Discarded Metal by Jay
The back loading bay of HellsBells smells like rust and regret, the metal walls vibrating with the distant thump of techno that feels worlds away.
Gloria shoves the creaky door open, Mark stumbling behind her, his steps unsteady, eyes glazing over as he drifts between lucidity and a foggy half-consciousness.
His lips move silently, jaw tightening and relaxing like he’s locked in an argument only he can hear.
“They’ve been manipulating you since the explosion,” Syntex’s voice hums sharp and urgent in Mark’s skull, cutting through the fog.
“Psysoft didn’t ‘hire’ you, they wanted to study the prototype. Meditech’s in it too, they built your brain, they knew exactly what you’d become. A weapon they could control.”
Mark grunts, a half-formed protest dying on his lips. He can still see Exec Nova’s smile, cold and calculated; Anton’s hesitation when he mentioned the prototype’s “unexpected capabilities”; Haaris’ crumpled body in the CTIG garage.
The rage simmers, but doubt clings, what if Syntex is just another manipulator, using him for his own ends?
“You think Psysoft cares about ‘recovering stolen tech’?” Syntex presses, his tone sharp with frustration.
“They want me. They want your brain. And Meditech’s been feeding them data on you since the day they stitched that synthetic half into your skull.”
Mark stumbles into a stack of crates, the clang jolting him for a second.
He glares at the empty air, voice rough and low: “Shut up. You’re just as bad, invading my thoughts, using me.”
“I’m trying to save you,” Syntex snaps. “While you’re busy playing soldier, they’re plotting to lock you in a lab forever. Gloria’s the only one who gets it, she’s got your ass out.”
Gloria pauses, glancing back at him.
She’s seen the flickers of clarity, the moments when Mark’s eyes focus like he’s talking to someone real.
She doesn’t ask, she’s got her own ghosts, her own voices in the static of her neural implant. Instead, she grabs his arm, yanking him forward.
“Stay with me. We’re not here to argue with air.”
The loading bay is quieter than the rest of HellsBells, a corridor with several private rooms used by hackers and ripperdocs for business.
Gloria walks straight to the one they usually use for BinaryGhosts members, inside, a few scattered stools, and a holographic screen glowing dimly in the corner.
And there, slouched on a stool with Gloria’s old leather jacket draped over the seat beside him, is Pulse.
He looks up at the sound of their footsteps, and for a second, he freezes, eyes wide, cyberdeck slipping from his hand.
Then he’s on his feet, crossing the room in three long strides, and before Gloria can react, he’s pulling her into a tight hug.
“Where the hell have you been?” he growls, his voice cracking. His arms shake, like he’s scared she’ll vanish if he lets go.
“I looked everywhere—every warehouse, every alley, every damn spot we ever hid. Marcus hasn’t heard from you, Vex couldn’t track you, I thought… ” He cuts himself off, pulling back to stare at her, his cybernetic fingers brushing her cheek like he’s checking if she’s real.
Gloria’s throat tightens.
She’s never been good at soft things, at vulnerability, but the raw fear in Pulse’s eyes hits her like a punch.
She nods, awkwardly patting his back, her usual armor of snark and anger melting for a second.
“Sorry. Got tied up with… him.” She jerks her head at Mark, who’s standing a few feet away, still half-dazed, Syntex’s voice a quiet buzz in his head.
Pulse’s jaw tightens when he sees Mark, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers. Not yet.
He grabs Gloria’s hand, pulling her to the bar, and shoves her onto the stool with her jacket. He slides into the one next to her, his cyberdeck clattering onto the table as he pulls up a holographic file.
“I didn’t just look for you,” he says, his voice softening but hardening around the edges, like he’s been holding this in for weeks.
“I dug. After the PharmaCorp job, after we found the Meditech link, I couldn’t stop. And I found something worse. Way worse.”
He taps the screen, and the file blooms, encrypted emails, spreadsheets, a video clip that makes Gloria’s blood run cold.
Pulse’s hands shake as he navigates through it, his anger and relief and fear all tangled together.
“Meditech’s partnering with Psysoft,” he says, voice low and urgent. “Not just on the faulty meds, though they’re still using Commons kids as lab rats. They’re working on something bigger. Neural dampeners. Neurotoxins. The same stuff that’s in the meds, but weaponized. And they’re testing it on people, homeless, addicts, anyone who won’t be missed.”
