Iron City rain was cold as hell, twice as filthy. Luka Cross leaned into the damp shadows, watching the rain turn every streetlight into a cracked beacon, every shadow a trapdoor, yawning wide to swallow the unwary. People below shuffled through the alleys and side streets, huddling under mismatched hoods, scurrying through the city's endless gray like rats dodging death.
Tonight, Luka was just another shadow, tucked under a decrepit overhang on a block where even street rats didn't linger after dark. The stink of wet concrete and old oil hung thick in the air, clinging to him like a second skin. Iron City wasn't just a place—it was a force, heavy and inescapable, pressing down on every corner and soul that dared call it home. The city thrived on misery and offered nothing in return, its streets chewing up people like Luka and spitting them out hollow. He told himself this was just another job, but the truth cut deeper. This wasn't survival—it was endurance, another desperate attempt to stay one step ahead of a city that was always closing in.
Across from him, a neon sign flickered erratically, casting a sickly blue light over the rain-streaked windows of an old storefront. Iron City was littered with places like this, forgotten by time and choked in grime—but tonight, this place was about to become ground zero.
He took a drag from his cigarette, tasting smoke and the faint bitterness of old regrets, eyes fixed on the store. Three minutes to midnight. The intel was clear enough: at the stroke of midnight, Iron City's largest corporate syndicate would meet one of their most shadowed associates—the kind of figure who left no paper trail, no footprint, and certainly no chance of survival for those who crossed him.
Luka shifted, feeling the weight of the knife at his hip and the heavier pull of the gun at his side. The cold steel was more than a precaution; it was a promise to himself that he'd make it through this night alive. He adjusted his jacket, grimacing as a cold trickle of rain ran down the back of his collar, snaking between his shoulder blades. A shiver crawled over his skin, but he ignored it. In a city like this, good intentions didn't get you far. In Iron City, the only good intentions were the ones that stayed buried. Survival meant knowing when to look the other way and when to step out of the shadows. If anyone caught him watching this meet-up, he'd be nothing more than another stain washed away by sunrise.
The clock ticked down, and headlights cut through the darkness. A sleek, dark machine, quiet as a corpse, rolled to a stop in front of the store. The driver—a ghost in a black suit—stared forward while two more men climbed out, pulling along a third figure. Hands bound, face hidden beneath a black hood.
There it is. The package.
Luka's jaw tightened as he watched the suits haul the hooded man inside. This wasn't a simple transaction; it was an execution. Whoever was under that hood wasn't just a disposable pawn. If he were, they would've dumped him in one of Iron City's blackwater canals hours ago. No, this was someone important. Someone they needed wiped out with precision.
Luka clenched his fists, resisting the urge to act. It wasn't his place—not yet. His job was to observe, to survive, and to sink unseen into the shadows. Anything else was suicide.
Luka brought the binoculars closer to his face, the rain streaking the lenses in jagged trails. He adjusted the focus, catching a clear view of the suits as they dragged the hooded figure further into the building. The man stumbled, his bound hands grasping at air, his movements sluggish, unnatural. Luka's gut twisted. This wasn't a standard hit—there was something wrong with this one. The way the man's shoulders slumped, the way his head jerked unnaturally as he walked... it didn't sit right.
For a brief moment, they pulled the hood off, and Luka's breath caught. The figure inside wasn't just beaten or broken—he was... warped. Hollow eyes stared ahead, veins pulsing with an unnatural glow beneath pallid skin. The man's neck twitched unnaturally, as if something beneath the surface was fighting for control. Luka didn't need confirmation; this was bio-augmentation. A heavy one. The kind of procedure that left a person more machine than human, their mind eroded into compliance.
The man's voice rasped through the night, low and distorted, but Luka could hear the weight of desperation in it. "You're making a mistake. Nothing can stop what's coming."
The suits stiffened, their unease palpable even through the binoculars. They exchanged glances, their composure cracking for just a moment. Luka's instincts screamed. Whatever this guy knew, it had them spooked. It wasn't fear of the man—they were afraid of what might crawl out of the shadows if they hesitated too long.
One of the suits stepped forward, pressing a device to the man's neck. Luka strained to catch any words, but the rain drowned them out. Whatever was said, it wasn't long before a long needle plunged into the man's arm. His body convulsed violently, a grotesque fusion of wire and sinew spasming, before collapsing into silence.
