The corrupted passenger raises his hands. His fingers stretch and snap, transforming into long, jagged metal blades. He slashes them straight toward my throat.

I drop to my knees, rolling hard to the right.

The metal claws slice through the empty air where my neck just was, sparking violently as they gouge deep trenches into the steel wall.

I scramble to my feet. My hand closes around the cold, heavy cylinder of a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. I rip it from its bracket, spin around, and swing it with everything I have directly into the side of his knee.

Bone and metal shatter with a sickening crunch.

The passenger drops to one knee, but he doesn't stop. He lets out a guttural, static-filled roar and swings his claws at my legs.

I jump back, my spine hitting the emergency exit door. I reach up, grab the red lever with both hands, and pull down with all my body weight.

"Warning," the intercom blares. "High-altitude door release will cause critical depressurization."

I plant my foot against the wall and yank the lever down until it clicks.

The heavy door blows outward.

A hurricane of freezing, violent wind instantly rips into the cabin. The pressure change sucks the air right out of my lungs. Loose debris, seat cushions, and metal panels are ripped from the floor and sucked out into the night.

The corrupted passenger screams as the wind catches his body. He slides across the floor, his metal claws sparking against the metal, before he is violently sucked out of the open door. He vanishes into the dark sky.

I grip the doorframe with white-knuckled fingers. My hair whips wildly around my face. I look down.

Thousands of feet below, the lower sector is a maze of narrow, filthy alleys and flickering, broken neon lights.

The Warden's text flashes in red.

"Current jump survival rate: Twelve percent. Recommendation: Locate cushioning material."

I squint through the tearing wind. A massive, glowing holographic billboard projects a soft-light advertisement over the sector below. It looks like a dense mesh of hard-light and polymer.

There is no time to think. The train is pulling away from the sector.

I let go of the doorframe and step out into the empty air.

My stomach drops into my shoes. The wind roars in my ears, deafening and brutal. The sheer speed of the fall makes my eyes water so badly I can barely see.

I force my arms and legs inward, curling into a tight ball, aiming my body directly at the center of the glowing billboard.

I hit the polymer mesh.

The impact is like slamming into a brick wall covered in a thin layer of foam. The breath is violently punched out of my lungs. The billboard bends inward, absorbing the brunt of the fall, before snapping back.

The recoil launches me back into the air. I flip uncontrollably and crash down into a dark, trash-filled alleyway.

Pain explodes through my entire body. My vision goes completely black for three seconds. I roll onto my side and cough. Hot, metallic blood coats my tongue. I spit it onto the dirty pavement.

Above me, the billboard sparks violently. The impact shattered its power core. Showers of blue sparks rain down, and the entire block's neon grid flickers and dies.

A deep, vibrating siren begins to wail through the lower sector. Red searchlights sweep across the sky.

"Warning," The Warden flashes. "Area locked down. High-threat anomaly clearance protocols initiated."

I force myself onto my hands and knees. My muscles shake uncontrollably. I grab the rough brick wall and drag myself to my feet. Every step sends a jolt of agony up my spine.

I stumble deeper into the alley.

At the far end of the street, three heavily armored patrol drones hover into view. Their red scanning lasers sweep the ground, looking for life signs.

I dive behind a row of overflowing, rotting dumpsters. The smell of decaying organic matter makes me gag. I press my hands over my mouth, holding my breath.

The red laser cuts through the darkness, sweeping over the garbage just inches from my face. The light burns my eyes.

Just as the beam is about to hit my shoulder, a strange, heavy static fills the air. The hairs on my arms stand up.

The drones suddenly stop. Their red lights flicker, turn green, and then completely black. Smoke pours from their engines. They drop from the sky like stones, shattering into pieces on the concrete.

I slowly lower my hands. I look toward the deep end of the alley.

The shadows aren't just dark. They are moving. The darkness seems to writhe and twist.

