She spotted him instantly. Terrance hadn''t exaggerated. Aurum stood near the fountain, a mountain of a man in a tailored suit that fit like armour. Over six feet, broad shoulders, muscles that spoke of years under heavy iron. His black skin gleamed under the midday sun, and a long overcoat draped over his frame with casual elegance. Lucy barely reached 5''3". She momentarily wondered if this was like how Ceri felt all the time.


    As she approached, he turned, a smile revealing gold-capped teeth. So that''s why he chose the name. Aurum—Latin for gold. She''d checked an AI chatbot earlier, curiosity getting the better of her.


    "Enjoying the sun?" she asked, stopping a few feet away.


    He nodded. "Rare to get such a clear day in this city." His voice was smooth, rich tones that carried confidence.


    "You''re Aurum."


    "And you must be Terrance''s recommendation." He extended a hand. "Shall we sit?"


    He led her to a secluded table at the edge of the plaza. Busy as it was, the surrounding tables remained empty. She noticed the discreetly placed ''reserved'' signs, a waiter hovering at a distance. Money had been spent to ensure privacy and personal service.


    They sat, and Aurum placed two small cylinders on the table, flicking them on. A low hum enveloped them. White noise generators. Conversations from nearby diners faded into the background.


    She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but he raised a hand gently. "Before we begin, understand that in my line of work, real names are inconvenient. Best we stick to a nickname. Something memorable.”


    She hesitated. Her real name suddenly felt too exposed now he had said that; a valuable thing that she’d just been about to give away freely.


    She considered saying Lethanda, but her game handle seemed childish here facing a real-life man the size of Delsadar. He seemed content to wait her reply patiently, and after a moment she said, "Call me Leth."


    Aurum smiled again, the gold catching the light. "Leth. Strong name. Easy to remember."


    He signalled to the waiter, who approached silently. "Coffee for me. And for you?"


    "Same," she replied.


    As the waiter departed, Aurum leaned forward slightly. "Terrance speaks highly of your reliability."


    "Terrance likes to talk."


    He chuckled. "True enough. But he rarely vouches for someone unless they''re worth it."


    She glanced around, then back at him. "Why me?"


    "You''re under the radar. Not affiliated with any groups according to Terrance. You can move quietly."


    She raised an eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot about me."


    "Hardly anything, and definitely not enough, worse, I suspect Terrance really doesn’t know as much about you as he was saying either. Which is the reason for this meet, I make it my business to know who I''m potentially dealing with."


    The coffee swiftly arrived. Lucy couldn’t imagine getting such good service herself. She wrapped her hands around the warm cup, eyes never leaving his face.


    She tapped her fingers against the cup. "And if I say no?"


    "No hard feelings. I''ll find someone else." He paused. "But I''d prefer to work with you."


    "What''s the catch?"


    He smiled knowingly. "No catch. Just professionalism."


    She glanced at his suit. "You always dress this well for meetings?"


    He laughed, a deep, genuine sound. "Presentation matters. People judge by appearances, whether they admit it or not."


    "Fair enough."


    She sat for a moment, processing and syncing to her pocket datapad. Scanned for any bounties on Aurum. Face-match. No other details. Nothing outstanding. Clean as they come. A model citizen.


    "Just two model citizens having coffee at the plaza," She studied his face. It’s just like Lethanda considering yet another questline from an NPC; she tried to channel that calmness and confidence. She hoped her voice didn’t squeak or crack.  "What''s the job?"


    *


    "Delivery. Transit jobs," Aurum said smoothly. "Point A to Point B. Simple."


    “A mule?” The word rolled from Lucy with obvious distaste.


    “No. Transit. Mules get stopped. Mule’s just meat with legs. You load ''em up, and hope they don’t screw up along the way. They got no skill, no finesse. They''re clueless. And if something goes sideways? They crumble.” Aurum’s easy going tone seemed conversational, but intense. “A Transit''s a professional. Precision, timing, no mistakes. They know the terrain, know the risks, and—most importantly—they get the job done. They don''t panic, they adapt. You pay them because failure isn’t in their vocabulary.”


