Lucy stared out the window of Peril''s apartment. Fingers traced the plush leather of the chair. The sunrise painted the skyline in hues of gold and crimson, filtering through the maze of towers.


    A week had passed since Terrance fixed her muscles — more synth-muscle, more nano-ligaments. He''d confirmed what Lioncourt had said: the initial period of pushing her systems to the max was the hardest.


    "You red-lined your systems how many times?" Terrance had shaken his head. "Four, maybe five times at max ouput, Skadi. The human body can only take so much before it destroys itself. I thought you knew this, read all the manuals?"


    You''re not Lioncourt, more machine than man, she had thought.


    Terrance had advised her to only use the ReflexArc-X at fifty percent or less for repeated uses if she wanted more. "Max should be held in reserve," he''d said. "Far less impact, and probably just as effective given your speed."


    He was right. She''d needed full power against the woman fighting Lioncourt at the club, but for the two brutes? Half her capacity would''ve sufficed. It had been gross overkill. A pure panic reaction.


    Peril emerged from her room, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. She moved softly, settling into the chair nearby.


    Lucy regarded her in the morning light. She''d been staying here for the past few days but had hardly seen Peril. The hacker had locked herself in her secret room for hours on end, surfacing only for meals.


    Aurum had stopped by last night. The conversation had been pleasant, but it was clear they had business to discuss—business that didn''t include Lucy.


    She''d excused herself to head to the firing range, giving them space. Relationship firewalls were a great concept but lousy in practice, she''d decided.


    Her twin H&Ks had gotten a good workout. She''d missed them — and had needed them at the club.


    Returning later, Peril was back in her room, but a note had been pinned to the fridge: Please stay a few more nights. I love you.??


    "Skipping the naked workout today?" Peril teased, breaking the silence with a sly smile, and bringing the ever-introspective Lucy back to reality.


    "I think my girlfriend couldn''t handle the excitement," Lucy shot back playfully. "She definitely needs to eat more breakfast. And coffee is not breakfast."


    Peril frowned slightly. Clearly disagreeing with the comment on coffee.


    "I''ll cook us some eggs on toast," Lucy laughed. "And you''ll have some fruit and yogurt too."


    "A feast! My lady cooks me a feast," Peril bantered, her eyes dancing.


    Lucy glanced at her internal clock. "Anyway, I''m heading out soon. Got a job from a new Fixer."


    "You''ll be back tonight?" Peril asked. "It''s Lioncourt''s turn to cook. He''s making Boeuf Bourguignon according to my schedule. I can save you leftovers."


    Lucy chuckled. Lioncourt''s culinary skills were an unexpected facet of the relentless killer.


    She looked at Peril. Blunt honesty had always been the core of their relationship. She decided just to say what was bothering her.


    Sipping her coffee, she took a breath. "Peril, I''ve been here almost a week now. Basically living with you. You keep asking me to stay another day, which is great. But I''m starting to run out of bras and panties, at least."


    "I bought some for you," Peril said casually, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.


    "My panties aren''t usually crotchless," Lucy said with a raised eyebrow.


    Peril grinned. "Consider it expanding your horizons."


    Lucy shook her head, smiling. "Look, I know the attack at the club has you on edge. But from what Lioncourt says, this building is a fortress. He''s checked it out himself, and he wouldn''t say that unless it was true. You''re safe here; you don''t need me as a watchdog."


    Peril''s eyes roamed over her, a soft smile forming. "You are so not clued in sometimes, it hurts," she said with a light chuckle.


    "What''s that supposed to mean?" Lucy asked.


    "It''s not about safety," Peril replied.


    Lucy sensed there was a layer of self-deceit in that. She''d felt Peril shivering from nightmares at night this last week. Waking up and clutching her. Only returning to sleep when held tightly and close.


    Peril took a deep breath. "I want you to move in with me," she said finally. "I''ve been trying to pluck up the courage to ask."


    Lucy blinked, caught off guard. "Oh."


    Peril hurried on, words tumbling out. "I know it''s sudden, and we haven''t really talked about it, but having you here feels right. I—"


    "Peril," Lucy interrupted gently.


    Peril looked at her, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.


    Lucy smiled softly. "I''ll consider it. I really will. I’ll give you an answer tonight."


    "Really?" Peril''s face lit up.


    "Yes, really. But we might need to get me some non-crotchless panties for if I’m staying over," Lucy added with a wink.


    Peril laughed, relief evident. "Deal."


    *


    Lucy stared through the morning drizzle at the closed front door of the restaurant a hundred feet away. Her cyberoptics sliced through the rain and half-light rendering the entryway in sharp detail.


