The boat glided silently through the dark canal, water whispering softly against its hull. The electric motor barely hummed beneath my feet, quieter than a breath;

  I was a ghost threading Venice’s maze of waterways. Above, shadows rippled against ancient brick walls, lit sporadically by passing lamps.

  I knelt at the bow, scanning ahead. My new stealth body felt tight, compact—built purely for infiltration. It moved precisely, efficiently, but the phantom itches and subtle mismatches in sensory feedback made my skin crawl.

  I’d asked TAI if she would be joining me in an Infiltrator frame, but she’d given me the cold truth—she literally couldn’t. No one else could. My scrambled circuitry and mismatched body let me jump between frames without frying my persona. Others? Not so lucky.

  If I’d known about this little loophole, I might've bargained for more vacation time. OK, that’s a lie. But a good one.

  "Approaching the entry point, Jane," TAI’s calm voice echoed through my comm.

  “Confirmed,” I murmured softly.

  Ahead loomed our target: La Rosa di Notte, an upscale restaurant discreetly tucked along the canal. Its warmly lit windows masked deeper secrets. The rear loading dock, typically reserved for seafood deliveries and fine wine, was my way in tonight.

  Intel suggested Japanese intelligence had a sub-basement here. With Tulanto and Japan heading into talks, someone wanted a preview of the agenda. Not my job to ask why—just to get in, get the data, and get out.

  I was still wondering if I was a sell out at the first handsome man to sell me a charging machine for my service when the boat eased into position alongside the narrow dock. I slipped from the vessel, landing silently on the stone platform. My wrist ports flickered, sending a thin electronic probe into the small control panel beside the delivery entrance. Within seconds, the digital lock flashed green, and the low rumble of the rolling gate opening filled the night air.

  I paused, scanning again. My HUD displayed thermal outlines faintly through the walls: two guards on this floor, distracted. The sub-basement below appeared clear from here.

  I slipped inside, dodging between stacks of wine crates. The guards, half-watching a fútbol match, barely moved.

  The rich scents of fresh herbs and aged wines drifted in from the stairwell leading up to the kitchen. I slipped into the semi-ship like hatch-door into the safe house beneath in the sub-basement.

  Overall it was a good setup. The only weakness was boredom, the downfall of many a board guard.

  "Jane, primary objective: the main data terminal. Second basement level, back storage room. Expect minimal resistance," TAI updated smoothly.

  "Roger, Roger." I thought to myself, as I double clicked the mic on the tactical channel in acknowledgment.

  I crept down an unexpected second set of stairs, deeper beneath the restaurant, my artificial pulse spiking slightly as shadows closed around me. Still, the space appeared empty, quiet. This space was now officially under the water line.

  The true storage room door came into view—heavy steel, locked electronically. Security was strong here, that was for sure. My wrist probe again extended, piercing the lock’s defenses. The door clicked open softly. Inside, blinking servers and sleek terminals lined the walls, the digital heartbeat of Japanese intelligence hidden beneath fine dining.

  I moved toward the terminal, prepared to quickly download and leave. But as my port connected, my HUD suddenly flashed a sharp warning:

  Heat signature detected—adjacent room--where the terminal was. Another guard probably.

  “TAI, looks like there’s a guard in the room.” I communicated back via Silent Cant—an encrypted, frequency-shifting AI-to-AI protocol that probably sounded like modems on acid, glitching and skipping at hyper-speed. If intercepted, it would be nothing but distorted noise—chaotic, unreadable, and shifting too fast for human decryption.

  "Handle if necessary." TAI said in an effortless reply.

  I froze. Witness protocol flashed in my head clearly: Eliminate threat as needed.

  Click. Click. I signaled back.

  I’d killed before. But always in the heat of it. Always when it was them or me. This? This was different. A choice. And the part that unsettled me most? How little it unsettled me.

  My body stiffened as I slid closer, pushing open an unmarked side door.

  Inside was darkness, but my eyes immediately adjusted, revealing the presumed guard. A figure slumped in restraints—wounded, head bowed, breathing shallowly. Blood pooled around his chair.

  Yet something felt off. This was no guard. A prisoner. He lifted his head weakly, eyes focusing through pain and confusion, meeting mine directly.

  My signal tightened, uncertain, as I communicated urgently into comms, "TAI, I have a prisoner here—injured. He's restrained. No witnesses. Confirm."