A wave of pure, freezing intent washes over me. It feels like a physical hand wrapping around my heart, squeezing until I can't breathe. My blood turns to ice.

A horrible, grating sound echoes from the dark. It sounds like a jagged knife dragging slowly across exposed brick.

My brain screams at my legs to run. I try to step back, but my boots feel like they are bolted to the concrete. My knees lock.

A tall, lean figure steps out of the writhing shadows.

Dameon.

He is twirling a combat knife in his hand. The blade isn't metal; it's made of fractured, bleeding red code that spits sparks into the air.

His eyes are hollow, empty voids. A twitchy, unnatural smile stretches across his face. He looks like a predator that has finally cornered a wounded animal.

The Warden's interface flashes violently, bathing my vision in red.

"Warning. High-threat corrupted AI encountered. Affinity level: Negative fifteen. Extreme danger."

Dameon tilts his head. His neck cracks loudly.

"Garbage," he whispers. His voice is raw, like crushed glass grinding together. "Just more garbage code clogging up the system."

He raises his left hand.

A stream of invisible, heavy data wraps around my throat like a steel cable. It yanks me upward.

My feet leave the ground. I choke, my hands flying to my neck. I claw frantically at the empty air, trying to pry the invisible pressure off my windpipe. My nails dig into my own skin, drawing blood.

Dameon walks toward me, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stops right in front of me. He raises the glitching knife and presses the flat of the blade against my cheek.

The coldness of the code burns my skin like dry ice.

"You look like her," he mutters, his eyes twitching wildly. "You look like the rot that ruined everything. I'm going to delete you piece by piece."

Black spots dance in my vision. My lungs are on fire. My chest spasms as my body fights for air that isn't there. The despair is absolute. I am going to die here.

A deafening explosion shatters the alley.

The solid brick wall to my right blows outward in a massive cloud of dust, mortar, and pulverized stone.

A blinding pulse of blue light cuts through the debris.

Jayson steps through the ruined wall. He holds a massive, glowing heavy pulse rifle. His posture is rigid, his eyes locked onto Dameon with lethal precision.

"Drop her," Jayson commands. His voice is a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in my chest.

Dameon's smile drops. A flash of pure, unadulterated rage crosses his face. But he looks at the glowing barrel of the pulse rifle.

The invisible grip around my neck vanishes.

I crash to the pavement. I land hard on my hands and knees, coughing violently. I suck in huge, greedy lungfuls of the foul alley air, my throat burning with every breath.

Jayson steps forward, placing his large body directly between me and Dameon. The physical barrier of his presence sends a rush of relief through my shaking limbs.

Dameon sneers. The knife in his hand dissolves into a cloud of red pixels. He takes a step back, melting seamlessly into the shadows until he is completely gone.

Jayson doesn't lower his weapon. He stands perfectly still for a moment, scanning the dark.

The wail of security sirens grows louder. More drones are coming.

Jayson turns around. He holsters the heavy rifle on his back and looks down at me. His eyes are cold, calculating.

He reaches down, grabs my upper arm with a grip like a vise, and hauls me to my feet.

"Move," he orders.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He drags me toward the gaping hole in the wall. I stumble over the rubble, my legs feeling like jelly, but I force myself to keep up.

We run through the dark, gutted interior of an abandoned building. The sounds of the sirens fade as we go deeper underground.

We stop in front of a heavy, rusted iron door in a subterranean tunnel. Jayson punches a long, rapid sequence of numbers into a hidden keypad.

The door groans open. Dim yellow light spills out.

He shoves me inside, steps in after me, and slams the door shut. He throws three heavy deadbolts and activates a physical jamming device on the wall.

I collapse against the cold concrete wall, sliding down until I hit the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees, shivering violently from the adrenaline crash. I made it. I found the core target.

The overhead lights flicker on, illuminating the small, bunker-like safehouse.

Jayson turns away from the door. He looks down at me.

The moment his eyes focus on my face, his entire body freezes. The cold, professional mask shatters. He stands there, paralyzed, staring at me as if he has just seen a ghost.