    Little Asia stirred sluggishly around her—a mosaic of Japanese kanji, Chinese hanzi, Thai script. Neon signs dimmed in the wet dawn with many flickering off as the city yawned awake.


    Nearby a cough echoed. Homeless figures huddled under makeshift shelters — plastic tarps, tattered blankets, anything to keep the relentless rain at bay. The alley reeked. A stew of sewage and decay. She noted the wrinkle in the young woman''s nose across from her. At least the stench bothered both of them.


    No, probably not ‘just’ a woman, Lucy reminded herself. She hadn''t wanted to bother Aurum — this was her first big job without his safety net. So she''d asked Lioncourt for a reliable Clean. He''d forwarded her the contact almost immediately: Phran Ying.


    Had it not been for the light blue, pink, and white striped jacket — the trans flag — Lucy might never have guessed to be fair. She wasn''t one for labels. She''d known she was into girls since high school but never felt the need to broadcast it. It was just part of who she was.


    Clearly, the pretty Thai woman across from her felt differently. Even if ninety percent of people wouldn''t recognise the flag, wearing it openly was a huge statement to anyone who did appreciate its meaning.


    Maybe I should ask Peril to the next Seattle Pride march, Lucy mused. 110 years this year.


    She’d never been or celebrated before. But then, she’d never had anyone to celebrate with. Which seemed the most important point.


    A tilt of the head from Phran Ying pulled her back. The woman''s eyes questioned her silently. Lucy shook her head. She was staring at the woman under her mask. No wonder the slight Thai woman was looking worried. Their comms channel was open; no need to speak.


    Skadi: Give it another ten minutes. Local news reports an accident on the I-5. Could just be traffic.


    Phran Ying nodded, her face impassive.


    Lucy returned her gaze to the building but couldn''t shake thoughts of Lioncourt. He wouldn''t have recommended someone incompetent. Behind his foppish exterior lay a cold strategist. Yet, he was also a manipulator who enjoyed toying with people. Was this his way of messing with her?


    Calm down, she chided herself. Unfair to project her irritation onto Phran Ying. She barely knew the girl or her connection to Lioncourt. From that first night at the club, it was clear Lioncourt appreciated both hard-bodied men and beautiful women. As a gay woman, Lucy hadn''t questioned it.


    She wanted to ask Phran Ying how she''d met him, but in the middle of a job wasn''t the time. It was a puerile thing to question or feel the need to know, she knew.


    A black limo finally pulled up — a heavy, armoured beast from the 2060s, all sharp angles and menace. This was why Phran Ying was here. The intel for this job had cost Lucy, so she''d hired a Clean to offset expenses by cashing in the bounties on the killers surrounding her main target.


    Mr. Huang Chen. A very naughty man who probably thought his clockwork routine of arriving at the restaurant''s back office by 8 a.m. sharp made him look diligent.


    Today, it was his downfall. She''d paid a hacker for days of surveillance footage, analysed his patterns. The fool probably believed his internal cameras kept him safe.


    Since meeting Peril and diving into Rain City''s underbelly, Lucy trusted nothing connected to the ‘Net. Her hot-shot paid hacker Hellball might have had the simply stupidest name Lucy had ever heard in her months working the shadows of Seattle; but he was damn effective.


    At 8 am, Mr Chen arrived. Five guards. One stayed with the car, two flanked the Chinese restaurant entrance, one headed to the kitchen to prep breakfast, the last — always the same one — ascended to the back office with the boss.


    No cameras in the office, unfortunately. Mr. Chen enjoyed a quiet breakfast brought up by the kitchen-bound guard, then by 9 am was out collecting debts.


    A loan shark and an extortionist. Ugly combination that made him plenty of enemies. Today, he''d meet a very public end.


    She waited until the guards settled by the entrance, counted to ten, then stepped out. The street was nearly empty—a few homeless souls tucked away. Couldn''t be helped. The cameras would be down; Hellball had seen to that.


    There were other ways to handle this. She didn''t need this job. It was black work — a mercenary hit, as dark as it gets.


    Lucy had chosen this job though. It was straight out wetwork. But the target was a legitimate bad-guy surrounded by killers. She’d sleep sound tonight without regrets.


    Is this how Lioncourt had started out? A spiral of justifications, she considered,as she passed the hood of the armoured car.


    Lucy noticed the driver smoking, window down. All as usual. He chatted casually with the guards. So unprofessional. She could almost hear Lioncourt''s mocking tone: Tellement peu professionnel.