The suits wiped their hands clean, their movements mechanical, as if performing a routine they'd repeated countless times. Luka watched as they drifted back into the rain, their silhouettes blending with the storm until only shadows remained. The bio-augmented man was left behind, a crumpled husk of twisted metal and flesh sprawled on the floor, lifeless.
Luka exhaled slowly, the taste of cigarette smoke bitter in his throat. He'd seen enough—too much, maybe. This wasn't just a handoff gone wrong or another syndicate cleanup job. It was something bigger, something more dangerous. The words echoed in his mind: Nothing can stop what's coming.
He moved to retreat, pulling back into the shadows, when one of the suits stopped suddenly. Luka froze. The man's gaze sliced through the rain, sharp and searching. It landed on the alleyway where Luka crouched, hidden but barely. His fingers hovered over the knife at his side, the cold steel grounding him as he waited. One wrong move, one flicker of hesitation, and he'd be as lifeless as the bio-augmented corpse sprawled on the floor.
The suit's partner muttered something, gesturing toward the car. For a moment, Luka thought the man might step closer, pierce through the shadows and drag him into the storm. Instead, the suit hesitated, then turned away, disappearing into the sleek vehicle. The headlights cut through the darkness, slicing across the rain-slicked street before the car rolled forward, vanishing into the night.
Luka waited until the sound of the engine faded completely before moving. His fingers twitched as he straightened, rain soaking through his jacket and clinging to his skin. He glanced back at the corpse one last time, the eerie glow of its veins still faintly visible even through the haze of the storm. Whatever the syndicate was playing with, it wasn't just tech—it was something darker, something alive.
"Hell of a night," he muttered, flicking the cigarette butt into a puddle. It hissed briefly before vanishing, swallowed by the city's filth.
The alley stretched before him, dark and narrow, swallowing the dim glow of neon and rain. Luka's steps were slow, calculated. He moved like a shadow, blending into Iron City's jagged edges, each step swallowed by the city's ambient hum. But his mind wasn't quiet. The bio-augmented man's words gnawed at him, burrowing deeper with every passing second: Nothing can stop what's coming.
What had the man seen, or worse, experienced? Luka had heard rumors about Project Exodus, about the syndicate's attempts to rewire humanity itself. But this wasn't just hearsay anymore. It was real, and it was happening right here, right now. And it was bigger than anything he'd imagined.
A distant sound pulled him from his thoughts—the sharp snap of boots against pavement. Luka froze, instincts flaring. The syndicate didn't leave loose ends, and he'd lingered too long. He slipped into a side alley, pressing his back against the cold, wet brick. The footsteps grew louder, deliberate and unhurried.
He risked a glance around the corner. A figure emerged from the mist—a lone enforcer, gun drawn, scanning the rain-slick street. Luka tightened his grip on the knife at his side, the familiar weight a small comfort. One enforcer. He could take one enforcer. But where there was one, there were always more.
The enforcer paused, his gaze lingering on the puddles pooling beneath the streetlights. Luka's pulse quickened, his muscles coiled like a spring. He calculated the angles, the distance, the time it would take to move, to strike. But then the enforcer turned, speaking softly into a comm device.
"Sector cleared. Moving on."
Luka stayed still, not daring to breathe until the sound of boots faded completely. Only then did he slip from his hiding spot, his movements quick and silent. He needed to get back to the safehouse, to process what he'd seen and figure out his next move. But the city wasn't done with him yet.
As he moved through the labyrinth of Iron City's backstreets, the oppressive weight of the city pressed down on him, heavier than ever. Every shadow felt alive, every sound amplified. It was as if the city itself were watching, waiting for him to stumble. He tightened his jacket against the cold, his jaw clenched. Whatever the syndicate was planning, he wasn't about to let it slide. Not this time.
Reaching a dilapidated stairwell that led to a forgotten apartment block, Luka paused to light another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the city's neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement in fractured, bleeding hues. For a moment, he stood there, the cigarette dangling between his fingers, his mind racing.
Nothing can stop what's coming.
The words echoed again, like a distant drumbeat, growing louder. Whatever the syndicate had in store, it was already in motion, spreading its roots through Iron City like a cancer. Luka didn't know if he could stop it. Hell, he didn't even know if he could survive it. But as he flicked the cigarette away and stepped into the shadows, one thing was clear.
He had to try.