Lisa extracted her IV from her arm, watching with detached fascination as the mechanical appendage retracted smoothly into the van's ceiling. She blinked away the fog of sedation, her eyes focusing on me with unexpected intensity.

  "I...I somehow thought my dad was here," she murmured, her voice fragile from medication.

  "In a way, he was," I replied, proceeding to explain the Dive that had occurred while she was unconscious—Noah's revelations about the tracker in my Receptacle, our gradual merging, and the symbiotic relationship forming between his Soul and my consciousness.

  Lisa absorbed my explanation in silence, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding as the implications settled in. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice stronger now.

  "So that's how they found us. This confirms they're from MainFrame."

  "I believe so," I agreed. "They must be some kind of black ops team within MainFrame—operatives who work outside official channels when they need plausible deniability. That would explain why they don't wear the standard uniforms. And it makes sense with what Noah told us—the information he discovered wasn't common knowledge even within MainFrame's own hierarchy."

  "But what about me?" she asked, fingers absentmindedly touching her wound. "I don't have a Receptacle."

  "I'm not sure how, but MainFrame must have finally detected Noah's call, even though it shouldn't have been visible in their systems," I reasoned. "Once they identified Noah, they probably started investigating his connections. You're his daughter—a natural person of interest, even if you've been using a different identity."

  "Still doesn't explain how they found me at EcoNet," she countered. "I've never used my real name professionally. I live under an entirely different identity."

  I shrugged, acknowledging the lingering mystery. "The important thing is removing this tracker. As long as it's active, they'll find us eventually."

  "No NeuroDoc will touch a Receptacle," I added, stating what we both knew to be true. MainFrame's proprietary technology was specifically designed to resist tampering, with severe penalties for unauthorized access—both technical and legal.

  "No legitimate one," Lisa corrected, a knowing smile spreading across her face despite her pallor.

  "Neo Underground," I stated, the words feeling like a surrender.

  She nodded. "We're almost there," she continued. "I know Circuit will be able to help."

  "Circuit?" I asked.

  "Circuit is an old friend," she paused, something unreadable flickering across her expression. "I hope, at least, she still is. She's one of the best NeuroDocs in Neo Underground."

  "Hold on a second," I interjected, raising my hands. "You hope?"

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. "It's complicated, but I believe she will assist us," she finally divulged.

  The Homing Driver slowed to a halt, its systems announcing our arrival at the destination. As the door unlocked with a pneumatic hiss, I exchanged a concerned glance with Lisa.

  "Well," I remarked, "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

  We emerged from the vehicle onto the desolate expanse of Saint-Emily Street in the Displace District—ToxCity's eastern boundary and one of its most neglected sectors. The Homing Driver departed with startling speed, as if eager to escape this blighted area.

  Displace had once been an industrial zone, its massive warehouses and processing centers serving the city's manufacturing needs. Now it stood as a grotesque monument to neglect. Collapsed high-rises had been repurposed into ramshackle housing, their exposed support structures resembling skeletal remains of ancient beasts. The streets were buried under geological strata of discarded machinery, medical waste, and unidentifiable debris.

  What distinguished Displace from other decimated districts of ToxCity wasn't its physical deterioration but its uncanny emptiness. Even the most dangerous parts of the city center teemed with desperate humanity—criminals, junkies, scavengers—a chaotic ecosystem of survival. Here, however, the streets lay virtually abandoned, as if even the desperate had abandoned hope.

  "This way," Lisa instructed, her steps sure despite her recent injury.

  We navigated through the grimy streets, the few people we encountered deliberately avoiding us, eyes tracking our movements while maintaining careful distance. Unlike ToxCity's center where danger came from unwanted attention, here the threat manifested in deliberate avoidance—predators recognizing potential competition.

  "Displace is just the threshold," Lisa explained, noticing my wary gaze. "Neo Underground's main entrance is just ahead."

  She led me toward an unremarkable alley between two decaying buildings. At its end stood a massive metal door, partially ajar, revealing a stairway descending into impenetrable darkness. Clusters of figures lingered near the entrance, their bodies more machine than human—limbs replaced with mismatched cybernetics, torsos bulging with crude implants, faces reconstructed with salvaged components. Several turned to observe us with glowing optical enhancements, their gazes predatory and calculating.

  "Are you sure about this?" I asked, my hand instinctively moving toward my weapon while I glanced at my damaged right hand, still raw from the highway encounter with those cybernetic titans. It would provide little protection if needed.