    An open armoured window, guards distracted, and they let a lone small woman approach unchecked. Hood down. Hell, Lucy was even wearing a ballistic facemask deep under the hood. Warning flags should have been waved by that at least. Too sloppy.


    She activated her ReflexArc-X to fifty percent — not even maxed. As she moved, she confirmed each face against the bounty database. Triad gangsters, all with death sentences according to her datapads. Multiple murders each—the driver had the least with five.


    She spun smoothly — a brief blur to any outside observer, which probably meant only Phran Ying. Three suppressed shots cracked like distant firecrackers. Subsonic ammo and heavy suppressors couldn''t mask the sound entirely.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Her gun link painted targets over their foreheads at less than seven feet. They didn''t have time to reach for weapons or register surprise. Their bodies crumpled almost simultaneously.


    Lucy didn''t pause. She slipped into the restaurant, reflexes dialling back only slightly after the brief spike.


    She drew the razor-sharp Ka-Bar from its sheath across her back—the one she''d kept since the club fight. This next one needed to be silent. She suspected the kitchen guard might have enhancements.


    She needn''t have worried. The large, older gangster was engrossed in cooking, a pan sizzling as he hummed along to a tinny radio.


    No mercy, no hesitation. A face quick scan against the bounty database confirmed six murders, a rape, other felonies. A happy, humming killer.


    She closed the distance in less than a heartbeat. The knife plunged into the back of his skull, the blade sinking to the hilt. He dropped without a sound. If he’d had enhancements, as Lucy had suspected, none had alerted him and he’d been caught completely surprised.


    She extracted the knife with both effort and a practiced twist.


    Phran Ying had orders to follow a minute behind, start processing the bounties. Lucy had limited her to four claims. No need to drag someone else down paths she''d walked before.


    She ascended the stairs quietly—one flight, a ninety-degree turn.


    Damn. The final guard was descending, gun in hand, just as she rounded the corner. Neither expected the other.


    Both enhanced. Time dilated.


    Her Bullet-Rzor AI calculated probabilities and had her reacting before she even realised it had moved her. Her left hand snapped out, slapping the gangster’s gun aside as she twisted left. Her body moved with uncanny grace, a dance of survival.


    Her own weapon barked from her right hand, muzzle flashes strobing the narrow stairwell.


    A sledgehammer hit her right shoulder—armour absorbing most of it. But she''d feel that later.


    Credit to his skill and cyberware; he managed to get a shot off.


    Red-lining her systems now, she saw him moving sluggishly in comparison. Her bullets stitched upward—chest, throat, face. His features disintegrated under the onslaught.


    No time to hesitate. She was up the final few stairs and through the office door in a fluid motion.


    Mr. Chen was just reacting to the stairwell gunfire. Eyes wide. Lucy''s ears still rang from the confined blasts. Temporarily deaf. But it didn''t matter.


    Three more silenced shots ended it.


    No waiting, no slowing. She connected her datalink to his terminal — lucky he hadn''t closed it.


    She jammed a remote connector into the offline office system. Mr. Chen had kept his records off the ‘Net, paranoid enough for that.


    Why so careful with his data but lax with cameras? She''d never know. People did stupid things sometimes with their security systems. Lucy had come across sloppy set-ups like this far too many times now to question it anymore.


    A signal from her hacker — Hellball, the ridiculous name made her half-smile every time — meant he was in.


    Multiple ways to handle this, but Lucy chose thoroughness. Hellball would wipe the data; she''d slag the hardware with a device that would fry the terminals components.


    Maybe Mr Chen had backups, a cloud server somewhere. Couldn''t account for everything. The client mainly wanted him dead. All his data being burnt away was a secondary objective.


    She descended the stairs. Her shoulder throbbed—a dull ache setting in. According to her internal clock, Phran Ying was still thirty seconds from the front door.


    She powered down the ReflexArc-X to it’s lowest ready-state settings. The flood of AI predictive reactions and auto-choices scrolling in her eyeline slowed to a crawl while her muscles started to relax. She exited the restaurant as Phran Ying began scanning the driver''s eye for the bounty claim.


    Without a word, she walked away. Their post-op rendezvous was pre-arranged. Without Aurum''s laundering network, the payment would be in cash from the young Thai woman. Not ideal for Phran Ying if she got tax audited, but she''d agreed anyway.


    Ten minutes and several blocks later, they sat on a park bench near a coffee shop overlooking Judkins Skatepark. Phran Ying''s eyes were a bit too wide for Lucy''s liking — still riding the adrenaline.


    Damn, Lucy thought, as she felt the need for a good coffee pine at her. I really want to ask how you know Lioncourt. A fatuous question at this point, post-op. But she couldn’t deny just wanting to know.


