Chapter 5 Rats in the walls

Spiral inhaled the last drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his boot. His neural HUD blinked on. In the corner of his vision, Isla's apartment glowed faint red.

He had traced the water bill and her power use. She is always alone. No one came to check on her. No one watched her back. She was more of a ghost than he was.

That made her vulnerable.

That made her his.

He wouldn't let them take her.

She didn't know what the men in the alley were after. She thought they wanted her body. Spiral knew better. The truth would break her, it would shatter her.

He'd already made the call. The remains of her ex had fetched a clean price, a nice one.. Spiral still had the credits tucked in an encrypted account, untouched. He'd never cared about the money. Only the silence it bought.

Only extra time.

And now the ones behind the body trade were digging deeper. Which meant she was in danger because they knew the trade was a scam. They got scammed from something very valuable.

She wouldn't believe him if he told her. Not yet. She still had too much city in her. Still thought survival meant blending in, playing nice, keeping her head down.

But the city didn't protect things like her.

It chewed them up and spat them out like used gum.

Selling people like her into pieces.

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She stared out the window as the sun dipped behind the skyline, smearing gold over the horizon like a wound. For a second, she imagined running. Just vanishing into the edges of the world, somewhere outside the city limits. Where food grew on trees and the air didn't burn. Things her father told her before they got stuck behind the walls of this city.

But she couldn't afford that dream.

So she closed the window and locked it again.

Behind her, the apartment light buzzed and blinked and somewhere far below, down in the street, a car engine rumbled once before falling silent.

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The city breathed like a dying animal neon sputtering through smog, alley vents hissing like punctured lungs. Spiral stood in the rain, motionless, coat soaked, head tilted slightly listening for something no one else could hear.

Someone had been watching her.

Not just following. Not just lingering. Tracking.

He'd found the first one three nights ago. A smooth little freak in a trench coat, skin too perfect to be real, pupils too slow to adjust. A Corporate black-market militia. Spiral had broken his jaw in three places before he could even try to talk his way out of it.

He didn't need any questions to be answered, he just needed them to be non-existent.

Just a smirk, a cold little "you're too late" smile that made Spiral's stomach twist.

So he cut off the smile along with the rest of the head.

It had been… therapeutic. Like a small table with coffee and a reality TV hostess asking how Spiral handles his daily routine. If that hostess was Isla he'd answer everything with bitter humor.

He'd thought killing the ex would be enough. Thought hiding Isla in that forgotten corner of the city would keep her safe. But safety was an illusion here. Nothing in this damn city ever stayed hidden. Not for long.

Especially not her.

The world didn't just want her it sensed her. Like sharks to blood. Like data lines tugging at ghosts. Spiral didn't know why they wanted her, not yet. But he knew what came next if he didn't move first.

He wouldn't let them have her.

---

The garage door squealed open. He stepped in like a wraith, dripping and silent. The matte black Hellcat was still there, gleaming like a monster in sleep.

He ran a gloved hand across the dash.

She was slipping from him. He could feel it.

She was losing her edge.

He'd given her room too much of it. Thinking that maybe she'd come to her senses. Maybe she'd start to see things his way.

But distance made her forget.

In his mind all of this made sense. She didn't have to see him and didn't have to know him. But he was already part of her life. Whether she wanted him or not didn't matter.

She was working again. Walking dark streets alone. Talking to people she shouldn't.

Someone had even asked her name at that convenience store downtown. The one with the flickering roof camera and the guy behind the counter who always looked too long at her chest.

Spiral had watched the footage. Watched the guy lean in and say something through the glass. Heard Isla laugh, soft, tired.

Laugh. She was laughing, he made her laugh. That slick little Vernon!

He killed that man the next night. Quiet. Quick. Took his tongue first. Any piece, any part can bring in credits.

New upgrades.

Now Spiral sat beneath the hum of outdated fluorescents, stripping down a rifle he hadn't touched in years. Not his style anymore. But things were changing. These weren't street scabs or junkies sniffing for scraps. These new shadows moved with precision.

They reminded him of them. Of the ones who ran that prison where he got his first implants. The ones who made men into weapons.

And Spiral? He remembered the taste of their blood.

If they were coming, they'd bleed too.

Later, in the bunker, he stared at the monitor feed still grainy, still flickering. But it was her. Isla, asleep in her rundown apartment. One hand tucked under her chin, the other curled like a child's against her ribs.

She looked so small like that.

So breakable.

So… far away.

He clenched his jaw. His reflection in the glass monitor warped and shifted man, machine, ghost. His fingers curled into fists.

She didn't know what was coming. Didn't know the war hadn't ended, only paused.

And worst of all?

She didn't know she wasn't alone anymore.

Spiral stood. Holstered the modified pistol. Slid a small, black chip into the side of his skull and winced as the feed spiked directly into his cortex.

She moved in her sleep. Tossed once. Pulled the covers tighter as if it were her only comfort.

His voice, low and rasped, ghosted through his lips.

"You're not safe without me."

And if she wouldn't run to him…

He'd make her.

He's make her understand the severity of the situation. She doesn't seem to know anything else but to hide and lie to herself that what she is doing is enough.

It's isn't. It never was.

As easily as he could track her and survey her every moment. It's as easy as for the rats that plague the streets. Waiting for the right time, waiting to capture her their target.