Chapter 9 - Rafael
Green light washes over Rafael as he stops outside Dragoon’s Rest—the crew’s base, according to one of the men he treated today. To him, it’s the place Wren dragged him two nights ago to save a dying woman at gunpoint.
Above the building, an animated dragon flickers in neon over the silent street. Rafael would usually be mid-shift around this time. But here in the slums, the block sits practically deserted, save for a few lit windows above the bar and the distant glow of Midtown.
His quarters are somewhere in those apartments, the med bay tucked below, linked by the same dim corridors he’s walked too many times to count.
Tonight, he’s been patching up scrapes and burns until a neighborhood girl’s cyberspine malfunctioned, sending him racing out with Pixie in the medtruck.
Now he’s too drained to care about anything beyond collapsing into bed.
“Go on in! I’ll be right there!” Pixie’s shout snaps him back to the present.
Rafael peers over at her unloading equipment from the HOV. She’s been his escort since yesterday afternoon—mostly friendly but quiet, especially around other crew members. He offers a nod before turning toward the front door. Hopefully, this is the last time he enters this place.
The bar is empty inside. Synthohol dispensers line leather booths and the bar top, while neon art pulses on the walls.
Holo billiard tables flicker on and off, casting the same green glow he’s seen throughout the neighborhood.
The shattered one from his first night is gone, either repaired or hauled away.
A high-pitched voice breaks the silence as he crosses the threshold. “Hey, kid!”
Echo emerges from behind the bar, grinning over a bubbling drink. The sight loosens the tension in his chest. “You’ve come to check on your favorite patient?”
“Echo,” Rafael says, hoping he’s got the name right.
She chuckles. “That’s me.” Beckoning him over, she continues, “You should be proud of yourself, kid. Followed your suggestion and got myself checked out by a doc across town. She said you did a great job repairing my old noggin.”
He forces a smile. “I guess so…” The details are foggy, unable to remember much besides how hard his hands were shaking.
Echo takes a swig from her mug. “Has the boss man been fair to you, by the way? I don’t meddle in how he runs the crew, given the mess his uncle’s death left us in.
” She leans over the bar. “But I can’t stand the thought of him treating my precious savior poorly.
Bad enough you got stuck here in the first place. ”
The gang leader is many things. Intimidating, confrontational, strangely insistent that Rafael speak his mind. Protective of his crew and this neighborhood in ways Rafael didn’t expect. But fair might be too much of a stretch.
“He’s been…complicated.”
Her brow lifts. “Complicated how?”
Rafael shrugs, unsure how to explain what he’s barely processed. “I don’t know. Maybe… he wants me to speak up? Question things more?” He pauses, trying to find words that don’t sound ridiculous. “I think he gets frustrated when I stay quiet. Or—I could be wrong.”
It’s disorienting. At VitaCorp, keeping his head down and following orders kept him employed and out of trouble. Here, silence seems to irritate Kane more than disagreement does.
A slow smile forms on Echo’s lips. “Pushes you to speak up, huh? That’s the Baron for you.” She pauses, studying him. “Has he actually listened when you do?”
His mind flashes to yesterday in the medtruck. For a moment, Rafael wondered if Kane was going to pull the trigger. Until he went against every instinct screaming not to get involved. And Kane lowered the weapon. Because Rafael asked him to.
The realization sits uncomfortably.
“Yeah…” Rafael says eventually. “He listened…For some reason.”
Echo props an elbow on the bar, resting her chin in her chrome hand. “Huh. Interesting.” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “He barely listens to me most days, and I’ve known him for years.”
Rafael blinks. She has to be joking. Kane clearly respects her. Why would he take advice from him over one of his own lieutenants? The question is still tumbling through his mind when the hiss of a door opening cuts him off.
Wren strides inside, adjusting the guns at her back, with Viper—Rafael thinks that’s his name—beside her. He’s shorter than most of the crew, bald head etched with old-school black tattoos, and one chrome optic glinting under the lights.
Echo raises her drink at them. “Hey, kids!”
Viper rolls his eyes before nodding at Rafael, then striding over to a holo billiard table, checking his wristlink. Wren catches Rafael’s eye and hesitates before sliding into the next stool.
“Rafael,” she says, voice low. “I wanted to…I need to…” Wren exhales and squares her shoulders.
“Taking you from Midtown…that was wrong. Not just tactically. It was wrong. You never should’ve been dragged into this.
I was trained to protect our people, not to hurt outsiders.
Baron always said true strength is restraint, fighting only when we have to.
So…I’m sorry. And thank you for saving Echo. ”
Rafael studies her, uncertain how to respond. Wren kidnapped him at gunpoint, yet here she is apologizing, seemingly genuinely. The context he’s witnessed doesn’t justify what they did, but makes the anger harder to hold on to, even if he can’t accept being held captive.
“Thank you,” he manages. Not quite forgiveness. His friends always tease him for being too quick to let things go. But she deserves some acknowledgment.
Her shoulders ease slightly. “Did you tell him about Dr. Hayashi?” she asks Echo.
Rafael’s stomach drops. What does she mean? Is the doctor not coming? Or worse, did something happen to them?
Echo shoots her a glare. “Wren…” She sighs. “That’s not for us to say.”
“I’m—” Wren’s face pales as the sound of footsteps cuts them off.
Striding across the bar is Kane in his full combat armor, long jacket, and leather boots. His visor conceals his expression from this far, but the set of his jaw speaks volumes.
“She never said anything,” Echo hisses in Rafael’s ear while Wren buries her face in her hands.
He nods instantly. Clearly, Wren didn’t mean to speak so carelessly. But a knot builds in Rafael’s chest, regardless.
“Hello, boss man!” Echo lifts her drink as if nothing happened. “We’re all present and accounted for…except Coda. But he’ll probably be on time, like usual.”
“The meeting will begin soon,” Kane announces. “I need to discuss something with the nurse first.”
A shiver runs down Rafael’s spine. Wren’s slipup gave him some idea of what Kane might say, but only some.
Echo hums. “I’d say be nice—Rafael, here, saved my life and all—but I don’t know if I have to anymore.”
Baron’s gaze snaps to Echo, his mouth twitching. “Let’s go.” He turns around, and Rafael jumps from his seat.
Trailing behind Kane through the bar, Rafael’s mind races. Runchu needs regular treatments. That old man from the fire will need follow-up care. Without a medic, what happens to them or anyone else who gets injured if he leaves?
Except staying means more days under guard in the slums, cut off from his family with no idea when he’ll see them again. His chest aches.
Unless he could turn this into more of a choice. What if, instead of being treated like a hostage, he could negotiate with Baron? Ask for access to his wristlink and time away from the med bay. Not to stay forever. Just until the doctor arrives.
The plan is hardly any better, but at least this one gives him hope—if Rafael can summon the courage to go through with it.
Baron ushers him through a door into a dimly lit room.
A holotable waits at the center, a glowing slab of glass, surrounded by chairs and walls covered from floor to ceiling in weapons and mysterious tech.
He takes a seat at the head, then gestures for Rafael to join him.
When Rafael settles into the chair, their eyes meet, and his throat goes dry.
“The doctor we arranged to replace you won’t arrive for several more days,” Kane begins, his chrome fingers drumming against the table. “Unfortunately, that means—”
“I’ll stay.” The words spill out as Rafael’s heart pounds.
The leader goes still, gaze sharpening through his visor. The silence stretches, and Rafael starts to wave, thinking back to all those times he never argued at work or with his friends. This is why he stayed quiet.
But then he catches a glimpse of his dead wristlink. No messages. No way home. Not unless things change.
He forces himself to continue. “But I’d like something in return. Please.”