Ashes and Echoes

Ashes & Echoes

The city never sleeps. Neither does trouble. I should’ve known the moment Vincent walked into my life, all sharp angles and easy smirks, that I was in for it. But trouble has a way of dressing itself up nice, whispering in your ear that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

It never is.

Vincent had a job. Not for himself -Guys like him never play their own hand- but for NetWatch, the big dogs who sniff out cybercrime like bloodhounds with badges. Some netrunner, tucked away behind layers of digital insulation, had put his nose where it didn’t belong. A minor breach, nothing special—just enough to get flagged. Vincent was supposed to track him down, a standard job, in and out. Only problem? He needed me to do it.

He found me the way you'd expect. Tracked me to a drop point, watched me make a buy off the runner. I never saw him, but he saw me.

Now, I was part of the job. Like it or not.
I should’ve bolted right then and there. But he knew my record. Knew my past. Knew I didn’t have the luxury of saying no.

So I played it cool. Acted jittery on purpose, shifting around like some caged rat, hoping to blindside him, end this conversation before it even started. But Vincent wasn’t your average flatfoot. He'd seen my file. Knew my moves before I even made 'em. I was on his leash now, and damn if the bastard didn’t know how to keep it tight.

Something about him unsettled me. I couldn’t shake it. He had the kind of voice that crawled under your skin and made a home there, the kind of grin that knocked you off your game when you weren’t looking. Something in his eyes that drew you in. My gut screamed at me to run.

Instead, I made a deal.
A clean slate. My whole NetWatch record wiped. And payment. I should’ve asked for more.

We set up the deal in the Badlands. A truckload of synthdrugs, enough to pull the runner out of his hidey-hole. The plan was simple: let the deal happen, ID the target, and walk away. Clean. No mess. No heat.

That’s the thing about plans. They don’t mean a damn thing when the bullets start flying.

I should’ve clocked it earlier. The wrong kind of quiet, the air thick with something worse than dust. Vincent stood a little too stiff, his fingers twitching like he knew something I didn’t. Something was off, but neither of us wanted to admit it.
I left Vincent at the overlook while I rolled up to the location.

There were too many of them. Voodoo Boys. Crawling out of the shadows like roaches, their eyes full of bad intent. I counted at least twenty before I stopped bothering.

Then the netrunner made me.

His eyes flickered like neon as he scanned me. He found NetWatch eyes in my system and just like that, my cover shattered. I felt the barrel press against my skull before my mind could catch up. The job was blown.

I knew what happened to NetWatch informants in situations like this. I didn’t need to guess. And I sure as hell didn’t need to ask. NetWatch had protocols for this sort of thing—cut losses, let the asset burn, and move on. I was dead weight now. Vincent knew it.

Thing is, he didn’t get the memo.

In an instant, the world went white-hot. Sparks and screams filled the air as everything went sideways. The runner holding the gun twitched, fried from the inside out, his screams cut short. Vincent was lighting up their network like a goddamn Christmas tree. And me? I was running like hell.

I almost made it to my bike, expecting to see Vincent already gone. Instead, I caught sight of him sprinting toward me, his coat whipping behind him, eyes locked on mine.

Behind me, chaos erupted. He wasn’t just hacking their systems —he was using everything at his disposal. His own car, parked near the compound, suddenly roared to life. Under his remote control, it revved hard, tires screeching before launching straight into the heart of the Voodoo Boys' nest. It plowed through a stack of crates before colliding into a fuel cache, igniting a chain reaction. Fire tore through the night, thick smoke billowing high, turning the compound into a whirlwind of panic.

I kicked the bike's engine in gear, while Vincent kept moving, vaulting onto the back of the bike just as bullets snapped past us. Then we were gone, tearing into the desert with only smoke and dust, riddled with bulletholes, behind us.

Of course the tire had to get popped during the messy exit. Not fully flat yet but it wouldn't last long. I cursed but was silenced by the loud engine struggling to keep up. Vincent pointed to a dot on the horizon. A town? We pushed on. It was all we had.

The place was a ghost town. Half-buried in dust and regret. We ditched the bike, holed up in some crumbling shack, and waited. I climbed onto the roof, sniper rifle in hand, scanning the horizon. Nothing but smoke and sand. Maybe they were still out there. Maybe they weren’t. I wasn’t about to take chances.

Vincent made the call. NetWatch was busy dealing with some bigger crisis. No back-up. No ride. We were stuck. I was pissed.

“Oh great. I could’ve flatlined out there over nothing because you didn’t look into the detes enough!”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was tight with frustration. I turned on him, ready to fire back, but the anger in his eyes softened me.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “You’re right. You saved my ass out there.”

He ran a hand through his hair, guilt written all over him. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position to begin with.”

I scoffed. “I agreed to the gig, Vincent. My choice.”

He looked up at me, searching for something in my face. Maybe answers. Maybe absolution. I wasn’t sure I had either to give. Instead, I reached out, my fingers brushing his wrist.

“At least you got me out of there,” I said, offering a small, tired smile. “Wrecked your ride in the process. You could’ve just let me flatline.”

His hand covered mine. “Not my style.”

After a while, a sandstorm rolled in behind us, swallowing the world in a blanket of sand. We weren’t getting out tonight.

Inside, the air felt heavier, warmer too. Relative safety. I dug through my pack, grabbed a quick hit to take the edge off. Vincent barely had time to blink before I downed it, followed by a bite of candy and a swig of my flask.

His eyes narrowed. “What did y—”

“When do you think we'll get our pick-up?” I cut him off.

"Don't know the detes yet. They'll give us a call when they are ready." He spoke softly.

“Looks like we’re stuck here, then.” He look puzzled at me as I unbuckled my holsters, my gaze drifting around the room. Then I saw it. The sofa behind him. Torn to hell, barely standing, but it would do.

Vincent followed my eyes, then turned back to me. That was his mistake. In the time it took him to process, I was already there, closing the space between us.

“You’re not what I thought you were,” I murmured, pressing a hand against his chest.

He swallowed. “And what’s that?”

I didn’t answer. I just let my fingers trail up his neck, felt the shiver run through him as my breath brushed his skin. He should’ve pulled away. Maybe he wanted to. Maybe I should have. But we didn’t. He couldn't look away from my eyes as I drew even closer.

The moment our lips met, the world outside faded away. Holsters hit the floor. Assorted gear followed. The sofa groaned under our weight as he fell back, dragging me down with him. His hands reached under the fabric of my shirt as I nestled in his lap. His touch was so intense and electrifying. It was enough to fill the room with an embarrassingly loud moan. He had that familiar smirk on his face again.

We were reckless. Maybe even foolish. But in that moment, I didn’t care. Because for the first time in a long time, trouble didn’t feel so bad.

And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.