April 15, 2021. 05:15. Vancouver.
"Welcome to Casa de Shock!" Shock swings the wooden door in front of us open. The exterior is a modest house tucked between older brick buildings, but past the curtained windows and inside is a completely different atmosphere. It's a mad collision between a hacker's workshop and a girly pop's favourite hangout spot.
A soft click and beeping sound ring above the door. A virtual well-dressed butler forms in front of Shock.
"Welcome home, miss."
I step in, scanning the place.
"Wow."
The apartment isn't dirty, but it's definitely cluttered.
Half-empty energy drinks sit on the coffee table, surrounded by a mess of tangled charging cables. Jackets are lazily draped over the back of the couch, and at least three screens attached to a wall blink from different surfaces. Each one cycles through security footage, music playlists, and what looks like a bunch of code. Beside the screens is a huge desk with a keyboard and gaming setup.
The walls are a chaotic mix of old pop concert posters, street graffiti stencils, and schematics for some very illegal tech modifications. A neon blue light strip of LEDs lines the edges of the ceiling, casting the whole place in a blue and pink glow.
"It's so… messy," I step over a discarded hoodie.
"Cozy," Tetra corrects me, eyeing one of the screens. "Wow, is this the whole neighbourhood?"
Shock gives us a wide grin. "Yup, told you—no one gets near me without me knowing. Cameras in every hallway, motion sensors on the fire escapes, even got heat mapping for when someone thinks they're slick and trying to stay out of sight."
I raise an eyebrow. "And yet, you still leave actual trash lying around."
"I'll have you know that there's a method to my madness!" Shock gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her heart, before breaking into a giggle.
"Uh huh…"
Tetra interjects, smiling as he walks around. "So where am I crashing?" He points at the nearby couch. "I can sleep in the living room—"
"Spare room's at the end," Shock jerks her thumb toward the hallway. "Just don't touch my stuff. You break anything, I'm getting you to pay it off." Her smile persists, and even though she's half joking, Tetra gets the warning loud and clear.
"Oh yeah," Tetra laughs nervously while walking down the hall. "Not planning on making that mistake."
As he disappears, I exhale and ease onto the couch, stretching my legs.
"Oh, are you staying or leaving?" Shock asks, sitting down on her gaming chair. She lazily spins around while slapping her phone onto her desk. "There's enough room for you too!"
I shake my head. "Five minutes," I mumble, letting my head rest against the couch. "Then I'm out."
Shock nods, tapping away at her desk's keyboard. "Hmmm, need a drink or something, then?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"Mkay! Just let me know, I'll be awake a bit longer."
A moment of silence settles over the room. The soft hum of Shock's monitors fills the space, the neon glow making the apartment feel strangely calm. I let my eyes drift to the ceiling, letting the tension in my shoulders melt—just for a second.
This is nice; I sink further into the cushioning. Do I even deserve this? I barely know these guys and here I am hanging out in practically a stranger's home.
Come to think of it, when was the last time I hung out with anyone? All my regular friends are busy, and I'm sitting here on the couch of a hacker who works for an overseas mafia.
I shake my head and push myself up with a groan. Enough, I'm not doing this right now. I rub my face before turning to Shock. "Alright, I'm heading out."
Shock barely glances up from her screen. "Kayyy, see ya, 'Lily'."
"Don't call me that."
She winks with a smirk, and I roll my eyes as I make my way toward the door.
Before I reach it, Tetra steps back into the room, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sure you're good to drive? You look pretty tired."
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh, sureee." Shock spins her chair lazily before propping her legs up on her desk. "If you pass out mid-drive, I'm hacking your truck and bringing it back here."
I stop, hand hovering over the doorknob. They have a point, fuck. I could make it home, sure. But would it be smart? Probably not.
Shock catches my hesitation and claps her hands. "Ohh, I got an idea! Are you sleeping soon, Tetra?"
There's a short pause, a moment of careful consideration, before Tetra eventually shrugs. "Well, I was planning to. But, I don't mind staying awake for a bit longer. What's up?"
"Well, since Artemis is already here. We could have a sleepover!"
"Wait… what?" Tetra looks equally confused as I am. "How does that work—"
"It doesn't," I cut him off. "I'm leaving."
"Awww, come on, bestie! You gotta pull through!" Shock jumps off her chair and rushes over to grab me by the hand. "We can watch a movie!" She repeatedly pokes me in the side.
I shoot her a glare, but she doesn't even flinch. "First of all, why am I your 'bestie'? Secondly, It's past 5 in the morning, and you expect me to stay back and 'chill' with you guys?"
