Heart & Chrome (Nova City Stories #1)

Chapter 1 - Kane

>ID: AYAKA “ECHO” WATANABE

>NI: CRITICAL

The readout pulses red in the overlay of Kane’s visor as he stares at Echo sprawled across the holo billiard table. His fingers curl into a fist at his side. For once, he’d give anything to hear her annoying, high-pitched voice, even that irritating laugh.

Instead, she’s silent and motionless, strands of fried neural lace tangled in her long, dark hair. Neon from the sign above washes her usually colorful cybernetic armor in a sickly green hue—like she’s already half-dead.

But this isn’t the end. Not for Echo. Not for his crew.

His uncle trusted him to keep them together, to protect Shreveport from the violence that stole his father.

As long as Kane’s still alive, no one else is dying on his watch.

Pressure builds in his chest. His fist shoots out and slams onto the holotable. The crack of the glass rattles through the empty bar, loud against the hiss of his armor vents.

“She’s fading.” Kane spins to the huddle of surviving lieutenants, their names flashing across his HUD. “Now that Pulaski’s gone—”

Taken out by a pulse-tipped arrow, dragging their wounded to the medtruck. He did everything he could in that HOV, but it wasn’t enough. His skills weren’t enough. Five years with the crew, and now Pulaski is—

He pushes the image away. Grieving will have to wait.

“We need someone else,” he continues. “A cyberdoc. Someone who can patch failing neural lace…”

Before it’s too late.

Sixty minutes. That’s all Echo has left.

Arms crossed, Viper strides forward. “Look, I respect Echo. She’s loyal, connected, been around a while. But given the situation—and her age—we might want to start thinking about a replacement.”

The muscles in Kane’s neck draw tight. He’s not wrong.

Forty-two is ancient in their line of work.

But Echo’s been with them since his uncle ran the crew.

She helped shape the team, choose their colors, even coined his nickname.

Still, this crew doesn’t run on sentiment.

They hold power through results—and Echo delivers every time.

“You don’t just ‘find’ another Echo,” Kane argues.

“Two days ago, her contacts tipped us off about Natural Order’s weapons drop.

Without that, we’d have lost a hell of a lot more than Dr. Pulaski when they breached the holowall.

” He lifts his jaw, eyes narrowing on Viper.

“Unless you know which corpo cops to grease, what fixers give us the best deals?”

Silence follows, as expected. Viper’s a walking encyclopedia of firepower. That’s why Kane keeps him around. In another life, he would have time to untrain the merc in him that treats every call like a contract. Right now, Viper needs to stay in his lane—the one paved with bullets.

Kane lifts his chin. “That’s what I thought.”

Viper steps back. His sneer doesn’t go unnoticed. Nor does his elevated pulse in Kane’s overlay.

“Anyone else writing Echo’s eulogy?”

A shimmer of light catches Kane’s eye as a holographic map unfurls from Coda’s wristlink.

His head tilts up, meeting Kane through tinted goggles.

“Three clinics,” he says evenly. “Two in Boatwright, one in Eastpark. Two doctors at each. We need to dig for leverage…find out who we can persuade to help.”

“No. Waste of time.” Kane shakes his head. “Blackmail only works if they’re more afraid of us than botching the job. And right now, they’re not going to be.”

Coda nods, the projection dissolving. Though his fingers keep working, data flashing on his lenses. Whatever Coda’s sending, his squad of techies, hackers, and drone pilots downstairs are likely already in motion.

He turns to the remaining lieutenant. “Wren.”

She straightens at her name. “I—” Wren takes a breath. “What about the Seventy Seven? They’re less than thirty seconds out on HOV. We could borrow their medic? Offer a temporary truce in return?”

Not the worst idea. Working with other crews isn’t unheard of. But after suffering an attack Seventy Seven no doubt already caught wind of, extending a hand now would only make their crew look shaky—something Wren might’ve considered if she weren’t still so green.

“Absolutely not,” he declares.

Wren’s shoulders sag instantly.

“The last thing we need is Seventy Seven smelling blood in the water,” Kane goes on. “Natural Order’s attack was bad enough. We’re lucky we didn’t lose District 2 to those zealots.”

His mind flashes to Pulaski bleeding out in the medtruck, to the others they peeled off the pavement. He forces his expression to remain neutral.

Wren’s hand taps against her thigh. “You’re right.” She nods. “Sorry, sir.”

The bar falls silent. Kane’s nostrils flare.

Three lieutenants, and not one useful solution.

He turns away, gaze dropping to Echo. Her vitals flicker weaker across his interface. What would she suggest? Something reckless, no doubt. But her gambles work more than he wants to admit.

Kane spins around. “That’s it? Half-baked ideas and backup plans? Are you squad leaders or glorified security drones?”

