Karauro sat on the cot, staring into the cracked mirror like it was daring him to blink first.

  “Benched.” Whren’s word still burned.

  No infection. No serious injuries—this time. Lenios hadn’t left anything visible, but Val Sahara’s crimson gaze did. Being held like a mistake in front of Unit 7… in front of Nera.

  Karauro dragged a nail over his thumb until his pulse steadied.

  If he was going to be sidelined, he’d make himself a target no one dared touch.

  ---

  Spores cloaked the ruins even in daylight, thickening and thinning near hive zones—patterns Karauro tracked with data shards Dalton had slipped him.

  Rain hammered his Nexon-suit on a rooftop outpost site. A long gray drill chewed into concrete beside a beacon rig. Below the roof access, a stairwell dropped into dead apartment units.

  Liam—late 40s, cowboy hat, respirator, grey beard—sat on a hard case watching the readout.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  Karauro glanced over. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t wander.” Liam didn’t look up. “I’m not babysitting you, brat.”

  Karauro scoffed. “Good. I’m not here to watch an old dust clock either.”

  He turned and headed for the stairwell before the argument could grow teeth.

  ---

  The hallway below was dim, stale—spore dust clinging to corners like rot. Karauro kept his rifle tight to his shoulder. His HUD painted a single orange dot behind a half-open door.

  Then he heard it.

  A voice—broken, distorted—trying to sound human.

  “Dust… dust… old like you…”

  Karauro’s stomach tightened.

  He shoved the door open. His flashlight cut through the dark.

  A small pale figure twitched and snapped its human-shaped head toward him—grey skin, black veins, ragged jeans hanging off thin legs. Dozens of ember-like eyes glimmered like a Ripper’s, too many for something that small.

  A stinger coiled out from an opening in its abdomen.

  Karauro didn’t freeze.

  He fired. Anti-Griever rounds punched through it until it shrieked—then imploded into wet fragments.

  Doesn’t matter how you look.

  I’m done locking up.

  And if it can copy voices now… the hives are learning.

  ---

  Karauro climbed back onto the roof.

  Liam eyed the ichor splattered across Karauro’s suit. “What Spine trains kids?”

  “No,” Karauro said. “That’s just me.”

  The beacon flashed green. Karauro slung the carbon case over his shoulder.

  Liam’s mouth twitched like he found something amusing he didn’t want to admit. “Dalton said you were an odd one.”

  “For a hermit, he talks a lot,” Karauro shot back.

  Liam tapped his comm. “I’ve got a proposition. Outpost hopping. I spoke to Argos—private channel. He said it’s up to you.”

  Karauro didn’t hesitate.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Liam watched the decisive nod like he’d expected it the whole time.

  ---

  Taking the first contract meant Karauro went dark.

  Outpost to outpost. Sleeping in shifts. Moving when it was safe… moving when it wasn’t. No callsigns. No chatter. No trail that could be followed back to Spine.

  The room Karauro had finally claimed stayed empty. Nera passed it more than she admitted, hoping—just once—to catch him inside.

  But the door stayed shut.

  The air stayed still.

  His tools gathered dust.

  ---

  A Ripper slammed into the street, swiping at a building—missing Nera by a breath as her thrusters kicked her sideways.

  Positioning snapped into place:

  Nera was front-left, drawing it.

  Roy and Illene were on the flanks, turrets chewing into its centipede-like legs until it staggered.

  Nera hurled a grenade into its mouth. The blast left the creature limp, ichor steaming, cooked rot crawling through the air.

  Across the street—a second Ripper crackled with red electricity near a breached storefront.

  Taron had opened a gap in its side earlier.

  Cleo was aiming into that breach.

  Aaron was forced low, arms already damaged, trying to get clear.

  Riven was on comms, calling the discharge timing.

  “Cleo, move! It’s discharging again!” Riven snapped.

  Nera boosted hard.