    Lucy narrowed her eyes. "I''m not a criminal. Never broken a law in my life. Don''t see how I fit into your plans."


    He considered her, then a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "That''s exactly why you''re valuable. You''re an unknown. Clean record. Reliable - perhaps. That’s still to be tested."


    "Why do you think I''d be interested?" She crossed her arms. "I''ve taken a few bounties, sure." Stretching the truth, but who didn''t embellish on their résumé? "But nothing illegal. Bounty hunting is sanctioned. The police pay me for god''s sake."


    Aurum raised his hands in a placating gesture his gold rings catching the light. "All true. I''m not disputing that."


    "Then why me?"


    He leaned forward, eyes determined. His words were warm, friendly, and charismatic even, but spoken with an intensity. "How long do you think you can stay in the bounty game? What''s your next move? Upgrade your arsenal? Carry an illegal high-power sniper rifle around town? Can''t exactly stroll through the city with that in a duffle bag—or was that your plan?"


    She felt a flush of irritation. He wasn''t far off. "I manage just fine."


    He noted her reaction, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It''s not a hard guess. Many think the same. Then they get stopped by cops or end up on a corporate security''s radar for looking suspicious on a rooftop. Or worse, suddenly finding themselves with a few unsolved sniper murders pinned to their good names. And even if you make the shot from five hundred yards, you still have to reach the body to collect."


    She said nothing. His words hit home.


    "You''ll always have to get close," he continued. "And it''s always going to be dangerous. There''s a reason citizen bounty hunting is the deadliest profession in the country right now. The vids and Hollywood glorify it. But we all know its deadly. Messy. How long do you want to do that?"


    She took a sip of coffee. The bitterness grounding her. "So what''s your point?"


    "Wouldn''t you prefer to make good money without risking your life night after night?" His tone was earnest, almost friendly.


    She hesitated. "What''s the alternative?"


    "Transit jobs," he replied, repeating his earlier words. "Small packages. Decent pay. Lower risk. A chance for you to prove yourself trustworthy."


    She raised an eyebrow. "A delivery girl?” Lower risk he’d said. Lower risk anyway than trying to assassinate cybered-up ex-military types with reaction times off the scale. Lower risk than being a bounty hunter still meant the risk was comparatively ridiculous to most. Non-delivery for a Transit seemed to translate to being dead.


    Aurum chuckled. "In a manner of speaking. Simple beginnings. If you''re interested."


    She considered pressing him on what she''d be transporting - but knew better. If it could go through standard channels, it would. "And what''s in these packages?" was the unspoken words she wanted to mouth - that went unsaid between them for a second or two. It seemed almost puerile to say it when you knew the answer.


    After the beat, he met her gaze evenly. "These are items that require discretion. A reliable person to ensure delivery. Nothing hazardous. Every Transit client will be vetted by me personally."


    She weighed his words. "I''m clean and legal."


    His gold-capped smile returned. "So am I."


    Silence hung between them. The murmur of the plaza still faded into the background. The gentle buzzing of the white noise generators omni-present.


    "I''ll consider the offer," she said finally. "It''s a lot to process."


    He nodded, reaching into his coat. He placed a sleek card on the table, embossed with a single number. "This is an old-school burner number. Practically an antique these days. It’s good until tomorrow night. If you''re in, give me an audio call. If not, no hard feelings. But I won''t wait. I have other irons in the fire."


    She picked up the card, feeling the weight. It felt impossibly heavy.


    Aurum stood, picking up the white noise generators, and adjusting his overcoat with practiced ease. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Leth. I hope to hear from you."


    She watched as he strode away, his massive frame moving with surprising grace. A linebacker who moved like a dancer. The sounds of the plaza and city rushed back in— laughing, dishes clinking, a distant siren wailing.


    Alone at the table, Lucy turned the card over in her fingers and drank her coffee. It tasted good. Bitter, but good, she decided. Much better than she would ever buy for herself. She savoured the taste. Spent time on each sip. It might be a while before she tasted anything of this quality again.


