Chapter 7 - Rafael
Unlike the slums Rafael’s seen on V-link, the street outside the bar is eerily calm.
No ambling synthheads or random gunfire, but buildings in various states of repair.
Some sit abandoned, relics of the pre-megacorp era he learned about in school, back when cities still ran on government grids instead of Lux Systems. Others bear signs of care in cracks patched with tape, makeshift energy shields on the roofs, and doorways reinforced with scavenged metal.
The homes are mostly old tenements and brownstones, far from the towers he’s used to in Midtown or the sleek high-rises of Downtown.
These look like structures built pre-Collapse, from before the Mason Group took over.
Between them, neon signs crowd the alleys in half a dozen languages, advertising shops and services he doesn’t recognize. Not a single corporate logo anywhere.
What strikes him most are the people. A woman in worn but modern clothes balances a grocery bag against her hip while kids tug at her sleeves.
Farther down, a pair of older men in Factura uniforms walk side by side, their augments mismatched but matte instead of chrome.
Others in torn Premiere Corp jackets hurry toward an HOV stop at the end of the block.
They could pass for the same commuters he sees every morning in Midtown.
Except here, their shoulders hunch and eyes wander.
“This way.” Kane’s voice slices through his thoughts. Rafael’s gut clenches again. He still doesn’t know where they’re going, or who he’s meant to treat, but the drone carrying the nutrient regenerator floats behind him as he follows the taller man down the block.
They stop around the corner at the porch of a brick row house. Two boys fight in front of the home, swinging glowing laser swords. Too absorbed in their game, neither notices them until Kane steps forward and clears his throat.
“Yichen, Runchu.”
“Baron!” One boy drops his laser sword with a buzz. “Sir!” The other shrinks back.
“Runchu,” Kane starts, but after a breath, his voice softens. “How’re you feeling?”
Rafael blinks. Kane’s voice carries a gentleness he didn’t expect. For a heartbeat, it doesn’t match the man who pressed a gun to his chest.
The taller boy swallows. “I…I’m okay. Just need my treatment, sir.”
Kane’s eyes lock on the shorter of the two, expression hardening. “Yichen, why aren’t you in school?”
“I stay home for my brother’s treatments,” the boy answers. “Mom has to work.”
“Fine. Just stay inside next time. Don’t give other kids the idea you’re staying home to be a cyber gladiator.”
Is this what Kane meant by “they handle their own?” His gang isn’t just holding territory.
They’re keeping tabs on neighborhood kids, ensuring they get medical care, even joking with them.
The boys seem to respect Kane, too, or maybe they fear him the way Rafael does.
He can’t tell which. Either way, it makes him dizzy.
The boys share a smile before the leader motions to the door. “Why are you two just standing there? Get inside.”
They hurry to punch the code into an old-school security panel and push the patched-up door open. They slip inside, and Kane follows, motioning Rafael and the hovering drone to do the same.
Inside, the home is almost an extension of the street.
Wooden floors creak under his steps, and paint peels from the walls in long strips.
But small improvements show in reupholstered furniture and secondhand appliances, more lived-in than polished.
Though like Rafael’s place in Midtown, personal touches fill the space in flickering holographic photos on a scratched dresser, toys scattered across the floor, and a Premiere Corp uniform hanging to dry in the window.
Runchu huddles beside his brother on the sofa. “Can I just sit here?” he asks.
Kane doesn’t answer, turning to Rafael. Their eyes meet, and Rafael hesitates. No one at work looks to him like this. Nurses follow protocol—they don’t get asked for opinions.
“Yes, this will work. I’ll start setting up,” Rafael answers after a brief look around.
Kane moves to stand behind the couch. “Listen to the nurse.”
“Hi. I’m Rafael. I’ll be attending to you today,” he says, guiding the drone with the regenerator into the room. When the machine hovers before them, he sets the medkit down and turns to Runchu. “Can I see your neural-vascular junction?”
Runchu casts a look at his brother, then extends his arm, revealing the exposed port of his cyberelbow. His augments are unpolished but still mimic skin, closer to Lian than Kane and his gang’s chrome.
Rafael starts up the machine, connecting the regenerator cord and tapping the display.
The device hums, lights flickering as it powers up.
He adjusts the settings using data from the previous session, muscles moving on autopilot.
Nutrient regeneration is routine for him, but never in a living room patched together like this.
“Who is he?” Yichen breaks the silence. Rafael’s shoulders tense instantly as he peers up.
“Dr. Pulaski’s no longer with us.” Kane’s voice is flat, frown deepening.
Runchu twists back. “Did he…”
Kane nods, and the realization settles over Rafael. This gang hasn’t just lost their medic. An entire neighborhood has lost their doctor. These kids, their families, everyone who depended on him.
“Won’t be too much longer,” Rafael says softly, hoping to ease the weight in the room. Or maybe he’s trying to comfort himself.
Yichen’s expression lightens. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rafael.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. But as he turns back to the equipment, reality crashes back in. How many more of these treatments will he be forced to perform? How long until Kane finds his replacement?
Rafael’s gaze shifts to the man inspecting his wristlink. In this ordinary room, Kane—with all his chrome and ear—stands out sharply, but his presence is more human here. He forces his attention back to the equipment.
The rest of the time passes in relative silence, broken only by the city noises outside the window, the boys’ hushed voices, and the occasional beep of the machine.
When the treatment finally ends, Rafael exhales. “All done.” He disconnects the cable from Runchu’s exposed elbow before powering down the regenerator.
“Feeling better already!” Runchu stretches his limbs above his head.
