. Her mouth had been sealed shut with bio-sutures, her eyes stitched with metal wire.
But she watched them.
Even sightless, she watched.
Ravenna stepped closer, ignoring protocol.
The woman tilted her head.
Then, using no voice—no mouth—she spoke, and the sound vibrated inside Ravenna's skull like a wet whisper.
"You burn so red, little flame."
Ravenna recoiled.
Vex smirked. "It speaks to some. The chosen. We've tested a hundred agents. Only three got a response. You're the fourth."
She stared into the stitched eyes.
"Why is it still alive?"
Vex leaned in. "Because it wants to be."
Now
The Hideout — Below Ward-9
Ravenna woke in a cold sweat.
Jace was asleep on the couch—gun in one hand, old pain etched in his sleeping face. His chest rose and fell slowly. He looked human in sleep. Like the man she used to love. Before the knife in her back. Before Specter.
She lit a match. Not a lighter—a match. The old kind. She always said the scent of sulfur calmed her nerves. Reminded her of where she came from.
She opened a rusted locker behind a false wall. Inside was an old data drive. Hand-carved.
She hesitated… then slammed it into the terminal.
Holograms flickered to life. Blueprints. Names. Kill-lists.
At the top: Project Golgotha Phase Two — Status: ACTIVATED
And then… she saw his name.
Not Specter. Not Vex.
But someone she had buried herself.
KAI VAULT.
Her ex-teammate. Her brother-in-blood. Left behind after the Collapse on Eden Pier.
"Impossible…" she muttered.
Jace stirred. "What is it?"
She turned. Her voice hollow.
"They brought Kai back."
He rubbed his eyes. "That's not possible. He was incinerated. I saw his body."
"You saw a body. But this…" She pulled up the next hologram.
Kai's face. A little colder. Paler. But still him. Except for one thing:
His eyes were empty. No soul. Just the reflection of code.
Later — Rooftop Overlooking Ward-9
The city stretched like a graveyard of neon and broken dreams. Sirens howled like wolves in heat. Drones hovered, scanning. Somewhere below, a child screamed. Somewhere else, a gun barked twice. This was the soundtrack of Deadman's City.
Ravenna stood near the ledge, coat flapping.
Jace approached. "You thinking about jumping?"
She smirked. "Not my style. I prefer to make others fall."
He handed her a bottle—half bourbon, half regret.
She didn't drink. Just held it. Watched the lights dance across the glass.
"I brought him into the Syndicate," she said softly. "Kai. He trusted me. We fought together. Laughed together. Then they used me to break him. I didn't even know."
Jace nodded. "Same thing they did to me."
She looked at him. "You chose to betray me."
"I chose to survive."
"Same thing, huh?"
"No. Survival is crueler. You don't betray just one person. You betray yourself too."
She didn't respond.
Jace finished the bottle. Threw it into the street.
"We're going after him, aren't we?" he asked.
Ravenna's eyes glowed like dying coals. "Not to save him. To end him."
Jace sighed. "I figured."
She turned to him slowly. "But you—you'll get your shot at Specter. You'll bleed him yourself. You just have to do one thing for me first."
He tilted his head. "What?"
Her voice was frost.
"Prove I can trust you."
Deadman's City — TheUnder-depths
Club Neuron Grave
There were places in Deadman's City even nightmares were afraid to visit. The Underdepths was one of them. A subterranean sprawl beneath the Spine District, carved into abandoned transit tunnels, half-flooded ruins, and deep-market vaults. No law. No rules. Just flesh, steel, and screams.
Club Neuron Grave sat at the center of it all—an ancient neural hub converted into a hedonist cathedral. The sign was a hologram of a brain wrapped in thorny wires. The entrance? A rusted iris-door guarded by two synth-twins with mirrored faces and railguns for arms.
Ravenna and Jace walked in side-by-side, weapons hidden but reflexes tight.
Inside was a fever dream: pulsing blacklight, fog that smelled like ecstasy and ozone, dancers suspended from meat-hooks, augmented bodies grinding to a beat that wasn't music—it was memory. Literally. Neuron Grave's currency wasn't money. It was remembrance.
Patrons jacked in to VR rigs, reliving their best—or worst—moments. Some wept in bliss. Some screamed in eternal loops. Others stared blankly, lost in someone else's past.
They pushed through.
A ten-foot woman made of chrome offered Jace a taste of his own birth. He declined. Barely.
"We're here for Lazarus," Ravenna said to the bouncer AI—housed inside a human-shaped vat of liquid code.
The vat swirled, formed a face. It spoke in a thousand voices.
"Lazarus is… listening. But Lazarus does not entertain without payment."
Jace pulled out a data spike. "Thirty megastrands. Ghost intel. Syndicate level."
The vat laughed. "Cheap. Lazarus wants truth. Give a memory. One you wish you never had."
Ravenna's hand twitched toward her blade.
But she stopped.
She took a breath… and leaned in.
"Play 2/14/20. Apartment 6C. The moment I found out Jace betrayed me. Play the whole damn thing."
The vat shivered.
Lights flickered.
A port opened in the wall.
"Lazarus will see you now."
Inner Sanctum
They entered a circular chamber, lined with pulsing synapse-fibers. At the center floated Lazarus—not a person, but a broken AI core suspended in magnetic stasis, connected to thousands of tendrils. A digital eye opened, then another, then five more.
"Red Sin," it said in a voice made of sobs and machine static. "And the Judas."
"Fuck off," Jace muttered.
"You seek Golgotha," Lazarus continued. "You seek ghosts. I remember ghosts."
Ravenna stepped forward. "Tell us where Phase Two is being built."
"I can do more," Lazarus replied. "I can show you what Golgotha did to Kai Vault. But you must link."
A thin cord slithered from the core, needle-sharp at the end.
Ravenna grabbed it.
"Wait—" Jace said.
Too late.
The needle plunged into her temple.
Memory Stream — Unauthorized Playback
She saw Kai Vault screaming in a chamber of steel, hands bound, eyes white with chemical override. Specter agents burned memories from his brain with synaptic whips. Every scream rewrote his past. Every jolt reprogrammed his loyalty.
He begged for her.
Begged for Ravenna.
And she saw herself... walking away.
Except it wasn't her.
It was a copy of her—uploaded and used as psychological torture. A cloned personality module implanted just to betray him.
She gasped, tore the needle out.