    "Just two model citizens having coffee," she muttered to herself, turning her earlier comment over and over again in her head.


    *


    Lucy sat in her dim apartment, the night sky lights flickering through rain-streaked windows. Her mind wandered. It was growing colder out there; the rain was getting sleety. Winter’s harshness may have been eaten away by global warming, giving more rain, but freezing temperatures where still imminent.


    The city''s distant hum seeped in, a constant reminder of her isolation. Fingers hovered over the keyboard. She needed advice but had no one in the real world to turn to. Her online friends were her only refuge.


    She opened their group chat—the back-channel they’d organised for making sure they could sync their log-in times and maximise playtime together. It’d never been used like this before, would her friends mind? She’d be ashamed if they objected.


    Lethanda: Hey everyone! Mind if I ask for some IRL advice?


    Responses came quickly.


    Delsadar: Hey Lethanda! Of course!


    Ceri: Absolutely! What''s on your mind?


    Arcanis Flameweaver: Sure thing, but just so you know, I''m not great with advice.


    She smiled faintly. PWNSTARRR—damnit! Arcanis - this is so Ceri’s fault. He was always so earnest.


    Lethanda: Thanks. So, I''ve been jumping from job to job lately. Gig economy stuff. No security, kind of precarious.


    True enough, she thought. Precarious; ten minutes of work with an AI chatbot had gone into that word.


    Delsadar: Yeah, gig work can be tough. Any prospects for something more stable?


    Ceri: That sounds stressful. Have you found any new opportunities?


    Lethanda: Actually, yes. A friend connected me with a recruiter from a big corporation. Entry-level delivery job. But the company''s reputation is... not great.


    She recalled Aurum''s imposing figure, the dangerous aura beneath his polished exterior. Or was that fantasising? No, Aurum was alarming for all the sensible reasons a person would have.


    Arcanis Flameweaver: Which company?


    Lethanda: Strix Chemicals. They''ve had some bad press lately. Accusations of corruption, even some... darker stuff.


    She''d spent hours crafting this cover story with the AI chatbot weaving in just enough truth.


    Delsadar: Strix Chemicals? I''ve heard of them. But you know how the media exaggerates. Corporate jobs offer stability—steady pay, benefits.


    Lucy raised an eyebrow. Delsadar seemed awfully enthusiastic about corporate life.


    Ceri: How did the interview go?


    Lethanda: It went well. The manager was a bit intimidating. Very charming but results focused. Feels like if I mess up - I''m out.


    Or worse. She thought of Aurum''s golden smile and the cold calculation in his eyes.


    Ceri: Don''t underestimate the importance of a good boss. A bad one can make any job miserable.


    Could Aurum be a good boss? An unanswerable question at this point. She’d never want to see his dark side that’s for certain.


    Arcanis Flameweaver: I don''t have much, admittedly, any, job experience, but is the pay good?If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Lethanda: Yes, possibly at least the same as what I''m making now. I think.


    Payment hadn’t even been discussed at the meet. This was a huge assumption. Arcanis maybe had a point. Was it more, less, or same? Truly she felt like an idiot for not even asking. How could she have missed something so simple? Lucy cursed softly. Clearly so intimidated by Aurum that basic questions had slipped her mind. That PWNSTARRR - Arcanis! – had pointed it out, of all people, seemed to make the error worse for some reason – like having your terrible blunder pointed out by a small child.


    Delsadar: Then I''d say go for it. Job security is important. Those news stories are often blown out of proportion.


    He rambled on about the perks of corporate life—medical coverage and secure housing. Lucy began to suspect he lived a double life; the unchained barbarian masking a corporate existence.


    Ceri: But if the company''s ethics bother you that could weigh on you over time.


    Lethanda: That''s what''s giving me pause. My current work is -


    Lucy wrote “risky”, then spent a few moments deleting the word. Risky wasn’t what she wanted her friends to read. They’d worry for her. She didn’t want that to weigh on them. Auto-suggestions, flicked through a page of recommendations. “Uneven”. Yes, that was ambiguous enough.


