Chapter 13 - Kane
Smoke pours from the crack in Kane’s chrome arm, the smell of burnt coolant sharp in his nostrils. His HUD blinks red, as if he can’t already feel his fingers seizing.
>MOTOR FUNCTION: FAILURE
Another step up the stairs, and his damaged servos shriek, pain knifing through what’s left of his inhibitors. Gritting his teeth, Kane slams his good hand against the security panel. The door hisses open.
Garlic and rosemary flood his senses. At the counter, Rafael stands over scattered ingredients. His gaze lifts, meets Kane’s, then drops to the smoking limb. The knife slips from his fingers before he bolts for the medkit on the wall.
Kane’s stomach twists. He should’ve gone to the medical bay, should’ve let him handle it in a proper setting. But he came here instead, too stubborn and proud to admit this qualified as critical.
He staggers to the nearest chair, and Rafael’s back before Kane can say a word, medkit in hand. Kane reaches for it, only for Rafael to pull away.
“Let me help. Please.”
The panic in his voice shouldn’t get to Kane, but his gut knots anyway. Still, his ego wins out.
“Give it to—” He cuts himself off with a hiss as a surge of pain hits.
When Kane’s vision clears, Rafael is kneeling beside him with the medkit open and tools spread across the floor.
His mouth opens, ready to reject him again, when the text in Kane’s overlay flashes brighter.
>MOTOR FUNCTION: FAILURE IMMINENT.
Pride doesn’t matter anymore.
Through clenched teeth, Kane extends his arm. “Here.” After a breath, he adds in a softer tone, “Please.”
Rafael nods and pulls a handheld scanner from the kit. The device vibrates when the sensor passes over his limb, projecting a faint holo display. His brows knit. “Extensive servo damage. Whatever hit fragmented on impact. Took out your neural lace relay.”
Adrenaline must’ve masked the true extent of the injury. If Kane had been any slower getting here, he could’ve lost the entire limb. Another casualty of Natural Order’s growing threat.
Warm fingers trace the split plating, pulling him out of his thoughts. Eyes fixed on the wound, Rafael opens the panel linking chrome to flesh. “There.”
When he looks up, a small smile tugs at his lips. That same draw from Glass Alley grips Kane. He shoves it down. “Status?”
“The round fragmented on impact,” Rafael explains, grabbing fine-tipped tweezers from the kit. “I can bypass the damaged servos and seal the plating, but you might want to have a proper doctor look this over.”
Kane’s first instinct is to ask the nurse when he’s supposed to fit that in. But this isn’t a complaint or a reprimand. It’s professional advice from someone who genuinely cares. He stays quiet as Rafael extracts the shards, his other hand braced on Kane’s arm.
As the sting settles into a dull throb, his focus slips. First to the glint of the forceps, then to the man holding them. His steady, gentle hands, dark curls brushing his jaw, oversized coat hanging off his shoulder—
Heat creeps up Kane’s neck. This isn’t the time to be noticing things like that, especially about someone he’s keeping here against his will. He forces his attention on the work as to where Rafael severs the pathway, each link bringing a little more relief.
When the section links together, Rafael pulls back with a faint frown. “That should stop the spread, but your range of motion will be limited.”
The alert flashes orange in Kane’s HUD, translucent text bleeding into his line of sight.
>MOTOR FUNCTION: LIMITED
He flexes experimentally. The joint stops early, but the burning is nearly gone.
Crisis averted. Today’s crisis.
Below him, Rafael kneels on the floor, stowing away the medical tools. His movements are controlled, shoulders drawn tight. Exactly like that morning in the med bay.
“What’s wrong?” he grunts.
The medkit shuts with a click. When Rafael turns around, his body is rigid. “How…” he trails off.
“How what?” Kane presses.
Instead of collapsing, Rafael takes a breath and steadies himself. “How did this happen?”
Kane freezes. He’d assumed Rafael was asking about follow-up care. Before he can decide how to answer, the nurse shakes his head and mutters, “Sorry. It’s not my place. I know… I just… worry.”
His jaw clenches. Pulaski’s barked lectures were easy to ignore. This—Rafael’s gentle touch, concerned tone—is unsettling.
He could tell him to stop. He could pretend not to notice.
Instead, he offers a half-truth.
“A rival crew moved south of us. Claimed they wanted an alliance against Natural Order. Turns out they were already with them.” His fingers curl at the memory of the leader’s grin, the gun lifting toward his chest. “I got hit. Better me than anyone else.”
“I’m glad no one else got hurt,” Rafael whispers, fidgeting with the edge of the med kit. Kane’s mouth opens to respond when Rafael adds, “Do you…get injured often?”
A short, rough laugh escapes Kane. “Not often.”
But as he recalls the past few days, his confidence wavers.