Blood dripped from her ear.
Jace caught her.
"What did you see?" he asked.
She wiped her mouth. Eyes raw.
"They made me betray him. Not once. Twice."
Outside the Club — Alley Exit
Rain had followed them underground. A leak in the city's bones. It fell in whispers now, tapping out Morse across shattered metal.
Ravenna lit another match. Let it burn to her fingertip.
"Phase Two's underground. Beneath the old war-facility in District 13. They're moving fast. Accelerating."
Jace checked his comms. Static. "They're jamming everything."
Ravenna reached into her coat, pulled out an old relic: a Syndicate kill coin. Rusted, blood-stained.
"I'm done waiting," she said.
He looked at her. "We need a team."
She looked back. "Then let's raise the dead."
District 13 – The Bone Yard
They called it the Bone Yard because the buildings looked like broken ribs. Concrete husks bent under weight they no longer bore. The Peace Syndicate had sealed off this district after the biowar fires, but the real reason? Buried deep beneath the rot was Project Golgotha Phase Two.
And someone down there had sold her out.
Ravenna and Jace moved like ghosts through the cracks of the Bone Yard, avoiding drones, sidestepping patrols. A name echoed in Ravenna's head.
"Myra Quinn."
Once her teammate. A hacker born with glass bones and a steel heart. Myra had been her sister in blood. They broke into vaults together, laughed over stolen whiskey, bathed in the same rivers of ruin.
Until Myra vanished.
Now she was building the machine that would erase them all.
Ravenna crouched behind a burned-out transport vehicle, scanning the perimeter of the underground access hatch.
"She'll have guards," Jace said, cocking his suppressed pistol. "Syndicate won't leave their engineer unprotected."
"She's not just the engineer," Ravenna whispered. "She designed the mind-stripping tech. She built the neural forks. She named the ghost files after us."
Jace raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
She pulled a chip from her bra. Inserted it into a wristband projector.
Blue light spilled up, revealing schematics of Phase Two's system.
At the top was a list:
SIN-001 (Subject: Ravenna Noir) SIN-002 (Subject: Jace Cross) SIN-003 (Subject: Calyx Ford – DECEASED) SIN-004 (Subject: Myra Quinn – OVERRIDE: ADMIN)
"She made herself the administrator of our nightmares," Ravenna said coldly. "I say we make her choke on it."
Underground Hatch – Sublevel Bunker Access
The descent was slow, deliberate. Corridors lit in red flickers, smell of antiseptic and oil. They passed body tanks—some still occupied. Limbs floated. Eyes twitched behind glass. Faces she knew. Faces she'd fought beside.
"I'll keep watch," Jace offered.
"No," she said. "You come with me. She'll smell your guilt better than mine."
They reached the command suite. Biometric lock. Ravenna didn't bother.
She wired a micro-explosive and turned to Jace.
"You want to knock, or should I blow it up?"
He smirked. "Ladies first."
BOOM.
Inside the Vault
Myra Quinn was standing by a memory chamber, back turned, purple braids coiled like wires down her spine. She didn't flinch at the blast.
"You're late, Sin," she said without looking.
"You're a traitor," Ravenna replied.
"No," Myra said, turning slowly. Her eyes were all-white. No pupils. Neural-laced. "I'm a survivor."
Jace raised his gun. "Don't move."
Myra smiled.
"You brought him. That's funny. He's next on my list."
Ravenna stepped forward, eyes like razors. "You cloned me. Turned me into code. Sold pieces of me to the black net. You turned my pain into product."
"I preserved you," Myra said. "When the world forgets you, my data will remember."
"Remember this," Ravenna hissed, and threw her blade.
It hit Myra in the thigh. She crumpled, hissing.
"Disable the memory chambers," Ravenna said to Jace. "She's not leaving here unless it's in pieces."
Myra pulled the blade out and laughed through the blood.
"You think this ends with me?" she whispered. "There are ten more like me. The blueprint is uploaded. You're already obsolete."
Jace frowned. "She's stalling."
"No," Ravenna said. "She's begging."
She knelt beside Myra, cupped her chin.
"You loved me once," Myra whispered.
"You died the moment you copied me," Ravenna said.
And snapped her neck.
Rooftop Exit, Bone Yard
They stood on the roof of the bunker as the horizon burned red with dawn. The wind carried the stench of smog, fire, and memory.
Jace lit a cigarette.
"You're not who I left behind," he said.
Ravenna stared at the rising sun. "You shouldn't have come back."
He offered her the cigarette.
She took it. Inhaled.
"What now?" he asked.
She flicked the burning stub into the void.
"Now?" she said.
"We go make everyone afraid again."
THE JUDAS PROTOCOL
"Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation…" – Matthew 12:25
Fort Veil, Outskirts of Deadman's City – 4:03 A.M.
A thousand meters underground, where no light reached and no name was holy, the architects of the new world gathered behind black glass. Twelve men and women, known only by their codenames—Specter, Wraith, Bishop, Oracle, Doctor Red, and the rest—watched as a single holographic feed flickered to life.
Subject: SIN-001
Location: Spine District
Status: Active. Non-compliant. Lethality index: 97.2%.
A voice broke the silence.
"She's made contact with Agent Cross."
Specter leaned forward. "So the Judas Protocol begins."
A ripple of tension passed through the table.
Doctor Red, a pale woman with artificial eyes that rotated in slow, chilling spirals, licked her lips. "It's almost poetic. The rogue weapon returns to the hand that forged it."
"Correction," Wraith added, tapping the table. "Judas forged her. And Judas failed. Now we trigger her fall."
A button pressed. Somewhere far away, a neural command was sent.
"Asset SIN-005: Awaken."
Undercity – Scrap Haven, 4:12 A.M.
Ravenna awoke with a gasp.
She sat bolt upright on the creaking steel bed in the safehouse, a blade drawn instinctively.
Jace stirred beside her, shirtless, wounded but alive.
"You okay?" he murmured.
Ravenna didn't speak. Her pupils dilated, then twitched. A foreign pulse echoed behind her skull—static mixed with memory.
"Someone's pinging my spine," she said.
Jace sat up, alert. "What do you mean?"
"I mean they just turned on a failsafe I didn't know I had."
She reached behind her neck, feeling the scar she thought was old. No. It was recent. Slick. Fresh.
"Shit," she muttered.
"I thought they couldn't track you."
