The sun had dipped below the dense towers of Sigma City, leaving a red haze hovering over its jagged skyline. Neon lights buzzed to life across skyscrapers, their hard edges silhouetted against the twilight. Zoey stood atop one of those buildings, her sniper rifle balanced on the edge. From here, the world seemed almost quiet, the hum of city life a distant murmur. She adjusted her grip, the cold metal pressed against her synthetic hand. Tonight’s target was an easy one—a high-level executive with his dirty laundry hanging out for all to see. His ex-wife had ordered the hit, but she cared little for the details...only the paycheck mattered to her.
He didn’t seem too worried about his ex-wife’s grudge; his security team was minimal. Aside from one guard, pacing by the rooftop pool below, the man sat alone in his penthouse, a champagne flute clutched in his hand like the world couldn’t touch him. Zoey scoffed. These corporate types had no idea how close death lingered. She exhaled slowly, centering her aim on his forehead.
"Goodnight, asshole."
Her PTRS-41 thundered, its recoil kicking against her shoulder. Her job was done as the man slumped forward, shattering the glass in his hand. Zoey’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, and she started packing up. Easy money. Yet, just as she slid her rifle into its case, a faint shiver ran down her spine, and she froze. Something was off. In the city, the noise never completely stopped, but the background hum had shifted subtly, like it was waiting on her.
She shouldered her rifle case and moved toward the rooftop stairwell, her instincts on edge. Sigma City had its own breed of vultures, eager to cash in on another's missteps. The occasional scavenger didn’t bother her, but this—this was different. The hairs on her neck bristled.
Halfway down the stairwell, her ears caught a barely audible clang. Her prosthetic fists clenched. If some punk was trying to follow her— She rounded the corner fast, shoulder checking her way through the rooftop door, only to be greeted by empty silence. Just her paranoia, she figured, suppressing the irritation that had started to simmer.
But the feeling returned on her way down to street level, that odd prickling, the sense of something watching. The sensation was close, and when Zoey finally reached the gritty back alley, she felt it stronger than ever. She took a second to scope the alley, her pupils narrowing as her gaze darted between every shadow, every scrap of movement.
And that’s when she saw him.
Standing under a flickering streetlight about ten meters away, half in shadow and draped in a pitch-black cloak, was…someone. A massive figure, almost her height and bulk, with a hood obscuring his face. Her eyes narrowed, immediately locking onto the gold glint of his arms, the gleam unmistakable in the dim light. Cybernetic. The sight alone was enough to rile her up, and her heartbeat kicked into a quicker rhythm.
“Who the fuck are you?” she called out, her voice sharp as a razor.
The figure took a step forward, hands held open in what might have been a pacifying gesture if he wasn’t a hulking shadow.
“A friend, maybe,” he called back, his voice a low drawl. “Or at least I was, before you put a gaping hole in my client.”
Zoey gritted her teeth, the cocky tone hitting a nerve. A bodyguard. She hadn’t spotted him up on the rooftop—sloppy, she cursed to herself. Sloppy and irritating, but she couldn’t let him know that.
“So what, you wanna square up?” she sneered, loosening her shoulders. “Little late for that now, don’t you think?”
The man chuckled, the sound rumbling from beneath his hood. “Nah. But I do want my cut.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Look, lady,” he said, hands going to his sides in a mock-casual stance. “I got paid to keep that guy breathing, and you’ve ruined my job. Least you could do is share some of that fat stack you just earned.”
Zoey snorted, her lips pulling into a humorless smile. “Cute. You think I’m just gonna—”
He took another step forward, and for a split second, she caught a glimpse of his face—a pair of sharp green eyes, fixed on her with a strange intensity that seemed almost…familiar. Like looking into the eyes of another predator.
She scowled, something like disbelief flickering in her eyes. Another, here? But that was impossible. She was the only one. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t part of the city’s regular roster, and he sure as hell didn’t belong to any agency she’d heard of. But those golden arms and that silent, predatory movement? She recognized those markers. He was like her, somehow.
“Well, guess it’s my lucky night,” she said, tilting her head. "Two heads for the price of one."
The man’s hood slipped back slightly, and she saw his smirk. “Guess so. Name’s Etrius.”
Her voice was a low, warning growl. “If you don’t step back, Etrius, I’ll rearrange that pretty smile for you.”
“Oh, you can try.” His grin widened as he took another step.
Zoey didn’t waste another word. With a fierce snarl, she lunged forward, swinging her rifle case like a sledgehammer. Etrius ducked, the edge grazing his shoulder, and he sidestepped, moving with surprising speed. Zoey barely had time to readjust her stance before he closed the distance, his golden fist aiming squarely for her ribs. She twisted, deflecting the blow with her forearm, prosthetics clashing with a shower of sparks.
In a flash, he was at her again, slamming his fists toward her with almost reckless speed. Zoey took a few hits to her forearms, but her strength and bulk let her hold her ground. She narrowed her eyes, noting his movements, spotting openings between his strikes. It took a few seconds for her to see what she needed—a slight delay every time he shifted his weight. He was fast, but he was still green, too eager to go for broke.
"Stop dancing like a bitch and actually fight," she taunted.
Etrius’s eyes narrowed. "Careful what you wish for."
He dropped low, sweeping a kick toward her knees. She staggered, unbalanced, and Etrius pounced, landing a hard punch to her side. Pain shot through her ribs, but she only grinned. Pain was familiar, pain was fuel. Grabbing his arm, she yanked him close, her knee smashing into his stomach. The air left his lungs in a grunt, but he twisted, breaking free and throwing an elbow aimed at her jaw.
