43. RescueMission
RescueMission
Playlist: Midnight - Caravan Palace
Lyra
Night falls like a curtain over the city that never sleeps.
I jack into GameNet through the new door I created earlier this afternoon, nervous energy proving to be useful for once in my life. Eli is set to meet me here, a rare stroke of luck I was able to bleed into the security system and tell him to meet me tonight.
He was confident he could get around Vikktor’s containment and access GameNet. I reassured him I would try to get him out through the game, but I failed to mention anyone else’s help. Especially Kael’s.
Everyone else is seated in the chairs around the central console. In unison, they twist their DreamBands, readying to take the door to GameNet.
I also step through. The world unfolds before me as usual. The lab drops away, and the GameNet door swallows us whole in a way that feels like being slipped into a bad dream.
This month’s skin is awe inspiring: Vintage 1920s Prohibition, a city as it was, but added neon and circuitry. A perfect postcard of cyber tinged opulence. Jazz swirls from every doorway. Kael will love that whiskey flows through every underground club filled with U21s looking for trouble.
I bloom into the simulation underneath a sign flickering dimly: The Green Gunner.
GameNet has draped me in something I might’ve chosen if I were from the era: a gown of silver fringe that shimmers with every breath, iridescent like prisms catching light.
My hair is wavy and sleek against my jaw, but on the ends, faint threads of magenta still shimmer, a nod to the magic beneath my skin.
Ember is the first to take shape beside me, her flaming red hair curled into 1920s waves, pinned beneath a jeweled headband.
She’s wearing a black satin flapper dress that glitters with pixel sequins.
Her hemline is scandalously high for the time and perfectly suits her small frame.
Her bright eyes are ringed with kohl, dangerous and sultry, a femme fatale stepping out of a dystopian noir reel.
Kael emerges next, and I’m forced to catch my breath.
Tall and dark against the haze, his pinstripe suit hugs his frame, black with subtle silver threads that pulse faintly like circuits.
His tie is blood red, knotted with precision, and a trench coat flares around his legs as though the shadows are hugging them.
He doesn’t look like he belongs in the 1920s, he looks like the decade was created for him.
Stars help me.
Ash, naturally, leans into the aesthetic like it’s written for him.
Fedora tipped low, suspenders loose over a white shirt rolled at the sleeves, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
The tip glows neon blue instead of red. His guitar has shifted into a tommy gun slung over his back, and a coin spins between his fingers.
“Told you.” He flicks the brim of the fedora. “Damn good.”
His jaw drops when he spots Ember. “Hellooooo, gorgeous...” He moves in, shortening the distance between them.
And then Jett. Of all of us, he fits the simulation best, like it’s been waiting for his arrival. A three-piece suit of obsidian wool, vest buttoned tight, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. A pocket watch glows faintly neon in his hand, chain draped across his chest.
Where Kael is raw power and Ash is chaos, Jett is sheer perfection. Like a period-correct mob boss who just gives a look to signal his boys to kill everyone in the room.
At our sides weapons materialize. Tommy guns, the weapon of choice for the decade but laced with futuristic detail.
Their barrels glow faint neon blue, heat vents pulsing like lungs.
The bullets leave trails of electric light.
Kael discharges his into the sky above with a boyish look of mischief and mayhem.
Ash whistles, running a hand down the barrel of his. “Well”—his grin is crooked—“looks like prohibition just got interesting.”
We move as a practiced team. The speakeasy’s double doors groan open with a jazz riff spilling out like liquid heat.
Inside, the simulation bathes the room in crimson light; musicians on stage sway in time, though the sax player’s fingers occasionally loop and blur before catching up to the beat.
U21s crowd around small tables, their laughter low, their drinks glowing faintly against the shadowed room.
Ember checks the additional band around her wrist. It resembles a diamond bangle but displays the time. She’s our alarm. She’ll give us a countdown to make sure we’re not coming in too close to TheKast and that we’re out before we trip any alarms.
Ash tips his fedora low, cigarette flickering, and slides an arm around her waist. “We look like trouble,” he murmurs, voice dripping with charm.