    The Thai woman slipped her an envelope. Lucy pocketed it smoothly.


    "You should get a Fixer who can launder the cuts better," Lucy said, eyes on the skaters weaving through concrete bowls. "I can recommend someone."


    Phran Ying''s voice was steady, her American accent crisp — a contrast to her delicate Thai features. Lucy had stupidly expected broken English. Another misconception. More assumptions on her part. "That''s very kind of you," she replied politely.


    They sat in silence for a moment.


    "Mind if I ask you a personal question?" Lucy ventured. She knew with her mask and hood she might seem intimidating. Phran Ying seemed a bit skittish. Maybe the killing had rattled her. Not ideal for the job spec of a Clean.


    "Go ahead," Phran Ying said, nodding.


    "How do you know Lioncourt?"


    A slight smile touched the woman''s lips. "I do some security work for a place Mr. Lioncourt frequents. He''s a good customer, never any trouble with the girls. Helped me out once with a rowdy situation."


    Lucy studied her. At barely her own five-three and slighter than herself, it was hard to picture Phran Ying as muscle in an ‘establishment’. But she didn''t comment.


    "May I keep your number?" Lucy asked. "You do good work."


    Phran Ying seemed pleased. "Sure."


    They lapsed into silence again.


    Lucy considered offering a smile, but with her mask on, it wouldn''t be seen. She decided it was time to leave.


    As Lucy walked away, rain starting to fall again, she couldn''t shake the feeling that Lioncourt had orchestrated more than just a recommendation. Manipulator indeed.


    *


    The sun dipped toward the horizon casting a golden glow over the treetops. Lethanda stood at the edge of the Forest feeling the cool breeze brush against her skin like a whispered promise. The scent of pine and rich earth filled the air as she knelt to build the campfire. Her fingers deftly arranging kindling and logs with practiced ease.


    Nearby Pakhet paced lightly. Her boots barely making a sound on the soft ground. She glanced into the shadowed depths between the trees. "You know," she began, a hint of nervous laughter in her voice, "they say the Forest is where overconfident adventurers go to become humble legends."


    Lethanda smiled softly. The fire sparking to life before her. "That used to be the case," she mused. "But many have travelled these paths since then. The Forest''s mysteries aren''t as unforgiving as they once were."


    She looked over at Hrimfang, Pakhet''s sleek snow leopard, lounging calmly beside her. "A good ranger with a solid bow and a companion like Hrimfang should do just fine."


    Unspoken between them was the knowledge that Lethanda, adorned in armour woven from myth and wielding a legendary bow, would never let Pakhet face danger alone. One arrow from her quiver could fell beasts’ others dared not confront.


    "Can I ask you something about being a Ranger?" Pakhet''s voice broke the comfortable silence.


    Lethanda nodded, settling closer to the warm glow of the flames. "Always."


    "Are we forces for good? Noble, even?" Pakhet hesitated, her gaze fixed on the dancing fire. "I mean, we''re tasked with killing orcs and goblins in this Forest. But are we doing the right thing?"


    Lethanda looked up at the emerging stars, their light piercing the twilight.


    "Only the biggest questions for such a beautiful night," she replied with a gentle chuckle. She pulled out some dried meat and began assembling a simple stew over the fire.


    "I''ve wandered these lands," she said after a moment, the aroma of cooking filling the air. "Taken on quests here and in places far beyond." She stirred the pot thoughtfully.


    "Nobility is a complex word. It''s easy to cast ourselves as heroes without considering the weight of our actions. The fact that you''re questioning it means you''re already wise beyond your years."


    Pakhet offered a faint smile. "I just can''t shake the feeling that there''s more to it."


    "I''ve struggled with this myself," Lethanda admitted, adding a pinch of herbs to the stew. The steam curled upward carrying with it memories she''d rather forget. "I''ve made choices... some not so noble."


    She paused, her voice softening. "I''ve killed without remorse. Without regret. Criticised others for taking justice into their own hands, called them murderers even. Swore I''d never be like them."


    Pakhet watched her intently.


    "And yet," Lethanda continued, gazing into the depths of the Forest, "I''ve found myself doing the same. Creating my own rules. My own justice."


    She turned to Pakhet. "Tell me, which quest do you find most noble among those you have here?"


    Pakhet shrugged lightly. "That''s easy. Killing twelve goblins. The farmer at the North Farm was attacked. We''re helping reduce the goblin raids that have been terrorising his family."


    Lethanda nodded slowly. "Yes. They raided his farm, stole his crops. Made his life dangerous."


    "Exactly," Pakhet said firmly. "We''re bringing him justice."