"Yeah," she nods innocently—like we weren't just on a mercenary job retrieving a high-tech weapon. "I'll even pop out my best snacks!"
I pull my hand away from her. "You're way too friendly."
"It's one of my best traits!"
"More like annoying trait." Hacker or not, I don't care anymore.
"Hey, that's not true and you know it!"
Tetra butts in, stepping in between me and Shock. "Alright, guys. Let's just… uh, agree to disagree."
I exhale sharply. "Ugh, fine. How about I take you up on that sleepover later?" I rub my eyes once more, grasping at anything to defuse the situation and get out.
"Hm," Shock purses her lips while eyeing my barely upright stance. "Fine, that works. Get home safe then! But remember, you owe us."
Tetra taps Shock on the shoulder. "Wait, since when was I included—"
"Alright," I open the door and step out. "I'm leaving."
As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, Shock's muffled voice calls out, "Kay, see you later!"
The cold air nips at my skin as I walk to my truck. The streets are mostly empty now, just the occasional distant hum of a passing car. By the time I get in the driver's seat and start the engine, I can barely keep my eyes open anymore.
I start the truck and blast loud music to keep myself awake. As a precaution, I turn on my truck's assisted autopilot system in case I pass out.
It's painful.
The entire ride home is just me cycling through rock and pop music on repeat. Just about anything that could keep me awake—I didn't really care—I just needed noise.
By the time I pull up to my penthouse garage, I'm practically dragging myself to the elevator and then to my door. Relief washes over me the second I step past security. Finally.
I toss my gear onto either the floor or the living room furniture. I don't even bother checking if there's anything else I place improperly. Instead, I drag myself upstairs and collapse into my bed. The soft cushioning greets me—then my phone vibrates.
I grumble a bunch of nonsense while checking the text. Who the hell? My tired eyes focus on the message, staring at the sender—or lack thereof.
"Shoulda stayed, loser." Followed by an emoji of a cartoon playfully sticking their tongue out.
A chuckle escapes my mouth before I finally pass out.
Fuck off.
…
April 15, 2021. 15:02. Vancouver.
It's so damn loud.
My phone keeps buzzing.
Can't they just call back later?
My brain barely registers the sound at first. I roll around in bed, driving my head underneath a pillow, hoping the mystery caller gives up. Sleep tugs me back under, and my phone stops buzzing. I enter a half-dream state, relieved only for a moment.
And then a second round of ringing shatters any hope of peace. Oh for fuck's sake.
I blink at the ceiling, my vision unfocused, head still heavy from exhaustion. My limbs feel like they weigh a ton, and my entire body protests as I shift myself upright. Then, like a cruel afterthought, my shoulder reminds me that it still exists.
A sharp, throbbing pain shoots through the joint, radiating down to my arm. Right. The gauntlet.
The phone keeps ringing. I groan, rolling onto my side, fishing around my pockets to grab the first phone I touch—my personal one. Squinting through the haze of sleep, I look at the screen.
Unknown number. Spam.
I throw it onto my nightstand and shut my eyes again.
A second later, a different vibration rumbles through my mattress.
I pause.
They weren't calling my personal phone.
With a deep sigh, I roll onto my other side and groggily fish around my pockets again. I pull out my second phone and confirm the caller ID.
Wissen.
I sigh again, heavier this time. He never calls unless it's important.
With zero enthusiasm, I answer, my voice still thick with exhaustion. "Hi, what do you want?"
I can practically hear his amusement through the phone speaker. "Well, someone's not having a good post-gauntlet afternoon," Wissen muses, his voice smooth and infuriatingly smug. "You sound delightful."
I groan, rubbing my temples. "If this isn't urgent, I'm hanging up."
"Now, now, don't be so hasty. I have something important to discuss. It involves the railgun and a few other things. When are you free?"
I blink at the ceiling, debating if I have the patience for this right now. "Give me details."
"It's important."
"That's not a detail."
"It's much better suited to talk in person."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling through my teeth. "Fine. Whatever. When and where?"
Wissen hums, pleased. "There's a nice little café near your place—Thierry Alberni. I'll meet you there at six thirty. That should be enough time for you."
I grumble something unintelligible but nod anyway, even though he can't see it. "Yeah... that works. I'll be there."
"Looking forward to it."
The call clicks off and I resist the urge to hurl my phone across the room. The things I do for this man.