“Correction,” Ember shoots back, “you look like trouble. I look hot.”
Behind them, Kael is well...Kael. He doesn’t need to act. His presence alone dominates the simulation, U21s parting to give him room. He adjusts his trench coat, scanning exits and angles like he’s been trained to do.
I try not to stare at him, as his silhouette cuts through the smoke. I can feel every nerve buzzing with energy. What he does to me is devastating, attraction and repulsion colliding head-on.
Jett moves. The hush that falls when he walks to a booth isn’t coded, it’s pure him. U21s glance his way as though they’ve just recognized a dangerous gangster from the most wanted posters. “Ash, he’s close. You picking him up?”
Ash closes his eyes and listens for tones in the music. “Eli’s just pinged outside.”
“Front door. Two o’clock. Lyra, go grab him, and we’ll be in a private booth.” Kael tips his chin to where Jett is sitting.
At the back, the booth glows with a darker hue, welcoming all of us to sit.
“Eli!” I motion to him. Seeing him again takes my breath away, even in simulation.
He doesn’t look well. He’s too thin and lifeless.
The game has outfitted him in black pants, a black vest, and a crisp white shirt.
Black threads of void wrap his arms in pixelated knots.
A paperboy cap sits atop his dark hair. His face is still young but broken, pupils diluted into ebony wells, not his usual violet.
He looks like a fuse ready to blow.
I move and hug him. “Eli, it’s me,” I whisper. “We’re safe here. We’re going to get you away from Vikktor. Please trust me.” I lead him over to the booth.
“We?” He looks at me, and then the gang. Confusion crosses his brows, traces of fear on his face. “What are they doing here? And how are you even here?” His words are tense. It’s already not going well.
The room tilts. The plan was simple on paper but delicate like glass in the details. We need him to trust the simulation and believe that we’re here to help. That belief is the key.
Kael speaks up first. “Eli, we’re here to help.” Smart choice of words, but from the wrong person.
The chandeliers flicker violet. The musicians falter, sound distorting for a beat before snapping back. My stomach twists. I’ve known his warning flares for years. Eli is already beginning to spiral.
Kael notices right away and swears under his breath, pulling me back behind his arm.
“Not you.” He snaps and points to Kael. His gaze jerks toward the booth where Ash, Ember, and Jett are on the edge of their seats, ready to act.
Jett stands slowly, the picture of calm authority, and extends his hand to Eli. The pocket watch chain across his chest glows a faint maroon as his magic hums beneath the surface. His voice is steady.
“Eli, I’m Jett Novarre, leader of the U21 rebels. Kael speaks the truth. We’re here to get you away from Vikktor. You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me take it.” He clasps both hands around Eli’s.
Clearly, Jett is making the decision to speed things up.
“No! If you touch me, you’ll take everything.” He snaps his hand back. “You’ll kill me. Kill Lyra. You’re all the same. All of you.”
My heart drops. I can hear Ash humming low chords to provide Eli with a calming vibration.
“No, they’re my friends, Eli. Something happened that night they took you.
” I touch his arm tenderly. “I’m not dead, just my body is.
You know that from finding me, but I’m inside the VikkCorp system somehow. Trapped just like you.”
“This is crazy.” His voided eyes pulse. “They’re holding me in a cell. Some sort of containment chamber that’s supposed to block my magic. It’s not working but I can’t seem to get out. I’ve tried everything.”
“We know.” I motion to Jett. “Jett is coming to get you. You need to go with him. But first, I need you to put this on.” I hand him the hacked DreamNet band.
“Why?” He takes two steps back, suspicion written all over his face. The chandeliers above crackle violet again. “Why would I wear the same thing they used to trap you, Lyra?”
“Because it’s the only way out.” I press. “The only way to sync this rescue to your body without triggering another surge or being found out. Trust me, Eli, this isn’t a trap.”
His jaw flexes in thought. His eyes dart from me to Kael to Jett. The void in him pulses harder, a faint echo trembling in the walls of the speakeasy, bottles rattling behind the bar. “Easy for you to say, Lyra. You’re not the one strapped to a bed upstairs, being drained like a fucking battery.”
