Nevay drove the long blade of her knife straight through Priatt's windpipe and through the back of his neck with sickening crunch. He gurgled, eyes bulging in shock, blood spraying out over his chest and across Nevay's face.

She ripped the knife free and was moving before Priatt's body hit the ground.

Her knife slashed wildly, opening the face of the woman to the left. Targe's shotgun boomed, and the man to the right was blown clean off his feet with a gory crater in his chest.

Kirk reacted on instinct. Dropping into a crouch, he twisted and cracked off a shot from his pistol, catching another of the rival gang members in the leg as the man tried to take aim.

He kept shooting. There was no room for mercy on the docks, not in the game they were playing now. His second shot went wide, but the third and forth caught the man in the stomach and the throat, sending him spinning. The man sprawled to the ground, coughing and spluttering, his lifeblood fountaining out over the floor plates.

A storm of bullets thundered from the rest of Nevay's crew, ready to act as soon as she kicked off the killing. They'd been waiting for that moment, and they were all better shots than he was.

The whole thing was over in seconds. Nevay herself, splattered with blood and panting with exertion, tugged her long knife out of the chest of a dead body and stood up, spitting and rolling her neck from side to side, as though she'd just completed an intense work out. She glanced left and right, surveying the corpses of Priatt and his entourage approvingly.

"Good work, folks."

"Jesus Christ, Nevay," Kirk muttered shakily as he rose from his crouch.

"This is what you signed up for, Kirk."

"Oh, it is? I thought you brought me here for diplomacy?"

"With this fat bastard? Not a chance. This was always going to take a little dirty work." She cast an unapologetic glance back over her shoulder at him. A black smile tugged at her mouth as she nodded to the man he'd killed. "Nice shooting."

Kirk grimaced and stuffed his pistol back into its holster. "You can't just keep killing everyone that looks at you sideways. You're going to bring every fucking gang on the docks down on top of us."

"Sometimes you have to send a message, Kirk." Wiping her knife off on Priatt's body, she sheathed it and turned to Targe. "Everybody alright?"

"Not a scratch," the big man replied, exchanging smirks with the other members of the crew. Despite his disgust at how little regard they had for life, Kirk had to admit, Nevay's group were very, very good at what they did.

Better to be on their side right now, he reasoned.

It hit him then that this would be the first of many such confrontations, the first step on a very long road to drag Hadrian's disparate gangs kicking and screaming into a new future. Sighing heavily, he dragged both hands down his face, as though he could scrub away the memory of what had just happened.

"What now?"

"Gotta deal with the rest of Priatt's people," Nevay answered, motioning Targe and the others towards the bodies. They began stripping the dead of their weapons and valuables as she kept talking. "We get out there fast; let them know that their boss is washing the docks right now. Maybe some of them'll be smart enough to get in line."

"And if they're not?"

"Then let's call it a hostile takeover, eh?" Her expression softened slightly and she walked over to him putting a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers curled to grip a fistful of his jacket. "C'mon, Kirk. Don't go all weak-at-the-knees on me now. I know you're not..." Nevay's mouth twitched from side to side as she tried to find the words. "Not used to this sort of stuff, but just remember the 'why', alright? We need the networks and the numbers. Otherwise nothing that we did – nothing we saw out in that place – is gonna mean shit."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." He nodded glumly.

"Don't waste your thoughts and tears. People like Priatt, they're no use to us. They don't give a shit about Hadrian, or about the corps. All they care about is gouging the next crypt from whoever's passing by. If a few more Priatts have to die, I can live with it."
Kirk breathed deep, meeting her gaze. Her attempts to put him at ease were not helped by the fact that Priatt's blood was still spattered across her face, but he appreciated the effort. And, he knew, deep down, she was right. If they wanted a rebellion, a real one, they needed to cut out the dead weight.

"I can live with it, too," he told her, patting the pistol in its holster.

"Good." She released her grip and thumped him gently on the shoulder. "Then let's go finish this."