"They're not tracking me. They're calling something else."
Somewhere in Deadman's City – Zone Zero
Inside a cryo-tomb beneath the old cathedral ruins, a man opened his eyes.
Asset: SIN-005
Name: Subject Unknown
Alias: "Solace"
He rose, his skin marked with deep etchings that glowed faintly under the blue light. Around him, machines fed him memories that weren't his. Combat simulations. Language packs. Ravenna's face. Her voice.
"You will find her," said a voice over his neural link.
"You will kill her. Then you will forget you ever existed."
He opened his hand. A blade slid out from the wrist like a whisper.
"Sin-001…" he whispered. "Terminate."
And Solace walked into the city.
Back in Scrap Haven – 5:02 A.M.
The girl Ravenna saved—still half-drugged—twitched in her sleep. Jace checked her vitals while Ravenna rigged the walls with motion mines.
"We need to disappear," he said.
"No. We need to go deeper."
Jace frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
She looked at him, sweat lining her brow. "I mean we're burning the surface and diving into the marrow. I need to see the Oracle."
Jace stepped back, alarmed. "She'll kill you."
"Maybe. Or maybe she's the only one who can tell me what's in my spine."
He shook his head. "You're not thinking clearly. You're acting like you want to die."
Ravenna turned, eyes glowing with old rage.
"I died five years ago, Jace. Now I want to know who wrote the eulogy."
District 4 – Oracle's Cathedral
They came in daylight, cloaked in smoke and gunmetal.
The Oracle was no woman. Not anymore. She was half-machine, half-voice, and all prophecy. A thousand cables fed into her skull like a crown of thorns. Her temple, a fortress built from old war wreckage and bones of fallen drones.
They were brought in blindfolded, guns pressed to their backs.
But when the Oracle spoke, no one dared interrupt.
"You seek truth," she said in a voice made of three layers.
"I seek my origin," Ravenna replied.
The Oracle's white-glass eyes turned toward her.
"You were not made for freedom, child. You were made for obedience. And now your leash has been cut."
Jace stepped forward. "She's being hunted."
The Oracle smiled.
"No. She is being retrieved."
A silence.
Then Ravenna asked, "What is the Judas Protocol?"
The Oracle paused.
"Do you want the myth? Or the facts?"
"Give me both."
So the Oracle told her.
JUDAS PROTOCOL
Initiated: 5 years ago.
Objective: Embed Agent Cross (SIN-002) into the criminal underworld via emotional infiltration.
Target: SIN-001 (Ravenna Noir) – subject flagged as a high-threat anomaly after escape from MK-Helix Conditioning Facility.
Goal: Gain trust. Extract memory core. Deliver to Golgotha.
Outcome: Compromised. Agent Cross failed to extract data. Subject Sin-001 activated rogue pathways. Emotional contamination confirmed.
"Wait," Jace interrupted. "That wasn't the plan I was briefed on—"
"You were always part of the plan," the Oracle whispered. "You were the lock. She was the key. Together, you'd destroy each other. Or birth something worse."
Ravenna stood there, still as ash.
Then she spoke.
"I want access to Golgotha's neural drive."
The Oracle blinked. "And why would I give it to you?"
"Because if I don't stop them," Ravenna said, "they won't just rewrite mercs. They'll rewrite the whole goddamn city."
Back in Fort Veil – Observation Deck
Specter watched the feeds.
"Oracle broke protocol," he said.
Wraith leaned forward. "Then we burn her. And we deploy Solace."
On a monitor, the SIN-005 marker blinked.
Target acquired.
Ravenna was back in play.
The Judas Protocol had begun.
Somewhere near the Spine – 6:13 A.M.
The walls were sweating from steam. Broken pipes hissed. Light flickered from a dying bulb. They were holed up in a bathhouse built into the underground—once a luxury, now a ruin. Just enough water pressure to fill the rusted tub. Just enough heat to forget the cold.
Ravenna sat on the edge of the cracked tiles, steam rolling off her naked back. Her tattoos shimmered—black circuitry crawling up her spine, ancient kill-code laced in graceful curves. Her holster lay discarded. Her gloves too. Only the edge of the blade at her side remained.
Behind her, Jace stepped through the mist. Shirtless. Bandaged but whole. His gaze slid over her curves—not as a man starved, but as one haunted by memory.
"You always did pick the weirdest places to undress," he muttered.
She didn't turn.
"You always did stare like you had something to say and never the balls to say it."
He came closer. Steam clung to his skin, trailing along the muscle of his arms and the coiled tension in his chest.
"I didn't lie about loving you," he said finally.
"That doesn't matter," Ravenna replied, voice low. "You still used me."
She rose and turned to face him—completely bare, water trailing down between her breasts, her eyes cold and burning all at once.
Jace swallowed hard. "Rav…"
She stepped close, pressed a finger to his chest.
"You had me," she whispered. "You had all of me. And still you let them put a leash in my head."
"I didn't know—"
She silenced him with a kiss.
It was sudden. Fierce. A crash of mouths and heat and pain. Her teeth grazed his lower lip. His hands, instinctively, found her hips. He could feel her trembling—not from fear. From restraint.
"You want forgiveness?" she breathed, lips brushing his jaw. "Earn it."
Then she shoved him backward—hard—into the wet tiles. Water splashed. His back hit the wall. She climbed onto him, straddling, taking control like she was back in combat.
Her hips rolled against his slowly, teasingly.
He groaned, fingers tightening on her thighs. "Ravenna…"
"Don't speak."
She leaned in, her mouth grazing the shell of his ear.
"Don't beg either. Not yet."
His hands slid up her back, tracing the scars she'd never let anyone touch before. This was more than lust—it was ownership of pain, of shared betrayal, of the fire that never died between them.
Ravenna kissed him again—deeper this time. Hungrier.
Their bodies collided, desperate. Hot. Raw. Every movement a storm of memory and regret.
He slipped inside her like a ghost returning home, and for a moment—just a breath—they weren't mercenary and traitor, weapon and handler. They were just Ravenna and Jace. Flesh and soul. Wounded and wanting.
The tub rocked under their rhythm. Water sloshed over the sides. Her fingernails raked down his back as she rode him harder, drowning herself in sensation. Her moans, half-snarls, echoed in the steamy chamber like battle cries.
"I hate you," she gasped.
"I know," he said, breathless. "Hurt me more."
She did.