    Lethanda: uneven and not sustainable, but Strix operates in a morally grey area.


    She pictured the dangerous path Aurum represented. A world that felt more like a dystopian video game than reality. Did she really want to be this criminals delivery girl?


    Arcanis Flameweaver: Maybe think about where this job could lead you in the future.


    Was it worth compromising her values, she mused. A clean and legit life. Her reinforced door loomed large. The steel barricading her in against the horrors outside. Where had it gotten her?


    Delsadar: Sometimes you have to make tough choices. The world isn''t black and white. A stable job could open doors for you.


    Ceri: But you shouldn''t have to sacrifice your principles. If the company''s actions bother you now, it might only get harder down the line.


    Lucy sighed, fingers tapping softly on the desk.


    Lethanda: You''ve all given me a lot to think about. Thanks so much, I love you all. ?


    Ceri: We''re here for you, whatever you decide.


    Delsadar: Keep us updated. Remember, sometimes a leap of faith is what''s needed.


    Arcanis Flameweaver: Good luck! Hope it works out for you.


    She closed the chat, the glow of the screen fading. The sleety rain intensified outside, droplets racing down the glass. The slushy mix turning to just water as soon as it hit her windows surface. She felt more alone than ever departing the chat. It was almost worse than a neural disconnect from the game.


    Her pad beeped, a private message.


    Ceri: Anytime you want to talk more, I’m here for you Lethanda.?


    Her friends had given honest advice, but they didn''t know the stakes. Couldn''t know. She glanced at the burner number sitting on the table.


    Aurum assumed she was a hardened bounty hunter, someone who operated in the shadows. Terrance had oversold her, painting her as reliable and unaffiliated. In truth, she was just Lucy—a lonely ghost in the city.


    She put down a workout mat over the worn carpet. Started her reps. Tried to blot out everything, especially thinking, with mundanity, concentrating on her breathing.


    *


    The new gun boomed in Lucy''s hands. Despite two week''s practice, the extra pound of weight still threw her off. The weight of the larger gun and clip size demanded more strength, more control.


    She drew, aimed, fired—over and over. The gun''s slide moved smoothly - the gun link delivering superb accuracy as always. Sweat soaked her black T-shirt clinging to her slender frame. Lean muscles now stood out taut and visible under the range''s harsh lighting.


    As she practiced, her mind wandered through the past two weeks. The routine of the gun shop comforted her. Boris shouted occasional guidance from the back, his gravelly voice cutting through the muffled shots. Other regulars nodded in passing - a silent camaraderie.


    The first couple of jobs had been easy; Aurum was testing her. The packages probably weren''t even illegal or valuable. They''d switched from his antique burner to an app that destroyed messages after reading. She''d almost laughed—gamers and criminals favoured the same tech. She’d almost used this app for their gaming back-channel.


    Boom. Boom. The gun still felt like a cannon. She''d need better training grasp-balls to build up her grip strength. Maybe Boris had suggestions. Last time he’d just laughed and recommended squeezing a tennis ball over and over as just as good as any machine or expensive kit.


    The initial messages were brief—a pickup location, routes to avoid ("Don''t take a taxi." was a constant) and a drop point. The first job came at 2am—take a small backpack from a girl smoking on a street corner, walk across to Downtown, deliver it to a dangerous-looking man in a hotel room. She''d worn her rawshark mask—the one she used for bounty hunting. The man eyed her oddly and gave her a lot of polite respect when she handed over the bag. What had he seen in her constantly changing mask?


    Minutes later, a text from Aurum: Complimenting her on the first task, especially the ‘Rorschach mask’. "Great misdirect," he''d said. "Makes people think you''re a short man rather than a woman." She took the compliment, a bit confused. Wearing the rawshark mask had become her modus operandi.


    She paused after forty-five rounds fired, taking the break to let the barrel cool. She could almost feel Boris''s approving gaze. The new gun held fifteen rounds per clip versus her old nine-mil''s ten. The advantages were clear but the extra weight added up. She rested her arms. Feeling the burn in her muscles. It was a good pain.