  "We have no choice," Lisa replied without breaking stride.

  We approached the entrance, the gathered figures parting reluctantly. Up close, they appeared even more nightmarish—their modifications crude and unsanctioned, hardware protruding at unnatural angles from infected flesh, metabolic regulators humming audibly as they struggled to maintain basic functions. These weren't the sleek enhancements of Green Ring residents, the utilitarian augmentations of factory workers, or even the functional modifications of Couriers. These were something entirely different—extreme body alterations that defied conventional design philosophy. A subculture of enhancement that pushed beyond utility or aesthetics into a realm of grotesque self-expression. Illegal black-market parts, experimental prototypes, and custom modifications that would never receive authorization on the surface. These weren't just survival adaptations but deliberate transformations assembled from forbidden technologies.

  As we descended the crumbling stairs, darkness enveloped us completely. Lisa activated a flashlight implant on her left arm, its beam cutting through the oppressive blackness.

  "Stay close," she warned. "The entrance is designed to discourage casual visitors."

  The stairwell seemed to descend forever, each step taking us deeper beneath ToxCity's foundations. The air grew increasingly stale, tainted with the metallic smell of blood and the acrid stench of overheated circuitry. Occasionally, sounds drifted up from below—distant screams rebounding off concrete, mechanical whirring amplified by the enclosed space, bursts of eerie laughter that echoed and reverberated unnaturally, transforming human sounds into something hollow and synthetic. The acoustic distortion created a disorienting effect, making it impossible to judge distance or direction—a cacophony that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

  "Neo Underground began as maintenance tunnels and abandoned subway systems," Lisa explained as we descended. "Over decades, the disenfranchised expanded it into a parallel society. The surface authorities attempted to shut it down seventeen times. Each attempt failed so catastrophically that they eventually established an uneasy truce—Neo Underground exists in exchange for not expanding further into ToxCity's infrastructure."

  After what felt like an eternity, dim lights appeared ahead, signaling our approach to what Lisa called "the Threshold." She extinguished her flashlight and paused, turning to face me.

  "Listen carefully," she instructed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Once we enter, you follow me and stay close. Don't make eye contact unless necessary. Don't respond to provocations. And whatever you do, don't show weakness."

  I nodded, a crawling anxiety tightening my chest. My heart rate accelerated despite my efforts to remain calm. I'd navigated ToxCity's most dangerous districts, faced death countless times as a Courier, but something about this place triggered a primal fear I couldn't suppress.

  "Neo Underground operates on different rules than the surface," Lisa continued. "Up there, even in the city center, the Big Four maintain some semblance of control. Down here, there's nothing—no laws, no authorities, no safety nets. Not even MainFrame dares to establish a presence. Where ToxCity is lawless, Neo Underground is something else entirely—a realm beyond society's boundaries. The only currency that matters is strength and credits. If something happens to you down here, no one will help without payment, and no one will investigate your disappearance."

  "I understand," I assured her, though the apprehension crawling along my spine had intensified to near-panic. My enhanced legs suddenly felt inadequate, my damaged hand a critical vulnerability.

  "One last thing," she added. "If I tell you to run, you run. No questions, no hesitation."

  The word "run" hung in the air, a simple directive that somehow made this entire expedition feel even more dangerous. With that final, ominous caution, we continued our descent into darkness.

  At the bottom of the stairwell stood two colossal sentinels—beings that barely qualified as human anymore. They towered over three meters tall, their bodies entirely mechanical save for small patches of preserved brain tissue visible through transparent panels in their skulls. Their chrome frames gleamed dully in the low light, various weapons systems integrated directly into their massive arms.

  "The Guardians," Lisa explained softly. "Stay calm and don't speak."

  Between these mechanical behemoths yawned a circular metal door at least eight meters in diameter, its surface etched with warnings in multiple languages and crude pictograms depicting violent deaths. We passed through without challenge, the Guardians tracking our movement with expressionless optical arrays but making no move to interfere.

  Beyond the threshold stretched a long concrete tunnel that angled further downward, taking us even deeper beneath the city's surface, its walls stained with substances I preferred not to identify. The distant sounds of Neo Underground grew louder—a cacophony of mechanical noises, human voices, music, and screams that merged into a dissonant symphony of underground existence.

  The tunnel finally opened into a vast chamber that defied comprehension. Neo Underground sprawled before us in impossible scale—a cavernous expanse that shouldn't exist beneath the city. Buildings rose within this subterranean realm, multi-storied structures carved directly into ancient sewer systems and forgotten infrastructure. Improvised streets wound between these structures, packed with beings that blurred the line between human and machine.