Hauling myself out of bed, I move through my usual routine, trying to shake off the lingering exhaustion. My first priority? Cleaning up both myself and my apartment.
I envelop myself in a relaxing shower, letting the warmth work its magic. My muscles loosen, though my shoulder is still a mess.
Once I'm dressed, I take quick stock of my apartment. My gear is still sprawled across the living room from last night. I sigh, rubbing my temples, and begrudgingly pick everything up.
Guns are disassembled, wiped down, and stored away in their designated spots. Spare knives go back into their sheaths. My black phone, spare IDs, and other burner accounts all get double-checked and encrypted.
Security systems—still intact. No breaches. Cameras functioning.
With that out of the way, I finally sit down at my desk. I turn my computer on and blitz through my emails.
Several new assassination contracts sit in my inbox, a mix of international and local jobs. A few in New York, one in Chicago, another in Toronto. Too spread out. The logistics alone will be a pain in my ass. If I take all of these, I'll be flying back and forth across the continent for the next few weeks. Doable, but not ideal. I flag the more lucrative ones and draft a rough schedule, prioritizing efficiency over profit.
Then, I switch to my other inbox—modelling work.
A handful of agencies reach out, mostly checking my availability. One email confirms an upcoming photoshoot in three days. Another offers a last-minute gig in downtown Vancouver. I glance at my calendar, running the numbers in my head.
Three days. That's not a lot of time, but it's manageable.
My shoulder protests again, reminding me of its existence. Right. That needs dealing with.
I pull up a familiar contact list and book an appointment at one of my usual spots for sports injuries—a nice, discreet clinic that I interned for. It's perfect, a place where no one asks too many questions. They'd patched me up more times than I cared to count.
Leaning back in my chair, I tap my fingers against the desk.
The next issue, avoiding recognition.
I walk into the bathroom, critically studying my face in the mirror. My current 'look' has been used way too much—at least for this week. I need to spice up my style.
My fingers trace along my cheekbones, making their way to my eyes. I purse my lips, tilting my jawline at various angles in the mirror. For the last few days, I've stuck with dark liner, smokey eyes, and sharp contouring—adding to the striking effect of my appearance, accentuated by long, wavy hair.
It's a good look. Somewhat sexy and memorable.
Maybe a little too memorable. Let's spice it up for today.
I open a cupboard, eyeing the collection of beauty products I've curated over the years.
A concealer stick glides under my eyes, brightening the slight shadows left from exhaustion. No heavy contour this time—I dust on a faint layer of warm-toned blush instead, blending it gently into my cheeks to add just enough colour. A light BB cream follows, smoothing everything out without erasing the natural texture of my skin.
For my eyes, I skip the usual sharp liner, opting for a soft brown shade instead. A quick swipe of mascara lifts my lashes, keeping them curled but not dramatic. A light gloss goes over my lips, adding a subtle shine, a gentle glow instead of the usual defined, painted look.
I step back and scan my reflection. It's a completely different effect. Softer. Fresher. Pretty, in an approachable way.
My hair is next. I undo my usual waves, running my fingers through them before reaching for a straightener. After a few quick passes, my hair falls smooth and sleek around my shoulders. Too formal. I shake it out slightly, loosening the strands so it looks more natural, like I barely put effort into it.
I open another cupboard, revealing a box of coloured contacts. The box itself isn't special, but the contacts are.
Eye colour makes a world of difference—enough to turn someone from an unapproachable enigma into an effortlessly pretty girl.
I select a pair of light brown lenses and pop them in. Perfect, just another girl on the street.
Satisfied, I turn away from the mirror and head toward my closet.
No oversized hoodies. No tactical gear. Instead, I pull out a cropped knit sweater in a soft beige colour. It hugs my frame just enough to give a relaxed but flattering silhouette. A pair of slim, high-waisted jeans follow. Stylish but casual.
I trade my usual combat boots for a pair of clean white sneakers, then grab a pair of oversized glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose. Just enough to add a touch of dorkiness, to soften my usual edge.
If I'm going for casual, I might as well commit to it.
I check the time. Forty minutes left. Time to get moving.
With a final check of my security feeds, I grab my jacket and step out the door.
Next stop, Thierry Alberni.
…
April 15, 2021. 18:30. Vancouver.
"I must say, it's a nice change of scenery to see you wear clothing like this, Gina." Wissen raises an eyebrow of amusement, his fingers lazily tapping against his coffee cup. His lips curl slightly as he takes in my outfit. "Any special reason for today?"
I set my fork down beside the shared slice of chocolate cake and tilt my head with an easy smile. "Nothing really, I just wanted to change things."
