Chance woke drowsy and confused.

The apartment was too vacant without Verity next to him, and this couch, as thrilled as he had been when he found it on the side of the street, was decidedly NOT made for a man his size. He barely fit if he laid on his side and his feet dangled over the edge or up on the arm, twisting him at an impossible angle. His cybernetic arm had dug into his ribs, the gears and sharp edges unforgiving of his flesh and blood body.

Shit.

He stretched, pulled on his jeans, threw a hoodie over his shirt, and walked out of his apartment. After the fight last night, his adrenaline had been through the roof, and now Verity was gone… He should run after her, explain the situation, force her to listen. But she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d seen that look in a woman’s eyes before.

Fuck that, he wasn’t chasing shit.

Outside, the morning air hung thick and heavy. The space between the streets of Cyn City and the shit end of skycity held in the day’s heat. Grime and moisture clogged his airways. Usually he liked this time of day, but his mood couldn’t find the beauty in the shimmering skylanes overhead or the briny scent just beneath the surface smells of poverty.

Chance ran through the streets, working out his frustration by pumping his legs hard. Even after the night he’d had, it his body wanted to move. The moist air blew passed him, as he pushed himself faster. Sweat ran down his chest and back, but he kept going, focusing on the ache in his body instead of the pain in his chest.

He headed out of town, away from the Deluge, the swamplands used for overflow water it couldn’t process into power and pump back into the ocean, away from Garvan, the Ball & Joint, and most importantly away from Verity.

The dropoff at the edge of the city came fast, like a line drawn from above. The shadows from the glass and plasteel buildings in the sky stopped, and suddenly the air became dry. The change was stark. Almost no one went passed this point, but it was the only way out of the city. Going around was impossible thanks to the diverted water from the Deluge which created rivers into the desert, but salt water didn’t irrigate crops. It only further desiccated the already dead land.

Verity must have crossed through here when she came from the commune she grew up on. Nothing but what she carried with her to start a new life in Cyn City. That took serious balls. And look what she got handed, Garvan and a killer cyborg. No wonder she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

Passed the initial break from the slums and the dropoff, the desert began. You didn’t have to go far to be reminded of just how dead this planet had become. Buildings were coated in dust and dirt, windows so grimed over no one even bothered to wipe them clear anymore. If anyone even lived out here. The few who did were those who hadn’t been able to even make a living in the slums.

Chance ran in the ancient streets, kicking up a plume of dust behind him, t-shirt pulled up over his nose, until he reached Enver’s, an old warehouse that still drew power from the ancient grid charged by the Deluge. Inside, the first floor was covered in glass and sand. Anyone passing by would think the place abandoned, but for those intrepid enough to make their way to the third floor, they would discover the bustling activity of The Ward.

Out of everything in Chance’s life, The Ward qualified as the only good he’d ever contributed to. When Enver arrived at the Ball & Joint, traumatized, broken, and just looking for a drink to forget the Trans-Atlantic War, Tane had taken in the ex-military medic and used him to fix cyborgs up as much as he could, so they could keep fighting.

Tane, Chance, and Enver had seen the opportunity to do more though.

The Ward was lined with beds, about half full of kids who’d been born in the slums and suffered from lung disease or fungal infections. There were also cyborgs recovering from injuries on the Deluge, in the ring, or anything else. And even those who just broke down because none of them were built to last forever.

“Hey man.” Chance sat on the edge of one of the narrow beds, careful not to disturb the resting cyborg too much.

“Oh shit, Chance, what the fuck?” Markus rolled over, his face swollen in so many places he looked like someone larger wore a stretched-out Markus mask.

“How bad is it?” He went to pat the man on the shoulder, but stopped, eyeing the purple and green bruise around his neck.

Markus coughed. “Not dead. I’ll take it.”

“That’s good, I’m glad to see it.”

“Enver told me what Garvan made you do. I’m sorry I had to come at you like that. He threatened my kid.”

Chance nodded. “I figured it was something like that. No harm, no foul.”

Enver walked over and slapped Chance on the back, earning a wince and glare, his hard metallic hand unforgiving against his bruises. “Get over it. You’re not the one in the hospital bed.” He chuckled and injected a blue substance into Markus’ IV.

“More nanites?”

Enver nodded and recapped the needle. “The delayed suspension worked long enough to keep Garvan from knowing Markus wasn’t quite dead—”

“Just dead enough,” the cyborg’s scratchy voice added.

“—but, he’s not out of the woods, serious internal injuries still need to be healed. The nanites had their work cut out for them thanks to the amount of damage in his neck and spine. Plus, we still need a cynker to reattach that arm. The delay cost you, but you’re alive.”

