Dante sat cross-legged, chewing thoughtfully on what he proudly called "recycled pizza." A barely edible mix of yesterday's crust, canned meat, and street vendor sauce reheated on an iron plate. It tasted like cardboard dipped in vengeance. He was just about to sink his teeth into the glorious mess when his comms pinged.
Message from: Aisha
"Inside Outpost 17. Found the schedule. CPG executing mutant children. JPD complicit. Downloading now."
Dante froze, mid-bite. The crust crumbled in his grip. His eyes narrowed, that dangerous grin spreading across his face—the kind that never reached his eyes but always promised violence. "Well well," he muttered, licking sauce off his thumb. "Didn't think she'd hit that nest without a leash."
He stood in one fluid motion, tossing the rest of his pizza into a rusted trash bin. "Let's dance, sweetheart."
He moved fast, slipping into the shadows of the alley behind his building. His bike—a battered hybrid of old tech and street-mods—roared to life with a growl like a pissed-off lion.
He didn't even think about where to go. He knew. Aisha's apartment. She wouldn't risk a mission like this unless she'd left something behind. Backup data. Exit plan. Insurance.
Dante zigzagged through Jinjahan's midnight veins, the city glowing sickly orange under the haze of industrial smog. Sirens wailed somewhere distant, but he was faster. Meaner. Smarter.
By the time he reached her building, the doorman was asleep, half-slumped behind the desk with a tablet balancing on his chest. Dante didn't need an invitation.
He picked the lock with a twist of wire and a flick of instinct, then crept into Aisha's apartment like a shadow that smelled faintly of engine oil and cigarettes.
The place was cold, still, but not untouched. The edge of a floor rug was curled, a drawer left ajar, and one of the picture frames was slightly tilted. Breadcrumbs.
He stepped inside, scanning everything like a predator tracking blood. Then his gaze landed on the corner shelf, beneath a statuette of a laughing lion. Hidden behind it, just barely visible—A microdrive.
Dante smirked, snatched it up, and slotted it into his portable reader. A file blinked open. He let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. You stirred the whole nest."
Kim jolted awake, sweat clinging to his neck, heart hammering like he'd just come out of a nightmare. For a second, everything was a blur—then he caught a shadow moving near the window. Instinct kicked in.
He grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it like a projectile. "What the hell?!"
The shadow caught it mid-air, fingers snapping around the fabric like a reflex honed in back alleys and bad wars.
"Easy, couch potato," he said with a half-smirk. "I'm not here for you."
Kim sat up, blinking. "Dante? What—why the hell are you in Aisha's place?"
Dante casually dropped the pillow on the floor and crossed the room like he owned it. "You know why I'm here. The real question is… when did she leave?"
Kim rubbed his face, groggy and tense. "Couple hours ago. Said she'd be back. Why?"
Dante's grin vanished. "She broke into Outpost 17."
Kim froze. "She really did?"
"She sent me a message mid-download. Found execution schedules. CPG and your boys at JPD? Joint operation. Targeting mutant kids."
Kim's breath caught in his throat. Dante stepped closer, eyes sharp. "I need to know how long she's been gone, and if she said anything else. Because if she doesn't get out of that fortress soon, she's not coming back."
Kim stood, heart pounding. "You're not going after her alone."
Dante cracked his neck. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."
Dante moved toward the fridge like it was his second home, opened it without asking, and pulled out a cold canned drink—some off-brand soda with a label half-ripped. He cracked it open with a hiss and took a long sip, then turned to Kim with a raised brow.
"So…" he said casually, leaning against the counter. "Couch, huh? You tired?" He smirked. "Or just… can't keep up with Aisha's naughty speed?"
Kim blinked, thrown off. "W-what? No—come on, man, why does everyone think there's something like that going on?"
Dante chuckled, stepping forward. "Relax. I'm just messing with you." He clapped a firm hand on Kim's shoulder. "But hey—don't act like it's outta nowhere. Everyone loves Aisha. She's hot, smart, sharp. Got that fire. That exotic Zwarten skin, that body that doesn't quit, and that face? Cute as hell."
He took another sip, then grinned. "Everyone wants a ride."
