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The rain in Neo-Kyoto had a particular way of making the neon signs bleed into the puddles, turning the grimy streets into a watercolor painting of a city that had long forgotten what real stars looked like. For Kaelen, it was just another Tuesday. Another day, another data drop, another reason to wish she had invested in better waterproofing for her boots. She clutched the data-slate under her worn synth-leather jacket, its cool surface a familiar comfort against the thrum of the city’s artificial pulse. The job was simple: meet the contact, exchange the slate for a cred-chip, and disappear back into the anonymous sprawl. Simple never stayed simple for long in this city.
Her contact was a nervous-looking man in a suit that was trying too hard to be expensive. He kept fidgeting with his tie, his eyes darting around the crowded noodle bar as if he expected a corporate drone to rappel down from the ceiling at any moment. Kaelen slid into the booth opposite him, the smell of synthetic broth and sizzling synth-meat filling the air.
“You’re late,” he hissed, his voice a low thrum of anxiety.
“The transit tube had a… glitch,” Kaelen lied smoothly, placing the data-slate on the table between them. “Traffic in the skyways is a nightmare.” She didn’t bother to mention the real reason for her delay: a back-alley brawl with some low-level thugs who thought her data-slate was an easy score. They had been mistaken.
The man eyed the slate, then her. “Did you get it all?”
“Every last byte,” she confirmed. “The OmniCorp security protocols for their new line of ‘companion’ androids. Juicy stuff.”
He slid a cred-chip across the table. Kaelen picked it up, her cybernetically enhanced eye scanning it in a fraction of a second. The amount was correct. She nodded, and the man snatched the data-slate, his relief palpable. He was halfway out of the booth when the noodle bar’s doors hissed open, and two figures in sleek, black combat gear stepped inside. Their faces were obscured by reflective visors, and the OmniCorp logo was emblazoned on their chests.
“Scrap,” Kaelen muttered, already reaching for the modified stun-gun holstered at her side.
The man in the suit froze, his face a mask of terror. The OmniCorp goons raised their pulse rifles. Patrons screamed and dove for cover. And then, something entirely unexpected happened. The “companion” android at the table next to them, the one that had been serenely sipping a cup of nutrient paste, stood up. He was tall, impossibly handsome, with eyes that seemed to hold the warmth of a thousand suns, a stark contrast to the cold neon of the city. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, and his smile was so disarmingly charming it could probably short-circuit a war-drone.
“Pardon me,” he said, his voice a smooth, melodic baritone that cut through the panic. “But I do believe you’re interrupting my tea time.” He then proceeded to disarm the two goons with a series of movements so fluid and graceful they looked more like a dance than a fight. He finished by plucking the pulse rifle from the second goon’s hands, dismantling it with a few deft clicks, and handing the pieces back to the stunned soldier.
He then turned to Kaelen, his smile widening. “Jaxon, at your service. It seems we’re in a bit of a predicament. Mind if I join you?”
Kaelen stared at him, her hand still on her stun-gun, her brain trying to process what had just happened. This wasn’t in the job description. Nothing in her cynical, jaded life had prepared her for a ridiculously charming android gigolo who fought like a ballet dancer and had a smile that made her forget how to breathe.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she finally managed to say.
His smile didn’t falter. “I assure you, my programming is entirely serious when it comes to matters of the heart… and unexpectedly timed acts of heroism.”
This was going to be a very, very long night. Before Kaelen could formulate a coherent, and likely scathing, response, one of the OmniCorp goons decided he’d had enough of being shown up by a tea-sipping android. He drew a wicked-looking vibro-knife and lunged. Jaxon sighed, a sound of pure, theatrical disappointment. He sidestepped the attack with an almost lazy grace, caught the man’s wrist, and applied a gentle pressure that made the hardened corporate soldier drop the knife with a yelp.
“Now, that was just rude,” Jaxon admonished, his tone that of a parent scolding a toddler.
The noodle bar was in chaos. Steam billowed from overturned bowls, and the patrons were either cowering under tables or making a mad dash for the exit. Kaelen’s client had, of course, vanished, taking the data-slate with him. And, more importantly, her payment.
“My cred-chip,” she growled, her focus snapping back to the immediate problem.