  Neon signs in every color cut through the perpetual twilight, their garish illumination reflecting off metallic surfaces and creating disorienting patterns of light and shadow. The air hung thick with moisture and particulates, giving everything a hazy, dreamlike quality. Hundreds of people navigated this bizarre underworld, their lives unfolding in a parallel society that most surface dwellers never witnessed.

  "Wow," I exhaled, unable to contain my astonishment.

  "Welcome to Neo Underground," Lisa replied with a grim smile. "Now stay close, please."

  We descended a corroded metal staircase to street level, immediately engulfed by the press of bodies. If I had thought ToxCity's surface dwellers embraced cybernetic enhancement, they were amateurs compared to Neo Underground's inhabitants. Here, human features were the exception rather than the rule.

  Many had replaced entire limbs with mechanical alternatives—not the carefully engineered prosthetics of licensed NeuroDocs, but savage chimeras of salvaged parts. Some moved on wheels or tracks instead of legs, their lower bodies entirely mechanical. Others had modified their torsos to accommodate additional limbs or specialized tools. The most extreme cases had so thoroughly reconstructed themselves that identifying where their heads should be became an exercise in speculation.

  What made Neo Underground truly horrifying wasn't just the extent of modifications but their crude implementation. Without regulation or medical oversight, most procedures were performed by unlicensed NeuroDocs using harvested implants from victims or stolen merchandise. Botched surgeries left many with permanent damage—exposed wiring, leaking hydraulics, infections where metal met flesh. The result was a grotesque gallery of self-inflicted mutilation, bodies stained with dried oil and crusted blood, scarred flesh intertwined with rusted metal.

  "Watch yourself," Lisa warned as we navigated a particularly crowded passage.

  A sudden impact against my shoulder spun me halfway around. I turned to find myself face-to-face with something I couldn't immediately classify as human. The modifications were so extensive that its origin species seemed academic—it could have begun life as anything. The figure before me lacked any discernible facial features—just a rusted metal approximation of a head, oozing thick black fluid from multiple joints.

  "Hey there, need some implants?" a metallic voice rasped from somewhere within the featureless shell. "You look like surface meat." It paused, optical sensors dilating as they assessed my value. "...Fresh."

  "No, thank you," I replied, attempting to move away while maintaining visual contact.

  "Hold on now!" the figure insisted, mechanical fingers closing around my arm with surprising strength. "Seems like you've got some good bio parts in there. How about some quick cash? Fair trade—your eyes for credits."

  Before I could respond, a vibrating blade with a crimson glow pierced the metal skull from behind, sending sparks and dark fluid spraying in all directions. The cybernetic monstrosity crumpled, its grip releasing as systems failed. Two other heavily augmented figures stood behind the fallen body, the assailant already retracting his weapon.

  Without a word, they began methodically dismantling the "corpse," harvesting components with practiced efficiency. Around us, the crowd flowed like water around a stone, no one pausing or even acknowledging the murder that had just occurred.

  "What the—" I began, disturbed by the casual savagery.

  "Come!" Lisa urged, pulling my arm. "Now!"

  She dragged me away from the scene, quickening our pace through the labyrinthine streets. Behind us, the body was already disappearing, systematically dismantled by the same two figures who had killed it. They harvested components with practiced efficiency, as if performing routine maintenance rather than desecrating a corpse. Most disturbing was the complete indifference of surrounding pedestrians—not a single person acknowledged the murder or subsequent dismemberment. It wasn't shocking here; it was simply business as usual.

  "What just happened?" I demanded when we'd put distance between ourselves and the incident.

  "Neo Underground," she replied tersely. "Remember what I said about different rules."

  While ToxCity's surface had its share of violence, there was usually some underlying logic—conflicts over territory, resources, or personal vendettas. This had been entirely arbitrary, a random killing without apparent motive.

  "Listen," Lisa said, maintaining her grip on my arm as we navigated the crowded thoroughfare. "This isn't ToxCity, not even the center. Up there, people might knife you for your credits, or to settle a score. Down here, they'll kill you just to see if you've got any useful parts. Up there, violence is real, but there are pockets of safety—moments when you can breathe. Down here, it's constant."

  I nodded, absorbing the grim reality of our surroundings.

  "No police, no corporate security, nothing's illegal, and no one cares about anyone but themselves," she continued. "Picture ToxCity's center at its worst hour, then remove whatever tattered remnants of humanity still exist there. Only one thing has value here—credits. And if you don't have them, you become parts for someone else."