His brother slings an arm over his shoulder. “Great! Now I don’t have to take it easy on you in our fights.”
“Hey, I won the last—”
“Boys.”
Everyone’s attention snaps to Kane, standing rigid. He draws breath to continue, but a sharp ping from his wristlink interrupts him. His hand lifts to the side of his visor, the faint green pulsing around his eyes. “Baron here.”
Assuming he’s finished here, Rafael begins packing away the device—until Kane’s voice stops him.
“Send every security drone we have. Echo, alert your contacts—get civilians out of there. Now.”
The fury in Kane’s tone sends a chill down Rafael’s spine. Even the boys stiffen as he continues, “Wren, get the medtruck here with an escort. Everyone else, stand by. I’m on my way.”
Medtruck? Rafael perks at the familiar word, but before he can ask, Kane is already storming across the room.
“Civilians trapped in a fire. We move now. Leave the regenerator. I’ll have someone collect it.”
Rafael’s stomach knots, but he has no choice, following Kane out of the house after a soft smile to the boys. His foot barely hits the last step before a medtruck screeches into the alley in front of them.
The driver’s door swings open. A pink-haired girl jumps out, clad in similar armor with weapons holstered at her belt. She’s not someone Rafael remembers from the bar, but Kane rushes over to her.
“Pixie?” Kane asks. The girl—Pixie—glances between them, then nods. “Escort the nurse to the scene. Make sure nothing happens to him.”
There’s no softness in Kane’s order, but Rafael’s chest tightens, anyway.
Kane gives a few more instructions before disappearing down the block.
Pixie barely acknowledges Rafael except to jerk her thumb toward the back of the HOV.
He hesitates, then climbs inside, buckling himself into the single seat by the gurney.
As she slides into the driver’s seat, Rafael steals a glimpse out the rear window. A green HOV bike tears past, engine rumbling with an unnatural growl. The medtruck lurches forward, and his grip tightens on the seatbelt.
Outside, the neighborhood shifts as they barrel through the air. Patched-up tenements become collapsed buildings, bullets littering the sidewalks, and streets streaked with old runoff and rot.
This is the wasteland he’s seen in V-link clips—the slums his mother warned him about, emptied of anyone who could leave.
But in the distance, Midtown’s skyline glows faintly on the horizon. His breath catches.
How much longer will they keep him here? Has he already outlived his usefulness? Rafael hasn’t dared ask about a replacement, but the questions gnaw at him as the HOV rattles and lowers to the pavement.
When Pixie yanks the door open, his hand trembles around the medkit the moment he steps out. Gang members in combat gear flood the street, not attacking but corralling terrified residents away from the real threat. A building swallowed in flames half a block down. Rafael’s whole body seizes up.
“Pixie, here,” she says into her commlink, tapping a cybernetic star around her ear. A few seconds later, she adds, “Understood,” before turning back to Rafael.
Her frown deepens. “Baron’s inside.”
Rafael’s stomach drops. His first instinct should be relief. If Kane’s in danger, maybe this ends. But the idea sits wrong. Whatever Kane has done to him, Rafael can’t wish harm on anyone.
“What do we do?” he asks.
“Wait.” Pixie’s eyes flick to the sky. Drones skitter through the smoke, their lights blinking as they dive for the flames. “Coda says he’s still alive. For now.”
Why would Kane go into the fire himself? Isn’t he their leader? Shouldn’t someone else be risking it instead? The questions catch in Rafael’s throat as voices from nearby soldiers drift over.
“Damn that old man,” one mutters. “We begged him to move away from the border. Echo even found him a new place.”
“Why’d Baron go without backup?” another asks.
“That’s just how he is, why I joined up in the first place,” the first one sighs. “You think Natural Order or Ulvepack’s leader would do this?”
He processes the words, uncertain what to make of them. Kane risks himself—his life—for his people. It’s almost…respectable. Or at least, not what Rafael expected from a gang leader.
Shouts erupt in the distance, and his attention snaps to the burning building. Through billowing smoke, Kane emerges from a doorway. He carries an old man in his arms with an oxygen mask already strapped to his face.
Those nearby start to cheer while others exhale, and Rafael finds himself able to breathe again. But there’s no time to examine why. Medical instinct takes over as he hurries into the medtruck, prepping supplies for the incoming patient.
By the time a family arrives to take the elderly man home, Rafael gives brief aftercare instructions before wiping down the instruments and resetting the truck. For a second, he’s grateful he was here to help.
Then reality settles back in, reminding him of where he is and how he’s still trapped here, waiting for a replacement that has yet to come.
A distant cry draws his focus outside where Pixie spins, hand flying to her rifle. Rafael tracks her movement and freezes. Across the street, Kane hauls a young woman toward the medtruck, her body thrashing against his grip.
He presses back against the cupboards of supplies, hoping Kane will find help elsewhere. Then he sees the blood seeping through her robe. His training overrides his fear, reaching for the medkit. She needs care, and she needs it now.
“Leave us!” Kane barks as soon as he reaches the truck. Pixie vanishes without question while Kane maneuvers the bloodied woman into the back.
The moment he releases her, she lunges forward—only to freeze as the muzzle of Kane’s rifle presses against her chest. Rafael sucks in a breath.
Her eyes widen before narrowing to slits. “Natural Order will cleanse this hellhole like—”
A sharp metallic click cuts her off—Kane cocking the gun.
Rafael’s pulse slams against his ribs. The antiseptic bottle slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. Something in him—whether his oath as a nurse or just raw emotion—forces the words past his throat.
“Wait! Stop!”