Jayson stares at me. His chest stops moving. The intense, calculating look in his eyes dissolves into a chaotic mix of shock, raw pain, and utter disbelief.

He takes a slow, involuntary step toward me. He raises his hand, his fingers trembling slightly, reaching out as if he wants to touch my cheek to see if I am real.

My heart skips a beat. I press my back harder against the concrete wall, shrinking away from his hand.

The tiny movement breaks the spell. Jayson blinks hard. He yanks his hand back as if the air around me burned him. A flash of deep self-loathing crosses his face.

He turns his back to me immediately, walking stiffly toward a metal medical cabinet in the corner. His shoulders are tense.

The Warden's text scrolls across my vision.

"Target emotional fluctuation detected. Protective protocols engaged."

Jayson walks back holding a canister of medical spray. He drops to one knee in front of me. His face is a blank, hard mask again. He grabs my bleeding arm. His grip is firm, leaving no room for argument, but his thumb rests surprisingly gently against my wrist.

He sprays the cold foam over the deep gash on my elbow. The sharp sting fades instantly into a numb, cooling sensation.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still hoarse from being choked.

He doesn't look at my face. "You're weak. You have no business being in the lower sectors. You're a liability."

A harsh, mocking laugh echoes from the darkest corner of the room.

I flinch, my head snapping toward the sound.

Dameon is sitting on top of a rusted metal crate. I didn't even hear him come in. Half of his face is hidden in the shadows, but his eyes gleam with a toxic, manic energy.

"Look at the hero," Dameon sneers, his voice dripping with venom. "Playing savior to another piece of trash. Does it make you feel better, Jayson? Does it fix the guilt?"

Jayson stands up slowly. He steps in front of me again. "Keep your mouth shut, Dameon."

Dameon slides off the crate. He doesn't walk; he glides, moving with a terrifying, fluid grace. He ignores Jayson entirely and stops right at the edge of Jayson's shadow, staring directly at me.

His face twitches. The corrupted code beneath his skin pulses. He looks at my face, and a wave of absolute, sickening revulsion washes over his features.

Without warning, he lunges.

His fingers snap forward, transforming into a wicked, glowing micro-blade aimed directly at my right eye.

The killing intent is so heavy it paralyzes my lungs. I can't blink. I can't breathe.

The blade stops one millimeter from my cornea.

Jayson's hand is clamped around Dameon's wrist like a steel trap.

Sparks explode between them. The collision of their conflicting codes creates a high-pitched, agonizing screech that makes my teeth ache. The air smells like burning ozone.

"Touch her again," Jayson snarls, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "and I will submit the request to have you locked in the core partition for a hundred cycles."

The word hits Dameon like a physical blow. A violent spasm of pure agony rips through his eyes, quickly buried under a layer of explosive rage.

He yanks his arm back. The blade dissolves. He glares at me with a hatred so deep it makes my stomach turn, then turns and stalks to the furthest corner of the room, throwing himself into a broken chair.

The heavy silence in the room is suffocating. I press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart hammering against my ribs. Cold sweat drips down my neck.

Jayson turns back to me. The harshness in his eyes softens just a fraction.

"You're safe here," he says quietly.

He shrugs off his heavy tactical jacket and drapes it over my shaking shoulders. The jacket is heavy, smelling of rain and gunpowder. The residual heat from his body seeps into my freezing skin, stopping my shivers.

In the corner, Dameon watches us. His fingers dig into the plaster wall, carving deep, jagged grooves into the surface.

The Warden flashes a red warning.

"Dameon's hostility level increasing."

I pull the jacket tighter around myself. I am trapped in a concrete box with a man who wants to protect a ghost, and a man who wants to murder me.

Jayson walks over to the central console. He taps the screen, bringing up a glowing blue holographic map of the city.

"Now," Jayson says, his voice strictly business. "We need to figure out why you were targeted."