The interior of Unit 1804 smelled of burnt flux, stale coffee, and high-voltage anxiety.
It wasn't a home; it was a cockpit. Walls stripped to the studs were lined with scavenged fiberglass insulation and reflective Mylar sheets to trap body heat. Cables snaked across the floor like the roots of a copper tree, feeding a central nest of server racks and cannibalized electronics.
In the center of this web sat Luna.
Frail, her legs atrophied and strapped into a modified wheelchair powered by a daisy-chained car battery, she looked like a ghost. Her face was smudge-stained, pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones.
But her eyes were alive. And her aim was steady.
A weapon rested in her lap—a monstrosity built from a vacuum cleaner motor and microwave parts. Copper coils wrapped around a PVC barrel hummed with the high-pitched whine of charging capacitors. A homemade electromagnetic railgun.
"That's close enough," Luna said, finger hovering over the trigger switch.
Standing in the doorway, Alex ignored the weapon pointed at his chest. The fusion cell he had tossed earlier glowed on the desk between them, casting long shadows.
His Perception 3.0 dissected her setup.
Defensive:The railgun was a single-shot prototype. Miss, and the capacitors would take ten seconds to recharge.Energy:The server rack drew 80% of her power. She was running a massive decryption algorithm.Health: Severe caloric deficit. Body temperature 35°C (mild hypothermia).
"You're starving, Luna," Alex said, stepping over a bundle of Cat-5 cables.
"I'm busy," she snapped, the railgun tracking his movement. "And the name is Mouse. Take your battery and get out. I don't trade with looters."
"I'm not a looter. I'm an employer."
Alex reached into his inventory. Luna flinched, the whine of her weapon pitching up.
But no gun appeared. Instead, a can of Luncheon Meat materialized in his hand.
Thud.
Tossed across the room, the heavy tin slid across the floorboards, stopping inches from her wheelchair.
Even sealed, the heavy label promised fat and salt. Luna's eyes flickered down. Her throat bobbed involuntarily. She hadn't eaten solid protein in weeks; she was surviving on vitamin paste and dissolved sugar.
"And for the main course..."
Inventory accessed again. This time, Alex produced the severed, frozen head of the Frost-Line Heavy Trooper killed on the 24th floor.
He didn't toss this. He set it down gently on a stack of manuals.
The helmet was cracked, the visor shattered, but the internal HUD electronics and the neural-link processor remained intact.
"I don't need your body," Alex said, watching her recoil at the sight of the frost-rimmed gore. "I don't need your food. I have plenty of both."
He pointed to the helmet.
"I need your brain."
Luna stared at the helmet. Recognition flashed instantly. Frost-Line Mark IV Integrated Combat System. Military-grade hardware—unhackable, untraceable, and worth more than the entire building.
The railgun lowered slightly. The engineer in her fought the survivor. The survivor wanted to shoot him; the engineer wanted to tear that helmet apart and reverse-engineer the neural bridge.
"What do you want?" Her voice was hoarse.
"I have a suit of Power Armor upstairs. Biometrically locked," Alex explained, leaning against the doorframe. "I need you to jailbreak it. Rewrite the OS so it answers to me."
"That's impossible," Luna scoffed, though her eyes were glued to the neural port. "Frost-Line uses quantum encryption. You can't brute force it."
"You said you could crack God. Was that a lie?"
Luna bit her lip. She looked at the fusion cell pulsing with infinite energy. She looked at the can of meat. She looked at the impossible puzzle of the helmet.
"I need tools," she whispered. "I need a logic analyzer. I need a clean room."
"I have a penthouse. It has heat. It has filtered air. And it has enough power to run your servers until the sun burns out."
Alex kicked the can of meat closer to her.
"Eat. Then we work."
Hesitation lasted one second. Dropping the railgun, Luna grabbed the can, popping the tab with trembling fingers. Forks were irrelevant. She scooped the pink meat into her mouth, eating with the frantic desperation of a starving animal.
Alex watched, expression cold.
[System Analysis: Target Willpower weakening. Dependence established.]
The can was empty in under a minute. Wiping grease from her mouth, her eyes regained clarity and focus.
"Okay," Luna said, wheeling herself toward the helmet. Picking it up, her fingers traced the circuitry with technical obsession. "I can do it. But it will take time. And I want the fusion cell."
"You get the cell," Alex agreed. "But first, we need to formalize the arrangement."
He raised his hand. The air in front of him shimmered with blue data streams.
"System," Alex commanded. "Generate Binding Protocol."
Blue data streams coalesced in the freezing air, forming a hard-light interface between them. It wasn't parchment; it was a suspended runtime environment. The text etched onto it wasn't ink—it was burning, golden syntax.
[Soul-Bound Pact: Class B] Liege: Alex Vassal: Luna (ID: Unit 1804) Terms: Absolute Loyalty. Life Force Link. Resource Synchronization. Penalty for Treason: Soul Extinguishment.
Luna stared at the projection. The light reflected in her wide, dark eyes. She didn't need to be a hacker to understand the code structure. It was a binding protocol—root access for her soul.
"This isn't a job offer," Luna whispered, voice trembling. "This is... you're asking for my soul. This makes me your property."
"It makes you my Vassal," Alex corrected, his voice flat. "There are no unions, Luna. There are no HR departments. There is only the food chain."
Ripping a strip of the blackout curtain away, Alex exposed the window. The blinding white blizzard howled against the glass, a chaotic, freezing void that had already swallowed millions.
"Look out there. That is your freedom. You can stay here, independent, until your batteries die and your blood freezes in your veins. Or you can sign, and become the second most powerful person in this building."
Pointing to the Frost-Line helmet on her lap, he delivered the kill shot.
"I offer you warmth. I offer you meat. And most importantly... I offer you the hardware to build things that defy physics. You want to be an engineer? I'll give you the tools to build monsters. But the price is your allegiance. Total. Absolute. Forever."
Luna looked at the contract, then at the helmet. Her fingers traced the neural ports. The challenge of the encryption was calling to her. The fusion cell on the desk hummed with a frequency only she could hear—the sound of infinite potential.
She was a cripple in a world that required strength. Alex was offering her wings.
"If I sign..." Luna swallowed hard, grip on the helmet tightening. "...will you let me fly that drone?"
"You'll fly fleets of them."
Taking a deep breath, Luna reached out. Her pale finger trembled as it touched the glowing signature line at the bottom of the hologram.
"I'd rather be a bound genius than a free corpse."
She traced her name.
FLASH.
The contract exploded into particles of golden light. Instead of chains, a complex geometric seal appeared briefly on her forehead before fading into her skin.
[System Alert:] [Pact Established.] [First Vassal Acquired: Luna (The Mechanic).] [Loyalty: 60% (Fear/Awe).] [Bonus: Host gains access to Vassal's Skills.] [New Skill Unlocked: Basic Engineering (Level 1).]
A new connection snapped into place in Alex's mind—a faint, tethered awareness of Luna's status. He could feel her fear, her hunger, and her overwhelming, obsessive curiosity.
"Welcome to the team." Alex grabbed the handles of her wheelchair. "Pack your servers. We're going to the Penthouse."
Luna didn't resist. Clutching the Frost-Line helmet to her chest, a small, jagged smile crept onto her face as she began to calculate the decryption key.