  Damn it— I won’t make it—

  Two unmarked carbon Nexon-suits surged in from the right—not Spine-marked.

  One hooked Cleo by the harness and yanked her back as red arcs snapped across the ground where she’d been.

  The other fired ghost grenades from a modded assist rifle. Fog swallowed half the street, cutting the Ripper’s line-of-sight and scrambling angles.

  Through the haze, Liam strode like he owned the weather.

  Beside him were his two outpost-hopper men—Earl and Devon—moving like hired muscle who’d done this too many times.

  And then Nera saw the third figure.

  Scarlet-carbon plating—Spine-grade. Too clean. Too deliberate.

  Liam called out, voice easy. “Don’t worry. Let loose now—just try to restrain yourself. Have at it, mutt.”

  Nera ignited her cleaver blade and launched—too late realizing the altered Ripper was about to discharge on impact.

  A snare wire snapped out.

  It yanked her back—timed between discharges—into the scarlet-carbon soldier’s grip. Tight. Controlled. Like muscle memory.

  Nera’s eyes tracked the wire to his wrist.

  “Argos, I’ve sent backup to your coordinates, Unit 7,” came a voice over comms.

  “Yeah,” Liam answered. “We made it. Mutt’s impatient as always.”

  The scarlet-carbon soldier released Nera and walked toward the altered Ripper like it was already dead.

  Red arcs webbed the air. He used boot thrusters to slip between them, snapped a wire onto one of the Ripper’s long spikes, and used the pull to sling himself into a safer line—clean and efficient.

  Nera attacked. Blade buzzing.

  Without a word, the soldier matched her movement like he’d trained under her rhythm before.

  The Ripper swiped. Nera braced with her cybernetic left arm and carved—severing a limb as it sizzled and sprayed ichor.

  She palmed a grenade and threw it into its mouth. The blast tore the jaw wider. Teeth clattered out like debris.

  The scarlet-carbon soldier fired his snare into the gaping wound.

  Nera’s brow knit. Why would he—

  He rode the wire straight into the creature’s mouth and vanished inside.

  A heartbeat later, the altered Ripper froze—twitched—then collapsed hard enough to shake dust loose from the nearby walls.

  “Of course he would,” Liam muttered, snaring himself toward the corpse.

  Orange light pulsed from a rear breach—Taron’s earlier opening.

  The scarlet-carbon soldier crawled out, dripping with ichor like he’d swum through a nightmare and didn’t care who saw.

  ---

  They returned to Spine under humming haulers and lower-bay haze.

  Earl and Devon peeled off their helmets first—laughing too loud as they headed back to their rig. Liam followed, unbothered.

  The scarlet-carbon soldier didn’t linger.

  He went straight for the med-bay.

  Nera’s cybernetic arm buzzed faintly—as if the metal was picking up a signal her flesh couldn’t hear.

  “Viper,” Whren called without looking up. “Your meds are here. If you don’t take them, I’ll feed them to the rats.”

  Aaron glanced at Nera. “We’ve got help now. Just keep that chrome maintained.”

  Nera didn’t answer. Her thoughts stayed stuck on the same problem.

  A figure who vanished without a word.

  ---

  Whren’s clipboard tapped once. “Yeah. That’s the face he used to wear. Funny how it’s reversed now.” She glanced at Nera’s arm. “Hurting again?”

  “That’s usually my line,” Nera muttered.

  Whren handed over the pills.

  Nera’s gaze snagged on a camera feed.

  Mid-level outer walkway—broken steps, familiar rail, Ruins stretching beyond the Spine walls like an open wound.

  A hooded figure sat on the steps with a cup he didn’t seem interested in drinking. Rey leaned nearby, laughing at something he’d said. The figure shrugged—small, lazy.

  Nera’s chest tightened.

  Whren followed her stare. “Ah. Ghost boy.” A smirk. “Rey’s my human camera. Go see if the gossip’s true.”