Kim stared, wide-eyed. Dante leaned closer, voice dropping with a wicked grin. "Including me."
Pause. He winked. "Got one ride. Just once."
Then he laughed—loud and unapologetic, tossing the empty can into the trash like it was a trophy. "C'mon, loverboy. Let's go save our girl before she tears the whole damn system apart."
Outside, the city buzzed low and dirty under flickering neon and the stench of wet concrete. Dante swung one leg over his beast of a bike—matte black with scorched engine mods, custom pipes, and a glowing skull decal that pulsed like a heartbeat. The damn thing growled even when idle, like it was itching to be set loose.
Kim stepped out behind him, hoodie half-zipped and still trying to process the last ten minutes. He frowned, arms crossed.
"Wait a second," Kim said, nodding at the bike. "You said you didn't have anything. But now you've got a damn action-movie bike parked like you're a one-man spin-off."
Dante glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Correction. I said I didn't have anything to give you." He patted the seat. "This beauty? Personal use only. She's got more attitude than Aisha and less patience than me. You wouldn't survive three turns."
Kim rolled his eyes. "Oh please."
Dante revved the engine—VROOOM—so loud it set off a car alarm down the street. He leaned forward, grinning ear to ear.
"She only rides with the main character, bro."
Kim looked flat-out unimpressed. "Oh my god."
Dante winked. "There's a moped around the corner. Might still have one wheel and half a handle. Perfect for side characters."
Kim groaned, already regretting this partnership. "You're insufferable."
Dante's laughter echoed through the alley, a full-throated roar of amusement that bounced off grimy brick walls. He hit the brakes with a show-off skid, tires screeching, then glanced back.
"Aww, hell—alright, hop on, Couch Boy!" he called, patting the backseat. "But hold on tight. She bucks harder than Aisha on espresso."
Kim grumbled, but jumped on, gripping Dante's jacket just in time for the engine to roar back to life. The bike shot forward like a bullet—smooth, fast, and loud enough to scare pigeons halfway to the next district.
As the city blurred around them, Kim yelled over the wind, "Why the hell are you so eccentric, man?!"
Dante glanced back, grinning. "What, you don't like the look?"
"Red jacket, silver messy hair, two swords, and now this bike?! What are you, a rejected anime protagonist?"
Dante laughed again. "Nah. I'm the DLC character. Limited edition. Comes with unresolved trauma and a killer soundtrack."
Kim rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smirking.
Dante continued, weaving between late-night traffic, "The hair? Natural. The jacket? Aisha said it made me look 'less stabby'—so naturally I wear it every day."
"And the swords?"
"One's for slicing. The other's for when I really want someone to remember me."
Before Kim could reply, Dante downshifted and skidded the bike sideways into a stop. Outpost 17.
The fortress loomed before them—gray, silent, and suffocating under layers of surveillance drones and electric fences. Two guards stood at the outer gate, rifles ready.
Dante stepped off the bike, cracking his neck. "You might wanna look away," he said, drawing one of his blades—a wicked, gleaming katana with black etchings that shimmered like fire in the night.
Kim didn't move. Too late. In one fluid motion, Dante dashed forward—faster than the eye could track—and with a single slash, both guards' heads dropped clean from their shoulders.
No scream. No sound. Just two thuds on the concrete. Kim stood frozen. Dante turned, resting the blade on his shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. "Gate's open."
He walked forward, wiping blood off the blade with the inside of his jacket. Without wasting a second, Dante kicked the front doors off their hinges like a rockstar breaking into hell's green room.
"SPECIAL DELIVERY!" he bellowed, blades already unsheathed and whistling through the air like death with a punchline.
The first wave of CPG grunts barely had time to turn before Dante sliced through them like confetti, limbs and rifles clattering to the floor. Kim followed behind, wide-eyed, ducking as blood sprayed the concrete walls like abstract art.
"DANTE!" Kim shouted. "You're killing everyone!"
Dante parried a baton swing, spun, and sent the attacker flying through a wall. "Yeah? They'd kill us if they had the chance!"