She ducked, feeling the rush of his strike graze her cheek, and retaliated with a brutal uppercut that connected with his chin, snapping his head back. Etrius stumbled, dazed, but caught himself, spitting blood onto the ground. His grin stayed, feral and unyielding.
"Shit," he rasped, cracking his neck. "You hit like a freight train."
"Comes with the territory," Zoey shot back. She charged again, feinting left, then slamming her elbow into his sternum with bone-rattling force. He gasped, staggering back, but she didn’t let up. She threw another punch, a hook that connected squarely with his jaw, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt.
Etrius groaned, lying flat, blinking up at the city lights above, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His hood had fallen back, revealing his striped white fur and a shock of black hair, his green eyes catching the glow from the streetlamp above. Zoey stood over him, unbothered, her breathing steady, fists clenched and ready in case he made another move.
“Nice try, kid,” she said, her voice edged with mocking amusement. “But you’re way out of your league.”
He chuckled softly, still catching his breath. "Thanks… for the lesson..."
“Any time, stripes,” she replied, pulling out a calling card—a small, dark slip marked with only her initials and a tribal fox symbol. She tossed it onto his chest, where it settled against the dark fabric. Etrius lifted his head, his brow quirking as he stared at it, bemused.
Zoey reached into her pocket and tossed a wad of cash onto his chest. "This is for the hospital bill. My number's on the back of the card if you wanna get some actual practice in."
Etrius blinked up at her, his expression wavering between irritation and grudging respect. He opened his mouth as if to retort, but no words came out. Instead, he just watched as Zoey gave him a last smirk, turned on her heel, and strode down the alleyway, her figure casting a long shadow in the streetlight.
“Don’t follow me,” she called over her shoulder, “unless you wanna go for round two.”
Etrius found her a few nights later, nestled in the corner of a dimly lit dive bar tucked between two of Sigma City’s grimy high-rises. Zoey sat alone at a booth, one arm slung over the back of her seat and her other hand wrapped around a vodka bottle, half-empty. She was watching the bar’s flickering neon sign with a bored, glazed look when she noticed him approaching.
“Oh, it’s the rookie,” she drawled, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Come back to get even, or just wanted more money?”
Etrius chuckled, stopping by her booth with his hands raised in mock surrender. “I was hoping for a truce. Besides,” he added, his tone light, “you left quite an impression. Figured I owed you a drink.”
She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Better be more than one drink.” Her words slurred slightly, and he noticed the empty bottles lined up by her elbow.
“Guess I’m a little late,” he said, grinning as he slid into the seat across from her. “You’ve been busy.”
“Eh, work’s done,” she shrugged, lifting her bottle and giving it a little shake. “Means time to drink.”
"Fair enough,” Etrius replied, gesturing to the bartender for another round. “Mind if I join in?”
She waved him off with a lazy smirk. “Free country. Your tab.”
He chuckled. “Fine by me.”
As they settled into their drinks, Zoey’s tough exterior started to soften. The vodka had loosened her up, and her words came out with less of their usual edge, though her speech had taken on a slight slur. “So, Etrius,” she said, resting her chin on her hand as she squinted at him. “Tell me something interesting. Where’s a weirdo like you come from?”
He took a sip of his whiskey, watching her over the glass. “Oh, here and there,” he said, keeping it vague. “I’ve done a bit of everything, seen a bit of everything. Heard about this place back east, figured if I had anything to live for, it'd be here.”
Zoey snorted. “Well, here’s your first lesson: this place’ll eat you alive. You better get used to that. If I didn't have restraint, I probably would have killed you the other night.”
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Good to know you were holding back. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Zoey chuckled, taking another swig. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look, stripes.”
“Thanks, I think,” he said, grinning. “Though I’ve gotta say, you don’t exactly blend in either.”
She waved her bottle at him, giving him a lopsided grin. “Takes one to know one.”
Etrius shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Guess we’re both a little out of place.”
They sat in a comfortable silence, the dull hum of the bar wrapping around them. Zoey took a long drink, her eyes softening as she stared into her bottle. She swirled the last bit of vodka around the bottom, her gaze distant.
“Don’t get too attached to this city,” she muttered, almost to herself. “It doesn’t care. You’ve gotta keep movin’ if you want to stay alive.”
“Maybe,” Etrius replied quietly. “Some people here, at least, make it interesting.”
Zoey looked up at him, surprised, a faint smirk breaking her stoic expression. “Flattery now, huh?”
He shrugged. “Just an observation.” He took another sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down, glancing at her thoughtfully. “What would you say if I asked you out?”
Zoey blinked, caught off guard. Then she laughed, a loud, chittering, staccato burst. “Are you serious?” she asked, eyes half-lidded as she leaned in. “Or is that the booze talking?”
“A little of both,” He shrugged, embarassed by her laughter. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”
Her expression softened, and for a moment, she looked at him with something almost like curiosity. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that someone had finally thrown her off balance for once, but she found herself nodding, a grin spreading across her face.
“Fuck it,” she muttered. “Could use a laugh.”
“Good,” Etrius said, his smile widening. “How about tomorrow night? Somewhere…a bit less gritty?”
Zoey snorted, rolling her eyes. “Alright, fancy pants. You’re payin’ though.” She downed the last of her vodka and set the bottle down with a thud, smirking as she gave him a pointed look. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you. I don’t do ‘soft.’”
Etrius chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
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