Wissen leans back in his chair, arms crossing as he studies me. "It's a nice contrast to your… edgier aesthetic."
I let out a light laugh, resting my elbow on the table. "Well, there's no point in looking the same all the time, right? Different outfits for different occasions. "
There's no sarcasm or bite to my words—just a smooth, effortless confidence. No unnecessary attitude, no rough edges. Just an easygoing charm with a little polish.
At times though, it's a challenge to rein in my usual sharpness and adjust my tone to fit the persona.
Wissen watches me for a moment, then gestures toward the cake. "How is it?"
I nod, taking another bite. "It's rich, smooth, perfectly balanced between bitter and sweet."
"Thierry Alberni never disappoints."
For a while, neither of us says anything. The quiet hum of the café surrounds us—the clinking of cups, the faint chatter of nearby conversations, and the warmth of low-hanging lights.
Then Wissen speaks again, this time with something weightier under his words. "Your last acquaintance should be departing soon. He's scheduled for a flight later in the week."
I tap my fork against the plate, understanding immediately. Dante got his railgun. He's wrapping things up and heading out.
I hum in acknowledgment, swirling the fork absently between my fingers. "Guess that's that. It was… different, working with them. Definitely outside my usual playing field."
Wissen chuckles. "Different is one way to put it."
I nod, amused, but don't elaborate. Neither does he. We don't need to.
Instead, I lean back, glancing toward the window where the neon lights of Vancouver reflect against the damp pavement. "What about here? What's the situation like? I haven't really been paying attention."
Wissen exhales, setting his cup down. His voice is light, but I catch the edge underneath. "The usual suspects are getting restless. Some are sharpening their knives, while others are stockpiling their matches."
I don't need a translation. The gangs are preparing for war.
I keep my expression neutral, but tension creeps in. If things escalate, it could mess with my schedule. I've got contracts to plan, and flights to organize. A full-scale street war isn't exactly convenient.
Wissen picks up on my hesitation—he always does.
"You might get a call. Sooner than later."
I press my lips together, exhaling through my nose. I already know what he means. Blake's making moves.
"Don't look so troubled. He's a generous man."
That earns a small, knowing smile from me. "Generosity usually comes with expectations."
Wissen shrugs, sipping his coffee. "True. But he's also fair. And if there's one thing he appreciates, it's loyalty."
"Mm, well, I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
"That's the spirit."
We let the conversation drift after that, shifting to smaller, less urgent topics. The weight of what's ahead lingers in the back of my mind, but for now, I savour my coffee and the last bite of chocolate cake, enjoying the rare moment of calm.
Then Wissen drops a bomb. One that I couldn't possibly expect.
"I'm retiring soon, by the way."
The words are spoken so casually, so smoothly over the rim of his coffee cup, that it takes me a second to process them.
I blink. My fork pauses mid-air. My mind flips through possibilities, trying to gauge if he's joking, but no—Wissen's face is as unreadable as ever, his amusement contained in the slight twitch of his lips.
"Retiring?" I repeat, setting my fork down. "You?"
"Mm." He hums, taking another sip. "Figured I'd start planning it out. I've got enough stashed away to last lifetimes, and honestly? I've had my fill of this business. I'd rather fully devote myself to my family."
I exhale, leaning back. "I guess it was coming, sooner or later."
Wissen chuckles, swirling what's left of his coffee. "Everything has an expiration date, Gina. Even me."
That… is a hard thing to picture. Wissen isn't just another fixer. He's one of the fixers. His network stretches across continents, his influence reaching the highest and lowest parts of the underworld. The man has been a constant force for as long as I've known him.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
He smiles, but there's a sincerity beneath it. "Because it felt right to tell a good friend of mine. Someone I've watched grow since her early twenties. Someone I helped rise to success."
I don't respond immediately. There's an odd warmth in that, an unspoken weight. Wissen's never been one for sentimentality, but… I can tell he means it.
I fold my arms, tilting my head slightly. "So what happens next? Are you gonna disappear into some penthouse in Monaco and drink cocktails for the rest of your days?"
Wissen laughs, shaking his head. "Tempting. But I still need to figure out what to do with my resources."
I raise an eyebrow. "Which means…?"
"Two options," he says, tapping a finger against his cup. "Either I find an heir to inherit what I've built, or I dissolve my network entirely."
That makes me pause. Wissen's empire isn't just a business—it's a machine. Thousands of moving parts, alliances, black-market dealings, and connections that span the entire globe. For him to just erase that?