*

"This is the place," Nevay whispered, craning her neck to look around the corner.

Crouched lower down, Kirk leaned forward to look as well. Beyond the flimsy, half-collapsed ferry terminal they were using as cover, he could see the clump of the warehouse. The bulbous cube squatted at the dockside like some kind of giant toad, collapsed walkways and subsidiary storage houses peeling off it on all sides.

He quickly noticed a distinct lack of life.

"You sure?" he murmured. "Don't see any guards."

"Stupid bastards brought their heavies to the meet," she replied, gently motioning Targe forward. "Rookie mistake. Lights are on. They're in there, Kirk." Looking back at him, Nevay gave him a gentle thump on the shoulder. "Stick close, eh? Wouldn't want you to come this far to catch a stray bullet from some piss-knickered little shit."

"Careful," he cautioned as he rose, pistol clutched in both hands. "People are gonna start thinking you give a shit about me."

She grinned, then slid out from behind the building, her knife rasping out of its sheathe, a snub-nosed pistol held out in her other hand. He hung back slightly, letting Targe and the experienced killers spread out ahead of him. They moved quick and quiet, their coarse banter suppressed into silence as they approached the building.

Kirk did his best to emulate them, just as Nevay had taught him. He stayed low, his knees close together as he scurried forward, the pistol gripped tight in both hands. The closer they got, however, the more he noticed the aching void of quiet. Noise was part and parcel of living in Hadrian – music, industry, people, adverts, the cacophony followed you wherever you went.

He could still hear it, but far into the background. His brow furrowed as he looked around nervously. He couldn't hear anything coming from the ferry terminal, lights or no lights.

"Something's wrong," he whispered to Nevay as they came to a halt along the wall of the structure, the others spreading out to flank the main door. "It's too quiet."

"I know." She gave him a small nod of understanding, her knife twitching uneasily. "We've come this far. Let's see what the hell's going on around here."

Nevay motioned one of her crew forward. The stocky young man sidled up to the door's lock mechanism, holo-visor coming to life across his eyes. He raised his hands halfway towards the lock, getting ready to hack the system.

Then he stopped; cocked his head quizzically to one side.

"What is it?" Targe rumbled.

"Lock-code's ripped," the man answered, glancing nervously at Nevay as the visor shimmered out of existence again to reveal his uneasy facial expression. "Somebody shredded it."

"So it's open?"

"Yeah."

"What in the...?" Nevay prowled forward to the door. Reaching out, she pressed the muzzle of her pistol to the metal door and gave a gentle shove.

It creaked open a few centimetres.

"Alright, everybody keep your eyes open, eh?" she hissed, glancing left and right. "Follow me."

Kirk swallowed down his dread as she pushed the door fully open and disappeared inside. The rest of them were close on her heels, and they flowed into the ferry terminal, spreading out to the left and right as they went.

Last through the door, Kirk brought the pistol up to aim as he stepped over the threshold. Then he froze, a jolt of horror rooting him to the spot at what they'd discovered.

Priatt's hideout was a slaughterhouse. The repurposed terminal bore little resemblance to the transport hub it had been years ago, with waiting area benches replaces by long tables and tangled, sparking computer arrays. He could see weapon racks scattered haphazardly through the space, but his eyes were drawn inexorably to the body parts strewn throughout the chamber.

The walls and floor were smeared with gory tracts of blood, forming horrible patterns. Kirk swallowed hard, letting his eyes take in the gruesome tableau. He could see guns strewn all over the place, and the scent of smoke still lingered faintly.

"What in the holy fuck happened here?" Targe asked, even his gruff voice tinged with nerves as he stepped gingerly to the right.

"Another gang?" Kirk ventured shakily.

"Not like this." Nevay shook her head, her voice low and tight. "Everybody just keep your balls strapped on, will you? Sweep this place. Slow and careful. Kirk, you stick with me."