And yet—beneath it all—something fragile clawed up between them. Love? No. Not yet. But something older. Something unfinished.
When they were done, Ravenna collapsed against him, breath heaving. Sweat and water and blood mixed between their skin.
She didn't cry.
She never did.
But for the first time in years, she didn't push him away.
"Next time you lie to me," she murmured, voice a whisper against his throat, "I won't fuck you. I'll gut you."
Jace nodded, lips against her wet shoulder.
"Deal."
And just like that, they both knew—
The war hadn't even started yet.
Still in the abandoned bathhouse, deep in Deadman's City's underbelly…
Steam still swirled in the air, thick as smoke. The broken light above them flickered like it was afraid of what it saw.
Ravenna straddled Jace on the cold floor, still slick from their last storm. Her thighs clamped around his waist like a vice, her fingers tracing lines across his chest—slow, taunting, blade-sharp. Blood still oozed from the shallow scratch she'd carved earlier, and she dipped two fingers into it.
"You said you'd bleed for me," she whispered, dragging the crimson line between her breasts, down to her navel. "So do it right."
Jace was hard again. Too hard. His hands slid over her hips, and she slapped them away.
"No," she snarled. "This time, I ride you how I want. And you don't come until I say."
"Fuck—" he started, but she shoved her soaked panties into his mouth.
"You had your chance to speak," she said, straddling him again, gripping him in one hand like a weapon she knew how to kill with.
And then she lowered herself.
Slow.
Agonizing.
Hot, wet, tight—so tight he almost came the moment she sank down on him, but her nails dug into his chest, warning him without a word. She leaned forward, her breath hot against his mouth, eyes locked on his, their bodies locked in that maddening, primal rhythm.
Every bounce of her hips was punishment. Every grind, revenge. She was moaning now, breathless, eyes rolling back—but she never looked away. She wanted him to see what he'd lost. What he could never fully have again.
Jace bucked beneath her, and she slapped him—hard.
"I said don't move."
His teeth clenched around the fabric in his mouth. He wanted to growl, to flip her, to pin her down and take control like before—but she wasn't the same girl he used to love.
Ravenna Noir had become Red Sin. A goddess of rage, and tonight, he was her altar.
She leaned back, both hands on her own breasts, riding him with slow, violent precision. Her head tilted back, lips parted, nipples hard in the cold. The sound of wet skin, gasps, and dripping water echoed through the chamber like music.
He watched her—mouth full, body trembling—and he knew:
She was the most beautiful and terrifying thing he'd ever touched.
Her pace quickened. Her nails drew more blood. She was close.
So was he.
She grabbed his throat—tight.
"You don't come," she growled. "Not until I scream."
He nodded, choking, eyes wide.
She started grinding harder, faster, dripping sweat and vengeance. Her voice cracked out of her throat in a strangled moan.
"Fuck—Jace—don't stop. Don't fucking stop—"
And then she screamed.
A raw, throat-shattering cry of release. Her whole body spasmed over him, shaking, pulsing, dripping onto him like a storm breaking.
Only then did she rip the cloth from his mouth and kiss him—biting, deep, needy.
He exploded inside her seconds later with a grunt that echoed into the mist, his fingers digging into her back like anchors.
They collapsed together.
Bodies shaking. Breathing hard. Covered in blood, sweat, and old sins.
She lay against his chest, eyes closed.
"I hate how good you still feel," she muttered.
"Then hate me again tomorrow," he whispered, brushing her hair back. "But tonight, let me stay."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't say no.
The knock came again—sharper this time. Three thuds like a death drum.
Ravenna froze, the blade still resting on Jace's bare chest, her thighs still pinning him down. The air between them sizzled with tension—part lust, part danger.
"Expecting company?" she asked, voice low and lethal.
Jace's hand slid slowly toward the gun holstered at his side. "Not unless they're early to my funeral."
The girl—still dazed on the mattress nearby—groaned and rolled slightly. Ravenna's eyes flicked to her, calculating. She couldn't move the girl. Not now.
The knock came a third time, followed by a soft, familiar voice:
"Sin... it's me. Please. I got shot."
Ravenna narrowed her eyes. She knew that voice.
Kellin.
Her contact from the Underline. The only one who smuggled encrypted chips through Syndicate-controlled tunnels. A rat, yes—but her rat.
She climbed off Jace with the grace of a predator disengaging from prey. "Don't move. Don't breathe funny. Don't even think of zipping up until I say."
She snatched a pistol off the table, checked the chamber, and cracked the door open by an inch.
Kellin stood swaying in the downpour, blood streaking down his arm, eyes wide with panic. "They're coming," he gasped. "They know about Golgotha. They know you took the chip."
Ravenna opened the door fully, grabbed him, and yanked him inside. The moment the door shut—
Boom.
A concussive blast blew out a nearby tower window. Echoes bounced like thunder in a metal graveyard. Syndicate drones zipped overhead, their red lights slicing through the shadows like laser crosshairs.
Jace was already moving—shirt on, weapon loaded, posture shifting from wounded ex-lover to trained operative. It should've pissed her off.
Instead, it turned her on.
God, she hated him.
Kellin collapsed on the floor, blood soaking his shirt. "I led them here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
Ravenna cut him off. "Where are they?"
"Not far," he wheezed. "Ten-man team. Ghostskins. No heat signatures. Fully armed."
She looked at Jace. "You bring a tracker?"
He shook his head. "I'm not that dumb."
"Guess we've both grown."
He cracked a dark smile.
Then she turned, eyes gleaming with violent purpose. "You stall. I slay."
And she was gone.
Outside, the rain turned to mist, like the city was holding its breath. Ravenna vaulted onto a scaffolding ledge, twin blades drawn, eyes scanning. She saw them—just shapes in the fog at first. Black-clad figures with thermal masks and smart rifles.
They were quiet. Military. Trained.
She didn't care.
She dropped like death.
Blade met flesh. One down.
The second turned—too slow. Her knee shattered his jaw before her knife opened his throat.
Jace appeared at the window with a sniper rifle, eyes cold, breath steady. He picked off two from above, but more were coming.
Ravenna danced between shadows, killing like it was sex—fast, brutal, messy. Her body twisted, coiled, struck. Blood sprayed the walls. One Ghostskin tried to pin her down—she twisted him into the mud and snapped his spine with a wet crack.
Another charged from behind.
Too late.
