The planet received her with dry wind, an empty horizon, and no witnesses.

  She unlatched herself from the seat with slow movements, feeling how dried blood tugged at the fabric beneath her armor.

  Her right wrist was swollen.

  Her side burned.

  Each breath scraped.

  Once outside, she oriented herself and began the long walk back to town.

  Hours later, upon reaching the putrid swarm of metal scraps and despicable lives, she moved through decrepit lights that seemed to beg for release and hanging cables ready to snap.

  Along the way, in a half-abandoned gallery, she spotted a public terminal for withdrawing credits.

  She connected the device.

  Black screen.

  Commands colliding with each other to execute.

  —Transfer complete.—

  —Efficiency bonus.—

  The machine spat out several credits.

  She removed the device and the credits.

  Still aching, she decided to visit the neighborhood doctor again.

  The clinic was open.

  It was always open.

  The doctor asked no questions when he saw her enter, covered in dust and dried blood.

  He guided her straight to the examination table.

  —At least you’re breathing— he said, as if commenting on the weather.

  —I have your results.

  He connected sensors.

  Turned the screen toward her.

  An old label appeared.

  Biological reference: Veyra

  Human compatibility: partial

  He did not explain.

  —Your physiology isn’t standard— he said at last. —You already knew that.

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  She did not answer.

  The implant showed residual adrenaline spikes.

  Muscle inflammation.

  Chemical imbalance.

  —I need to sedate you— he added. —There are internal microtears. If we don’t stabilize now, they’ll worsen.

  Nebula held his gaze for several seconds.

  She nodded.

  The needle slid in cleanly.

  The sedative didn’t fully put her under.

  It felt as though the world had begun moving half a second out of sync.

  The clinic door exploded inward.

  Three men.

  Sidearms. Clumsy movement. Heavy breathing.

  —There she is!— one shouted. —That’s her!

  Nebula tried to rise.

  Her body did not respond with precision.

  The first man fired.

  The projectile tore through instruments and glass.

  The second advanced too quickly.

  She rolled off the table, drew her weapon from her waist, and fired point-blank.

  Impact to the neck.

  He fell, choking.

  The second was already on her, striking with his fists.

  Her vision burst white.

  She tried to answer with her knife, but her arm felt twice as heavy.

  The blade barely grazed flesh.

  A kick to the ribs made her spit blood.

  The third pinned her to the floor.

  Knee in her back.

  Gun aimed at the base of her skull.

  —Is this shitty bitch who killed them?— he spat.

  Nebula tried to turn.

  Too late.

  Too slow.

  The shot rang out before the mercenary pulled the trigger.

  The man on top of her went rigid.

  Then fell sideways, a clean hole through his temple.

  The doctor held the gun with both hands.

  No tremor.

  —I want her alive!— the doctor roared from somewhere in the room.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Three more shots echoed.

  Nebula tried to stand.

  Her body finally gave in.

  The adrenaline collapsed like a falling wall.

  Darkness.

  She woke up hours later.

  The clinic smelled of sterilized metal.

  The bandages were new. The swelling had receded.

  The implant… felt different.

  More stable. More aligned.

  The doctor was working at a secondary console.

  —I replaced the regulator module— he explained without looking at her. —The previous one wasn’t designed for your biology.

  She sat up slowly.

  —I didn’t ask for that.

  —I’m glad you like it.

  Silence.

  —I need to monitor you periodically— he added. —Your blood… has extraordinary properties. Accelerated regeneration. Low cellular degradation. It isn’t human in the strict sense.

  —Regular samples— the doctor continued. —In exchange: full maintenance. Upgrades. Stability.

  It wasn’t a threat.

  It was a contract.

  Nebula stood.

  The new implant responded with a different clarity.

  Her pulse stabilized within seconds.

  Her vision did not tremble.

  Faster.

  More precise.

  More dependent.

  —They left something for you— the doctor said, as if mentioning a minor detail. —The device is on the table.

  Nebula took her helmet.

  The doctor watched her put it on.

  Watched the system seal.

  Now she knew what she was.

  And she also knew she wasn’t free.

  When she stepped back into the street, the town looked the same.

  She wasn’t stronger.

  She was more valuable.

  And that made her prey.