Rain ran down the vertical layers of the city and gathered on the lower platforms in thin, restless sheets. Neon from the upper levels spilled down in broken fragments, green and violet reflections sliding across metal surfaces and pooling around exposed cables that hung low overhead.
The cigarette stayed between his lips.
Rain hit the ember, hissed faintly, but it didn't go out. Each time he inhaled, it flared bright orange against the dark, lighting the lower half of his face for a second before fading again. Smoke pushed forward, stubborn, torn apart by the wind almost immediately.
He raised his left hand.
The black glove was soaked, leather dark and slick. He gripped it with his right hand and pulled it off slowly, the material peeling away from metal fingers one by one.
Underneath, the electronic hand caught the neon light.
Matte black plating ran along the back, segmented joints exposed at the knuckles. Fine seams divided each finger into narrow mechanical sections. Water gathered along the edges and rolled down in thin lines.
He flexed it.
A low mechanical hum answered the movement. Tiny servos shifted inside the wrist—whirr… click…—as the fingers closed into a fist, then opened again.
He rotated the wrist once.
Internal plates adjusted with a muted clack, tiny adjustments aligning under the skin-like outer layer of the sleeve that covered the rest of the arm. Rain struck the metal and slid off without resistance.
Asako exhaled smoke slowly, watching the vapor drift past his mechanical fingers before the wind tore it apart.
Above him, suspended rails carried small transport crafts through the night, their undersides glowing faint blue as they passed. Light swept down over him in intervals, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw.
Then a voice reached him.
Female.
Low. Smooth.
"You really don't know how to stay invisible, do you?"
It didn't sound annoyed.
It sounded amused.
"You were lucky," she continued, tone calm and sharp at the same time. "If the wrong eyes had caught that little performance… you wouldn't be walking right now."
"Explosions draw attention," she added.
Asako didn't stop.
Didn't look around.
He slid the cigarette out with two fingers, inhaled deeply, ember flaring bright against the rain. Smoke filled his lungs. He held it there for a moment before letting it leave him in a slow stream.
His mechanical hand made a faint internal adjustment—click—as his fingers curled slightly.
Rain traced thin lines down his face and along the edge of the cigarette.
He let out a short breath that almost passed for a laugh.
"Let them see," he said.
The ember flared as he took another drag.
Smoke drifted forward, cutting through the rain.
"If they come after me," he added, voice flat, almost bored, "that just means more targets."
He slid the cigarette back between his lips and kept walking.
A short laugh came from above him.
"You really think you're that dangerous?"
The voice carried easily through the rain, smooth but edged with something mocking.
"I watched the whole thing," she continued. "You're strong. I'll give you that."
A brief pause.
"But not strong enough."
The rain kept falling, thin streams cutting through the neon haze between buildings.
"Those bounty hunters?" she said. "Amateurs. Anyone with eyes could see that."
Her tone sharpened slightly.
"You got lucky. That's all."
Another small laugh.
"You're in a lower sector. Mostly small-time operators and drunks down here. No one serious patrols this deep."
A beat.
"That's the only reason you're still breathing."
Asako's lips curved slightly.
He tilted his head just a fraction and glanced up to the left.
Two, maybe three meters above the street level, mounted onto a reinforced sign frame bolted into the wall, she stood.
Black hair fell over her shoulders, long and straight, darkened by rain but not clinging—heavy strands shifting slightly with the wind. She wore a fitted black jacket cut short at the waist, the fabric sleek, rain sliding off it in thin streams. Beneath it, a dark top hugged her frame, and tight black shorts disappeared into thigh-high stockings that ran clean up her legs. A belt sat low on her hips, metal catching flashes of neon as droplets struck it.
She leaned casually against the vertical support of the sign, one boot resting lightly against the metal edge, posture effortless despite the rain.
Strapped across her back was a long rifle.
Matte black. Extended barrel. Clean, precise design. It rested diagonally from shoulder to hip, secured tight against her body, rain tracing along its length before dripping off the muzzle.
Her eyes were on him.
Unblinking. Amused.
Asako didn't stop walking.
The cigarette rested at the corner of his mouth. He let out a low, quiet laugh—barely more than a breath.
He pulled the cigarette free with two fingers and took a slow drag, ember flaring bright against the rain. The glow lit the underside of his jaw for a second before fading again.
"You're funny," he said.
He didn't look up again.
Above him, her voice followed.
"Nice arm."
Light. Almost playful.
"The robotic one."
She shifted her weight on the sign frame, rain tapping softly against the rifle on her back.
"That kind of hardware isn't exactly legal," she added. "You do know that, right?"
Asako didn't slow.
The mechanical fingers of his left hand flexed once—whirr… click—subtle adjustments under the rain.
She let out a small hum.
"People would pay a lot for something like that," she continued. "Collectors. Fighters. The kind who don't like losing."
A faint smile touched her voice.
"Or the kind who like taking things that aren't theirs."
Rain fell steadily between them.
Asako kept walking.
He moved deeper into the street, neon thinning into colder tones, reflections sharpening against the dark metal underfoot.
Then two silhouettes stepped out from a side passage ahead of him.
The first stood slightly forward.
Black hair, short and unstyled, falling naturally around a sharp face He wore a dark jacket layered over a light shirt, loose black pants hanging straight, clean lines, functional. A long sword rested at his side, sheathed and angled low, the handle wrapped tight and worn from use. One hand hovered near it, not gripping, just close enough.
