Boston's alleys were a labyrinth of rust and neon, their signs—Viper's Den, Chrome Alley, No Redemption—bleeding light into the rain as Mia ran, her scars blazing, her blood a wildfire no storm could tame. The North End's decay clung to her boots, the butcher shop's vault a fading wound, its hum still roaring in her veins, nanotech wiring her choices, the Lattice's cage no myth but a pulse stealing her mind. The USB drive was safe in her patched jacket, the pendant—circle-and-slash—burning at her throat, Ethan's note—Flee—heavier than the drones' red lenses chasing, their feed—Mia's scars, her pulse—live, streaming to NexGen's servers, the woman's voice—You're late—sharp, a thief's edge, not NexGen's, but no ally. Her blood screamed, her thief's heart sure, Ethan's lie—alive, not ash in a server fire—cutting deeper than the rain, the Lattice's grip tightening, her scars glowing, a map not of alleys but code, her choices not hers.
She skidded into a loading dock, crates towering like tombstones, the stench of fish, oil, and rotting wood thick in Boston's underbelly, its breath a living thing, as broken as her trust. The hum softened, her scars cooling, their faint glow dimming under her sleeves, but her hands trembled, not from cold but rage—Ethan, two years gone, now a note, a noose, a vault that wasn't a job but a trap. The pendant's circle-and-slash pulsed, like her scars, like the hum, its weight no shield but a blade, cutting lies, slicing the Lattice's hold.
Memory flashed: Ethan, not a vault but her, a lockpick in her hand, his whisper, You're enough. Real, or the Lattice's lie, her blood knew, nanotech stirring, wiring her veins, her pulse a song she didn't write. The USB was a truth she couldn't read, not here, with drones circling, their red lenses blind in the rain, but NexGen's trucks roared closer, their lights slashing the dark, the Lattice's eye in her blood, watching, waiting.
A crate groaned, not wind but boots, the hum spiking, her scars burning, like they saw the drones, saw her hunter. Mia slipped behind rusted steel, her knife gleaming, her thief's hands steady, Ethan's Flee a pulse, her blood no blade but a beacon, calling the Lattice, calling death. The woman stepped into neon's glow—young, maybe Mia's age, her jacket patched, circle-and-slash, like the pendant, like her scars, her eyes green, sharp, a thief's, not NexGen's dog. "Carver," she said, voice low, rain dripping from her hood, "you're loud." Her hand held no gun but a drive, twin to Mia's, glowing faint, like it sang, like it knew the Lattice, knew her blood. The hum stirred, Mia's scars roared, and the woman's patch glowed, a mirror to the pendant, a lock too raw to pick, too sharp to trust.
"Who're you?" Mia demanded, knife steady, her blood louder, the pendant burning, rain stinging her face, the dock trembling, drones humming, their red lenses waking in the fog. Memory cut: Ethan, not a lockpick but her, a street, his laugh, You're enough. Real, or the Lattice's lie, her blood screamed, nanotech no cage but spark, wiring her veins, stealing her will. "Lila," the woman said, stepping closer, her drive humming, its faint glow pulsing, like her patch, like Mia's pendant, like her scars. "Ethan's thief, before you." Her voice cracked, not lies but pain, raw as a fresh cut, like Ethan chose Mia, not her, her eyes locked on Mia's scars, not fear but hunger, like she saw the Lattice, saw the spark in her blood.
"Ethan's dead," Mia said, voice steel, her thief's heart sure, the hum spiking, her scars glowing brighter, nanotech no myth but truth, her blood its key. "Server fire, North End, two years back. I saw the ash." Her words were a blade, testing Lila, testing the note, Ethan's Flee a fire she couldn't outrun. Lila's drive dimmed, her lips tight, rain slick on her face, her patch glowing, like it heard Mia's blood, like it answered the Lattice. "Not dead," she said, voice low, stepping closer, her boots silent, a thief's grace, not NexGen's weight. "Wired—Lattice's core, his mind, not flesh. Your blood's the spark, Carver, Anchor's key." Her words cut, not jealousy but truth, her scars hidden under her jacket, nanotech hers, not Mia's, a thief's pain no lock could hide, no vault could bury.
The dock shook, drones diving, their red lenses locking, bullets—not darts—splintering crates, NexGen's trucks roaring, their lights carving the rain, their engines a growl no alley could swallow. Mia's blood roared, her thief's hands sure, and she lunged, not for Lila but a gap between crates, her boots slipping on mud, the pendant heavy, Ethan's Flee a fire, not flight but fight. Lila grabbed her arm, not fighting but pulling, her drive sparking, her patch blazing, like Mia's pendant, like her scars. "Run with me," Lila said, voice raw, not rival but shadow, her green eyes Ethan's, not hers, pain not betrayal, a thief's bond no Lattice could wire. The hum screamed, Mia's scars burned, and a bullet grazed her shoulder, cold spreading, her scars dimming, but her blood fought, nanotech no leash but fire
They dove into an alley, neon flickering—Black Circuit, No Mercy—Boston's veins a maze, the hum louder, her scars glowing, like they saw the drones, saw Lila. Memory flashed: Ethan, not a street but her, a safe, his hands steady, You're enough. Her blood roared, the pendant a blade, not shield, cutting lies, cutting the Lattice. Lila's drive hummed, her patch alive, like it knew Mia's blood, like it sang the same song. The drones circled, their red lenses hers, NexGen's cage tightening, and a new sound broke through—not trucks, not drones, but boots, heavy, not Lila's, not NexGen's, a man's voice—Carver, you're mine—cold, wired, the hum his, Mia's scars blazing, her blood no one's but hers.
The alley was no haven but a lock, her thief's heart a spark, Ethan's Flee a fight, not surrender, and Boston's neon was no grave but a blade, her blood the key to nowhere.