The city lay sprawled like a wounded animal, its steel bones and concrete flesh gnawed away by time and entropy. Towers that once touched the heavens were now jagged teeth, their glass skins shattered into jagged smiles. Wind roared through the ruins, carrying the cries of long-forgotten lives and the hollow hum of machinery left to rust. In the perpetual twilight of the city, there was no past, no future—only survival.
Kei moved through this desolation with the precision of a ghost. His steps were soundless, his silhouette barely discernible against the fractured skyline. Unlike the scavengers who prowled for scraps or the desperate who clung to life, Kei walked with purpose. Even when his path meandered, there was an unwavering determination in his stride.
Two days had passed since he had left the clinic. He'd told himself it was a routine errand—necessary but insignificant. Yet now, as he retraced his steps, a subtle weight pressed against his mind. The cloth bag in his hand swung lightly, its contents unremarkable: dried fruit, crackers, and a dented can of food. Things he didn't need. Things he hadn't planned to buy.
The glow of the clinic's windows came into view like a distant lighthouse. Cracked and smeared with grime, they cast dim, fractured light onto the street outside. As Kei approached, the wind shifted, carrying with it the familiar tang of antiseptic and something darker—decay, faint but persistent. The city had a way of infecting everything it touched, even the places meant to heal.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, its hinges protesting the intrusion. Inside, the clinic was a world apart but no less grim. Crude shelves lined the walls, stocked with dwindling supplies that seemed to gather more dust than use. A single cot occupied the far corner, its sheets stained and rumpled from too many occupants and too few washings.
Behind the desk, the doctor hunched over a stack of papers, his gnarled hands moving with mechanical precision. The faint light of a flickering lamp threw deep shadows across his gaunt face, emphasizing the weariness etched into every line.
"You're back," the doctor muttered without turning around. His voice was rough, as though he had spent a lifetime chewing on gravel.
Kei didn't respond immediately. He crossed the room in silence and set the bag on the counter. The dull thud of its landing echoed in the still air.
"Where is she?" Kei's voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of tension, sharp as the edge of a blade.
The doctor finally turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. He studied Kei's expression for a long moment before leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
"She's gone."
The words hung in the air like smoke, acrid and stifling. Kei's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"Gone where?"
The doctor's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Do I look like I keep tabs on every stray that stumbles in here?" He gestured vaguely toward a corner of the room. The shelves there were noticeably emptier than before, their absence a silent accusation. "She took supplies. Left a note."
Kei's gaze flicked to the shelves, then back to the doctor. His movements were precise, calculated, but there was something simmering beneath the surface. "What did it say?"
The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He tossed it onto the counter with the same indifference he might have shown a used bandage. Kei unfolded it carefully, his glowing eyes scanning the jagged scrawl.
"Thank you for helping. Sorry for stealing. I won't trouble you again."
Kei read it twice before folding it back into his palm. For a moment, neither man spoke. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Kei crushed the note into a tight ball and set it back on the counter.
"She won't make it far," the doctor muttered, more to himself than to Kei. "Her injuries are worse than she realizes. Running like this… it's a death sentence."
Kei's gaze shifted to the waste bin near the cot, where bloodied bandages lay piled like discarded promises. The stains were still fresh.
"You're not thinking about going after her, are you?" the doctor asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Kei turned to face him, his glowing eyes unreadable. "She's not my problem."
The doctor snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Then why are you asking all these questions?"
Kei didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the cloth bag and pulled out the can of food, setting it on the counter with deliberate care.
The doctor arched an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Eat it or don't," Kei said, already heading for the door.
The doctor chuckled, a dry, mirthless sound. "For someone who claims not to care, you've got a funny way of showing it."
Kei paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the street. "Don't waste it," he said without looking back.
The door creaked shut behind him, leaving the doctor alone in the flickering glow of his lamp. For a moment, the old man stared at the can, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Damn fool."