    "Or are we simply killers?" Lethanda''s eyes met Pakhet''s. "We frame it as a noble act, but at the end of the day, we''re taking lives. The farmer feels safer, yes. But consider why he''s turned to us. The local law has failed him so utterly that he doesn''t even seek their help anymore."


    Pakhet frowned. "So - what are you saying? That we shouldn''t help?"


    "We''ve become the law," Lethanda replied quietly. "We decide who''s evil and act accordingly. No trials. No mercy." Unbidden, her thoughts drifted to Mr. Chen — the man she''d eliminated without hesitation. The five faceless guards along the way, she’d dismissed them as unrepentant killers. Necessary, perhaps, but was it just?


    She began ladling the stew into bowls, handing one to Pakhet. The rich scent of the meal mingled with the crisp night air.


    "But goblins are evil," Pakhet insisted, blowing gently on her stew. "They live to commit evil acts."


    "Perhaps that''s our saving grace from these troubling thoughts," Lethanda said with a soft smile. "I''ve travelled long and hard, and you''re right. I''ve yet to meet a goblin, orc, or troll who wasn''t irredeemably violent or evil in this world."


    She took a slow sip, savouring the warmth. "But what if we did? What if tomorrow we met a goblin who was different? Peaceful. Helpful, even."


    Pakhet looked thoughtful. "I suppose... that would change things."


    "I''ve killed so many," Lethanda murmured. "I sleep at night because I''ve built a world in my mind where I''m the hero, fighting against darkness. Against an unfair world. But what if I''m wrong? What if some didn''t deserve their fate?"


    Silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling fire and the soft sounds of Hati and Hrimfang enjoying their portions.


    After a while, Pakhet spoke. "So - what''s the answer?"


    Lethanda leaned back, eyes gazing into the vast expanse of stars. Memories of distant battles and faces pressed against her thoughts. "If you find it, please tell me," she whispered. "I''ve seen much, done much, but that answer still escapes me."


    She felt a dampness on her cheek. Tears? But Lethanda didn''t cry. Not here. The emotion was real, seeping in from the world beyond the game.


    Lucy felt the tears on her own face, the weight of her actions both virtual and real intertwining.


    "But that''s what friends are for, right?" Pakhet''s voice was gentle, pulling her back. "To help us find our way."


    Lethanda turned to her, curiosity piqued. "How do you mean?"


    "Your guild, your companions," Pakhet said, a soft smile playing on her lips. "They keep you grounded? Help you stay on the right path? Like your mentorship for me? Helping to keep me on the path of righteousness."


    "You''re not wrong," Lethanda acknowledged, a hint of warmth returning to her voice. "The people we surround ourselves with shape who we become."


    "Exactly," Pakhet grinned. "So maybe together, we can figure it out."


    Lethanda chuckled softly. "Perhaps we can."


    They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation giving way to the simple pleasure of shared company.


    "Well," Pakhet stretched, stifling a yawn. "Big day tomorrow. Orcs and trolls won''t slay themselves."


    Lethanda smiled. "True enough. We should rest."


    As they settled into their bedrolls, the sounds of the night enveloped them—the rustling leaves, distant hoots of owls, the steady breathing of their companions.


    "Goodnight, Lethanda," Pakhet whispered.


    "Goodnight, Pakhet."


    But sleep didn''t come easily. Lucy lay there, the lines between her and Lethanda blurring. Surround yourself with good influences... she thought. But have I?


    She felt the tears again, the reality of her choices pressing in. The people she worked with, the things she''d done—they weighed on her more heavily than any in-game quest.


    She missed Ceri’s voice. What would Ceri have said about her taking wetwork contracts now? Killing for money and profit? Choosing who lived and died.


    With Lioncourt, Peril and Aurum it was pure nonchalance, a natural progression if anything for them in her journey into Seattle’s shadows.


    Ceri would have been horrified; Lucy knew. More importantly, Lucy would have been too just a year ago. Despite their friendship she still regarded Lioncourt as a probable sociopath in a fashionable suit, a mass-murderer, a killer without remorse.


    She was suddenly acutely pained that maybe the only remaining difference between them both was body-count size. Lucy’s eyes, already closed hard, tightened further at the unwanted thought.


    "I need a break," she whispered into the darkness.


    Logging out, the game faded, and she was back in Peril’s loft, lying on the couch. The soft hum of the city outside the window was a stark contrast to the serene forest she''d just left.


    She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. A fifteen-minute bio-break to collect her thoughts, to process the emotions stirred by a simple conversation in a virtual world.


    "Get it together," she told herself softly.