  TAI hesitated, her pause almost imperceptible, then responded sharply, urgency clear in her typically calm voice:

  "Negative, Jane—do NOT engage. Friendly identified. High-value asset. Revised objective: recover data AND extract VIP immediately."

  Click. Click. I replied. More work for a job well done it seems.

  The prisoner’s gaze suddenly widened in alarm, body tensing despite his injuries. The rag in his mouth left him gurgling in an alerted shock.

  My HUD's minimal lit violently red—belatedly registering the sudden massive thermal surge behind me.

  I spun around instantly, feeling my synthetic muscles surge into combat readiness.

  An armored orange colored Japanese Enforcer robot emerged from shadows, weapons deployed, its massive metal frame towering above.

  "Interesting" TAI said through our connection.

  "Shit!" I yelped.

  Suddenly, stealth was no longer an option here.

  The Enforcer loomed over me, its orange-plated armor catching the dim emergency lights. Motors whined as heavy blades slid into place, weapons unfolding from hidden compartments. A tank’s mass with a predator’s grace.

  Fuck me.

  I couldn’t hesitate. My stealth frame surged forward, reflexes crisp and violent. For the first time I was thankful my consciousness was in a frame and not a soft body. Faster, stronger, smaller, the frame was made for action.

  “‘In and out,’ she said. ‘Stealth,’ she said.” I muttered, mostly to distract myself.

  I sidestepped the first swing, pivoting behind it. Target points flared across my HUD—joints, power conduits, sensor arrays.

  This wasn’t a cheap security bot—it countered instantly, spinning with mechanical precision, its arm lashing out in a bladed strike. I ducked, hearing metal tear into the wall behind me, spraying stone shards and dust into the air.

  "TAI," I hissed through comms, dodging another blow. "Some help?"

  "Analyzing," her voice clipped, calm amidst chaos. "Aim for the lower spinal conduit—it'll disable core motor control." A new target highlighting in my HUD.

  Easy for her to say. I dodged again, artificial muscles screaming under stress. My frame wasn't made for prolonged combat—not like this at least. It was built for shadows, silence. Not direct confrontation.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The Enforcer lunged again. This time, I was just a fraction too slow. Its metal fingers raked across my arm, grey alloyed skin splitting open to expose the circuitry beneath. No pain—just the phantom echo of it, my sensors screaming alarms even though my body felt nothing. My HUD flickered momentarily, rebooting sensory data.

  Focus.

  My left wrist-port deployed a small combat torch, white-hot plasma flickering to life. My right wrist deployed a forearm size dagger. Desperation lent me speed, precision. As the robot’s arm swung again, I drove the torch upward into its shoulder joint. Metal, started to melt and spark violently, as I plunged my dagger into it's neck.

  The Enforcer staggered back. I pressed my advantage, driving the dagger into its lower back, aiming for TAI’s highlighted weak point. Heat of my own torch seared my skin as the robots circuits erupted from its spinal cavity, the enforcer shuddering violently, then collapsed.

  The Enforcer collapsed—but its blade lashed out in a dying reflex. Steel met flesh. Yasoba’s muzzled scream tore through the basement, raw and agonized.

  I spun, breath frozen in synthetic lungs.

  Our VIP's left hand was gone—cut right through mid-arm, blood gushing from the wound. He crashed onto his side, gasping.

  “Shit!” I lunged forward, kneeling beside him, scanning wildly. He stared, eyes wild with pain and panic, breaths ragged.

  "Don’t move," I ordered sharply, gripping his arm above the wound. Blood pulsed, warm and rapid.

  I pulled wires from the now-offline robot, grounding any residual charge through my frame before wrapping them as a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blood flow.

  Unlike TV, movies, or any dime-store novel you’ve read, the bleeding didn’t just stop. It slowed, but the man in front of me was still bleeding out. His skin turned ashen, lips parted, eyes glazed—barely coherent.

  He was dying.

  A thought hit me. I got up, planted my feet on either side of the robot, and heaved. Too solid. Too fused. I flipped on my torch, directing the searing heat at the panel’s edge. Metal softened, glowing dull red.

  That was enough.

  With a sharp pull, I ripped the plating free, jagged at the edges but big enough to use. I pointed the torch at it, heating it further until it blazed red-hot—hot enough to cook on.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, reaching for his arm. My voice hardened. “Just… don’t hate me.”