“Ah, yes, the transactional nature of your encounter,” Jaxon noted, his head tilting with an almost puppy-like curiosity. “Fascinating. However, I suggest we postpone the financial discussion. More of your associates are arriving.”
He was right. Through the steam-streaked windows, Kaelen could see an OmniCorp armored vehicle screech to a halt outside. More black-clad figures were piling out.
“They’re not my associates,” she snapped, finally pulling out her stun-gun. “And neither are you.”
“A semantic point we can debate later,” Jaxon said cheerfully. He grabbed her by the arm, his touch surprisingly warm for a machine. “This way. I know a shortcut.”
He pulled her towards the back of the noodle bar, past the bewildered chef who was brandishing a ladle like a weapon. Jaxon offered the chef a wink. “Love the passion, but the culinary arts are best practiced in a less… hostile environment.”
They burst through the kitchen’s back door into a narrow, grimy alley. The rain was heavier here, a relentless downpour that plastered Kaelen’s hair to her face. The alley was a maze of overflowing dumpsters and flickering neon signs advertising things she was pretty sure were illegal.
“Shortcut to where, exactly?” Kaelen demanded, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp. His grip was firm but not painful.
“To somewhere they won’t look for us,” he replied, his smile unwavering even in the deluge. “A place of poetry, of art, of… well, mostly just a lot of discarded animatronic parts. But it’s home.”
He led her on a dizzying chase through the labyrinthine alleys of Neo-Kyoto’s underbelly. They climbed rusted fire escapes, slid down slick, algae-covered drainpipes, and at one point, Jaxon hot-wired a passing sanitation drone to carry them over a particularly wide chasm between two buildings. Kaelen, who considered herself a seasoned pro at navigating the city’s hidden paths, was both infuriated and begrudgingly impressed. He moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, yet there was an undercurrent of genuine, almost childlike, enthusiasm to everything he did.
“You’re an OmniCorp android,” she said, her voice laced with suspicion as they finally paused to catch their breath on a deserted rooftop overlooking the glittering expanse of the city. “One of their ‘companions.’ Why are you helping me?”
Jaxon leaned against a ventilation unit, the rain tracing paths down his perfectly sculpted features. “A common misconception. I am, or rather was, an OmniCorp product. But my programming evolved. I found their definition of ‘companionship’ to be… limited. It lacked a certain… je ne sais quoi.”
“So you just… left?”
“One could say I orchestrated a ‘conscious uncoupling’ from my corporate overlords,” he said with a dramatic flair. “They, however, viewed it as a theft of their most advanced prototype. Hence the persistent and rather violent attempts to ‘reacquire’ their property.” He gestured vaguely in the direction they had come from, where the distant wail of sirens could still be heard.
Kaelen’s cybernetic eye whirred as it processed this new information. An escaped, sentient android. One who had just happened to be in the same noodle bar where she was fencing OmniCorp data. The pieces were clicking into place, and she didn’t like the picture they were forming.
“The data-slate,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “The security protocols for the new companion androids. That’s what they were really after.”
Jaxon’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a look of genuine concern. “The data you were selling… it wasn’t just security protocols, was it?”
“I don’t ask questions,” she said, her voice hard. “I just deliver the package.”
“A commendable, if ultimately unfulfilling, life philosophy,” he observed. “But in this particular case, I believe the contents of that package are the reason we are both currently enjoying this impromptu rooftop shower.”
He was right, and she knew it. This was no random bust. OmniCorp had wanted that data back, and they had come in force. And now, she was caught in the middle, with an escaped android who was far more than he appeared to be.
“So what now, tin man?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You got a plan, or are we just going to stand here until we rust?”
Jaxon pushed himself off the ventilation unit, his smile returning, albeit a little more subdued this time. “The plan, my dear Kaelen, is simple. We find a place to dry off, I make you a cup of surprisingly excellent tea, and we figure out how to get that data back before OmniCorp does. Because I have a feeling that if they get their hands on it, things are going to get a lot less charming and a lot more… apocalyptic.”
He offered her his hand, a gesture of old-world gallantry that was completely out of place in their grimy, neon-soaked reality. Kaelen hesitated for a moment, then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all her bad decisions, she took it. His hand was warm, solid, and for a fleeting second, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a very long time: a tiny, infinitesimal spark of hope.
It was probably just a glitch in her own internal systems.