  We continued through streets that defied conventional urban planning, moving deeper into the heart of this underground nightmare. Everywhere I looked, desperate transactions occurred—implant addicts trading their last remaining organic parts for crude enhancements, unlicensed NeuroDocs performing surgeries in open-air stalls, dealers hawking black-market chipsets that promised enhanced capabilities while conveniently omitting their fatal side effects.

  The deeper we ventured, the more extreme the modifications became. One woman we passed had replaced her entire head with a crystalline dome housing an artificial brain suspended in luminescent fluid. A group of children—actual children—ran past with crude hydraulic limbs that clicked and hissed with each movement, their laughter disturbingly synchronized as if controlled by a single program.

  "Your implants are high-quality but standard," Lisa observed quietly. "Down here, that makes you stand out," she explained. "Your enhancements are too clean, too polished—they scream 'expensive surface tech.' But that superficial value is misleading. Down here, they're functionally inadequate. Your factory-approved limbs might be cutting-edge up there, but they can't compete with the raw power of Underground modifications. You're like someone wearing designer clothes in a combat zone—attractive to predators but defenseless against their weapons. You're a walking target: valuable parts in a vulnerable package. Keep your head down and stay alert."

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Finally, she stopped before a small structure wedged between larger buildings. Unlike the chaotic architecture surrounding it, this building seemed deliberately inconspicuous—its exterior plain and uninviting. A small blue neon sign flickered above a yellow door, displaying a single word: "Circuit."

  "We're here," Lisa announced, tension evident in her voice.

  Unlike the haphazard construction dominating Neo Underground, this building showed signs of deliberate design—each floor added with apparent purpose rather than desperate necessity. It projected an aura of calculated insignificance, as if deliberately avoiding attention in a place where everyone competed to display their modifications.

  "This is your friend's place?" I asked, studying the unassuming entrance.

  Lisa nodded, taking a deep breath before reaching for the door. "Let's hope she still considers me one."

  The door sealed behind us with surprising force, immediately followed by the distinct sound of internal locks engaging. Two robotic turrets descended from the low ceiling, their targeting systems locking onto us with red laser sights. The room was minuscule and stark—just enough space for two people, with no windows or furniture. The walls, floor, and ceiling were reinforced metal, creating a virtual killbox.

  "Who's there?" a female voice demanded through a ceiling speaker that crackled with distortion, the sound quality degraded by damaged components and improvised wiring—yet another reflection of Neo Underground's make-do mentality. Despite the technical imperfection, the tone came through sharp and suspicious.

  Lisa straightened her shoulders, taking a deep controlled breath. I noticed her heart rate deliberately slowing through careful respiratory regulation—a technique I'd observed her using in previous tense situations. She composed herself completely before answering.

  "Lisa."

  The silence that followed was deafening. The turrets remained deployed, their targeting lasers unwavering.

  "Circuit!" Lisa called again, louder this time, anxiety creeping into her voice.

  With a mechanical groan, a previously invisible panel slid open in the wall before us, revealing a passage beyond. Unlike the cramped entry chamber, the space beyond was surprisingly vast—extending perhaps fifteen to twenty meters. The walls were lined with meticulously organized shelves holding labeled containers of what appeared to be cybernetic components, tools, and diagnostic equipment. The clinical organization contrasted sharply with the chaos of Neo Underground outside.

  A figure approached from the depths of the laboratory, the turrets remaining locked on us as she advanced. She was petite—considerably smaller than both Lisa and me—with the distinctive NeuroDoc skull implant. Unlike most in her profession, however, her eyes remained human, startlingly expressive in her otherwise mechanized face.

  She wore a yellow overall stained with a disturbing mixture of blood, oil, and unidentifiable chemicals. Her arms, entirely metallic from the shoulder down, gleamed under the laboratory lights. Most striking, however, was the device integrated into her back—an array that controlled two additional pairs of mechanical appendages, each as thin as her normal arms but terminating in specialized tools rather than hands. These extra limbs moved with unsettling independence, twitching and adjusting like insect appendages as she walked.

  In her right hand, she held what appeared to be a makeshift energy weapon, its core glowing with barely contained power.

  "Well, well, look who comes crawling back," she remarked, venom dripping from every word.

  "Long time no see," Lisa replied, attempting casualness that failed to mask her tension.

  "You finally came back, huh? Asking for forgiveness, you bitch," Circuit spat.