"You're serious about this?"
"Dead serious."
For the first time, uncertainty creeps in. Wissen leaving the game is huge. It doesn't just affect him, it affects everyone in his orbit. Myself included.
As if reading my thoughts, he reassures me. "I'm not out yet. I'll still be working for a while longer. But…" He swirls his coffee, his tone light but firm. "There are people who'd love to get their hands on what I have."
That's a warning.
Other fixers, corporations, and shadow organizations. They're already circling like vultures, waiting for an opportunity. And if Wissen goes through with this, things are going to get very messy.
I nod. "Do you have any idea who you want as your successor?"
"I have a few people in mind. But none have separated themselves yet."
"Guess I should start watching my back a little more, huh?"
"Oh, you always should."
The air between us settles, and the weight of his words lingers in my mind. This doesn't just affect Wissen—it affects me. My world.
Wissen studies me for a moment, then sets his drink down with a quiet clink. "I have a question for you."
I glance up, arching a brow. "Hm?"
"You don't have to answer it."
That gets my full attention. Wissen isn't usually hesitant about asking things. I lean forward slightly, curious. "Alright. What is it?"
His fingers tap idly against the side of his cup. "What's your game plan?"
I blink. "Game plan?"
"Yes, you heard me." He tilts his head, watching me carefully. "Where are you going with all of this, Gina? What's the end goal?"
I let out a small, breathy laugh. "I… don't know what you're asking." I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms. "I haven't really thought about it."
Wissen exhales through his nose, amused but unsurprised. "That's exactly what worries me."
"Well, you always tell me to 'enjoy' my victories. That's what I'm doing."
"And you should. I'm not saying you shouldn't. You've carved out a life for yourself, and built your name up. But all of it is built on murky waters, so to speak."
I drum my fingers against my cup, watching the liquid ripple inside.
"You should enjoy the riches," Wissen continues, "but you should also start thinking about what comes after. Otherwise, you're just wandering."
I shrug. "I don't see a problem with that. I like wandering."
"For now," he says, his voice becoming even softer. "But eventually, you'll burn out. You'll wake up one day and realize that none of it matters anymore. No amount of contracts, money, or notoriety will fill that void. You'll either chase an empty dream in an attempt to become a 'legend' or you'll die trying to get there. And for what, just to earn that title?"
"So, you're saying there's no point?"
"No, I'm saying that life isn't for everyone, and it'll more often than not lead to ruin. Not many people are 'built' for a life like that."
"You're saying I'm not?"
"That's a question you'll need to answer on your own."
"That's rather vague… no?"
"It's a question of reflection, Gina. You don't need to be me, you don't need to end up as some ordinary civilian, but you do need to figure out what gives your life meaning."
"That's rich coming from you," I scoff, shaking my head. "What, are you saying you've had a game plan this whole time?"
"No. I was just like you." Wissen chuckles, leaning back. "I got into this for the money. The thrill. The connections. And for a while, that was enough. But eventually… I realized how empty it was."
I study him as he speaks. He's never talked about this before.
"At some point, I stopped working just for the cash. I started focusing on giving people opportunities. Jobs. Ways to better their lives—even if it was through questionable means." He smiles, but there's something a little distant about it. "Not everyone can get a clean start. You of all people should know that. But if I could give them something—an advantage, a second chance, a way forward—I found that gave me purpose."
"Okay, fair point. But… why quit then?"
"I've done enough," He folds his hands together. "The only thing that matters now is raising my kids and making sure my wife never has to worry again."
"I see..."
"As much as I enjoy my work, I've found something better to work toward." He watches me carefully. "That's what I mean when I tell you to find something. It doesn't have to be this. It doesn't have to be a family or some other idealistic dream. But it has to be something that keeps you moving forward. Otherwise, you're just accumulating wealth for the sake of it. And trust me, that gets old fast."
A long silence settles between us.
I don't respond. Not because I disagree, but because I don't know what to say.
And Wissen watches me, digesting what he's said.
Wissen, the international fixer, the guy with contacts in every major city across the globe, the one who had his hands in more deals than I could count—and he's ready to just walk away?
I stare down at the last remnants of cake on the plate. My fork rests against the porcelain edge, untouched for the last few minutes.
"I'll think about it," I finally say.
Wissen smiles. "That's all I ask."
We leave it at that, letting the conversation drift back into lighter topics. Even as we chat about nothing in particular, his words sit with me, nestling into the back of my mind, like a splinter waiting to fester.