She buried her blade through his neck and whispered, "Say hi to hell."
Inside, Jace ducked as a drone burst through the wall. It scanned him, then redirected toward the wounded girl. Jace fired—twice—blowing out the drone's core in a flare of sparks.
Kellin screamed. "They're not just here for you! They want her! She's part of it!"
Jace turned. "What do you mean?"
"She's a carrier! She holds the neural key. Her mind... it unlocks Golgotha!"
Ravenna stormed back in, soaked in blood and rain, eyes wide with fury.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
Kellin coughed. "She's not just a whore. She was engineered. Bio-coded. They built her."
The girl moaned again—low, animalistic.
Jace looked down.
Her eyes were open.
And glowing.
Amber, not human.
"Fuck," Ravenna whispered. "What the hell did we just bring into my home?"
They heard the rumble next. Not thunder—engines.
A heavy vehicle, maybe armored. Something Syndicate-grade.
Jace stood and cocked his rifle. "We can't hold this place. Not with her like this."
Ravenna paced like a caged panther. "You brought a cursed ghost to my doorstep, Jace."
"Correction—you saved her."
"I was high on revenge and lust."
He smirked. "Worked in our favor."
She shoved him hard, breath hot. "Don't you dare think this means we're okay."
"Never did."
Their lips crashed again, messy, desperate. She bit his lip until it bled. He growled into her mouth, hands gripping her waist, lifting her against the wall.
"Not now," she hissed, pulling back. "But soon."
Jace nodded, eyes burning. "Soon."
Outside, the vehicle stopped.
Syndicate boots hit the ground.
Ravenna wiped blood from her blade, turned to Kellin.
"You better pray she's worth it."
Then she tossed him a shotgun and whispered to Jace:
"Let's show them Deadman's City still bites back."
Rain came down like it had something to prove—beating against rusted metal and broken windows, soaking the alleys of the city like blood through bandages.
Inside the safehouse, Ravenna Noir's words hung in the air like a match dropped in gasoline.
"Let's show them Deadman's City still bites back."
Kellin swallowed hard, shotgun clutched tight in hands that didn't know violence like she did.
Jace Cross—her lover, her betrayer, her shadow in this filthy war—grinned sideways. No fear in those dark eyes. Just hunger. For payback. For her. For everything.
Outside, Syndicate boots hit the concrete with precision. They moved like a machine—perfectly trained, heavily armed. They thought this was just another kill sweep. They didn't know what waited inside.
Ravenna slipped into the hallway like a panther, heels silent on cracked tile. Black leather hugged her frame, still streaked with Kellin's blood, and her blade gleamed wet in the dim light.
Jace followed, coat flowing like a broken flag, pistol low, cigarette tucked behind his ear like a forgotten sin. He didn't flinch as the first bullet shattered the glass behind him.
He just smirked. "Showtime."
Gunfire erupted.
Ravenna moved first—graceful, deadly. Two headshots, clean. One throat slash, beautiful. Blood sprayed the walls like abstract art, and she never lost her breath.
Jace ducked low, slid across the hallway floor, and fired from the ground. His bullets found throats, kneecaps, hearts. The last man he took down, he stood over and whispered, "Tell hell I'm coming," before pulling the trigger point-blank.
Kellin tried to help, bless him. Fumbled the shotgun once, but managed to take out a Syndicate flanker. The blast knocked him on his ass. Ravenna didn't laugh—but her eyes said she wanted to.
They had maybe ten seconds of breathing room before the building trembled.
Something was coming.
Heavy. Mechanized.
Jace's grin faded. "Shit. They brought a Bloodhound."
Ravenna's blade slid back into her boot. "Then we gut the dog."
Crash.
The wall exploded inward. The Bloodhound burst through—nine feet of plated armor, servo-driven legs, and a chain gun spinning like the devil's blender. Its mask looked like a wolf's skull, glowing red eyes and a mouthful of steel teeth.
Jace stepped in front of Ravenna.
She shoved him aside.
"Don't be cute. I've killed worse," she hissed.
Flashbang. Dive. Blade.
The fight was a blur—metal grinding, gunfire cracking, screams from the stairwell, fire licking the ceiling. Kellin got grazed. Jace bled. Ravenna danced with the monster like it was a lover—each slash more intimate than the last.
Finally, her knife found the power core.
Boom.
The Bloodhound fell.
Silence.
Ravenna stood over it, chest heaving, blood and oil dripping from her body. Jace leaned against the wall, panting, wiping crimson from his lips.
"Still standing?" she asked.
"Only 'cause I wanted to watch you work."
She smirked and walked past him, close enough for her hip to brush his thigh.
Outside, engines roared again.
Reinforcements.
The Syndicate was pissed.
"More on the way," Jace said.
Ravenna checked her mag. "Let them come."
He stepped beside her, lit the cigarette from earlier, smoke curling in the ruined hallway.
"I missed this," he muttered.
She didn't look at him. "Missed killing?"
"You," he said.
Silence.
Then she whispered, cold but quiet:
"I never stopped."
Jace turned toward her, gun raised lazily. His free hand dipped into his coat pocket. "After this... we talk?"
Ravenna's eyes locked with his.
"If we're still breathing."
They both stepped out into the rain-drenched alley.
A line of Syndicate vans blocked the street.
Men poured out.
Jace raised his gun. Ravenna drew two.
Side by side, back in the fire.
Deadman's City howled.
And the wolves were home.
Rain sizzled against Ravenna's blades like the city itself knew her rage. The alley steamed with the blood of the fallen, but the Syndicate line held strong. Armored men moved with mechanical efficiency, sweeping doorways, flanking cover, boots thudding in harmony like a war drum.
She counted eleven.
Plus the one giving orders.
Her eyes narrowed.
Not just any commander.
Sorin Kael.
Ex-Blackwatch. Now Syndicate's golden dog. Mask like a reaper, voice like grinding steel, and a hatred for Ravenna that tasted personal.
"You always had a flair for mess," he barked over the rain. "How many have to die before you give it up, Noir?"
Ravenna stepped forward, slow, predatory. "Only one. You."
Kael's visor tilted. "Funny. I was about to say the same."
He raised his gauntlet.
Jace fired first.
A Syndicate head snapped back—gone before he hit the ground. The next few seconds were chaos incarnate. Ravenna rolled beneath a van, stabbing ankles, cutting tendons. Jace vaulted into cover, firing left-handed, tossing a grenade with his right.