  Lisa fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor.

  "I have no choice," she finally admitted, the words clearly painful to speak.

  The two women stood in tense silence for several long moments, the palpable weight of years of unspoken history crackling between them like electricity. Finally, Lisa broke the standoff.

  "Listen, Circuit, I'm sor—"

  "Let me guess, you're sorry, oh boo-hoo," Circuit cut in, her voice dripping with mockery. "What are you doing here? You traitorous bitch."

  The mechanical arms extending from her back stabbed aggressively at the air, mimicking her anger in an unsettling display of synchronized emotion.

  "I trusted you, you were like my sister," she continued, pain now evident beneath her rage. "I should kill you right now."

  My instincts screamed danger as the emotional temperature in the room escalated. I shifted my weight slightly, hand inching toward my knife. Circuit's head snapped toward me, her human eyes narrowing dangerously.

  "Hey," she warned, her mechanical arm instantly training the weapon on me. "I don't know what you're plotting, but let me tell you, if you try anything, I will cut your throat, let these turrets tear apart what's left, then sell every single shiny piece of your surface-grade implants for scrap. Those leg enhancements alone would fetch a nice price in parts."

  I froze. Despite her diminutive stature, Circuit radiated lethal capability. The extra arms twitched behind her like predators awaiting release, and something in her eyes told me she wouldn't hesitate to use them.

  "Circuit," Lisa interjected, "we need your help. I know I have no right to ask after what happened, but I have no one else to turn to."

  Circuit's gaze swung back to Lisa, the intensity of her glare enough to make even me uncomfortable.

  "You might have played your little escape-from-reality game, but then you left us... you left ME alone," she replied, her words precision-guided missiles aimed at Lisa's conscience. "Returning to your fancy life on the surface—do you have any idea what mess you left me to deal with? Do you? And now, you come back here asking for help? FROM ME?"

  "I wasn't made for this life, you know it," Lisa responded, hands raised in a placating gesture. "I needed to go back."

  "We were friends, we were more than friends, I counted on you," Circuit replied, the weapon now pointed directly at Lisa's head. "I needed you."

  "And I needed to leave," Lisa maintained, hands still raised. "Circuit, Neo Underground wasn't a place for me."

  "And it was for me?" Circuit demanded, her voice cracking with emotion. "We were supposed to be together, always! You left me, you fucking bitch!" Tears welled in her human eyes, further emphasizing the contrast between her mechanical body and remaining humanity.

  "I'm sorry," Lisa repeated, genuine regret evident in her voice.

  "Do you have any idea what I had to do to survive, what Gator did to me?" The weapon remained steady despite Circuit's visible distress. "You didn't care for a second, you took everything and left me to deal with the consequences!"

  I glanced nervously at my damaged hand, anxiety building as the confrontation escalated. Circuit stepped closer to Lisa, pressing the gun barrel uncomfortably against her forehead. As I instinctively tensed, squeezing my injured hand into a fist, Circuit's head snapped toward me with inhuman speed. Both of her mechanical appendages unfurled from behind her back, transforming into spinning metallic spikes that whirred too fast for even my enhanced vision to track clearly.

  "I told you not to try anything," she hissed, eyes darting between the appendages and my tensed posture. "Next move will be your last."

  She turned back to Lisa, the weapon still pressed against her head.

  "You..." she began, then trailed off, the unfinished accusation hanging in the charged air between them.

  The silence that followed was suffocating, both women locked in mutual pain neither could fully express.

  "There is nothing I can say that would excuse what I did," Lisa finally continued, her hands lowering slowly. "And I understand your rage. I have NO excuses, but..."

  Her composure broke, tears streaming down her face. I noticed Circuit's grip on her weapon loosen slightly—a subtle tell, but significant.

  "Circuit," Lisa continued between sobs, "I didn't know what to do. I just needed to leave, and yes... I should have brought you with me. And YES, I shouldn't have taken the money. And YES, I should have protected you. You and I were sisters, but Neo Underground was the wrong place. And I was selfish, I just..."

  Her arms fell limply to her sides as she stared at the floor, years of guilt finally catching up to her.

  In this moment of vulnerability, I realized how little I truly knew about Lisa. Through Noah's borrowed memories and our shared experiences since meeting, I'd developed a sense of familiarity with her—a connection strengthened by facing death together multiple times. Yet observing her now, confronting a past I knew nothing about, the reality struck with force—we remained fundamentally strangers to each other. My understanding of her was superficial, a mere glimpse into a complex life I'd barely begun to comprehend.