    After a beat she reloaded.


    Four more minor Transits followed. Always similar: pick up from a stranger or a nondescript room, avoid certain routes, deliver discreetly. Instructions came at random times. She’d had to use some of the interrupt and override features of the game for the first time. To trigger when a message came in the middle of a quest or dungeon. She knew the other players didn’t mind, she was almost always online after all. But still.


    The instructions made her sometimes smirk with how gamified they seemed. "Don''t take the metro." "Avoid 5th Street." Each job felt like a piece in a larger puzzle - a rep grind or a long intricate questline.


    Aurum began to reveal more of himself. She preferred thinking of him as a cipher, a big bad lurking in the shadows. But his messages carried a hint of humour. "Avoid the burritos on 7th—they''re lethal," he''d quipped once. Damn if he wasn''t charming. It kept coming. There was a dry humour there.


    And the pay—substantial. Each Transit wasn''t a fortune, but after three in three days, she''d earned as much as her first bounty.


    Boom. Boom. The gun roared at the range.


    One job required her to meet the drop-off person in Aurum''s presence. They both had arrived fifteen minutes early. She expected awkward silence, but Aurum wasn''t like that. He talked about cars, the game, fashion. He’d shown an interest in what she had to say; even if it wasn’t much. Asked about her sidearm, inspected it. "Outstanding maintenance," he''d said. "You take care of your tools." Damn his charm. He defied her expectations.


    Boris wandered over with a box of ammo. "More rounds?" he asked, his eyes crinkling in a smile.


    She nodded in thanks, a half-smile touching her features just for a second.


    He helped her load the clips, fingers moving deftly. "You''re getting the hang of that SIG."


    "Still kicks," she admitted.


    "You''ll adjust," he said. "Takes time."


    At the end of the first week—seven jobs in seven days—Aurum met her for a drink at a bar where he seemed to know everyone. The meeting was brief, business-like, but not without warmth. He expressed genuine satisfaction that she''d passed his ‘probation’. Said she''d start meeting more of his crew. Then he handed her the new gun as a bonus.


    "Sitting in my locker gathering dust," he''d said. "Figured you''d appreciate it. You take care of your gear."


    The gun now sat before her, barrel smoking after burning through another three clips. It still felt like getting a big loot reward at the end of a long questline to her. UPGRADE. The gun turning purple like an Epic item.


    Her arms - especially her wrists - ached. This definitely wasn’t the game world where Lethanda could pull at her bowstring, fight after fight, for hours on end - never tiring. She decided on just three more clips before cleaning. Any more would be overdoing it and risking a possible soft tissue injury.


    The ammo she’d been handed as well was pretty Epic too. Like finding acid arrows for Lethanda’s bow. The gun came with a leather bag—not the standard case—and two clips of ammo. Aurum mentioned they were special rounds, not for wasting at the range. "Keep these on you when you''re out," he''d advised.


    She''d shown them to Boris. He’d admired the SIG—an older model, but well-maintained. "Late well-made copy of a classic," he''d noted. But his expression changed when he saw the rounds. "You can''t have these here," he''d hissed. "Cop killers. Military grade. Illegal as hell."


    "Didn''t know," she muttered, quickly stashing them away.


    "Possession alone could get you a sentence," he warned. "Be careful."


    Since then she''d only fired standard nine-mil rounds keeping Boris at ease. He''d upgraded the gun''s software to modern gun link specs. "Better compensation at range," he''d explained. He seemed happy, despite the lost initial sale. The constant cost of ammo, cleaning supplies, the gun upgrade and range time more than made up for any missing business. She kept her old gun as a backup, strapped to her leg over cargo pants. She''d practice with it tomorrow. Couldn''t lose the feel for its weight.


    She moved to a workbench and began cleaning. She''d grown to appreciate the ritual—the smell of oil. The methodical assembly and disassembly. Was she becoming a gun nut? No, just meticulous. A tool was only as good as its maintenance. Boris had walked her through the SIG''s care the first time - his enthusiasm evident.


