Ghost in the Wires

On a rooftop three blocks from the HiveTech depot, I crouched in silence. I go by Ghost, and tonight I lived up to the name: clad in matte black, face hidden behind a visor streaming with data, body unmoving as I tapped into the digital ether around me.

I'd been monitoring HiveTech's security grid as part of my private war against the corporation when an intrusion alert at a storage depot piqued my interest. At first, I assumed some ganger crew was trying their luck but then intercepted comm chatter mentioned a mechanical cat and a female intruder.

That was the same mechanical cat I'd glimpsed darting across an alley earlier, leading a Hive drone on a merry chase. And the same female voice I'd overheard on a crackling Hive dispatch frequency during yesterday's bazaar scuffle.

Coincidences don't exist in my world. Whoever that girl was, she had a knack for getting into Hive's crosshairs and that made her interesting.

Through my visor feed, I sifted Hive's encrypted channels. Most were routine, status reports and perimeter alerts but one thread stood out: an urgent directive to converge on an abandoned construction yard nearby. Two unmarked Hive tactical vans were rerouting there, their icons blinking on the map I'd pulled up.

"Going somewhere?" I muttered to myself. With a few blinks and hand gestures, I launched a subroutine to spoof drone surveillance and cover my digital trail.

I had a strong hunch what Hive was up to: setting a trap for the intruders who'd stolen whatever was in that depot. Maybe they'd escaped for now, but Hive was moving fast to cut them off.

I rose to my feet and sprinted across the rooftop, leaping effortlessly to the next building and sliding down a maintenance ladder. Years of conditioning and a half‑dozen cybernetic enhancements, ensured I could outrun and outfight most trouble the city threw my way.

Below, a sleek black motorcycle waited in the alley. I swung onto it, visor interface syncing with the bike's HUD. The electric engine hummed to life, silent and swift, just how I liked it.

As I sped into the night, I opened a secure, anonymous comm channel. I wasn't sure if the girl still had a working device, but it was worth a shot. A heavily modulated voice went out over the airwaves:

"Ambush incoming. Hive en route. Trust your friend at your peril."

It was all I had time to send. Maybe it'd reach her, maybe not. I cursed softly; I preferred having more control, but time was short.

I revved the bike and took a hard turn down Industrial 17th Street. Up ahead, dust and debris swirled, likely kicked up by a hover bike not long ago. The stolen goods and their new owners were making their escape.

My visor pinged: two Hive vans closing in from different directions, forming a pincer. Exactly what I'd predicted, they were moving to intercept.

I killed the headlight and swerved into a side alley parallel to the construction site. I could already hear the quiet whine of Hive van engines. Parking behind a dumpster, I scaled a fire escape for a vantage on the second floor of a dilapidated building.

Below, in the open yard, I spotted them: a hover bike with a flatbed trailer, the girl with the mechanical cat and a man loading a bulky device onto the trailer. They looked battered but intact for the moment, they were alone.

I magnified the image. The girl's hood was down, revealing windswept dark hair and a dirt‑smudged face, eyes flashing with triumph and caution. The man with her, ash‑blond, lean, clapped a hand on her shoulder, saying something I couldn't make out over the wind.

My jaw tightened. That man… I zoomed in further and recognized him at once: Asher Dhal, freelance mercenary with rumored ties to Hive black‑ops. A known fixer who'd betrayed partners whenever it suited him.

"Dammit," I swore quietly. My warning earlier suddenly felt grimly apt.

Headlights flared at the far end of the yard. Two black vans skidded in, Hive operatives spilling out. The girl and Ash whirled toward the commotion.

Too late for subtle warnings now.

I drew a compact sniper module from the sling on my back and snapped it onto my forearm. With a thought, I engaged its target‑assist. Three shots loaded, tranquilizer darts tipped with neurotoxin strong enough to drop an elephant. I didn't intend to kill tonight; my aim was simply to even the odds.

Below, the Hive operatives fanned out, weapons raised. I spotted five in tactical gear. Asher immediately raised his hands in a show of surrender, stepping slightly away from the girl.

She, by contrast, drew a handgun and planted herself partly in front of the device on the trailer, positioning herself between the operatives and her mechanical cat, hissing beside her.

My heart pounded a slow, controlled rhythm thanks to my adrenal mods. Aiming… the visor marked each hostile with a red reticle. I'd have to make these shots count.

A sharp command echoed from the Hive team, likely ordering her to drop her weapon. Tension crackled below.

I exhaled halfway and squeezed the trigger on the first dart. With a barely audible fwip, it struck the lead operative in the neck. He grunted, stumbling before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Shouts erupted.

I didn't hesitate. I adjusted and fired the second dart, catching another operative in the thigh. She went down with a cry, her gun clattering on the concrete.

The remaining three soldiers panicked, momentarily unsure where the attack came from. I lined up my third shot but before I could fire, something slammed into my shoulder, knocking me back behind the broken window frame.

White‑hot pain lanced through my augmented shoulder. A high‑caliber round, one of the Hive operatives must have spotted my muzzle flash and returned fire.

I grit my teeth as my pain regulators kicked in, dulling the edge. Warm blood oozed from the tear in my suit. Pressing a palm to the wound, I muttered, "Quicker than they look."

Below, chaos broke loose. The girl dove for cover behind the hover bike, firing two shots that forced the remaining goons to duck. The mechanical cat, darted forward and latched onto a third operative's leg with a furious metallic snarl.

I could only watch; my sniper darts were spent, and repositioning for another shot would take too long. I saw Asher but slinking away, hands still raised.

One of the last operatives threw a stun grenade toward the bike. It detonated with a crackle of light, sending the girl and her cat sprawling, ears ringing.

Frustration made my hands shake as I pressed a sequence on my arm console one‑handed. I activated a pre‑programmed hack on the Hive vans. Far below, both engines suddenly revved to life on their own, then blew out in a shower of sparks. That should cut off any easy escape or reinforcement.

Despite the pain, I forced myself to move. The girl was in trouble, two operatives remained standing, and Asher was vanishing into the shadows. I secured the sniper module and began a rapid descent down the fire escape, adrenaline and anger propelling me.

Hang on, I urged silently, unsure if I meant her or myself. I'd intervened too late, with too little but I wouldn't let Hive or that treacherous merc claim victory tonight. Not if I could help it.