  The transformation was jarring. Until now, I'd seen Lisa as composed, shielded—an emotional fortress who approached everything with calculated precision. Even in moments of danger, she maintained control, never revealing vulnerability or uncertainty. But here, faced with Circuit's accusations, that fortress had crumbled completely. The guilt and anguish in her expression felt raw and genuine—years of suppressed emotion suddenly breaking through her carefully constructed defenses. She'd become almost childlike in her distress, stripped of the confident persona she'd maintained since I'd met her. This was a different Lisa entirely, one I'd never seen before.

  "Circuit, I need help, and I don't know who else to reach out to. I have no one; I'm in trouble, and..." Lisa continued, her voice breaking.

  Circuit lowered her weapon, the extra mechanical arms retracting behind her back until they disappeared completely from view.

  "You fucking bitch," she said, but the deadly edge had vanished from her voice.

  The transformation was remarkable—Circuit's expression softened, human emotion reclaiming territory from mechanical coldness. While I couldn't fully understand what had transpired between them, it was clear that beneath Circuit's rage lay genuine concern for Lisa.

  "What the fuck did you do this time?" she asked, holstering her weapon and wiping at her eyes with her metal hand before any visible tears could form. Her posture suggested resignation, surrender to an inevitable involvement in whatever trouble Lisa had brought to her doorstep.

  Lisa looked up, her tear-streaked face showing not surprise but an almost childlike dependence, a vulnerability that seemed to reach for the connection they once shared. "It's a long story, but I'm fucked if you don't help."

  "Alright, come on in," Circuit replied, her tone suggesting conditional surrender rather than forgiveness.

  As the ceiling turrets finally retracted, the tension dissipated enough for me to breathe normally again. I stood there, shocked by the whiplash-inducing shift in atmosphere. One moment they'd been at each other's throats, Circuit literally threatening Lisa's life, and now the air between them had transformed completely. The hatred had somehow morphed into something else—familiar, almost familial. They weren't acting like mortal enemies anymore but like quarreling siblings, their dynamic shifting in ways I couldn't begin to comprehend. Despite Circuit's earlier rage, genuine concern now emanated from her every gesture. The transition was so jarring I found myself wondering if I'd misinterpreted the entire confrontation.

  Circuit gestured toward the inner laboratory, inviting us to enter her sanctuary.

  As we started forward, Circuit's mechanical arm shot out with blinding speed, delivering a sharp slap to Lisa's face. The impact sent Lisa sprawling backward onto the floor. I instinctively moved to intervene, but Lisa's urgent hand signal stopped me.

  "I deserved that," she acknowledged, wiping blood from her mouth.

  "And more," Circuit muttered, motioning us forward.

  We entered the inner sanctum of Circuit's workshop, the metal panel sliding shut behind us. Inside, the meticulous organization became even more apparent—shelves containing thousands of cybernetic components, each container precisely labeled and arranged in a system that seemed to make perfect sense to Circuit. Despite the cramped space, the depth of the room extended further than expected, revealing a NeuroDoc chair similar to Boz's but with significantly more advanced attachments.

  At the far end, a small kitchen and living area provided the only hint that someone actually lived here rather than simply worked.

  "Welcome to my humble abode!" Circuit declared, her mood shifting with unsettling suddenness. "Are you guys hungry? I know I am."

  I stood there, bewildered by the complete transformation. Minutes ago, Circuit had been threatening to kill us both. Now she was inviting us to dinner as if nothing had happened. The cognitive dissonance was staggering—like witnessing someone shift between completely different personalities without transition.

  "Circuit," Lisa interrupted, wiping blood from her nose, "first there's something that needs immediate attention. We're being tracked."

  Circuit's expression shifted to suspicion, her mechanical arms extending slightly from her back.

  "Tracked how?"

  "I am a Courier," I explained, "and there's a tracking chip in my Receptacle. MainFrame can monitor our location. We need—"

  "Not here they can't," Circuit interrupted with absolute certainty, placing both her normal arms on her hips while one of her extra appendages wagged back and forth like a scolding finger.

  Lisa and I exchanged puzzled glances.

  "They've been tracking us across the city," Lisa began.

  "They can't, not in Neo Underground," Circuit insisted. "I know about that chip, I know what they can do with it, and they CANNOT track you here."

  I stared at her in surprise. Even I, a Courier, hadn't known about the tracking device until Noah's revelation.

  "Are you sure?" Lisa pressed.