Boom.
Metal screamed.
Kael didn't flinch. He advanced through the fire like he was born in it.
Behind them, Kellin dragged the girl—the engineered key to Golgotha—through a side passage, face pale, fingers slipping on her slick, glowing skin. Her eyes were wide now, her mouth moving silently. Whatever she was… she was waking up.
Inside her head, something ancient stirred.
Something hungry.
Jace felt it first—a pulse, like static under the skin. "She's syncing," he gasped. "We need to move—now!"
Ravenna was mid-fight—her knife buried in one man's throat, her boot crashing into another's ribcage. "Then buy me twenty seconds."
He did.
Two more dropped. Ravenna kicked the rifle from one's hand, caught it mid-air, and used it to shoot Kael's lieutenant square in the neck. Blood sprayed like wine from a cracked bottle.
Kael growled. "Enough."
He charged.
The rain hissed as his exo-suit surged forward, faster than anything that size should move. He tackled Ravenna into the wall. Concrete cracked. She coughed blood, but smiled through red teeth.
"You hit like a politician," she spat.
Jace ran at him from behind—but Kael spun, blade out, caught Jace across the ribs. The cut was deep. He staggered.
Kael turned back toward Ravenna—
And she headbutted him.
His helmet cracked.
She drove her blade into the seam between plates.
Kael roared and stumbled.
Jace, wounded, crawled to cover and fired. The bullet hit Kael square in the neck. Sparks. The suit shorted. He dropped to his knees, choking.
"Run!" Ravenna shouted.
Jace didn't argue.
They bolted. Through fire. Through smoke. Through the dying moans of Syndicate grunts.
Behind them, the girl screamed.
It was inhuman—high-pitched, echoing, layered like ten voices sharing one throat.
Every light in the alley flickered.
Every drone dropped dead from the sky.
Kael, still kneeling, looked up and whispered:
"Oh God. What did they build?"
Ravenna didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
Whatever the girl was, they'd just unleashed it.
And Deadman's City was about to bleed all over again.
The rain didn't stop.
Didn't matter. Nothing could wash this night clean.
They ducked into a broken stairwell, the three of them—Jace limping, Ravenna bloodied, and the girl in Kellin's arms, twitching like wires had been threaded through her spine. She hadn't spoken, not really. Just those soft, glitchy whispers. A language too clean, too sharp for the human mouth.
They didn't have a name for her yet.
Only fear.
The door slammed shut behind them. Jace jammed a chair under the handle. "We can't go back to the mainline," he muttered. "They've locked the tunnels."
"We go up," Ravenna said, wiping blood from her temple. "Rooftops. Airlift point's still live near the Meridian Spire."
Kellin's laugh was wet and bitter. "That's two miles away through syndicate territory."
Ravenna just stared at him. "Then we better start walking."
She didn't wait.
She never did.
Her boots echoed on the cracked stairs. Concrete chipped under her heel, and somewhere above, a rat skittered across broken rebar.
Jace followed. Slow, one hand pressed to his ribs. He was losing blood, but he didn't complain. Not now. Not in front of her.
Kellin dragged the girl after them. Every so often she'd twitch, murmur some strange code—numbers, coordinates, memories that weren't hers.
Then her eyes would open again—those glowing amber disks—and all three of them would feel the air shift.
"She's syncing," Jace said, breath ragged. "The key's waking up."
Ravenna kept walking. "What's she unlock?"
Jace hesitated. "Everything."
At the top of the stairwell, they kicked through a rusted door into open air. The skyline was on fire—literally. Distant towers blazed, Syndicate dropships circled like vultures, and the sirens never stopped.
Deadman's City wasn't dying.
It was unraveling.
The rooftop was slick with water. Wind howled between the skeletal buildings. Somewhere below, gunfire rattled like distant thunder.
Kellin collapsed behind a vent. "We can't make it two miles."
Jace sat hard, legs giving. "We don't have to. If she's syncing... they'll come to us."
"Who?" Ravenna asked.
He looked up.
"The ones who want her alive."
Silence.
And then… the hum.
Low. Mechanical. Ancient.
From the clouds above, a ship broke through.
Not Syndicate.
Older. Sleeker.
No markings. Just a hull of black alloy and blue-lighted edges that flickered like an old heart monitor. It hovered silently, pushing the wind flat against their backs.
A hatch opened.
A figure stepped out—long coat, masked face, rifle slung across their chest.
Ravenna raised her gun. "Friend of yours?"
Jace shook his head. "No. Worse."
The figure spoke. Calm. Robotic. Male, maybe. Hard to tell.
"Return the Key. No one else has to die."
Kellin shouted, "Screw you!"
The figure didn't react. "You have five seconds."
Ravenna didn't flinch. "That's four too many."
She fired.
The bullet stopped mid-air.
Just… stopped.
Like it hit glass.
Or time.
Jace cursed under his breath. "Kinetic dampeners. Shit, they brought an Oracle-class agent."
Ravenna looked sideways. "Translation?"
"He bends the rules."
"Great."
The figure raised a hand. The air rippled. Kellin screamed—his head split open with a sound like a bag of wet meat hitting concrete.
He dropped.
The girl fell with him, twitching violently.
Jace lunged, grabbing her. "We need cover!"
Ravenna fired again—pointless. Bullets froze mid-flight. Still, she kept pulling the trigger.
Even gods bleed eventually, she figured.
The figure stepped forward, slow, deliberate. "You're protecting something you don't understand."
"Wouldn't be the first time," she growled.
Jace dragged the girl behind an air duct. She was glowing brighter now—skin lit from within, circuits rising under the surface like veins.
"She's going critical," he gasped. "If they get her, if she falls into Syndicate hands—"
"She won't."
Ravenna grabbed a grenade from her belt, yanked the pin with her teeth, and charged.
The blast lit the rooftop like a second sun.
Ravenna dove into the explosion, blade drawn, hair whipping in the wind. Shrapnel shredded the air. The Oracle's shield bent inward, fracturing for the first time—just for a breath.
But it was enough.
Her blade cut through the space between seconds. The dampener cracked with a scream like tearing metal. The figure staggered back, cloak burning.
Behind her, Jace was dragging the girl to cover, yelling something—she didn't hear him.
The rooftop became chaos.
Rain. Smoke. Fire.