  Nera was already moving.

  ---

  The door hissed shut behind Rey, leaving Nera with wind and the figure on the broken steps.

  Up close, the hood didn’t hide much: longer hair tied back loose. New scars—one across his right cheek, another split at his lower lip. His eyes were sharper now. Deliberate. Like something in him had gone quiet.

  “Karauro,” Nera said.

  He stilled, then turned. A small, almost lazy smile tugged at his mouth.

  “What’s up, Viper.”

  The nickname hit wrong.

  “You vanish for months,” Nera said, stepping closer, “and that’s what you open with? Roy stopped getting calls. Your room’s dust. Unit 7’s out there dragging people back while you’re—”

  Karauro looked down at his cup. His thumb traced the rim once.

  “Don’t,” Nera warned. “Not that.”

  Wind pulled at his hood. He didn’t fix it.

  “You were there today,” she said, lower. “In that scarlet-carbon suit. You yanked me with a snare like it was nothing—then you stayed silent.”

  His thumb paused.

  “Why?”

  Karauro looked past the rail toward the Ruins. “Because Monarch listens.”

  Nera’s jaw tightened. “What.”

  “We ran into a runner two outposts back,” he said. “He wasn’t hunting cores—he was pulling data. Tags. Names.” His eyes flicked back to her. “He said ‘Karauro’ like it was a keycode.”

  Nera’s anger snapped. “So you cut me out.”

  “If you knew, you’d make noise,” he said flat. “Argue with Argos. Pull Unit 7 into it.” A beat. “Monarch doesn’t need much noise to follow.”

  Nera held his stare—then it shifted. Not gone, but altered.

  “And if they trace you?” she asked.

  “They don’t just come for me,” Karauro said. “They come for home.”

  Nera’s breath hitched once.

  Karauro watched her like he expected the explosion.

  Instead, she looked away, jaw working like she was swallowing something bitter.

  “So what now?” she asked, quieter.

  His shoulders eased a fraction. “Now I stay.”

  Nera blinked.

  “With Spine,” he added. “With Unit 7.” A pause—small, dangerous. “With you.”

  The words slipped out clean, like he hadn’t measured them first.

  For a second, Nera forgot what she was supposed to feel. Warmth hit her cheeks under the cold wind and she hated that it surprised her.

  Karauro’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he realized how it sounded a heartbeat too late.

  Nera cleared her throat, metal fingers flexing once. “Don’t say it like that.”

  He tilted his head. “Like what?”

  She didn’t answer.

  ---

  Down in the lower bay, engines idled while lights flickered against steel and grime.

  Liam stood near his hauler with Earl and Devon, already half-turned toward the gate like they were always leaving. Dalton hovered by a console. Whren watched Karauro the way a doctor watched a patient who kept walking out mid-treatment.

  Argos stepped off the catwalk in his long coat—no suit, no helmet. Just command.

  “Report,” Argos said.

  Liam tipped his hat like it was a joke. “Kept your people alive. Kept him alive.” His gaze slid to Karauro. “Returning your problem intact.”

  A couple snorts slipped out from Unit 7—Aaron included—before they remembered where they were.

  Argos didn’t smile. “He was always mine.”

  Liam’s tone stayed casual, but his eyes sharpened. “Just don’t say his name too loud. Monarch’s got ears everywhere. Runners too. They’re sniffing for anything that sticks.”

  The bay went quieter.

  Argos’ gaze shifted. “Whren—full check. Dalton—scrub external traces.” Then to Unit 7: “Restock. We move before dawn.”

  Engines answered like they were relieved to have orders.

  Liam climbed into his cab. As his hauler rolled toward the gate, he lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.

  “Try not to break him.”

  The gate sealed with a heavy hiss.

  And somewhere beyond the Spine walls, the Ruins waited—already awake, already hungry.

  Think it was right for Karauro to accept Liam's contract? Leave Spine for few months?