  "One hundred percent," Circuit nodded emphatically. "Neo Underground isn't under any of the Big Four's control. They might know you're somewhere within the Underground's general vicinity, but they can't pinpoint your location." Her extra appendages spread wide in an expansive gesture as she added, "This is our domain, not theirs."

  "Can you remove it?" I asked.

  "Not sure," she shrugged, thoughtful now, crossing her normal arms while one mechanical appendage scratched her chin and another tapped rhythmically against her temple. "There might be a way, but it wouldn't be simple. MainFrame restricts all Receptacle access to their own engineers, and the astronomical cost of repairs creates a powerful deterrent for any Courier who might consider tampering with it."

  Circuit gestured toward a small table surrounded by four mismatched chairs.

  "First, let's eat. I'm starving, and then you can tell me what kind of shit show you've dragged to my doorstep. Deal?" she proposed.

  "Deal," Lisa agreed, still dabbing at her bloodied nose.

  As we settled around the table, Circuit delivered another swift blow to the back of Lisa's head—lighter this time, more ritualistic than punitive. My body tensed instinctively, ready to intervene, but Lisa's subtle hand gesture again urged restraint.

  "I deserve that too," she sighed, nursing her struck head.

  "And more," Circuit added cryptically.

  The dynamic between them was bizarre—a complex relationship defined by genuine affection twisted by profound betrayal. Circuit's violence seemed almost ritualistic, a physical manifestation of emotional wounds that words couldn't address. Despite the palpable tension, there was an underlying current of connection that even years of separation hadn't severed completely.

  Circuit moved toward the kitchen area, her demeanor transforming completely. The hardened, vengeful NeuroDoc vanished, replaced by an almost childlike enthusiasm as she prepared to cook. Her smile—genuine and bright—created a jarring contrast with her earlier fury.

  "I'm going to make some real food for you two surface dwellers," she announced cheerfully. "Then we can talk business."

  Her mechanical arms extended from her back once more, moving with astonishing precision as they assisted in food preparation. Each appendage operated independently, fetching ingredients, chopping vegetables, and managing multiple cooking vessels simultaneously. The speed and coordination were beyond anything I'd seen before—most multi-limb augmentations required either AI assistance or distributed neural processing to function effectively. Circuit controlled hers with the natural fluidity of someone born with them.

  In minutes, the small table filled with an impressive array of dishes—vegetable stews, protein preparations, and even what appeared to be actual bread, a rare luxury in ToxCity. The aromas triggered fractured memories of meals I knew I'd once enjoyed but couldn't fully recollect—casualties of the Soul transfers that had eroded specific moments from my past while leaving only vague sensory impressions behind.

  Just as abruptly as they had emerged, Circuit's extra arms retracted into her back as she took her seat. "Eat!" she commanded, her childlike smile returning.

  We didn't need further encouragement. The flavors exceeded the promise of their aroma—real food, expertly prepared, a stark contrast to the synthetic approximations that passed for nutrition on the surface.

  Despite her small frame, Circuit consumed massive quantities with startling efficiency, her metabolism presumably enhanced to support her extensive modifications. Lisa matched her pace, taking enormous mouthfuls that reminded me of how she'd attacked those tacos beneath the bridge. At one point, Circuit stabbed her fork into a piece of protein on Lisa's plate, snatching it with practiced precision. Lisa retaliated by grabbing a vegetable portion from Circuit's dish. Neither acknowledged this exchange verbally—it seemed an established ritual between them, a choreographed dance of mutual theft that spoke of long familiarity. For nearly an hour, we ate in this curious atmosphere, the adults temporarily transformed into squabbling children sharing a meal, the earlier tension gradually melting away.

  As the last of the food disappeared from our plates, a more subdued atmosphere settled over the table. The animated energy that had characterized our meal gradually transformed into something heavier, more purposeful. Circuit's extra arms emerged momentarily to clear away dishes, moving with practiced precision as they stacked plates and utensils by the small sink.

  With the table cleared, I glanced at Lisa, who nodded slightly—time to explain our situation. Over the next hour, we methodically unfolded our story for Circuit: the Gold Tier call that never existed in MainFrame's records, the disappearance of Noah's body, the Soul transfer that defied all established protocols, the visions and memories that weren't mine, the attacks by unknown operatives, our narrow escapes, and Boz's betrayal. Lisa filled in her perspective—the attack at EcoNet, the cybernetic enforcers at the underpass, and our shared Dive experience with her father.

