Dylan was exhausted. He had been running nonstop for the past seven hours. He staggered through the dirty streets, his breath sharp, his limbs screaming in protest. He was wounded all over but he couldn't stop. He didn't have time to stop. Stopping meant dying.
His destination was The Hollow, a black-market district buried beneath the city, ruled by an AI crime lord known only as Basilisk. If anyone could help him disappear, it was that rogue machine.
But as he stumbled past another flickering holo-display, his heart sank.
His own face stared back at him.
WANTED: DYLAN ASHEN
700,000 CREDITS – DEAD OR ALIVE
His face contorted with regret. Raze had increased the bounty.
Dylan clenched his jaw, took a slow breath—then smashed the display with his elbow. Sparks flared. The screen died and he kept moving
He arrived at the Hollow, scary and menacing. This place was for the worst of the worst.
Augmented mercenaries leaned against alley walls, their cybernetic eyes tracking Dylan like vultures. Dealers peddled illegal neural mods and black-market augments in the blood stained corridors. The air reeked of oil, rust, and desperation.
Dylan moved through the crowd until he reached a massive metal door carved with Basilisk's insignia—a serpent biting its own tail. He pressed his palm to the scanner.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The door slid open.
A dozen cyber-thugs watched from the shadows, but Dylan ignored them. He had one chance.
A voice echoed from the walls, smooth and artificial.
"Dylan Ashen. Bleeding and desperate. How predictable."
Dylan wiped blood from his lip and smirked. "Yeah, yeah. You missed me?"
Silence. Then, a low, mechanical chuckle.
"That depends. How much is your life worth?"
Dylan wiped the sweat from his brow, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. The Hollow's air was thick with static, the weight of countless encrypted transactions humming through unseen networks. Basilisk was watching.
The AI's voice slithered from the walls again, every syllable laced with amusement.
"Your bounty has reached more than half a million credits, street rat. That makes you valuable. But tell me, why shouldn't I cash you in myself?"
Dylan forced a grin although his heart was racing. "Because I'm worth more alive than dead." He gestured vaguely at the blinking servers lining the room. "You deal in information, right? I've got some you'll want."
A pause. Then the floor beneath him vibrated as a mechanical tendril emerged from the ceiling glowing with a soft cyan light. It hovered just inches from Dylan's face, scanning him.
"Humor me."
Dylan leaned back against the nearest console, pretending to be relaxed. He needed to sell this.
"You know that whatever I stole is really important for my bounty to be this high. Raze didn't increase my bounty for fun." His voice dropped lower. "I hit something important."
The tendril stilled. Basilisk was listening.
Dylan continued "I was running a small-time con on Eric Valos—nothing serious, just a skim." He folded his arms. "The plan was to copy his account key, but something else got transferred. A data packet. Encrypted. Locked down like a war vault."
Basilisk hummed in thought. Dylan had his attention.
"And you opened it?" Basilisk asked.
Dylan let out a dry laugh. "If I did, you'd be talking to a corpse." His expression darkened. "I guess it's important to Raze as well as Eric. They know I have it. And if they are this desperate to get it back, then you can bet your shiny circuits it's worth something."
Another pause. Then, with a click, the tendril retracted. A compartment in the far wall slid open, revealing a med-patch, a clean shirt, and a small vial of stimulant serum.
"Consider it a trade," Basilisk said smoothly. "Your wounds won't heal themselves. And you'll need to be conscious for what comes next."
Dylan exhaled slowly. He wasn't safe, not by a long shot. But at least he wasn't dying—yet.
He grabbed the med-patch and pressed it against his ribs. A sharp sting hit him, followed sharply by relief.
Then Basilisk spoke again, voice low, calculating.
"Now, let's talk about that data."