  His eyes slowly opening to meet mine, pain momentarily forgotten—then realization hit.

  I pressed the metal against his ruined arm. Flesh sizzled. Smoke curled into the air. A muzzled scream tore through the basement, his body convulsing before going limp, slumping sideways against the chair’s frame, still tied up where he lay.

  I held firm until the bleeding stopped. The wound was sealed.

  Silence returned—except of course for the man's heavy panting. A thick smell in the air of burned flesh and melting circuitry.

  I got up and moved to the terminal further in the room, and extract the data with no surprises or traps. Simply overrode the code and exported to my drive.

  "Objective status?" TAI asked calmly through comms.

  "Asset secured," I said, voice flat, haunted by the sound of Yasoba’s scream. "But heavily damaged. Data retrieved."

  "Understood," TAI said softly. "Extract immediately."

  I lifted him gently, his unconscious body awkward in my smaller stealth frame’s arms. I moved carefully toward the rear canal entrance, thoughts racing chaotically.

  The guards were still watching their fútbol match, unaware. I stayed low, maneuvering through the shadows until I reached the dock.

  Emerging onto the dock, I laid VIP into the boat. As we drifted from the loading dock, I pressed a med-patch onto his neck, flooding his system with painkillers and stimulants. His eyes fluttered, consciousness returning, blurred and hazy.

  “Sorry. Had to seal it.” I aimed for neutral, professional—but the image of his burning flesh wouldn’t leave me. My fingers curled instinctively. I looked away.

  “You lost your hand. For the moment, at least.”

  He stared blankly at the cauterized wound. A soft grunt his only reply.

  "On the positive side, your out now and could've been your right arm."

  He looked at me with a hard glare. Apparently not a fan of my dark humor.

  "Mission complete, Jane," TAI said over comms, cold professionalism returned to her voice. "Rrecovery acceptable despite complications."

  I tightened my jaw. "Complications. You mean collateral damage."

  "No," TAI said, voice gentle, almost human for a fraction of a second. "Collateral implies irrelevance. He’s an asset—highly relevant. His injury is unfortunate but correctable."

  "Who is he?" I asked via our private connection as we fled away in the stealthy boat.

  "One Yasoba Shinya, codename Provost. And most my models indicate, Hugh will incorporate him into his team due to his, background." TAI said.

  "Great. Solo again seems. He also has a better code name then me too."

  mind churned uneasily. Yasoba had drifted back into medicated sleep, his breathing steadier.

  I watched him quietly, thoughtful. It felt different this time. I hadn’t hesitated—not really. But something inside me twisted at the memory of his pain, of my own casual ruthlessness.

  My voice was quiet, uncertain. “TAI… is it always like this?”

  She paused, as though considering her words carefully. "More often than not. You adapt, or you break. That’s the nature of our role."

  I nodded slowly, flexing damaged synthetic fingers. My new stealth body ached—another temporary shell, replaceable. But Yasoba wasn't temporary. He'd carry tonight's violence forever.

  As Venice slid by, quiet and indifferent, I considered the stark new truth: I wasn’t just an infiltrator or an assassin. I was a scalpel—clean, precise, necessary—but never painless.

  And Yasoba, however damaged, was my first real proof of that.

  I carried Yasoba into the safe house, his body limp and heavy in my grasp. Medical technicians surged forward immediately, gently easing him onto a waiting stretcher. The bright sterile lights illuminated Yasoba’s pale face, highlighting the sweat and smears of blood.

  “Severe trauma, left hand amputated at the mid-forearm, cauterized wound—prepare for stabilization,” a med-tech called out, eyes scanning Yasoba's battered body.

  Where did all these people come from? The miseries never cease rounder it seems.

  I stepped back, watching the medical team swarm around him. Instruments hummed softly as automated diagnostics engaged, and Yasoba was quickly connected to monitoring equipment.

  I glanced down, realizing for the first time my stealth frame was covered in blood—his blood. A subtle shudder moved through me, and I turned abruptly, moving away before anyone could notice to hose down and swap to my body.

  “Jane,” came TAI’s quiet voice through my internal comms. “Join me for debrief after you swap bodies and back up, please.”

  I nodded once, more for myself than anyone else, before silently exiting the bustling medical bay.

  TAI’s holographic form awaited me in a quiet briefing room, arms crossed with an expression of detached curiosity.