  Throughout our explanation, Circuit remained uncharacteristically silent. Her human eyes tracked between us with clinical precision, her face betraying neither skepticism nor acceptance. Occasionally, one of her mechanical appendages would emerge to scratch thoughtfully at her chin—the only indication that she was processing our increasingly implausible narrative.

  When we finished, Circuit remained motionless for several long moments, her expression inscrutable.

  "So let me get this straight," she finally said, reaching for a half-empty bottle on the table and taking a long swig. "Noah Cole—supposedly dead but somehow alive in your Receptacle—created a new version of the Receptacle and a hidden OS called Aurora, discovered something terrifying about MainFrame, and killed himself as part of some grand plan, and now you two are being hunted by what sounds like MainFrame black ops teams." She shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "And I thought I'd seen everything in this hellhole."

  "It sounds crazy," Lisa admitted. "But it's true."

  "Your dad, huh?" Circuit's tone shifted, something unreadable flickering across her features. "So you finally met him. Thought it would never happen."

  Lisa's eyes dropped to the table. "Not exactly how I imagined it would happen."

  "You always talked about how much you hated him for leaving," Circuit said, studying Lisa with piercing intensity. "For abandoning you and your mother."

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, charged with unspoken history. I remained quiet, acutely aware that I was witnessing the edges of a past I knew little about. Whatever had happened between Lisa and Circuit clearly predated Lisa's involvement with EcoNet—and perhaps explained how she'd developed the skills that eventually led her there.

  Circuit leaned forward on the table, her mechanical arms moving around her with distinct personalities, each seeming to respond to different aspects of her thoughts.

  "The hacking is what doesn't make sense," she said, eyeing me critically. "Memory loss is standard for Couriers—the system's designed that way, carving out space for the Soul. But what you're describing—retained memories of another person, hacking abilities that aren't yours, physical symptoms during these episodes—that's something else entirely."

  One of her mechanical appendages tapped rhythmically against the table as she continued, "Even if you had the skill, you don't have the implants necessary for that kind of hacking. No offense, but those are standard Courier enhancements—not NeuroSlicer hardware. Without specialized neural interfaces, what you described doing at Boz's shop should be physically impossible, no matter how good the skill set."

  She paused, eyes narrowing. "This sounds completely outside the realm of possible. If what you're saying is true, Noah Cole didn't just modify the Receptacle's software—he fundamentally altered how consciousness interfaces with technology. That's beyond anything MainFrame has publicly acknowledged as achievable."

  Lisa tensed beside me. "You believe us, then?"

  Circuit didn't answer directly. Instead, she studied us with renewed intensity, her expression thoughtful.

  "Alright," she finally declared, "I want to see those files."

  I hesitated, exchanging a glance with Lisa. After Boz's betrayal, trusting anyone with the memory stick seemed foolhardy. Yet Circuit had sheltered us despite her obvious grievances against Lisa, and Neo Underground offered protection from MainFrame's tracking systems. If anyone could help us access the encrypted data safely, it would be someone with Circuit's expertise.

  "It's okay," Lisa assured me. "Circuit may be angry at me, but she despises MainFrame more than anything."

  I nodded, retrieving the memory stick from its secure pocket and passing it to Circuit.

  "Int4? So old school!" she exclaimed, examining the device. "Okay, let's move to my workstation. We need you connected for this to work, right?"

  "Yes," I confirmed.

  We moved from the kitchen area to Circuit's main lab space. The NeuroDoc chair dominated the center of the room, surrounded by diagnostic equipment and monitoring systems far more sophisticated than anything I'd seen in Boz's shop. I settled into the chair, the material conforming to my body with unexpected comfort.

  Circuit initiated the connections with practiced efficiency, linking not only my neural interface but also integrating Lisa and herself into the system. As soon as all three connections stabilized, the memory stick's contents appeared—thousands of files suddenly accessible.

  "Damn, girl!" Circuit whistled, scrolling through the massive archive. "That's a lot of data."

  "Where should we start?" Lisa asked, equally amazed by the volume of information.

  "Maybe here," Circuit suggested, highlighting a file named 'ReadMe.'

  Lisa and I exchanged a glance before nodding in agreement. Circuit opened the file, which turned out to be a video recording.

  Noah's face materialized on our shared neural display, his expression grave and weary. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually well-kept beard appeared unkempt. He looked directly into the camera, as if he could see us across time, and began to speak.

  "If you're watching this, it means three things. First, I'm dead. Second, my plan worked. And third, everything is about to change."