He moved to join her, taking great pains to try not to step in any of the gore. His boots slid slightly as he had to cross over a patch of blood, and he grimaced. Sidling up behind her, pistol drawn, he gave her a nod.

"You find anyone still breathing," Nevay told the others, "shout, alright? You find something nasty, shout louder and get out."

Then she was off, her gun hand resting across the wrist of the other as she scanned the area. Her cybernetic eye whirred as she moved from object to object.

"Fuck me," she murmured as they moved. "Something tore these poor bastards to pieces. Like, literally tore them apart."

"Like what, an animal?"

She gave him an annoyed glance. "Hadrian doesn't have animals, Kirk, but we know one kind of thing that does this kind of damage."

Kirk cleared his throat nervously. "You mean wraiths?"
"Bingo."

"Corps confiscated all the wraiths from that facility. They were just dead hulks after the A.I. died."

"Well, maybe they fucked up the containment? Maybe those things weren't as dead as they seemed? Maybe they went feral like the things across the water. Maybe they've figured out how to reprogram them and sent them here to test them out. Or, maybe some other world-class fucking intellect has decided to take a crack at recapturing the glory days."

"Just to kill Priatt?" Kirk shook his head. "C'mon, Nev. Even by our standards that bastard was low level."

"Would make the perfect test, don't you think? C'mon, you've seen all those stupid-ass tourism announcements about cleaning up the docks. Maybe this is part of it."

Kirk frowned, unconvinced, his eyes drifting back to the bodies. A severed leg lay not far away, the bloody edge of the limb ragged as though it had been ripped instead of cut. On the one hand, a codewraith could have done it. The twisted machines certainly had the strength. But in his experience, most codewraiths had weapons – a mix of blades, claws and industrial cutters. Something about this looked more... feral, somehow. He could see bullet casings and impacts all over the place

They made their way to the left, skirting around the perimeter of the room, while Targe and the others moved to the right, into the body of the complex.

"Look," Kirk whispered, tapping Nevay on the shoulder and pointing. She followed his pointing finger, to where the double doors leading to the old embarking passage lay ajar, one side of them buckled badly inwards.

"Must've been where... whatever it is got in here."

"Smashed the door right off the hinges," he murmured.

She nodded. "Let's check it out."

"You sure that's a good idea?"
"Whatever happened here, Kirk, we missed it. Now come on." Nevay paused long enough to signal to Targe, raising her knife hand in a fist then indicating the door. He responded with a casual salute before returning to his own search.

Fear and curiosity went to war in Kirk's mind as he followed Nevay to the smashed doors. Although not security grade, they were heavy things, and the huge dents in them spoke to a lot of force. Raising his pistol, he edged around to her right, taking aim at the dark passage beyond.

Exhaling a sharp breath, Nevay flashed him a smile that didn't quite manage to reassure him, before she stepped through.

He hung back just a little as they moved through the walkway. Once upon a time this was where passengers would have boarded their ferries. Someone, or something, had used it to come the other way. He could see scrapes in the floor and ground, and even the ceiling.

The hairs on the back of Kirk's neck crept up as they journeyed down the sloping ramp, and he could hear the faint slosh of water growing. The door at the far end of the passage wasn't in any better shape, caved inward as though it had been hit by a battering ram. He raised his gun, catching Nevay's eye and giving her a small nod as they approached.

They flanked the doorway on either side, seconds ticking by as they gathered their nerves. Nevay exhaled a long, slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Then she stepped through. Kirk was right behind her, and together they emerged into the terminal's main dock.

The cold, cavernous space was empty, expect for one jetty where a lonely barge sat, its motor still sputtering weakly in the half-light. Kirk licked dry lips.

"Shit," Nevay murmured. "I know that junk heap."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Belongs to a scav called Maddie."

"You think a scavenger did all this?"

She shot him an irritated glance. "Of course not. But Maddie... she did a lot work in Hadrian South. Maybe something..." Nevay's voice trailed off.

"Oh, hell." Kirk grimaced. "Maybe something hitched a ride back."

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