He looked at Asako without expression.
Beside him stood the second.
Blond hair pulled back neatly, face composed, features precise. He wore a long black coat fitted at the waist, structured, the fabric falling cleanly past his knees. Multiple straps crossed his chest, secured tight, deliberate. Gloves fitted smooth over his hands.
Neon from a broken overhead strip flickered once, then steadied.
Asako slowed.
Only a little.
Then he stopped.
The cigarette shifted slightly at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the two men blocking his path. His mechanical fingers flexed once at his side—whirr… click—quiet, almost thoughtful.
He tilted his head.
"You two look important," he said flatly. "Or at least like you think you are."
Smoke slipped from his lips as he exhaled.
"So," he added, eyes moving from one to the other, "who exactly are you supposed to be?"
The black-haired one didn't react to the tone.
"We're not here to fight you," he said calmly.
The blond man beside him spoke next.
"You're going to join us."
Asako let out a faint breath through his nose, almost a laugh. He pulled the cigarette free and took another drag, ember flaring bright against the dim neon. He held the smoke for a second before letting it roll forward between them.
"No," he said simply.
The black-haired man didn't blink.
"You will," he replied.
His hand rested lightly on the hilt of the sword.
"We need someone like you."
The blond stepped half a pace forward.
"You're wasting yourself down here," he said evenly. "Running through lower sectors. Fighting amateurs in bars."
His eyes didn't leave Asako's.
"With us, you wouldn't be chased by small-time bounty hunters."
A pause.
"You'd be fighting in arenas."
Clean. Direct.
"No more hiding in side streets," he continued. "No more exploding back rooms just to survive."
The black-haired one added quietly,
"You wouldn't have to run anymore."
Neon flickered across their coats.
Asako stood still, cigarette burning lower between his fingers.
"I would've done that already," he said.
His tone was flat. Almost bored.
"If it was that simple."
Smoke left him slowly.
"I don't need a group of idiots to tell me where to fight."
The black-haired man's gaze didn't shift.
"We're not offering advice," he said.
"We're offering a way."
The blond man nodded once.
"We have access," he added. "Paths you don't."
Asako gave a short, quiet laugh.
"No," he said. "You probably don't."
He slid the cigarette back between his lips.
"And even if you did," he continued, eyes half-lidded now, "I'm not going with you."
A pause.
He looked at them more directly.
"So why are you even here?"
The black-haired one answered first.
"We need you."
No hesitation. No pride swallowed.
"We're climbing too," he continued. "Arena ranks. Not alone. As a unit."
The blond stepped in beside him, voice steady.
"We're hunted too. Upper sectors don't like people rising without permission."
A faint pause.
"And like we said," he added, "a group survives longer."
The sword at the black-haired man's side remained still, but his fingers rested closer to it now.
"We want Power-Shards," he said plainly. "Real ones. Not scraps."
Asako took another drag.
The cigarette was halfway down now.
"I don't need a group to get Shards," he replied. "And I don't share what I take."
Smoke drifted forward between them.
The blond's expression didn't change.
"That might've worked a few months ago," he said.
"Not now."
He glanced down the street, then back at Asako.
"Shards are harder to get. Patrol density's up. Collection's tighter."
The black-haired one nodded.
"You got lucky tonight."
Asako's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Did I."
"Yes," the blond answered. "You did."
He tilted his head toward the sector behind them.
"Last week, most of the lower labor units got pulled in. Drafted. Processing centers."
"Fewer bodies," the other added. "Fewer witnesses."
The blond continued,
"The ones left had actual shifts. Real work rotations. That's rare down here."
A pause.
"You blew up a bar on an empty stretch."
His gaze sharpened.
"If this street had been crowded… if anyone important had been passing through…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
The black-haired one did.
"You wouldn't be walking right now."
Silence hung between them.
"You need us," the blond said finally. "Whether you like that or not."
Neon dimmed for a heartbeat as thunder rolled somewhere above the layers.
The rain thickened.
Asako let the cigarette hang from his lips and lifted his left hand slightly. Metal fingers caught the light as he flexed them once.
"Before you keep talking," he said, voice calm, steady, "you should know the truth."
He hooked two fingers into the hem of his pants and pulled it up just enough.
The rain ran down exposed metal.
His right leg wasn't flesh. Matte plating followed the line of his calf, segmented joints locking softly as he shifted his weight—clack… hiss—hydraulics answering the movement.
Another rumble of thunder.
"These?" he continued, cigarette still between his teeth. "Both illegal."
He dropped the fabric back down and straightened, shoulders loose, posture easy, like this was nothing worth defending.
"I'm hunted everywhere," he said. "Upper levels. Lower levels. Doesn't matter."
A faint grin tugged at his mouth.
"I can't even step into a small arena. Someone would recognize me in five seconds."
Smoke drifted from his lips as he exhaled.
"So if I walk with you," he went on, eyes on them now, "I'm a liability. A spotlight. A problem."
The thunder faded into a low, distant growl.
"But that's fine."
He took the cigarette between two fingers, drew in deeply, ember flaring hard against the rain, then let the smoke spill out slowly.
"I work alone."
The mechanical hand flexed again—click—and settled at his side.
"I don't need cover," he said. "I don't need a team."
A beat.
"And I don't need permission."