Sweat beads on Wren’s forehead while Viper shifts his feet, and Coda goes still. Kane opens his mouth to speak again—

A faint rustle echoes from behind him. He turns sharply. On the table, Echo’s arm jerks wildly while a warning pings in Kane’s HUD.

>AYAKA “ECHO” WATANABE

>SYS FAIL IN: 48:42

>AUG FAIL DETECTED: R. LIMB

His jaw tightens. The damage isn’t permanent. Not yet. But if they don’t get a medic here soon…

A shaky breath draws his focus to Wren making a fist at her side. Even Viper and Coda are watching Echo now, shoulders rigid.

Right there, Kane makes the call. All logic, no sentiment. Just like his uncle would have.

“Wren.”

Her yellow eyes flick to his. The tension in her hand eases.

“Notify your squad and head to Midtown. There’s a cyberware ward near the southern border. Might be our best shot,” he orders. “If you get resistance, infiltrate. But make it clean. Jin’s still rotting on Nova City Isle for that medkit bust. And we don’t need VitaCorp’s attention either.”

Wren nods once. His focus snaps to Viper. “Assign her backup. Corpo pigs and the NCPD will be crawling all over.”

By the time he’s finished, Viper’s already turning, muttering commands into his commlink.

Kane pivots to Coda. “Pull VitaCorp’s shift logs. Find a doc heading out—someone we can ‘recruit.’ Send the specs to Wren.”

Coda doesn’t answer. His fingers fly across invisible keys in silence.

Wren clears her throat. “Baron,” she starts, then hesitates. “But what about—”

He whips toward her. “What now, Wren? I didn’t promote you to hold your hand during a crisis!”

Her heart rate elevates across his interface, but she shakes her head. “You’re right. I’m on it. Just informing my team—then I’m gone.”

She taps the bird-shaped commlink hugging her ear and bolts out of the bar, swallowed instantly by the neon glow of Shreveport’s streets.

Behind her, the door hisses shut, Wren’s voice cutting off.

“About today’s attack,” Viper’s voice slices through the silence. “Natural Order’s always been loud, not lethal. Street sermons, anti-cyberware rallies, the occasional sabotage. But never this. After years of just recruiting and making noise, this is their first real push for real territory…Why?”

His mind flashes to the moment hooded figures slipped through their territory, breaching the holowall during its refresh cycle while patrols were stretched thin.

Coda warned him about that vulnerability.

Kane called it paranoia. They’ve been running the same cycle settings since his uncle’s reign with no problems—until now.

Viper presses on. “And their tactics—too coordinated, too precise. It was almost like they knew—”

“How we operate,” Kane cuts in, his head spinning with the implication. Viper nods.

Only a handful of people know their crew’s methods—and most of them are here.

If one of his own lieutenants wanted to see them suffer, they’d unleash something far worse than an attack on the border.

Whoever is leading Natural Order, or feeding them intel, could be someone as low as a former enforcer.

His gaze lands on the other lieutenant. “Coda, have your crew run scans across VitaLink, the Veil. I want chatter from everyone—hackers, smugglers, press rats, whoever’s poking around down there.”

Coda’s hands are moving before Kane’s even finished speaking.

“Viper.” Kane fixes the weapons expert with a sharp look. “Round up your squad, reinforce our borders, and keep them armed and ready. We’re already short of a medic. Don’t make it worse.”

Viper gives a curt nod and heads for the door, already barking orders into his glowing earpiece.

“And Coda, get additional security drones to the border and back up the holowall. Top priority.”

Coda nods. “Dr. Pulaski.”

The name hangs in the air.

Kane sighs. He’s been so focused on Echo that he’s barely acknowledged the other crew members they lost in the attack. Except there’s no time to mourn—not when the crew needs him. Their families deserve more.

He nods. “Get me Pulaski’s contacts. The others too. When Wren returns, she’ll set a date for the funeral.” A grim routine he’s come to dread. “If—when Echo recovers, she’ll handle the rest.”

Coda’s response is swift. “Understood.” He strides toward a secure door at the back of the bar that opens with the scan of his eye. He steps into the shadows.

Silence settles over the room as Kane’s gaze drifts back to Echo. He brushes the glass from her wrist, olive skin gone pale beneath streaks of blood.

When Wren mentioned Seventy Seven, maybe he should’ve listened. The corps might have abandoned the outer district, but at least that means they can choose their own allies.

Kane exhales. No, his original plan holds. Going back now would look weak, and that doesn’t last long in Nova City. One crack in his resolve would have the crew questioning everything.

There’s no other way. Wren is out there, scouring Midtown for a medic, someone who can save Echo. Maybe—if they’re lucky—some sliver of light can pull them back from the brink.