Shattered Trust

High‑pitched ringing was all I could hear at first. I blinked hard, trying to dispel the white flash burning behind my eyelids. One moment I'd been crouched behind the hover bike, aiming at the approaching Hive operatives, and the next, bang, a stun grenade detonated nearby, knocking me flat.

Gizmo lay a short distance off, twitching as his systems tried to reboot from the EMP burst. My body screamed in disorientation, muscles sluggish as I pushed myself up to hands and knees. My pistol had skittered out of reach somewhere behind a pile of scrap.

Through the fading haze, I made out Ash standing about ten paces away. His hands were raised as if in surrender, and he backed slowly toward the yard's edge. In front of him, two Hive operatives in tactical armor closed in, weapons trained on me.

They hadn't seen Ash. Or if they did, they didn't care about him, everything was focused on me.

"Ash…?" I croaked, the ringing drowning my own voice.

At the sound, the nearer operative swung his rifle up. "Quiet!" he snarled, shoving me so hard I nearly toppled.

Ash froze for a heartbeat, then lowered his hands, revealing a pistol drawn during my stun. My pulse leapt. Was he about to fight?

Instead, he took two deliberate steps backward. The muzzle of his gun swung loosely in my direction.

The realization hit me like ice: he wasn't on my side. Maybe he never had been.

He offered me a tight, joyless smile. "Nothing personal, kid."

Then he slipped into the darkness beyond the headlights, pistol still raised in case anyone followed. None of the Hive soldiers gave chase, they had me.

Fury and heartbreak warred inside me, fueling a fresh adrenaline surge. I caught their hushed chatter:

"Package secure. Where's Dhal?" one asked. "Gone. Doesn't matter," the other replied, hefting the console Ash had dropped. "We have what we need."

Dhal, that was Ash's name. The Hive soldiers expected him to vanish.

It was a damned set‑up. He'd been working for them all along.

"Ash!" I shouted, voice ragged with betrayal.

A heavy boot pressed between my shoulder blades, steering my chest into the dirt. Rough hands yanked my arms behind me and cinched zip‑ties around my wrists. Cold concrete pressed into my cheek as I struggled.

This can't be the end, my mind screamed.

Suddenly, the Hive van behind us sputtered and exploded in a shower of sparks, sending the operatives reeling. In that instant, a dark figure blurred into view.

One operative flew into the wrecked van; the other crumpled under a single, precise blow.

I rolled onto my side, still bound, stunned by the sudden reversal. Standing above me was a man, or something like a man, in black tactical armor. His face was hidden behind a glossy full‑face visor that reflected the chaos: the wrecked van, the fallen soldiers, my astonished face.

Who was he?

He extended a gloved hand. I flinched back.

"No time," a distorted voice said through his modulator. Before I could respond, he reached around me and, with one swift motion, sliced through the zip‑tie binding my wrists, his blade retracting into his forearm armor.

I yanked my arms free, adrenaline surging, but still stared warily as Gizmo skittered between us, warning growl rumbling from his speakers.

The stranger tilted his head at the cat but made no move to harm him. Instead, he pressed something into my hand: my pistol. I hadn't even noticed him pick it up.

"You okay?" he asked.

My heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything but his voice. But, I was alive and free. "I… think so."

He gave a curt nod. "Move."

Behind us, Hive backup shouts grew closer.

I glanced at the console- our prize- lying nearby. I lunged for it, stubbornness overruling sense. "We can't leave it..."

A black‑gloved hand gripped my shoulder and yanked me back. "Leave it," he snapped. "Live to fight another day."

Three more Hive soldiers poured into the yard, laser sights cutting arcs through the darkness. A ricochet pinged off the concrete at my foot. I looked from the bulky device to the advancing troops, there was no time.

And Nyra, my comm was dead. I could only pray she'd ducked clear of this hell.

I swallowed my fury. Survive first. Answers later.

"Gizmo!" I hissed.

My mechanical cat, ever loyal despite his damaged leg, bounded back to my side.

The stranger, I'd later learn, started firing covering shots with a sleek, recoil‑free pistol, each round humming as it discharged. He waved me toward a black motorcycle parked just beyond a slit in the fence.

I hesitated, heart hammering, eyes scanning for any sign of Ash… or false hope that maybe this wasn't as bad as it seemed. But Ash was gone. So was any illusion of safety.

With a feral growl, I scooped up Gizmo and sprinted after my mysterious savior.

He vaulted onto the bike, and I slid in behind him, wrapping my arms around his armored waist. No sooner had I clamped down than the engine whined to life and we shot forward.

Bullets hissed past in the alley, but none found us.

Seconds later, we rounded a corner and tore through Lower Reach's deserted midnight streets. I didn't know where we headed, just away from the Hive. That was enough.

Wind stung my eyes with tears I couldn't shed. In minutes, I'd lost the prize of a lifetime, nearly lost my freedom, and watched a friend's betrayal unfold. And I still had no word on Nyra.

The neon glare of the main road blurred past as I risked a backward glance, no pursuers visible, though the city's haze cloaked anything beyond.

I tightened my grip on the stranger. Gizmo trembled between us, claws digging into my jacket.

It was over. The first battle, at least. I had survived.

But everything had changed.

Ash's final words echoed in my mind: "Nothing personal, kid."

Like hell it wasn't personal.

I didn't know who this armored rider was or why he'd risk himself for me, but that mystery could wait.

For now, I faced forward into the darkness ahead, resolve burning in my chest. Whatever it took, I would claw my way out of this. I would find Nyra, expose Ash and Hive, and never again be anyone's pawn.

"I'll fix this," I whispered, pressing my forehead to Gizmo's cold metal head. Promise to him, to Nyra, to myself, it didn't matter.

Above us, the stars were smothered by smog and neon haze. I held Gizmo tighter, fury and determination rising in equal measure.

That was a week ago... since then I didn't hear anything about Nyra.