Moonlight diffused through the cloud of pollution that blanketed the city.

  The dull sound of heavy, hurried footsteps seemed to dissolve into the metropolis’s chaotic soundscape. Vehicles, people, and machines were like musicians in an infernal orchestra, created to punish its listeners.

  The stench rose from the piled garbage bags, with rivulets of leachate running between the cobblestones. Neon shop signs colored the surroundings but brought no joy; everything felt decadent.

  A man ran through an alley. His muscles and stature granted him impressive speed, but he was already out of breath. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated to the point they looked as if they might rupture the iris. A thin strand of saliva mixed with the sweat running down his neck.

  He tried to glance back while running, slammed into the garbage bags, and finally crashed into a wall. Despite the impact, he kept going—awkwardly—running forward, fleeing from the shadow pursuing him. The shadow of Detective Morgan Jones.

  Despite Morgan’s effort as he sprinted down the alley, nearing the end of his thirties, the cost of age was beginning to weigh on him. Catching the brute seemed impossible. Of course, his implants could help level the playing field, but since returning to work, Morgan had refused to use them.

  — Stop! — Morgan shouted, in a futile attempt to end the chase.

  The man stumbled as he pulled something from his pocket, shortening the distance between him and Morgan, but his legs began to fail from exhaustion. Morgan reached for the revolver at his belt and, stopping his run, aimed at the man.

  — Stop, man! If you don’t stop, I’ll have to shoot! — Morgan said, focusing on keeping him in his sights.

  He broke focus for a split second and noticed his hands were shaking.

  Who are you trying to fool?

  Suddenly, the man’s left temple burst into sparks, dropping him face-first onto the ground. As he fell, leachate splashed everywhere with a wet sound.

  He didn’t move.

  Morgan approached slowly, the fugitive still in his sights. He used his foot to turn the man over, revealing his mouth covered in foam.

  The man’s massive hand was gripping something that looked like a pen. Curious, Morgan strained to pull it free, accidentally activating the device.

  An electromagnetic wave spread outward from the pen, killing every light it passed.

  Morgan admired the silence and the darkness for a moment. It was almost poetic. The city around him felt like a vast labyrinth, designed to trap the souls of its inhabitants.

  The reverie ended when the fallen man began to convulse.

  The detective tried to restrain him, but the man was too strong. Using all his strength, Morgan finally managed to hold him down. For a brief moment, he saw the inscription on an old implant between the man’s mouth and chin: GENTECH.

  That simple mark made Morgan hesitate for an instant—and he was struck by an involuntary headbutt from the fugitive. The blow split his lip, and the shock sent him tumbling backward, landing hard on the ground. The metallic taste of blood, mixed with the smell of garbage, was nauseating.

  GENTECH…

  Thinking about the damned corporation, Morgan watched the man thrash violently. Now it was impossible to restrain him. Rage drove Morgan to consider ending the poor bastard’s suffering with his revolver.

  Funny how that logo can drag me into the darkest corners of my mind.

  But just as suddenly as it began, the convulsion stopped.

  This is going to cause a nasty infection, Morgan thought as he noticed the man was covered in scratches and bruises, soaked in the alley’s filthy liquid. Those injured arms would be covered in bruises by morning. Morgan also noticed Gentech implants in the man’s arms. So old.

  Morgan stood and stepped closer. The breathing was weak, almost imperceptible; the moonlight made the man’s eyes shine in a strange way.

  — I… I can’t believe it… What have I done? — the man stammered, tears streaming down his face, making the shine in his eyes even brighter. Slowly, they closed, freezing that expression of regret forever.

  Morgan reached out, touching the man’s neck to check for a pulse. An involuntary grimace betrayed his disgust at touching him—now completely filthy.

  With the inevitable realization, Morgan’s body slumped, defeated, as if the weight of that death had settled squarely on his shoulders.

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  Later, the alley no longer looked the same.

  Lights had returned to some of the surrounding buildings, flickering irregularly, as if the city were still recovering from the blackout. An ambulance occupied nearly the entire width of the alley, its white paint stained by the reflections of nearby neon signs. Morgan watched in silence as the medical team loaded the body into the vehicle.

  The man looked smaller now. Curled in on himself. Just another anonymous corpse swallowed by the city’s routine.

  — Morgan, my old friend… — a voice said behind him. — What’s happening to people?