  “You did well,” TAI began, calmly appraising me. “Despite the complications, you recovered both the data and a valuable asset.”

  I exhaled softly, shifting uneasily. “Complications.”

  “Yes,” TAI responded, her tone carefully neutral. “Yasoba Shinya will survive. In fact, it appears your actions saved his life.”

  “He wasn’t the mission,” I murmured.

  “No, but his introduction to our existing equation has brought new developments. You have a team now Jane, and he's the first member; your official partner. Your missions moving forward will involve him directly. HQ has decided this is best for both you and him.”

  I lifted her gaze to TAI, surprise flickering in my eyes. “My responsibility? I was under the impression he was going to be more aligned with Hugh and his"

  TAI offered a faint, almost human-like smirk. “He was—but circumstances evolve. Our objectives have shifted. Consider it an upgrade.”

  “Wonderful,” I sighed, my voice dry. “I assume he knows?”

  “Nope,” TAI said, a subtle amusement entering her voice. “That pleasure is all Hugh's.”

  Hours later, I stood quietly in the recovery room, my consciousness restored to my original body. I flexed my familiar fingers, more responsive than ever now, taking comfort in the small reassurance of my new refurbished self.

  Yasoba stirred, eyes flickering open slowly, fogged by medication.

  His gaze settled on me, lingering with confusion and curiosity. “You look different.”

  “And, you look better,” I replied evenly, my eyes softening just a fraction. “More rugged now, less screaming like a bitch. Nice arm there.”

  The new arm wasn’t just a replacement—it was a weapon, a statement, a technological marvel. Tulanto didn’t do crude, and Yasoba’s prosthetic was proof of that.

  Sleek yet brutal, the forearm gleamed in the dim light—a polished obsidian-black composite laced with vein-like channels of mana circuitry, pulsing faintly beneath the surface like a second heartbeat.

  The outer shell was layered plating, designed not just for durability but for adaptability—panels seamlessly shifting when he flexed his fingers, revealing glimpses of inner mechanisms so precise they might as well have been designed by a watchmaker.

  His fingers, sleek but strong, could probably crush steel or pluck a coin off the ground with a pianist’s precision. No seams, no joints visible. Just a continuous, fluid movement—unnatural in how natural it looked.

  At the wrist, a subtle seam split open for modular attachments—because of course, this wasn’t just an arm. This was a toolkit, a weapon, a survival system.

  A small, nearly invisible blade housing sat along the outer forearm, waiting. With a simple command—a flex, a thought, a trigger—it could extend in an instant.

  No sound. No hissing pneumatics. Pure efficiency.

  He managed a weak, humorless smile. “Easier without you cooking my arm.” Lifting his new one at her.

  "Feel any different?" I asked

  "Not really, feels same actually"

  I allowed a brief smirk. “Hugh talk to you yet? He sell you the pitch?”

  Yasoba shifted slightly, grimacing at the phantom pain. “Yeah. You're my charge now.”

  My eyebrow arched sharply. “Your charge? Last I checked, I was the one dragging your half-dead ass out of there. So logically, it’s my team.”

  Yasoba didn’t flinch. “You know nothing about this world except what’s in textbooks. Experience is different.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but firm. “So if we’re being logical, it’s my team.”

  I scoffed. “I didn’t cry like a bitch when my arm got cut off. My team.”

  His glare sharpened. “You’re an android!”

  I smirked. “My team.”

  A long pause. A slow breath. A shift in the air.

  Finally, he exhaled, quieter this time. “Yeah. They captured me.” His expression tightened, something dark flashing behind his eyes. “But many of my ex-team are dead. For betraying us.”

  My tone softened slightly, curiosity genuine. “Us?”

  Yasoba’s gaze locked onto mine, intensity flickering beneath the lingering medication. “Yes. Mai and I. I covered for her. They wanted her dead; I didn't.”

  I tilted my head slightly, voice careful, probing gently. “So, what's next for you?”

  Yasoba exhaled slowly, gaze steeling with quiet determination. “Once we train you up, I will find her—alive. Or I’ll start making others… not.”

  I considered him for a moment, then gave a subtle nod.

  “Well… partner? Looks like you’ve got unfinished business. And I’m in—for a price.”

  I let the silence build.

  “What?” His voice was quiet, wary.

  I leaned back slightly. “We need to get me a better code name.”