Nyra's world was a blur of pain and motion. Every step was a struggle, her battered body protesting with every jarring impact. The strap of the stolen supplies cut into her shoulder, the weight of the bag feeling heavier with each passing minute. Blood seeped through the hastily wrapped bandages around her torso, leaving a trail she couldn't afford to leave.
But stopping wasn't an option. Not now. Not ever.
The city was a maze of shadows, its labyrinthine streets twisting and turning in endless chaos. Each alleyway was a narrow corridor of darkness, every corner a potential ambush. Nyra's breath came in short, shallow gasps, the air scraping her throat like sandpaper.
She hated this city. Hated its silence, its emptiness. But more than anything, she hated herself for being here—for needing help, for accepting it, and for running from it.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the clinic. To the man she had left behind.
No, not a man. A machine. A hybrid. Kei.
The name sat bitterly on her tongue. She hated him most of all. Hated the way he looked at her with those glowing eyes, cold and unreadable. Hated the way he moved, too precise, too controlled. Hated the way he had helped her—unquestioning, unwavering.
"They're all the same," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "Machines pretending to care. Pretending to be human."
Her vision blurred, the edges of the world darkening with every step. She pressed a trembling hand to her side, feeling the warmth of fresh blood leaking through the bandages. The wound was worse than she wanted to admit, but she couldn't stop. Stopping meant death. And she wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
The lamppost she leaned against was rusted and worn, its base jagged from years of neglect. She clung to it, her knuckles white with the effort, trying to steady herself. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of an old generator reached her ears, its sound barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
Her strength was failing, and she knew it. Yet her mind screamed at her to keep moving.
The wind carried the scent of blood—faint, metallic, and unmistakable. It lingered in the air like a trail of breadcrumbs leading Kei deeper into the heart of the ruins. He followed it instinctively, his movements precise and methodical. The faint glow of his cybernetic eyes pierced the darkness, scanning every crevice and shadow.
The city wasn't just a wasteland; it was a predator. Rusted beams jutted out like claws, and crumbling walls threatened to collapse at the slightest provocation. Every corner held the potential for ambush, and every sound—no matter how small—put Kei's systems on high alert.
He paused at a crossroads, his glowing eyes narrowing. The faint smear of red on a crumbling wall caught his attention. He crouched, his fingers brushing the dried streak. It was recent—no more than an hour old.
"She's slowing down," he murmured to himself.
The realization was troubling. Nyra's injuries were worse than she had let on, and her stubbornness was going to get her killed. A surge of frustration flickered through him, quickly buried beneath his usual calm. She wasn't his problem. He repeated that thought like a mantra, but the image of her trembling hands and defiant eyes clung to him, refusing to fade.
A sound broke the silence—a metallic clang, distant but distinct. Kei's head snapped toward the source, his body tensing like a coiled spring. He moved swiftly, the soft thud of his boots muffled by the thick layer of grime coating the ground.
As he turned a corner, the faintest shuffle of movement drew his attention. His enhanced vision caught the glint of something metallic—a discarded bandage clip, half-buried in rubble. The trail was growing clearer, more erratic. She was close.
"You always did have a knack for finding trouble," a voice drawled behind him.
Kei didn't flinch, though his hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of the blade strapped to his hip. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the figure stepping out of the shadows.
Celine.
Her sharp features were illuminated by the dim glow of her handheld lantern. She wore a smirk, her arms crossed over her chest. The faint hum of energy radiated from her gear—a patchwork of scavenged tech and weapons that made her look like she belonged more to the city than to humanity.
"Still playing the lone wolf?" she asked, her tone laced with mockery. "Or is this about her?"
Kei didn't answer, his gaze flicking back to the trail.
Celine's smirk widened. "Ah, so it is about her. Didn't think you were the rescuing type. What's the story? She owe you something? Or is this one of those 'forbidden hybrid-and-human' sob tales?"
"Move," Kei said flatly.
