The rain hammered the windows of Drake Cipher’s office, drumming a steady beat against the glass. Neon lights from the city below bled through the darkened room, casting long shadows over his cluttered desk. 

Drake stared at the glass of synth-whiskey in his hand, swirling it slowly, his mind lost in old memories when his holo-comm flared to life.

A familiar voice crackled through the haze of static. Raze, an old contact—a netrunner who had once pulled Drake out of a corporate noose—was on the other end. The man sounded tense, paranoid. He claimed he’d found a vulnerability in ZeroCorp’s impenetrable security grid, something big enough to topple the corporation.  

 “I’m being watched,” Raze whispered through the feed. “You need to meet me at The Rusty Blade. Hurry.”

Drake’s grip tightened around the glass. Raze was a ghost in the digital underworld, but even ghosts weren’t safe in Neon Haven. 

If he was calling, it meant ZeroCorp was closing in, and fast. This was the break Drake had been waiting for, but something about the desperation in Raze’s voice gnawed at him. Still, he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his coat and headed for the lower levels of the city.

—

The Rusty Blade was nestled in the decaying underbelly of Neon Haven, where the air tasted like rust and the neon lights barely reached. 

The place was a relic of the past, crawling with a mix of cyber-enhanced mercenaries, down-on-their-luck smugglers, and hackers looking for a quick deal. Inside, the heavy scent of synthetic tobacco and sweat clung to the air, the low pulse of synth music drowning out the muttered conversations.

Drake moved through the crowd, his sharp eyes scanning every face, every corner. No sign of Raze. He approached the bar and asked the surly bartender if he had seen anyone matching the description. 

The man grunted and shook his head, uninterested. Drake was about to press further when his holo-scanner beeped softly on his wrist.

A distorted voice echoed in his ear: Raze. The feed was grainy, garbled, but the message was clear enough. “Alley behind the bar… follow the AR trail…”

Drake glanced over his shoulder. His instincts flared—someone was watching him. But in a place like this, that wasn’t unusual. He slipped out the back, stepping into the rain-soaked alley.

—

The alley was dim, and rain cascaded off the metal rooftops above like sheets of liquid neon. Drake’s cybernetic eyes flickered to life, scanning the city’s AR layer. Faint distortions appeared in his vision, like breadcrumbs leading deeper into the maze of alleys.

He followed the trail, each clue more cryptic than the last—flashes of ZeroCorp logos, scattered security codes. This wasn’t just a trail, it was a warning. Raze had known they were close.

Halfway down the alley, a low whine hummed in the air. Drake’s eyes caught a glint of chrome. A ZeroCorp drone hovered just above his head, scanning the alley. Drake’s breath caught. 

He reached for his cybernetic arm, the whir of gears silent as he activated the embedded hacking tool. A few keystrokes, a flicker of data streams, and the drone blinked out of existence, crashing to the ground with a dull thud.

But the drone wasn’t the only sign of trouble. The AR trail led him deeper into the alley, where a final message appeared on his holo-scanner, red and pulsing.

“They know you’re coming.”

His stomach twisted. It had been a trap all along.

—

The alley narrowed into a dead end. The rain pooled at his feet as a flicker of light shimmered before him. A holographic projection materialized in the rain-soaked air—a face, his face.

Drake stared at his own image, distorted and shifting in the projection. Below it, a corporate bounty tag flashed in bold letters:  

“Priority Target: Drake Cipher. Alive or Dead.”  

The price on his head was astronomical.

The realization hit him like a shockwave. Raze hadn’t disappeared—he had been taken. The AR trail, the cryptic messages, it had all been designed to lure Drake into the open. ZeroCorp had known he was getting close to uncovering their secrets, and this was their warning. 

They weren’t just after him anymore—they were ready to put the full weight of their corporate power behind taking him down.

For a moment, Drake just stood there, rain dripping from his coat as he stared at his own bounty, the neon reflections of the city dancing in the puddles around him. After years of hiding, of playing in the shadows, ZeroCorp had finally decided to flush him out.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. A shift in the shadows at the alley’s edge. Two corporate enforcers stepped forward, their black armor gleaming under the rain. They moved with precision, weapons drawn. The trap had closed.

—

Drake’s mind raced. There were no options left but to fight. With a quick motion, he reached out, his cybernetic arm extending toward a nearby power conduit. His fingers crackled with energy as he hacked into the system, triggering a localized EMP blast.

The air sizzled as the enforcers’ tech fizzled, their visors going dark. In the moment of confusion, Drake moved. His heavy revolver was in his hand before they could react. Two shots, precise and final. The enforcers dropped.

But Drake was already moving. Injured, adrenaline surging, he fled back into the neon-lit maze of the city, his heart pounding with the knowledge that his fight with ZeroCorp was far from over. 

They had declared war. And now, it wasn’t just him against them—it was him against the whole corporate machine. He was no longer just a hunter; he was the hunted.

As Drake melted into the shadows, his coat trailing behind him in the rain, he whispered to himself,  “They know I’m coming? Good. I’ll be ready.”

The End

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