One guard lunged at Kim—who panicked, grabbed a mop from the corner, and whacked the guy square in the face. "Holy crap, I think I won that!"
Dante grinned mid-sprint. "You're evolving, Couch Boy!"
As they ran deeper inside, alarms blared and boots thundered down hallways. Dante carved a path with style—wall runs, flips, mid-air slashes—like a one-man kung fu opera directed by caffeine and trauma.
Kim yelled between breaths, "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE SHE IS?!"
"Nope!" Dante said cheerfully, kicking open another door… which led to a broom closet.
"THIS ISN'T IT!" Kim shouted.
"Wow," Dante said dryly. "Maybe she's hiding behind the mop bucket of justice."
They doubled back, turned into a hallway full of armed enforcers.
"Shoot on sight!" one screamed.
"Thanks for the warning!" Dante laughed, diving into a spin that decapitated three at once. Kim tackled another with sheer panic-fueled luck.
"I am not paid enough for this!" Kim wheezed.
"You're not paid at all!"
"I KNOW!!"
Another corridor. More blood. More bodies. Finally—double steel doors with LEVEL 3 clearance printed in red across them. Behind it: a female voice yelling.
Dante raised his boot, turned to Kim. "You ready?"
Kim panted, "Define ready."
Dante kicked the doors off their hinges. There she was—Aisha—standing her ground, cornered by CPG elites with rifles drawn.
She blinked as the doors crashed in and two maniacs stormed in—Dante twirling blood-soaked blades like drumsticks, and Kim gripping his bent mop like a war banner.
Dante pointed his blade. "Sorry we're late. Had to take the scenic massacre route."
Aisha smirked. "Took you long enough, pretty boy."
Kim exhaled, slumping. "Let's never do this again."
The room went quiet. Then the next alarm blared. Reinforcements incoming. Dante twirled his blades, eyes gleaming. "Okay. Now we do this together."
Bullets still echoed in the hallways as the trio bolted out of Outpost 17, zigzagging through broken doors and unconscious guards.
"Don't kill anyone else!" Kim shouted for the fifth time as they ran.
Dante, mid-sprint, casually kicked a gunman through a vending machine. "I asked him with my foot. He said no. So, y'know... mutual misunderstanding."
"DANTE!"
"What?! You said ask, I asked!"
They finally broke through the last gate, breathing hard under the red haze of warning lights. Aisha pulled out her phone. "I'm calling a taxi."
Dante slid to a dramatic stop, flipping his bloody blade back into its sheath. "Or, hear me out... we take the hellbike."
Aisha squinted. "There's three of us."
Dante grinned. "Exactly. That's what makes it hotter, sweetheart."
Kim stared. "You're insane."
"Insanely fashionable," Dante replied, handing the keys to Kim. "You drive."
Kim blinked. "Wait, me?!"
"Yep. I need my hands free in case we get tailed—and you owe me a ride anyway, remember?"
Aisha looked between them, puzzled. "Then where do I sit—"
Before she could finish, Dante patted the bike. "Middle seat. Prime real estate. Safety sandwich."
Aisha's jaw dropped. "Wait—why am I in the middle?!"
Dante swung onto the back, smirking like the devil with a dating app. "Because I want a fair share of this mission's assets."
Aisha turned beet red. "I'm not an object, Dante!"
He leaned forward, chin over her shoulder, voice low and teasing. "Come on, cute. If I had a Lyd for every time someone ogled you, I'd have enough to retire in Alben territory—with a pool... and you."
Kim choked on air. "Can we NOT flirt while I'm risking our lives on this death machine?!"
Aisha pouted but climbed on anyway, sliding into the middle. "One bump and I swear I'll elbow someone's spleen."
Dante wrapped one arm around her waist, all too casual. "I hope there are bumps."
Kim started the bike, flustered and furious. "This is my nightmare."
As they sped off into the night, neon lights flickering past, Aisha stuck in the middle of chaos, cockiness, and a stolen moment of messy charm, she couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her lips. "Idiots…" she whispered.
But her arms stayed wrapped tight around Kim, and she didn't push away Dante's warm hand resting on her hip. In this stupid, blood-soaked, corrupted city—somehow, this felt like home.