Celine laughed, the sound echoing in the empty streets. "Careful, Kei. You're starting to sound… attached. You know where that leads."
Kei brushed past her without a word, his focus unshaken. She called after him, her voice dropping to a mocking singsong. "Good luck, knight in shining armor. I'm sure she'll appreciate the effort… if you get there in time."
He ignored her, but her words lingered in the back of his mind. He had no illusions about the stakes. If he didn't find Nyra soon, the city would finish what her injuries had started.
Nyra's world narrowed to two things: pain and survival. Each step sent agony radiating through her body, her breath hitching with every labored gasp. Her fingers dug into the strap of the bag, the only anchor keeping her upright as she stumbled through the ruins.
The alley she had chosen was narrower than the others, its walls pressing in on her like a vice. Debris littered the ground—shards of glass, twisted metal, and fragments of stone that threatened to trip her with every step. She cursed under her breath, the words slurred and bitter.
She hated this city. Hated its silence, its suffocating emptiness. But more than anything, she hated him.
Kei. The name burned in her mind like a brand. The coldness in his voice, the way he looked at her—like she was a problem to solve rather than a person. She'd seen his kind before: hybrids pretending to care, pretending to be human. But there was always something missing. Something they couldn't fake.
She stumbled again, this time falling to her knees. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through her side, and she let out a muffled cry. For a moment, she stayed there, her hands trembling as they pressed against the cracked pavement.
The faint buzz of electricity reached her ears, pulling her from the edge of unconsciousness. She looked up, her blurred vision focusing on the dim glow of a flickering neon sign. It hung above a shattered storefront, the letters half-burned out but still readable: Haven Supply Co.
Nyra forced herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the doorframe as she stumbled inside. The air was stale, thick with dust and the faint smell of mildew. Shelves lined the walls, their contents long since looted, but she didn't need much. Just a place to catch her breath.
Her legs gave out as soon as she reached the back of the store. She sank to the floor, her back against the wall, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The bag slipped from her shoulder, landing with a dull thud beside her.
Her eyelids grew heavy, the edges of her vision darkening. She pressed a hand to her side, feeling the warmth of fresh blood seeping through the bandages. She knew she couldn't stay here. Knew she couldn't rest. But her body refused to obey.
Just a moment, she told herself. Just one moment.
Kei reached the alleyway just as the scent of blood grew stronger. His glowing eyes scanned the ground, locking onto the faint smudges of red leading toward the broken storefront. The trail was fresh. She was close.
The faint hum of electricity caught his attention. He followed it to the shattered window of the supply store, his gaze narrowing as he peered inside. The shelves were barren, the air thick with dust and silence. But in the far corner, he saw her.
Nyra was slumped against the wall, her head tilted to the side. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale and slick with sweat. The bag of stolen supplies lay forgotten at her feet.
Kei stepped inside, his movements eerily silent. The faint creak of a floorboard betrayed him, and her eyes fluttered open. They widened as they locked onto his figure, her body tensing despite her obvious exhaustion.
"You," she rasped, her voice raw and trembling. She reached for the jagged piece of metal at her side, clutching it with weak, trembling fingers. "Stay away."
Kei's gaze flicked to the makeshift weapon, then back to her. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"Better me than you," she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual fire. She swung the weapon in a desperate arc, but her strength failed her. Kei caught it easily, his grip like iron.
"You can't fight like this," he said calmly, his voice devoid of judgment. "You're bleeding out."
"I don't need your help," she spat, trying to pull away. But her struggles were feeble, her body too weak to resist.
Kei didn't let go. Instead, he reached down, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. She let out a strangled cry, her fists pounding weakly against his chest.
"Put me down!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
"No."
"I don't—" Her words dissolved into a fit of coughing, her head falling against his shoulder.
"Save your strength," he said quietly. "You'll need it."
The tension builds as Kei carries Nyra back toward safety, but the city isn't done with them yet.