When Malory woke, she was confused, and her body felt like she’d been beaten to the very edge of death. She wasn’t in her own room. The walls were bare, sterile, and there was nothing there other than the bed and the pole that dangled a half-empty bag that fed liquids to her fragile body. She took a deep breath and marveled at how well the implants worked—they fed so much air that it made her light-headed. She made a note to ask the Doc for the specs later and tried to sit up. The pain was intense, but distant, mitigated by a plethora of narcotics, and she struggled to her feet. She was careful not to tear the stitches, and dragged the pole along with her. The Doc made a stink last time she ripped her IV out, and she didn’t want to disappoint him after saving her life. She made her way to the door, but when she grabbed the metal handle and pushed, nothing happened. It was locked. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have stopped her, but she had no idea what was going on or where she was, so she turned to take in the empty room again. High in the corner, a little security camera blinked, and Mal stared at it for a few seconds before she flipped it off and made her way back to bed.

  Half the day passed as she scrolled through the network and digested programming primers before the Doc came to check on her. He was not alone. Flanked on both sides by armed guards, he looked like he had come to deliver a casualty notification to an ever-expectant widow waiting for their spouse to return from the war. He carried a bag of fluids and a change of gauze. Malory expected him to greet her with a smile, to ask questions, to tell her everything was okay, but he didn’t say a thing. He just went about his work in stone quiet, replacing her IV and changing out her bandages with careful movements. It was uncomfortable, and receiving a cold shoulder from someone she respected, one of the very few people she trusted, was worse than any reprimand would have been. Mal looked from the guards and their rifles to the Doc and back, and everything clicked into place; she was a prisoner, and they had come along to make sure the old chrome wizard didn’t speak to her while performing necessary aftercare. The ghost in the implant might have been satiated, but the damage to Mal’s emotional state had yet to subside, and she felt her face flush with unbridled rage.

  “Well, this is an entire AV-full of horseshit,” she hissed. Mal turned in the middle of the Doc’s bandaging to stare up at his broad, wrinkled face. His jaw was clenched tight, and she thought she could hear his teeth creaking under the pressure. “Why am I being treated like a twice-damned pariah? Where the fuck am I? Who are those two limp-dicks, and why are you letting them control whether or not you speak to me?”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” the guard on the left asked. He raised his rifle and stepped toward her. He was shaped like a thumb. Would have had a glowing career as a member of the NDPD extorting the poor.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the Doc said. The hydraulics on his implanted legs hissed, and he lowered his stance. He was an old man, sure, but fighting was in his blood, and he made no secret of the intention to eviscerate each of the guards if they took another step.

  “Let it go,” the other guard said. He wasn’t a coward, he just knew the stories, and didn’t want to test whether or not a monster was still under that deteriorated shell. “The chapter masters made it clear. Just file it in the report, and he’ll suffer the consequences later.”

  “You’re lucky, you little bitch,” the angry guard said. He glared at Mal for a moment, then turned and left the room. The other guard followed behind.

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  “What the fuck?” Mal asked. It didn’t make any sense.

  “You dumbass,” the Doc said. He smacked her lightly across the back of her head and then continued to replace the bandages. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, do you?”

  “Trouble for what?” she asked. She rubbed the back of her head and shot him an indignant look. It was nice to know he was willing to fight for her sake, but she really didn’t understand. Killing a few corpo bastards didn’t even register. She missed the security of her Lantern snuggled against her rib cage.

  “I take it you haven’t looked at any news feeds since you woke up, then,” he said. He finished wrapping and then kneeled down beside her. “You’re pretty famous after the stunt you pulled. Never imagined you were crazy enough to waltz into ZenTech like a big-time merc and ice members of management. And then escaping? Infamy would probably be a better way to describe it.”

  “Yeah, I did that,” Mal said. She looked down at her metal hand, the way the joints moved around with little effort. It was still strange knowing it was part of her. “Felt pretty good, too. But so what? That doesn’t explain what’s happening.”

  “I was getting there,” the Doc said. He sighed and shifted his weight. He hadn’t slept since she stumbled into the headquarters. “A few of the higher-ups had a mind to turn you over after they saw the reports break.”

  “That’s absurd,” Mal said. They were in the middle of a war. Turning over one of their own for killing the enemy wasn’t nonsensical, it was insane.

  “There’s a big difference between skirmishes in the streets and back alleys, the occasional raid on warehouse supplies, and a very public execution of corporate leadership,” the Doc said. He ran fingers through his loose, gray hair. There were large bags under his eyes. “You’re smart enough to know that. What you did was an escalation no one was prepared for, and it’s been pure chaos.”

  “Oh,” she said. She stretched back her shoulders and pushed against the soreness. The IV wiggled in her vein as she moved, and she had to resist the urge to yank it free again. “So what happens now?”

  “Well,” he said. His legs flexed their gears and lifted him back into the air. “After I gave them the information in the documents you brought in last time, their opinions shifted. There’s no real consensus on what to do with you anymore.”

  “So a stay of execution. Great.”

  “No,” he said. He headed toward the door, where he stopped and leaned against the frame. “You’re my patient, and you’re on the mend. You just need to get some rest, make sure everything takes right, and I’ll get you out of here soon.”

  “You think they’ll just let me go?” Mal asked. They were willing to treat her like pond scum for doing what none of them dared, so she didn’t have a lot of faith. She’d never wanted to join the gang in the first place, and the distaste of the situation planted a small seed that waited to bloom.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. His eye lit up with an incoming call, but he didn’t take it.

  “Thanks for saving me again, Doc,” Mal said. She laid back into the bed, pulled up a thin sheet, and closed her eyes. She ignored how lumpy the pillow was as she tried to stuff the rage down into the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t healthy, but it would do.

  “It’s just my job,” he lied. He stopped leaning against the door and turned to leave. “A package came for you, by the way. I’ll bring it next time I come to swap the bandages.”