The prison was a cold, metal tomb. It smelled like rust and sweat, the air thick with the stench of despair. For days, Nyra had been trapped in a tiny, dark cell. The guards had no interest in making her comfortable; they'd thrown her in like an animal. But they didn't know what she was capable of. They had no idea that, despite being an experiment—despite the failure of her bio-tech enhancements—she had never stopped fighting.
She'd spent months studying the layout of the prison. The guards were predictable, the patterns of their patrols easy to memorize. And then, there was the moment—the tiny opening in the door she had noticed one night, too small for anyone else to see, but just large enough for her to slip through. It had taken days of work to carve the door open with a piece of metal she'd managed to tear from the bed.
When the time came, the guards were distracted, and the chance was too perfect. She seized it.
With the sharp edge of the torn metal, she forced her way out. Her heart raced, her thoughts were clouded by adrenaline, but she didn't stop. Not even when the alarms blared. Not when the floodlights illuminated the dark corridors like an interrogation.
She ran.
Out the prison gates, into the night, until she was free. But freedom came at a cost. The tracker. The guards had mercilessly pierced it into her wrist, a mark that would never fade. And now, it was the very thing that would hunt her down.
The drones were closing in. The unmistakable hum of their engines vibrated through the air, relentless, like a heartbeat that promised only death. Nyra's chest burned, every breath a battle as she sprinted after the hybrid. His long strides ate up the distance between them, leaving her scrambling in the dark, her legs feeling like lead with every step.
She couldn't feel the tracker anymore, the device still embedded in her wrist, but its presence lingered in her mind like a malignant parasite. She could hear it—the sound of it pulsing against her skin, tracking her every movement, a betrayal of her escape.
The sky bled red, an open wound stretching across a world that had long abandoned the will to heal. The air was electric with tension, every breath thick with soot and static, a caustic reminder of the war between flesh and machine. In this place, weakness was a luxury no one could afford.
She didn't run. Running was for people with something to lose, somewhere to go. Instead, she moved with purpose, each step a testament to the rage simmering in her chest. Her blade gleamed in her fist, its edge dulled only by the blood already staining it. Her torn and bloodied lab coat clung to her frame—a ghostly reminder of what she once was, of the life she'd left behind.
Behind her, the relentless hum of the drones filled the air, a predator's growl closing in. She didn't falter. If she was going to die, she'd make them regret chasing her.
The metallic screech of shifting gears stopped her cold. Instinct took over as she spun, blade raised, ready to strike. But what she saw wasn't another drone. It was him.
A silhouette against the chaos, his form was sharp and inhuman, illuminated by the faint glow of his core. It flickered in the darkness like a heartbeat.
No, not a heartbeat. A taunt.
"Hey!" Her voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.
He didn't turn.
"I'm talking to you, hybrid!"
Still nothing. He stood there, motionless, as if she were beneath his notice.
Her lip curled, anger igniting in her veins. "What's wrong? Core glitching out?"
Slowly, he tilted his head, his voice low and dripping with disdain. "Do you always talk this much before you die, or is today special?"
Her grip tightened on the blade. "Big words for a tin can with a secondhand heart."
That did it. He turned to face her, his glowing eyes locking onto hers. The smirk on his lips was colder than the air between them.
"Careful, scientist," he said, voice like a serrated edge. "You're scratching the surface of things you don't understand."
She stepped closer, defiant. "I understand plenty. Like how hybrids are just cowards hiding behind metal because they couldn't handle being human."
He laughed, short and sharp, the sound slicing through her bravado. "Funny. Coming from someone who built weapons like me."
Her jaw clenched, words dying on her tongue.
The hum of the drones grew louder, their searchlights carving through the haze. Time was running out, and she hated that he knew it.
"You should run," he said, turning his back on her again.
"Run?" she spat, venom dripping from the word. "I'd rather fight you."
He stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. His smirk widened, equal parts amusement and warning. "You couldn't even scratch me. But if you're feeling suicidal, I'm happy to help."
The tension snapped. She lunged, her blade cutting through the air toward his back.
But he was faster. Much faster.
In a blink, he spun and caught her wrist in an iron grip. Pain shot through her arm as the blade clattered to the ground.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his voice low and biting. "You think you can take on hybrids with anger and scraps of steel?"
She struggled, snarling like a cornered animal. "Let go."
"Or what?" His grip tightened, his glowing eyes burning into hers. "You'll cry about it?"
The drones' searchlights swept closer, their hum shaking the rubble around them. Her gaze flicked toward the approaching lights, a flicker of panic betraying her bravado.
He saw it. He smirked. And then, abruptly, he released her. She stumbled back, clutching her wrist.
"You're lucky I'm not in the mood to watch you die today," he said, his tone mocking.
Her anger flared again, masking the fear threatening to take over. "You think I need your help?"
"I think you're an idiot," he shot back without missing a beat. He turned, his silhouette already dissolving into the shadows. "But you'll follow me anyway. Because if you don't, you're dead."