“Just alive enough,” Chance added with a smile.

“You two had this planned all along?” Markus asked, reaching up to touch his purple eye. “I should have thought of something like this.”

“You have a family to think about. Besides, I didn’t know it was gonna be you, if I did, I might not have wasted my credits on all these nanites.”

“Very funny.”

Enver chuckled. “All right, now that you know he’s not completely dead, leave. He needs to rest. Otherwise, I’ve got a sythblood transfusion you can help me with.”

Chance shuddered and stood to leave. Before he walked off though, he grabbed Markus’ shin. “Seriously, though man, I’m glad it worked. I’m glad you’re okay. You’re a good man.”

“Not as good as you,” Markus replied. “I was ready to go through to the end.”

“For your little girl. That’s a different game all together. I get it. No grudges on my end, just do me one favor, get away from Garvan. Get your family as far from here as you can, and don’t look back. Don’t lose everything and let him turn you into a killer like he did me.”

“You didn’t kill anyone,” Enver began, but Chance cut him off.

“This time. Not my first rodeo, or my first bout in the ring as Garvan’s man. And now—I’ve lost more than I realized, even trying to do right, so get out. As soon as you get that arm reattached and can walk on your own, get out.”

Chance left the Ward, feeling the eyes of the two cyborgs behind him. He didn’t want their pity. And he didn’t want Verity’s judgement. But she was still the only thing he could think about. Outside, the sun rose over the city in the distance. The early morning light blended with the smog and pollution to give the desert a purplish hue.

A familiar voice said his name in that low, commanding tone everyone from the military seemed to possess.

“What do you want, Enver?”

Sand drifted around them, collecting in Chance’s eyes, as he waited for his friend to answer. When it became painful to wait, he turned around and found Enver with sand goggles and a frown on his face. His sleek cybernetic arm and two agile mechanical hands hung at his side. “Stop being an ass.”

“What?” Chance blinked. “I came to visit the dude I was supposed to kill after saving his life. How exactly is that being an ass?”

“Not what I meant.”

Chance grumbled. Enver’s terse way of speaking was going to drive him over the edge this morning. He had no sleep, no patience, and no Verity.

“Would you stop giving me shit, or at least do it in a way I can understand?”

Enver sighed and dragged a gleaming metal hand through his unruly hair. It hung back a little around his shoulders, a high and tight military look grown out and uncut. “I’m happy to go against Garvan with you. I don’t want to see you or anyone else hurt in that ring. It’s the only reason I stick around. But I didn’t do all this just to see you still miserable. Whatever you’re being stubborn about, whatever crawled up your ass and died so your face looks like you have bowel cancer, get over, or fix it. We took a huge ass risk here, and we could both still end up in Garvan’s sights. What’s the point if you aren’t happy.”

It was the most words Chance had ever heard Enver say at one time.

“She thinks I’m a killer.”

“Did you tell her what we did?”

“She didn’t give me the opportunity. The look on her face…”

“For fuck’s sake Chance, you can’t expect people to know the truth if you don’t tell them. If she saw what I saw in that ring and doesn’t know about the nanites, you’re lucky she doesn’t run screaming from the sight of you, all bloody and bandaged up like that. Speaking of, I really should give you a few stitches on your cheek, that butterfly bandage isn’t gonna do the trick.”

“Scars are sexy.”

“Maybe,” Enver shifted his stance. “You know what’s not? Being a fucking pussy. Now go talk to her.”

Chance looked down and studied his feet, unsure of what to say to the brutally direct assessment of his situation, but Enver wasn’t wrong. When he looked up, the slight man had turned his back and was heading back into tend his patients.

“Thanks.”

Enver replied with a grunt and disappeared.

Chance walked back into the city, the sky ablaze with color. It would rain later, maybe even send some fresh water out here in the dropoff. The deserts would never see the fresh water though. They never did. It evaporated too fast in the scorching sun.

He took his time entering the city, strolling through the different neighborhoods and taking in what was an unexpectedly nice day in Cyn City.

People avoided him wherever he went, even venders turned away and pretended not to hear him, as he tried to grab something edible for breakfast. When he finally had coffee in his cybernetic hand, his human one too bloodied and sore to hold onto the cup’s heat, he had to admit he was wasting time. Wandering the slums wasn’t going to get him any closer to Verity.

She’d left him that morning, or at least she’d said that was her plan. The only option was to go to her apartment and hope she would give him the chance to explain, pray to whatever gods might be out there looking over people on other worlds—because this one had been long abandoned—and hope he still had a chance to win her back.