    Two nights ago had proven the importance of her preparation. Another Transit, another sketchy pickup in a bad part of town. Near midnight, walking through areas she''d never have ventured before. The route was meant to steer her clear of gang territory.


    But two predators had other ideas. She sensed them before she saw them—figures emerging from an alley, shotguns in hand. They wore heavy armoured jackets with gang colours, probably more for warmth than protection. High or drunk, they thought she was easy prey.


    "Hey there, little thing," one slurred. "Why don''t you come keep us company?"


    She didn''t respond, heart pounding, but mind clear. They moved to block her path, grinning.


    "Don''t be shy," the other sneered. "We just wanna talk."


    They underestimated her. Thought she was a frightened nobody. Maybe they wanted to toy with her.


    She acted on instinct. Her draw had been underway even as the first one had finished speaking, shots were flying by the time the second ganger was midway through his bad vid-scripted rapist dialogue.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    Boom. Four shots, two each—"centre mass” as Boris had drilled into her. No time for hesitation. They had shotguns; she couldn''t afford a misstep.


    They went down hard. Surprise etched on their faces. The bullets had torn through their thick armour coats like it was just a thin cotton T. The alley echoed with the fading reverberation of gunfire.


    Terrance had been right. Second time was easier. She’d even scanned their dead eyes for the bounty cash they were both worth.


    She finished cleaning the gun, reassembling it with practiced efficiency. The weight felt more comfortable now, lighter, an extension of herself.


    Boris approached, a hint of concern in his eyes. "You good?"


    She nodded.


    He studied her for a moment. "Be careful out there. Streets are getting rougher." He gave a slight shrug. "More than usual."


    She packed up her gear, slinging the bag over her shoulder. A quick, sharp nod again, another tight momentary smile.


    "Anytime," he said with what seemed to be genuine warmth.


    *


    She lay on Terrance''s operating table with cold metal against her spine. Fluorescent lights flickered, overhead casting sharp shadows in the cramped room. Terrance hummed softly. His fingers deftly arranging instruments on a stained tray.


    "You''re making a smart move here," he said applying a local anaesthetic to her shoulder. "Articulation mods are the next big thing. You''ll move like water - seamless. Ever watch those old ballet vids? Poetry in motion."


    Lucy stared at a crack in the ceiling trying to tune out his chatter. This was all his doing—weeks of messages about new stock - special deals. Cutting-edge tech. He''d worn her down.


    "Ball-and-socket joints are fascinating," Terrance continued. "Shoulder hip—give you full rotational movement. Then there''s hinge joints like knees and elbows. Simple but they get the job done." He chuckled. "You''d be surprised how many people overlook the basics."


    She drifted into her thoughts. Cyberware still unsettled her. Voluntarily replacing limbs felt like mutilation. The public agreed; visible mods were still sometimes stigmatised by mainstream. Ex-military with chrome arms struggled to find front-desk jobs. Warehouses welcomed them but not the retail world.


    Coloured tattoos that altered and played under the skin had taken off a few years back, hair mods had been trendy for a while. People accepted optic’s as medical necessities instead of glasses. But otherwise highly visible cyber-culture was a niche; the public seemed to see no reason to slap chrome on an arm or have your eyes mirrored. That was the realm of bad vids and streams.


    But medical cyberware—internal, invisible—that was different. The message on articulation modification being a cure for most arthritis conditions had piqued her interest. Terrance had sealed the deal.


    "This''ll take a few hours," he said, massaging the anaesthetic into her skin. "Gotta work on every major synovial joint."


    He rambled on about synovial fluid. How it decreased with age. "Nature''s cruel joke," he called it.


    She thought of her late unlamented mother hunched over the kitchen table. Bottle in hand. Ranting about arthritis stealing her mobility. "Nature''s a bitch," she''d slurred. Her mom had been afraid she''d end up crippled from it like her own mother. The memory lingered like a shadow.


    The Transit jobs had fattened Lucy''s wallet more than ever. New possibilities opened up. But she remained frugal. Every dollar counted.