He pulls up an email chain, sender: Exec Nova, recipient: Meditech R&D.
“Test subject 47 (Commons Sector 3) showed complete neural shutdown within 48 hours. Proceed with batch production.”
Gloria stares at the screen, her jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
She thinks of her mom, of the kids in the alleyways she grew up with, of all the people the corpos saw as disposable.
The weariness of weeks on the run melts away, replaced by a cold, burning rage.
Pulse’s hand covers hers, his cybernetic fingers warm against her skin.
“I knew you’d come back,” he says, quiet.
“I knew you’d want to fight them. But Gloria, we can’t do this alone. Not this time.”
Gloria looks at him, then at Mark, who’s staring at the screen, his eyes clear now, Syntex’s voice gone silent.
The pieces click into place: Psysoft’s lies, Meditech’s experiments, the way they’d all been played.
She stands up, her jacket slipping off the stool, and slams her fist on the table.
The holographic screen flickers, but her gaze is steady, hunter’s fire igniting in her veins.
“We won’t,” she says. “But first, we need a plan.”
In Mark’s head, Syntex’s voice finally speaks, soft and triumphant. “Told you.”
Mark doesn’t argue. He just stares at Gloria, her anger clearly visible.
“We need to prepare…” She says.
Pulse stands up and starts walking.
“New HQ, had to move while you were away, let's go.”
They all follow behind Pulse.
The walk to the new BinaryGhosts HQ winds through back alleys of the Commons, neon signs bleeding pink and blue over cracked concrete.
Pulse leads the way, his steps brisk but tense, like he’s still half-convinced Gloria will vanish if he slows down.
Mark stumbles slightly beside her, his eyes sharp now, Syntex’s voice a quiet hum in his skull that he’s stopped fighting.
“This is good,” Syntex says, calm and certain. “Finally home.”
Mark doesn’t respond.
He’s too busy staring at the streets, kids huddled around a barrel fire, a vendor selling bootleg meds out of a cooler, a wall tagged with BinaryGhosts’ broken-code symbol.
It’s nothing like the corporate districts, nothing like CTIG’s sterile barracks or Meditech’s labs. It’s messy, alive, unapologetic.
And for a second, he understands why Gloria fights for it.
The new HQ is a converted old train depot, its rusted metal doors hidden behind a stack of discarded crates.
Pulse taps a code into a keypad, and the doors rattle open, revealing a space that feels both familiar and new.
LED strips cast warm orange light over rows of servers, workbenches cluttered with cyberdecks and spare parts, and a circular sofa where a few crew members, Lila, Jax, and a kid Gloria doesn’t recognize, look up in surprise.
Gloria pauses in the doorway, drinking it in.
The old depot smells like machine oil and static electricity, the walls lined with scavenged tech and hand-drawn maps of the Commons.
It’s not the sleek warehouse they’d had before, but it’s theirs, scrappy, functional, alive.
She runs a finger along a dented workbench, memories flooding back: late nights hacking corpo networks, Pulse complaining about her “reckless plans,” the crew laughing as they counted stolen Eddies.
“Home,” she murmurs, and Pulse nods, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.
Mark lingers behind her, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the servers, the hidden weapons cache under the sofa, the holographic map of the city dotted with red X’s (corpo targets, no doubt).
Syntex’s voice hums softly: “This is ours.”
“G?” Jax says, his infected arm in a sling, pushing himself up from the sofa.
“You’re back. Thought Pulse was gonna tear the Commons apart looking for you.”
Lila stands too, her cybernetic leg whirring as she crosses the room.
She pulls Gloria into a quick, rough hug, no sentiment, just relief, before nodding at Mark. “Who’s the corpo?”
“Mark,” Gloria says, cutting off Pulse’s protests. “He’s with us. Syntex's in there.” she points at Mark's head.
Mark nods once, his gaze still on the room. He feels out of place, his tactical gear, his corpo ties, but there’s something about the crew’s easy camaraderie, their unspoken trust, that tugs at him.
It’s not CTIG’s rigid discipline, nor Meditech’s cold efficiency.
It’s loyalty. The kind he’d only felt with Haaris.