“Eli.” My voice sharpens. “Please.”
Ember checks her watch. But before she can speak, the void lashes out. The DreamNet band seizes, barely powering up.
His own words come out of his mouth in a distorted echo: “They’re lying to you.”
The air warps. Eli clutches his head, eyes blazing black and violet. “I can’t. Don’t make me...”
Kael swears. “Dammit, Jett, now!”
Jett lunges, his hand glowing faintly with that strange, soul-reaving power. The moment he brushes Eli’s shoulder, his image splinters. Eli screams. Every light in the bar shatters into neon shards. The walls ripple like water, and the speakeasy collapses into raw static.
I put both arms around him. “No. I have you. You’re safe. Don’t do this. Count with me, Eli!” My EchoWeaver power touches the edges of the black void beginning to build.
“Eli! How long does it take for the sun to set?” I begin counting. It looks as if he remembers even through the void energy. For a minute, it seems to hold. The black threads recede like an ocean tide.
Jett bear hugs the both of us, then shoves me frantically at Kael. I land in his already open arm, safe. Kael is already aiming his gun at Jett. Everything synchronized to the fraction of a second, just like we rehearsed. This is the moment we pull him free.
“Extracting in three!” Kael warns. His finger pulls the trigger, and blue pulses fire into Jett’s back.
At the same moment, Jett fires a handgun into Eli.
They’re both instantly ghosted, disappearing like pixelated smoke rings.
Kael shoots Ash, then Ember, both of them dissolving away from the speakeasy.
The room narrows. It’s just Kael and me. Sweat beads on his brow, his breath heaving with adrenaline-fueled determination to see this through. He kisses me deeply, both hands wrapped around my face, and then hands me his gun. His eyes find mine.
Dark. Heavy. Possessive. Even here, where he’s nothing more than a digital image...just like me.
“Do it!” His forehead rests on mine. His voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it, something raw. “Ghost me, Taiyō. Get me out.”
My throat tightens. It’s just a game, but my hand hovers over the trigger. The simple gesture will keep him safe, send him collapsing into light, and release him back into his body.
It should be easy. I hate him, don’t I? He’s the man who trapped me here, the man who hunts down people like me, the man who touches me like he owns me.
But I can’t look at him without remembering his gentle hands on me, his kisses, the way his body moved with mine when his fingers were inside me. Right now, we’re the same, a digital copy of ourselves. The playing field is level.
I lower the gun. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”
His lips curve into a wide smile. “Because I want you to know I trust you.”
The words gut me. I want to scream. He has no right to say that, not when he built this system, not when he lives in the shadows and keeps Vikktor’s secrets. Even in the heat of this moment, when timing is key to rescuing my brother, he wants me to know that trust goes both ways.
You’re not really shooting him, Lyra. It’s just a game.
My fingers shake as I raise the gun again. “Goodbye, Kael,” I whisper. The words crack in my throat as they come out, heavier than I want them to be.
His hand shoots up, wrapping around my wrist, not tight, and not stopping me. He’s re-aiming the gun straight into his heart. His eyes lock on mine, drowning me in the abyss of them as he places the barrel to his chest.
“Not goodbye,” he whispers softly. “If something happens, I’ll always find you.” He touches my fingers and squeezes the trigger with me.
His body fragments into light, shattering out of the game. My chest aches like I’ve just ripped something vital out of myself. Ghosting him should be a victory, but for some reason it feels like a loss.
Alone, I collapse in the booth, the speakeasy dissolving entirely around me until all that is left is black grid-space.
No.
I didn’t get shot. I didn’t exit through a thread. I don’t feel any magic flaring in my veins. I’m not the one doing this.
I scream into the darkness. “Eli! Please don’t!”
I can’t be in the pitch black of the voided grid anymore. I decide to fight it.
Never in my life have I been on the opposite side of my own brother. The protector has become the rival, sparking a conflict that neither of us saw coming, testing our bond like never before.