"I'd rather die than owe you anything."
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder one last time. His smirk cut deeper than any blade ever could.
"Then I hope you run faster than they shoot."
The drones descended, their lights flaring like artificial suns. She hesitated for one breath too long, and in that moment, her survival instinct took over.
Cursing under her breath, she sprinted after him, every step a betrayal of her pride. Her instincts screamed at her to stop, to turn back, but survival was louder.
The hybrid didn't break his pace, didn't even glance back. He was a machine in the way he moved, efficient, cold, and unfeeling. He wasn't running for his life; he was running because that was what he did. Survive. Kill. Whatever it took.
Nyra's heart hammered in her chest, but it wasn't just from the physical exertion. Something inside her—a primal instinct—told her that the only way out was to keep moving, to follow this… creature who had made her feel so small. She couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close to being free.
The alleyways twisted and turned, narrowing as they ran deeper into the forgotten parts of the city. The scent of decay was thick in the air, a toxic reminder of how the world had changed. Once, this place had been alive with people, with promises of prosperity. Now, it was a graveyard, its remnants nothing more than hollowed-out husks of a society that had crumbled.
She heard him ahead of her—his voice, like ice scraping against metal.
"You're slower than I thought," he said, without turning around.
Nyra gritted her teeth, pushing herself harder, but she knew it was a lie. He was barely breaking a sweat while she was running on fumes, her legs buckling beneath the strain. She could feel the tracker, still embedded deep inside her, like a thorn embedded in her flesh.
But then, just as she thought her legs would give out, he stopped.
They had reached a secluded rooftop, the last of the city's skyline barely visible in the distance. The neon lights reflected off the broken glass and steel like ghosts from another time.
He didn't wait for her to catch up. He didn't need to.
"You're not going to outrun them," he said, his voice monotone, as though the concept of fear or desperation was beneath him. "But I can give you a chance to survive. I can disable the tracker… for a while."
She staggered toward him, heart pounding in her chest. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind screamed for freedom.
"Do it," she spat, her voice laced with both fury and fear.
He reached into his coat, pulling out a device that looked cobbled together, nothing like the sleek technology she was used to. His eyes glinted with an unreadable emotion as he pressed the button, and for a moment, the hum of the drones dimmed.
She breathed in deeply, feeling a small weight lift off her chest. She was safe—for now.
But his words, cold and detached, snapped her out of her brief moment of relief.
"You're a burden. I can't carry you forever. You'll need to figure out how to get rid of it yourself," he said, the smirk on his lips hinting at something darker. "You won't survive if you stay here."
Nyra's gaze flickered to her wrist, where the tracker was still embedded in her skin, its cruel presence like a constant reminder of how fragile her escape really was.
She didn't have time to question him, not when the drones were already reactivating, their engines buzzing in the distance.
Without a word, she sank to her knees, her vision blurring as the pain in her wrist flared. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the blade still clutched in her other hand. Blood dripped from her side, but she didn't care.
Her eyes flicked to the tracker. The pain in her wrist grew unbearable. She couldn't outrun them with it still on her.
With a steady breath, she pressed the edge of the blade against her skin. Her fingers, slick with sweat and blood, trembled as she sliced through the flesh. She ignored the sharp sting, the way the blood surged from the wound, and focused on the task at hand.
She cut deeper, the skin tearing easily, but the pain was nothing compared to the burning need to be free.
The tracker, still embedded in her wrist, resisted at first.
"Come on… come on…" she whispered through clenched teeth.
The wires were tangled beneath the flesh, clinging like a parasite, but she didn't stop. Her breath was ragged, her vision blurry with pain, but the tracker finally slipped free.
The cold metal clattered to the ground, its weight now irrelevant in the chaos of her escape.
The world around her seemed to go silent, the drone's buzzing now distant as the pain in her wrist was replaced by a sickening, freeing sense of relief.
The tracker was finally out.
But her body couldn't handle the shock. She collapsed to the ground, her hand clutching the now-bloody device as her vision swam. Her pulse hammered in her ears, the blood from the wound mixing with the cold air. The hybrid turned his back on her, not even sparing her a glance.
He stepped forward, preparing to leave her behind. But something—something about the way she bled out in the shadows—made him pause.
He didn't turn around. But he didn't leave, either.
"You're an idiot," he muttered under his breath, though the words were laced with something else—something softer than the cold disdain he wore like armor.
Her fingers twitched against the concrete. The blood from her wrist smeared against the stone, but she didn't care.
"Just leave," she rasped, her voice thick with exhaustion and bitterness. "I'm done. I'm not your problem anymore."
But his steps didn't fade into the night.
"You're never done. You'll never be done," he said, his voice fading with the wind.
She didn't have the strength to respond.
But in the depths of the shadows, the only thought that echoed in her mind was survival.
She didn't know what she was running from anymore.
But she wasn't done.
Not yet.