The bike—the Valkyrie—wasn't just a machine. It was a beast.
As we sped onto the highway, the bike's computer whispered into my earpiece.
Road grip: bad. Traffic: light (few vehicle on the road). They're coming.
"Keep your head down!" I shouted over the wind.
Sarah didn't answer. She was pressed tight against my back, her arms locked around my waist. I could feel the heat coming off her skin through my jumpsuit. She was burning up. Going from being a god in the Aether to a starving human body was killing her.
I swerved through the traffic. The highway was a river of light. Massive robot trucks thundered along the slow lanes, carrying supplies to the rich sectors. Above us, the sky was a bruised purple, choked by smog that reflected the city's endless neon ads.
DRINK VITA-PURE. ASCEND TODAY. THE CORPORATION LOVES YOU.
"Incoming!" Sarah screamed.
I glanced at the side mirror.
Three black drones were dropping out of the clouds behind us. They looked like metal crows made of flat black steel. With Red lights pulsing on their bellies.
Target locked, the bike warned.
"Hold on!"
I slammed the throttle. The Valkyrie screamed. The speedometer climbed past 200. The world blurred into streaks of color.
THWUMP-THWUMP.
Something slammed into the road behind us, chewing up the road. These weren't bullets. They were metal rods fired at high speed. If one hit us, we wouldn't just crash.
We'd be dead.
"They're faster than us!" I yelled.
"They're tracking the bike's signal!" Sarah shouted. Her voice was weak. Barely audible "We need to go lower! Get off the Skyway! And go to the Undercity!"
"That's suicide!"
The Undercity is what was left of the old world. The flooded, crumbling ruins beneath the massive pillars that held up the shiny new city. A lawless zone of gangs, mutants, and people too poor to be considered human.
"Do it!" she commanded.
I saw an exit ramp coming up fast. It was blocked by a concrete wall, marked CONDEMNED - STRUCTURE UNSTABLE.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I yanked the handlebars hard to the right.
The bike skidded. Sparks flew as the footpegs scraped the road. We shot toward the wall.
"Jump it!" Sarah yelled.
"You're crazy!"
"Trust the machine!"
I hit the boost button on the handlebar.
Blue flame shot out of the back. The bike launched into the air, missing the concrete by inches.
For a second, we were flying.
Below us was a drop of two hundred feet into darkness. Above us, the drones pulled up. They couldn't follow us into the tight, messy maze below.
We fell.
The bike's wheels slammed onto a rusted metal walkway.
The impact rattled my teeth. The bike fishtailed (swung side to side) on the wet, slick metal, sliding toward the edge.
I fought the handlebars. My muscles screamed. The tires bit into the rust, and we steadied out.
We were in the gut of the city now.
The air here smelled different. Rotting garbage. Sewage. And old rain. The neon lights were gone, replaced by flickering yellow bulbs and burning trash barrels. With shadows moving in the corners.
I slowed the bike down, cruising through the narrow, flooded streets.
People—if you could call them that—watched us from the doorways. Some had metal limbs made of junk. Others had sores all over their skin, leaking.
"Where are we going?" I asked. My voice was shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by the cold reality of our situation.
"Sector 7," Sarah murmured. She sounded half-asleep. Delirious. "The Old Church. Find... Father John."
"Father John? Sarah, we need a hospital, not a priest."
"He's... not a priest," she whispered.
Then her grip loosened.
She slid off the back of the bike.
"Sarah!"
I skidded to a halt and jumped off, catching her before she hit the dirty water on the street.
She was out cold. Her skin was grey. The veins in her neck were bulging, glowing with a faint blue light. Like the data inside her was trying to burn its way out.
"Hey! Help!" I shouted at the shadows. "I need help!"
A group of figures stepped out from an alleyway. Three men. They wore rags mixed with stolen military gear. One of them had a robot eye that whirred as it zoomed in on the bike.
"Nice ride," the man with the robot eye said. He pulled a rusty knife from his belt. "Lost, tourist?"
I stood up, stepping between them and Sarah. I tapped the rifle strapped to my back. But I knew I wasn't a soldier.
I was a janitor in a stolen vest.
"Back off," I warned. "She's sick. We need a doctor."
"She looks valuable," the man sneered, looking at the glowing veins on Sarah's neck. "Looks like she's got some high-grade chrome in her blood. Maybe we drain her and sell it."
He stepped closer.
I raised the rifle. My hands were shaking.
"I said back off."
The man laughed. "You don't know how to use that, boy. I can see it in your eyes."
He lunged.
BANG.
The shot didn't come from me.
The man with the robot eye jerked backward. A hole appeared in his shoulder. He screamed, dropping the knife.
I turn around.
Standing on top of a pile of crushed cars was a girl. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. She had bright pink hair, cut short, and she was holding a massive revolver that looked too big for her hands. She wore a leather jacket with a neon skull painted on the back.
"Step away from the bike, scavs," she said. Her voice was calm. Bored, even. "Before I put the next one in your eye. The good eye."
The scavengers didn't argue. They grabbed their wounded friend and scrambled back into the shadows like rats.
The girl hopped down from the cars, landing lightly in the water. She walked over to us, spinning the revolver on her finger before putting it back in the holster. She was chewing on a piece of gum, looking me up and down.
"You look like shit," she said.
"Thanks," I panted. "I need... we need to find Father John."
The girl stopped chewing. She looked at Sarah, lying on the wet ground. She saw the glow. She saw the tactical vest I was wearing.
"Father John doesn't see visitors," she said. "Especially not Corpos."
"I'm not a Corpo! I stole this!" I ripped the patch off the vest to show her. "Please. She's dying. She said... she said she funded the Resistance."
The girl's eyes narrowed. She crouched down and touched Sarah's forehead. She pulled back fast, hissing, like she'd touched a hot stove.
"She's burning up. Her brain is cooking itself from the inside." The girl looked at me, her expression changing from boredom to curiosity. "Who is she?"
"She's... a ghost," I said. "From the Aether."
The girl stared at me for a long moment. Then she popped a bubble with her gum.
"Alright, Tourist. You got lucky. I'm getting paid to find weird shit today."
She whistled.
From the darkness, a massive shape emerged.
It was a robot—bulky, ugly, and made of welded scrap metal and tractor parts. It looked like a gorilla made of junk.
"Tiny, carry the lady," the girl ordered.
The robot grunted—a mechanical sound of gears grinding—and gently picked Sarah up in its massive arms.
"I'm Jax," the girl said, turning to walk down the alley. "Follow me. And bring the bike. If you scratch it, I kill you."
I looked at the robot carrying Sarah. I looked at the girl with the pink hair.
I got back on the Valkyrie and followed them into the dark heart of the Undercity.