    "Synovial joint articulation surgery," Terrance had pitched. "Completely invisible upgrades. Special lubricants on joint surfaces. You''ll move smoother and faster. Might take some getting used to."


    She''d told Aurum she needed a few days off for recovery. Expected him to be annoyed. Instead he''d smiled. "Good choice," he''d said. They’d chatted about what she was getting done. He made suggestions. Recommended booking a physiotherapist post-op. "Take an extra day off to relearn your movements."


    Damn him. He’d been nice about it. She didn’t even know at this point exactly why she wanted him to be a villain cypher so badly, a vid bad-guy with few redeeming features.


    Terrance had scoffed at the idea. "Physio? Waste of dollars. You''ll adapt naturally. You''ll be dancing in no time."


    She trusted Aurum''s advice. Booked the physio anyway.


    Hours passed. Terrance chattering turning into background music as she lay there. "Alright. Time for the neural link upgrade," Terrance eventually announced, holding up a sleek device.


    Her old neural link was serviceable but clunky—a relic from her brief stint in an office job. It opened doors to virtual worlds but was a glaring mark on her neck. Now she could afford better. Smaller – concealed from view - more powerful.


    "This model supports multiple submodules" Terrance said. "Your gun link and the new orientation systems - whatever you need."


    She nodded. The new orientation upgrade meant city maps overlaid in her vision. No more checking a datapad or tablet. Real-time updates on crime rates and gang territories - police response times. Essential information for a jobbing Transit.


    "All legal," she reminded herself. Well. The expensive encryption and security module Aurum had also recommended was honestly more a grey area. But getting tech hacked was a legitimate concern. The intrusion counter measures, now built-in to her neural link, made sure she had less worries.


    Terrance winked. "Legit as they come. You could hit up a downtown clinic – sure - but they''d charge you triple for the same tech."


    He was self-aggrandising. But wasn''t wrong. Corporate clinics were pristine palaces with sky-high prices. Terrance offered the best the streets could afford.


    "Ready?" he asked, eyes meeting hers.


    "Do it," she said.


    He began. Working tools clicking softly. His voice became a steady drone - about some new series on the nets, a scandal involving a pop star, rumours of a gang shake-up downtown. She let the words wash over her, focusing on the ceiling.


    Her joints tingled as he worked - a dull pressure more than pain. She imagined the microscopic enhancements and the promises of smoother movement. An escape from the crippling genetic legacy her mother and grandmother had left her.


    "You''re gonna love the results," Terrance assured. "People pay top dollar for this."


    No.


    No. No. No. She wanted to shout at him. Necessary. Practical. Medical. Cyber was still abhorrent.


    Terrance hummed a tune she didn''t recognise. The drugs were making her sleepy. The procedure went on - time blurring.


    "All done," Terrance finally announced, waking her and stripping off his gloves. "Take it easy for a couple of days. Let everything settle."


    *


    She left the clinic with the city''s cold haze enveloping her. Dirty melting snow covered the ground adding a new texture to the grime. The streets pulsed with life - vendors shouting and ads flickering - a distant siren wailing.


    She moved through the crowd noticing subtle differences already. A smoother stride - less resistance. It would be very difficult to explain to anyone without a similar frame of reference. It just felt easier to move. As if she’d been moving with weights strapped to her limbs before and never noticed.


    The neural link hummed softly in her mind and a faint overlay of her surroundings guided her path. She pulled up her orientation module briefly, the mapping softs custom AI had already been working. Hyper-detailed changes made from her visuals making subtle personalised upgrades to the existing maps she’d uploaded. Garbage bins added, the wetness of an overflowing drain logged as a possible minor hazard if running.


    A message from Aurum blinked in her vision. Another part of the neural link upgrade. No more reliance on datapads. The new encryption and security modules possibly made her more of a ghost than ever before. "Hope the upgrades went well Leth. Looking forward to having you back to business."


    She allowed herself a small smile. Damn. She would have to work out at some point exactly why she hated that she was starting to like her new boss.