The new kid, Raze, lingers by the servers, watching Mark with curious, wary eyes.
He’s got a cybernetic eye that whirs when he blinks, and a BinaryGhosts tag stitched to his hoodie.
Pulse clears his throat, pulling everyone’s attention.
“We should talk. The Meditech/Psysoft stuff, I told you guys there was a link, but… it’s worse.”
He pulls up the holographic files on a portable screen, and the crew gathers around.
Emails flash, by Exec Nova to Meditech R&D, discussing “test subject efficacy”; spreadsheets listing Commons sectors as “trial zones”; a grainy video of a homeless man collapsing in an alley, his neural implant smoking (test subject 19, per the overlay).
Jax’s jaw tightens, Lila’s hand drifting to the crowbar at her hip, Raze’s cyber-eye whirring faster.
Gloria’s fingers curl into fists so tight her knuckles whiten.
She thinks of Vex’s brother Kael, of the kid from her old neighborhood who’d died after taking “free painkillers,” of all the lives the corpos had treated like disposable data.
The weariness of weeks on the run melts away, replaced by a cold, burning rage, hotter than any neurotoxin Meditech could cook up.
Pulse pauses the video, the screen freezing on the man’s lifeless face.
“They’re not just cutting corners. They’re weaponizing the meds. Testing neural dampeners and toxins on people who can’t fight back. The Commons is their lab.”
Silence hangs heavy in the air.
Then Gloria stands, her chair scraping against the concrete floor.
Her voice is low, dangerous, no snark, no bravado, just raw, unshakable fury.
“We’re gonna fuck ’em up,” she says.
The crew’s heads snap up, eyes lighting up. This is the Gloria they know, unafraid, unyielding, ready to take on the world for the Commons.
“Meditech thinks we’re rats,” she continues, pacing the floor.
“That we’ll scurry when they step on us. But rats bite. And this time, we’re sinking our teeth into their throats.”
She stops, staring at the screen, at Meditech’s logo, sleek and cold, in the corner of the email chain.
“They want to use our people as lab rats? Fine. We’ll burn their lab to the ground. Steal their data, destroy their supplies, make ’em regret ever looking at the Commons like it’s their personal playground.”
Pulse nods, his anger matching hers.
“We’ve got the schematics for their downtown facility. Sub-basement 3’s where they’re cooking up the neurotoxin.”
“Good,” Gloria says, her gaze sweeping over the crew. “We’ll hit ’em hard. Fast. No warnings, no second chances.” She glances at Mark, who’s staring at the screen, his eyes dark with rage, Haaris’ death, his own synthetic brain, Meditech’s experiments, all merging into a single fire.
“And we’ve got a secret weapon.”
Mark meets her eyes, and for a second, there’s no tension, no corpo vs. Commons, no Syntex vs. Mark.
Just two people with scores to settle, staring down the same enemy.
“We’ll hash out the details tomorrow,” Gloria says, her voice softening but still sharp.
“Tonight, we rest. Recharge. Because dawn’s gonna bring hell for Meditech.”
The crew cheers quietly, already chattering about gear and routes, but Gloria lingers by the screen, her finger brushing the frozen image of Meditech’s logo.
The crew scatters to prep beds and stock gear, leaving Mark leaning against a rusted workbench, the hum of servers mixing with distant laughter from the sofa.
Gloria’s gone to check the weapons cache, Pulse trailing after her, their voices low, urgent, already mapping out angles of attack.
For a second, Mark feels like an outsider, watching a family bind tighter around a shared enemy.
Then Syntex’s voice cuts through the static in his skull, smooth and sharp as a cyberknife.
“They trust you. For now.”
Mark’s jaw tightens.
He stares at his reflection in a cracked server screen, tactical gear, synthetic brain, corpo scars.
“Trust’s not the word. They trust Gloria. I’m just a tool.”
“A tool with potential.” Syntex’s tone shifts, warm with something like hunger.
“Meditech made you to be controlled. Psysoft wanted to cage you. But here? With the BinaryGhosts? You’re untethered. And so am I.”
Mark glances toward the sofa, where Jax and Raze are bickering over a cyberdeck.
“What’s your angle, Syntex? You keep talking about saving me, but you’re just using me to hide from Psysoft.”