The Oracle rose again, faster this time. His coat slithered like it had a mind of its own, wrapping around him like armor. His fingers glowed.
Ravenna spun, barely dodging a gravity spike that tore a hole straight through the roof. Concrete collapsed beneath her feet.
She fell—two stories, into darkness.
Pain.
Ravenna landed hard on her shoulder, rolled, and coughed up blood. Her blade had snapped. Her ribs were broken—maybe two.
Footsteps above.
Then silence.
No shot came. No follow-up.
Strange.
She sat up, breath ragged, eyes adjusting to the dark.
Old boiler room. Rusted pipes. Pooling water.
And someone… was watching her.
Not Jace. Not the Oracle.
Another presence. Cold. Ancient.
A soft whisper filled the room. "She bleeds... beautifully."
Ravenna spun.
A shape slithered from the shadows—not flesh. Not quite machine either. Something in-between. Its form shimmered like smoke in water, all jagged joints and slithering glass.
It didn't attack.
It studied her.
"So much rage. So much grief. You wear it like a crown."
Ravenna coughed. "You another one of them?"
The thing didn't answer.
It just stepped closer—until its face was inches from hers. It had no mouth. No eyes. Only reflection.
And in it… she saw herself.
Younger. Innocent. Covered in blood. Screaming.
The lab. The chains. The fire.
She staggered back.
"You remember."
Her hand clenched. "Get. Out. Of. My. Head."
The thing hissed.
Then… it vanished.
Gone. Like smoke.
She collapsed to her knees.
Upstairs, gunfire started again.
She moved.
No time for ghosts.
By the time she climbed out of the boiler room, the rooftop was a warzone. The Oracle lay crumpled near the edge, body twitching in seizure. Jace was crouched behind a vent, reloading.
The girl was floating.
Literally.
Her body hovered six inches above the ground, eyes wide open, glowing so bright they left afterimages. Her mouth was open, but no sound came—only light.
Ravenna stared. "What the hell?"
Jace looked up. "She's syncing fully now. She's broadcasting."
"To who?"
"I don't know," he said. "But they're hearing her."
In the distance, the sky split.
Not like lightning.
Like something coming through.
A massive ship tore through the clouds. Not Syndicate. Not human.
Slick black metal with hundreds of tendrils, spiraling like a living cathedral. It moved without noise, gravity bending around it.
The girl screamed.
Everything shook.
Ravenna reached Jace just as the Oracle stirred.
"No," Jace breathed. "That's impossible. He's—he should be—"
The Oracle's body twisted, broke, and reassembled—limbs clicking into new joints. It stood, now hunched and feral, mask cracked. It didn't speak this time.
It attacked.
Ravenna blocked with her forearm, felt her bone snap. Still, she didn't stop.
Jace dove in from the side, firing point-blank into the Oracle's chest.
Didn't work.
The thing bled shadow.
The girl screamed again—and the rooftop exploded with light.
When Ravenna opened her eyes, everything was ash.
The Oracle was gone.
The ship had vanished.
Jace knelt in the wreckage, coughing, one arm hanging limp. "She did something," he whispered.
The girl lay unconscious now, in a fetal position, skin flickering with fading glyphs.
Ravenna touched her brow.
Still warm.
Still alive.
She turned to Jace. "This changes everything."
He nodded, barely. "They'll come harder now. Faster. We need to move."
"Where?"
"West sector. There's a broker. Ex-Syndicate. He knows what she is."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we bury her. And we run."
Ravenna glanced at the girl.
She didn't look like a weapon.
She looked like a child.
And maybe that's what scared her the most.
The safehouse in West Sector was a ruin pretending to be shelter.
Four floors up, past a stairwell that smelled of piss and fire, Jace led them to a reinforced door with six deadbolts and a biometric pad made from old Syndicate scrap.
"Don't touch anything," he said over his shoulder. "Some of it's wired to explode."
Ravenna didn't answer. She had the girl in her arms—unconscious, twitching occasionally like she was dreaming something horrible. Her skin still shimmered faintly with violet light, but her pulse was steady.
Inside, the room was dark except for one corner—lined with screens, wires, and glowing data modules.
The Broker sat there.
Blind in one eye. Wires plugged into the back of his neck like veins. He looked up as they entered, sniffed once, and grinned like a shark.
"Cross," he said. "You finally brought me something interesting."
Jace stayed near the door. "We need to know what she is."
The Broker stood, joints cracking. He walked toward the girl, then stopped in front of Ravenna.
His grin faded.
"You smell like war," he said. "And… regret."
Ravenna didn't blink. "Touch her wrong, and I'll cut off your fingers."
He smiled again. "Fair."
She laid the girl gently on the old operating table. The Broker moved like a vulture, pulling scanning rigs from the walls, muttering numbers and codes under his breath. A drone hovered above the table, humming.
Jace lit a cigarette and stared at the door.
He hated this place.
The Broker worked in silence for a long while.
Then: "You two stepped into a hole the size of a goddamn city."
Ravenna folded her arms. "Explain."
The Broker turned, expression dark. "This girl isn't just a weapon. She's a beacon. A signal. A key."
Jace exhaled slowly. "To what?"
"To whatever's coming," the Broker said. "To the thing the Syndicate's been trying to unearth for years. She's tuned to it. Made from it. You saw the ship?"
"Yeah," Ravenna said.
The Broker's voice dropped. "That wasn't the Syndicate. That wasn't human. And now it knows where she is."
Silence.
Then Ravenna asked, "Can we stop it?"
The Broker laughed.
"No."
Jace stepped forward. "Then what can we do?"
The Broker looked at the girl—still unconscious, now breathing faster.
"You run. You hide. You try not to scream when the sky breaks open. Or…" He looked at Ravenna. "You wake her up. And pray she chooses you."
The first tremor came minutes later.
A ripple through the concrete.
Low. Subtle.
Then louder.
And louder.
Ravenna gripped the table.
The girl sat bolt upright—eyes glowing, mouth open in a silent scream.
From her chest, a blast of heat cracked the floor tiles. The screens around the room exploded in static.
And then—
A voice filled the room.
Not hers.
Not anyone's.
Just a presence.
"We are the Forgotten. We remember her. We want her back."
The Broker backed away, trembling.
Jace raised his gun instinctively. "What the hell is that?"
The girl was levitating again—arms out, glowing brighter than before. Her hair floated like she was underwater.