With Natural Order’s power escalating, Kane has grown more involved than ever. Not that he owes an explanation to Rafael. The words come out anyway. “I’ve been on the front lines more lately. Someone has to be.”
Rafael’s frown deepens. “What about your lieutenants? Like Wren? Echo?”
Kane snorts. “They do what they can…” He should stop. His uncle never complained or let on that he was struggling. But he goes on, “Each has their limits. Some too green, others too defiant. Not everyone can be trusted with the big calls.”
“At the hospital…” Rafael starts, then pauses, tapping his fingers on the kit. “The head surgeon would sometimes…let residents learn from their mistakes. Like yesterday with those kids…You seemed…different.”
Kane’s shoulders stiffen. When he saw that recruit’s terrified face—so much like his own at that age—a part of him wavered. The same impulse that drove him to Glass Alley instead of spending his few spare minutes on strategizing or planning. That lapse unsettles him more than the injury.
“They’re young,” he defends. “Why’re you here, anyway? Thought you’d be in the med bay by now.”
Rafael peers down at the kit. “Oh—I…Pixie came to get me, but she was called away before we left. Said she was needed for backup.”
Sounds like Viper causing a panic. But Pixie could’ve taken a minute to drop Rafael off. Kane taps his wristlink, sending a message to his lieutenant, when Rafael says, “She’ll be here soon, right? I was making something for her to eat. She lives on those awful ration packets.”
He eyes the spread of various ingredients across the counter, the precise cuts in the vegetables. His gaze drifts to Rafael, remembering their conversation at the marketplace. “So…you’re a part-time chef too?” Kane blurts.
“I wouldn’t say a chef,” Rafael mutters. “More like…I enjoy cooking.”
“Why not switch careers?” Kane asks as he eyes the message pulsing from his wristlink.
[VIPER: PIXIE ETA. 5 MIN.]
Time to cut this short—like he should have the moment his arm was fixed. He starts to rise, but Rafael finally answers.
“It’s more of a hobby. Something that helps me…decompress, I guess.”
Decompress. The word lingers. Kane’s stomach knots.
“My mom’s a nurse, dad’s a technician,” Rafael continues. “Following them into VitaCorp just made sense.”
The story, his defeated tone. He’s heard both too many times to count in Shreveport. Against his better judgment, Kane’s instincts kick in. “If you want to be a chef, be one,” he starts, voice firm. “Terra’s probably got programs. Figure it out. ‘Hard’ isn’t a reason to give up your dreams.”
Rafael blinks at him. “I—” He swallows, then squares his shoulders and offers a fake smile. “No. I’m a nurse. That’s what I trained for. Cooking’s just…a hobby.”
Surrender. Again. Not his place. Kane should walk away. But he can’t stop himself: “At least you didn’t want to be a cyber gladiator.”
A half-chuckle escapes Rafael. “Really?” His tone is so earnest that Kane allows himself a half smile.
“Obsessed since I was a kid. Whole family was,” he explains. “When I was old enough, I tried everything—sneaking in, pawning stuff—just to see a live match. Then one day, my uncle came home grinning. Someone at Premiere Corp owed him big. Got to see my first real game. No V-link replay.”
Echo hasn’t even heard this story. With most people, Kane would weigh every word. With Rafael, the words flow easier, lighter somehow.
But the lieutenant’s words from a few days ago come back to him.
“You push the nurse until he spills his guts. Meanwhile, when any of us try to add our two cents…you practically take our heads off. Even when you asked for it.”
He is treating Rafael differently. Not for strategy. Not for gain. Personally.
This has to stop. He can’t afford to lower his guard, even with an outsider.
Rafael breaks the silence. “That’s so great you got to go. I’m sure that meant a lot to you back then. Your uncle—”
“Pixie’s less than five minutes out,” Kane cuts him off. He stands and steps away from the table.
Rafael’s expression collapses. “Oh.” He moves toward the kitchen. “I should finish that sandwich for Pixie. Maybe I’ll cook lunch for you sometime?”
Kane’s chest tightens. It’s a simple offer, but the sincerity in Rafael’s voice throws him.
“That is—if you’d want to!” Rafael spins around, hands up. “I mean—you’d probably rather go to the marketplace. They’re probably used to using these fresh ingredients.”
“The ingredients don’t matter,” Kane says quietly, echoing his aunt without meaning to. “The chef does.”
He doesn’t wait to see Rafael’s reaction, marching toward the door.
The moment catches up to him once he’s inside the tunnel, returning to the bar.
How serious was his offer to cook for Kane? When would they even see each other next? Will they get a chance to speak again before Rafael leaves? He shuts the questions down before any more can surface.
These moments together—they’re becoming something dangerous. The sooner the nurse’s replacement arrives, the better for everyone.
By the time Kane reaches Dragoon’s Rest, he’s already messaging Echo, asking about Dr. Hayashi.