The neon signs cast odd light on the wet streets of Neo Tokyo. Aria Jensen walked fast through the tight paths, her steps made splashes in rain pools. Fog mixed with bad smells hung in the air, but she did not mind them. Life in this dark city had made her tough.
Her task that night was clear but not safe: find facts about what the mean Syndicate gang was doing. Talk was heard about big goods coming to the dock, stuff worth much to other gangs in town. If true, such news could be sold for good pay.
Aria moved with no sound down a thin street, where tall towers blocked most light. A small bar stood ahead, known as a place where low gang men came to drink. Going in by herself held risks...but big risks often paid well. She never liked to work with others anyway.
She took a breath to steady her nerve, then pushed the old doors open to the dim room. Smoke filled the space where rough men laughed loud at tables along the walls.
Aria moved with care across the sticky floor. Heads turned as she passed, but most eyes went back to drinks or games. The noise in the bar gave her cover as she found a spot near the back booth.
Five men sat there. Their dark coats marked them as Syndicate boys. Drinks were poured, tongues grew loose. Aria kept her face down, but her ears stayed sharp.
"The boss says we move next Thursday," a thin man with a scar said. His words slurred but held weight at the table.
A stocky man leaned in. "Ten whole crates? That much tech needs more guns than this."
"Not just tech," the first man said. His voice dropped low. "Word is half the load is mods. Top grade. Street value would set us for years."
Aria's pulse jumped. Mods meant body tech--parts that sold fast to those who needed fixes or wanted edge. Such goods were hard to get and worth more than gold in some parts.
"Dock 17," said a third man who had not talked before. "Three in the morning. Patrol boats will be paid to look the other way."
The talk shifted to who would stand guard and which routes they would use after. Aria kept still, each word stored away like cash in a vault. She knew three men who would pay well for this news, and the night was still young.
As Aria backed away to make her exit, her hip struck a stack of empty crates by the wall. The tower of boxes fell with a loud crash that cut through the bar noise like a knife.
"We got a rat!" the scarred man yelled. His hand went fast to his belt.
The stocky one stood up quick. "Grab her!"
Aria did not wait. She turned and ran for the side door, knees bent low as a hand swiped at her coat. The door gave way to rain and dark, but feet pounded close behind.
"Stop her!" Voices rose in the wet night.
Her boots hit hard on wet stone as she cut down tight paths few knew well. Right turn, then left through a gap in chain fence. The sounds of chase grew less with each twist of her path, but Aria did not slow down.
Three blocks north stood the old tower where Michael kept his place. He would hide her--if she made it there first. The Syndicate boys were not known for mercy when their plans got heard by wrong ears.
Rain beat down harder now. Aria's lungs burned with each breath as she moved fast toward the one safe place she knew in this part of town.
Michael's shop sat tucked between two tall blocks, its sign half-lit in blue neon that read "AUGMENT REPAIR." Aria pounded her fist hard on the metal door, her wet hair stuck to her face as she kept watch on the street behind.
The lock clicked and the door slid open. Michael stood there, his pale blue eyes wide with shock.
"What the hell, Aria?!" His tall frame filled the door as he looked past her to the wet street.
"Let me in," she said, then pushed past his chest into the dim shop. "Trouble's close."
Michael shut the door fast but not fast enough. A hard kick sent the metal slab back into his face. Two men in dark coats burst in, guns raised.