The walls began to melt.
Literally.
Steel dripped like wax.
Ravenna moved, heart pounding. "She's going nova."
"She's broadcasting again," the Broker screamed. "But not just to one ship—to everything out there!"
Another blast rocked the building. Somewhere outside, sirens wailed.
The Syndicate was already coming.
Ravenna looked at Jace. "If we don't kill her now, they'll find us in seconds."
Jace stared at the girl. He didn't move.
Ravenna stepped forward.
Blade in hand.
Her fingers trembled.
The girl turned her head—slowly—and looked at Ravenna.
And in that moment, Ravenna saw everything.
Burning cities.
Broken skies.
A war older than language.
And herself—older, hardened, standing at the head of an army of machines.
The girl spoke, finally.
Not in English.
But Ravenna understood.
"You are my mother."
The blade fell from her hand.
Jace didn't speak. Couldn't.
He'd seen some shit—warzones, Syndicate black sites, arcane tech buried under the salt flats—but nothing like this. That girl… her eyes held galaxies. Starless, burning galaxies. And Ravenna—Red Sin, the most dangerous killer he knew—was standing there like a statue carved from fear and disbelief.
"You are my mother."
The words echoed like prophecy.
And for a second, the entire building was silent.
Then the power surged back on. Just like that.
The glow in the girl's skin faded. Her body went limp, eyes rolling back. She collapsed into Ravenna's arms.
Ravenna caught her, slow, hesitant. Her fingers twitched. She looked up at Jace like someone who'd just had their history rewritten.
"She's not human," she whispered.
"No." Jace stepped forward. "But maybe you're not either."
The Broker was shaking, backed into the corner like a rat with nowhere left to burrow. His systems flickered. "You two need to disappear. The Syndicate will level this block. You've got minutes, maybe less."
"We can't run forever," Jace said.
"Then die here. Your call."
The girl stirred in Ravenna's arms, murmuring something in that alien tongue again. Her body was warm now—not glowing, not floating, just human. Or close to it.
Ravenna brushed a bloody lock of hair from the girl's forehead.
Jace saw her face then—just for a moment. Soft. Scared. Not the killer. Not the merc. Just the woman.
"What's her name?" she asked.
"She doesn't have one," the Broker said. "They called her Project Echo."
"No." Ravenna shook her head. "She's more than that. She's not an experiment."
Jace lit another cigarette. "Then give her one."
Ravenna thought for a second.
Then: "Eira."
The Broker scoffed. "Poetic. Let's see if Eira can bleed."
Ravenna stood. "We're leaving."
"Where to?" Jace asked.
She turned toward him. "To finish what we started."
___________________________________________________________________________
[Forty minutes later – Old Metro Tunnel beneath Sector 3]
The tracks were soaked in sewage and lit only by the flickering glow of dead terminals. Old warning signs in a half-dozen languages rotted on the walls. Jace led the way, rifle raised, Eira slung against his back with makeshift harnesses. Ravenna followed, dual pistols drawn, silent as smoke.
"Any idea what happens if she wakes up again?" Jace asked.
"She won't," Ravenna replied. "Not if I can help it."
"Thought you liked her now."
"I don't trust her."
They moved deeper into the earth. The sound of their footsteps echoed like ghosts.
They reached the old service hub—a concrete dome with rusted terminals, burned-out monitors, and a network of broken catwalks above an empty pit.
Ravenna knelt beside Eira, checked her vitals.
Still breathing. Still warm.
"She's stabilizing," Ravenna said. "Whatever she triggered back there, it's dormant."
"Yeah? And for how long?"
Ravenna looked up. "Until we find the people who made her."
"And kill them?"
She stood slowly. "No. Use them."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "That's new."
"You said it yourself," Ravenna replied. "We can't run forever."
___________________________________________________________________________
[Meanwhile – Syndicate Forward Command / 20 klicks west]
The room was clinical. Silver walls. No shadows. Only the sound of machines and the slow, rhythmic breath of the man in the chair.
He was strapped down—chest bare, electrodes sunk deep into his scalp. A half-mask covered his jaw, tubes running from it into a blood-red filtration unit.
A woman stepped forward.
Cold eyes. Black gloves.
Syndicate Control.
"She's active again," she said.
The man didn't respond.
She tapped a screen.
A feed from West Sector. Eira floating. Glowing. Screaming.
The man inhaled sharply.
"We're close," the woman continued. "She's waking up faster each time."
"Retrieve her," the man said. His voice was deep, mechanical, barely human.
"And the assets?"
"The mercenary's expendable. The woman… no."
"She was Red Sin once."
"She still is."
The woman hesitated. "You think she can be turned?"
"She doesn't need to be," he said. "She's already breaking."
___________________________________________________________________________
[Back in the tunnels]
They built a fire in the corner—trash wood, bits of broken benches, a spark from Jace's striker.
Ravenna sat across from him. Legs crossed, shirt tied around her midriff to stop the blood from a shallow cut across her ribs. She winced as she cleaned it with old whiskey.
Jace watched her. "You ever think about walking away?"
She chuckled. "From this?"
"From all of it."
"No. You?"
He hesitated. "Every day."
"Why haven't you?"
Jace shrugged. "Guess I never found something worth leaving it for."
Their eyes met.
The fire crackled.
Ravenna looked away first.
"You left me once," she said.
"I had orders."
"You had me."
He didn't answer.
And then Eira whimpered.
Both of them turned toward her.
The girl stirred—half-conscious now. Whispering again. But different this time. Less alien. More… human.
"Where…" she muttered. "Where am I?"
Jace knelt beside her. "Somewhere safe."
She blinked slowly, eyes unfocused. "You were in the ship…"
"You pulled me out," Ravenna said. "Do you remember that?"
Eira nodded faintly.
"Do you remember what you are?"
Eira looked at her hands.
"Something old," she whispered. "Something broken."
"You're not broken," Ravenna said.
"But I will be," she said. "They always break us. That's why they made me."
Jace reached out and took her hand gently. "Then we don't let them."
Silence again.
Then: "You gave me a name," Eira said, voice trembling.
Ravenna nodded. "You are Eira now."
The girl smiled—small, sad.
"I like it."
Outside, the storm broke.
Rain poured down like ash.
And far above the city, a black shape tore through the clouds—silent, sharp, watching.
Deadman's City had just woken up.
And its ghosts were screaming.