  Morgan didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, but his body relaxed slightly at the sound of that voice. Randy was there, as he had been for the past few years: a tall man, bent by time, nearing seventy, wrapped in a battered overcoat that had seen better days.

  Morgan kept his eyes fixed on the ambulance.

  — The woman and the child?

  Randy sighed before answering.

  — They didn’t make it. — He paused. — You saw the size of the guy… They didn’t stand a chance.

  Morgan clenched his jaw.

  — When he went down… — he said, choosing his words carefully. — The whole block went dark.

  Randy frowned.

  — Electromagnetic pulse?

  Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the spot where the brute had fallen. He crouched with difficulty and picked up the small metallic device from the ground, examining it under the unsteady light of a nearby streetlamp.

  — It really is an EMP, — he murmured. — But… why would an addict need something like this?

  Morgan stared at Randy, his gaze heavy, burdened with something he preferred not to name.

  — He was foaming at the mouth.

  Randy didn’t like what he heard. His face hardened immediately.

  — Probably just an overdose.

  — Sparks and foam, Randy, — Morgan said, raising his voice. — It wasn’t a simple overdose. You know that.

  Randy straightened with difficulty, bracing himself on his knees.

  — A middle-aged addict… — he said, trying to sound rational. — Probably had implants older than sitting down to shit. Those pieces of junk can fail anytime.

  Morgan kept staring at him in silence.

  After a few seconds, Randy stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  — Forget about it, Morgan.

  Morgan took a deep breath.

  — But—

  — No buts. — Randy’s voice hardened. — The last thing you need is a corporation on your tail. Forget GENTECH. At least for now.

  Morgan didn’t answer. His expression made it clear that wasn’t an acceptable response.

  Randy noticed.

  — Look… I know this is all fucked up. — His voice softened. — With everything that happened to Mick… But I’ve always looked out for you, haven’t I?

  Morgan looked away. His hatred for Gentech rivaled the affection he felt for Randy.

  — The time to take those bastards down will come, — Randy continued, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. — You don’t understand, Morgan. This isn’t a fight we can win. Not now.

  He glanced around, alert, as if the alley walls could hear.

  — I’m working with the DA’s office, trying to build a solid case, but… — he waved a vague hand — their power goes far beyond what we imagine.

  Morgan let out a dry, humorless laugh.

  — The DA? — he said. — Do you really think there’s any chance of bringing down a corporation through the courts?

  Randy took a deep breath before answering. There was hope in his voice—but also exhaustion.

  — We have to try. If we act outside the law, we give them exactly what they want. An excuse. — He looked Morgan straight in the eye. — Be patient.

  He paused briefly, then added:

  — We’ll get them. And when it’s time to put those bastards in cuffs, I want you by my side. So… be patient. And don’t do anything stupid.

  Morgan lowered his head.

  Randy gave his back a firm pat.

  — Go home, Morgan, — he said. — I’ll take care of things here.

  Morgan watched the ambulance pull away, its red lights fading into the polluted night.

  All that violence, corruption, and filth. Is this really where I belong? he thought as he turned to leave.

  The door opened with a dry click, the key lingering for a moment in the lock before Morgan pushed it inside. Hanging from the keychain was a small photograph, worn by time: a smiling boy looking into the camera.

  The apartment was silent. Cold. Too empty.

  There were few pieces of furniture and no real attempt at decoration. The couch, positioned in front of the window, seemed to exist for that single purpose. Beyond it, almost nothing drew attention—except for a glass display case against the wall.

  Inside the case lay a few children’s drawings, colored with uneven strokes and signed in large, crooked letters: Mick. Beside them were a few sports medals, scratched from use, arranged without any particular order or care. Only one picture frame held a place of prominence. In it, Morgan appeared smiling—a rare, honest smile—with his arm around the shoulders of the same boy from the keychain photo.

  Morgan didn’t linger there long. The memories felt like a spear tearing through his chest.

  With trembling hands, he lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke with his eyes closed.

  He walked to the window, unlocked it, and let the cold night air flood the apartment. Then he sat on the couch, staring outside with absolute focus.

  He remained there for several seconds, motionless, as if calculating every thought.

  I’ll get you, he thought.

  As cigarette smoke filled his lungs, he felt the hatred grow inside him—slowly killing him. Anyone with sense would have told him to stop, but the feeling was far too good to interrupt.

  Across the window stood a massive building, dominating the nighttime horizon. Its neon sign cut through the darkness with aggressive, impossible-to-ignore light.

  GENTECH PHARMACEUTICS.