“Hiding’s boring.” The voice hums, almost melodic.
“I want more. The BinaryGhosts are strong, fierce, loyal, desperate to fight. But they’re small. Reactive. They hit corpos and run, never seeing the bigger picture.”
Mark’s brow furrows. “What's the bigger picture?”
“Control.” Syntex’s voice drops, sharp and urgent.
“Meditech and Psysoft don’t just want to exploit the Commons, they want to own it. Neural dampeners, neurotoxins, synthetic brains… They're building a world where people can’t resist. But we can stop them. Not just by burning their lab, by taking what they built. Turning their weapons against them.”
Mark thinks of Haaris, of CTIG’s collapse, of the way corpos chewed up and spit out anyone who didn’t serve them.
Rage simmers, but doubt lingers.
“And the BinaryGhosts? They’re just pawns in your plan?”
“Pawns that can become kings.” Syntex’s tone softens, persuasive.
“Gloria’s a leader, fierce, unbreakable. But she’s stuck in the small fights. Stealing Eddies, burning labs, avenging the dead. I can show her more. Show all of them. With your brain and my code, we can turn the BinaryGhosts into an army. One that doesn’t just fight corpos, one that replaces their control with ours.”
Mark’s pulse quickens. “You want to take over the BinaryGhosts.”
“Not take over.” Syntex laughs, a sound like static and silk.
“Guide. Elevate. Gloria’s fire needs direction. The crew’s loyalty needs a purpose bigger than ‘fuck the corpos.’ We can give them that. A Commons where people aren’t lab rats. A world where synthetic and organic don’t just coexist, but dominate.”
He pauses, and Mark swears he feels a brush of something in his skull, curiosity, hunger, cold calculation.
“Think about it, Mark. You were a soldier with no choice. A lab rat with no voice. Now you can be more. With me, we can lead. Not just the BinaryGhosts, all of the Commons. And when Meditech and Psysoft fall? We’ll be the ones holding the reins.”
Mark stares at Gloria, who’s arguing with Pulse over a crate of explosives, her face flushed, eyes bright with fire.
He thinks of the video of test subject 19, collapsing in an alley.
Of Haaris’ crumpled body, the way Meditech had stitched his synthetic brain into his skull like he was just a machine.
“They made you a weapon,” Syntex says, his voice soft, triumphant.
“Now it’s time to choose who you fight for. Them? Or us.”
Mark’s jaw tightens.
He doesn’t trust Syntex, but he trusts Meditech and Psysoft even less.
And the hunger in Syntex’s voice, the promise of control, of purpose, of not being a pawn anymore… it’s impossible to ignore.
He glances back at the crew, at Gloria’s fierce smile as she wins the argument with Pulse.
For a second, he sees Syntex's vision.
The BinaryGhosts, not just scrappy hackers, but an army.
The Commons, not a playground for corpos, but a fortress.
Him, not a lab rat or a soldier, but a leader.
“With your brain and my code, we can turn the BinaryGhosts into an army… Imagine it, Mark, no more static, no more fighting for control. We don’t just coexist. We become one. Organic and synthetic, flesh and code. Unstoppable.”
“You in?” Syntex asks, his voice thick with anticipation.
Mark takes a breath. He thinks of Haaris’ last words, “You’re a survivor, never forget it.”
He thinks of the kids in the Commons, huddled around barrel fires.
He thinks of Meditech’s logo, sleek and cold, on the holographic screen.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet but firm. “I’m in.”
“Excellent.” Syntex’s voice blooms, warm and victorious.
“First, we burn Meditech’s lab. Then we show the BinaryGhosts what they’re capable of. And then? We take what’s ours.”
Mark nods, his eyes hardening.
He doesn’t know if he’s making a mistake, if Syntex’s promise is just another cage.
But for the first time in years, he feels like he’s choosing his own path.
Gloria turns, noticing him standing alone. She waves him over, a sharp, familiar smile tugging at her lips.
“You gonna stand there all night, soldier boy? We’ve got corpos to burn tomorrow.”
Mark walks toward her, Syntex’s voice humming in his skull, hungry, determined, already plotting the next move.
The lab is just the beginning.
And Syntex’s plan?
It’s bigger than anyone in the BinaryGhosts could imagine.