The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room cluttered with tools, gears, and makeshift furniture. She laid Zane carefully on an old, patched-up couch, her movements surprisingly gentle for someone so brash.

Kira stood over him for a moment, hands on her hips, studying his battered face. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

She turned and grabbed a metal basin from a nearby table, filling it with water from a rusted tap. With quick movements, she gathered a clean cloth, some antiseptic, and a roll of bandages.

Kira knelt beside Zane, dipping the cloth into the water. “You’re lucky I found you,” she said softly, almost to herself. “But you are not safe yet.”

She cleaned the dirt and blood from his face, her hands steady despite the severity of his injuries. When she reached his ribs, she paused, frowning at the deep bruises. “That’s gonna hurt like hell when you wake up,” she said, carefully wrapping the bandages around his torso.

The silence in the room was broken only by the faint sound of the heater and the occasional groan of the old house settling. Kira worked quickly but methodically, ensuring every wound was tended to.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and studied her handiwork. Zane’s breathing was more even now, and the color was slowly returning to his face.

Kira leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. She watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable. There was a flicker of concern, maybe curiosity, in her before she shook her head and pushed herself to her feet.

“You better wake up soon, or I'm charging rent," she said quietly, glancing at him one last time before heading toward the door.

Outside, the junkyard was eerily quiet, the shadows stretching long under the pale moonlight. Kira stepped onto the porch, her eyes scanning the perimeter. She didn’t trust the silence—it felt too unnatural.

Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of heavy footsteps reached her ears. Kira’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice low, “looks like the night’s not over yet.”

As she spoke, the junkyard gates creaked under the strain, the rusted metal groaning as they parted to reveal the shadow of the Veteran. His heavy boots crunched over the gravel, his cybernetic arm whirring faintly with each step. The place reeked of rust and decay, the air thick with an oppressive stillness that only amplified his unease.

The Veteran adjusted his coat, his sharp gaze scanning the labyrinth of scrap and rusting metal. He paused for a moment, noticing the faint glow of a light emanating from the small house nestled in the center of the junkyard.

As he approached, the door creaked open slightly, revealing Kira.

standing in the doorway. She leaned casually against the frame, her eyes fixed on him like a predator sizing up her prey.

"We're closed," she said flatly, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge.

The Veteran raised an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes swept over her lean, toned build and the sharp, piercing gaze that seemed to cut right through him.

She looked young, but there was something unsettling about her, something that made his instincts scream at him to tread carefully.

"I'm not here to shop," he said, trying to regain his composure. "I am searching for a boy. Once I retrieve him, I will leave. No collateral."

Kira's expression didn't change, but her eyes flickered for a brief moment, a dangerous glint flashing within them.

"Collateral?" she repeated, her voice quiet but cold.

The Veteran took a cautious step forward, his cybernetic arm raised slightly in a non-threatening gesture. "Look, I don't mean to hurt anyone. Just give me the boy, and we can end this without bloodshed."

But before he could finish his sentence, Kira's demeanor shifted.

Her head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam.

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Bloodshed?" she echoed, her tone mockingly curious. Then, in an instant, her entire expression darkened. "That was a joke, right?”

“I won’t ask again,” the Veteran said.

“Hand over the boy.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. Her lips twitched into a strange, crooked smile.

Then she vanished.

One second, she was in the doorway. The next, she was airborne, launching herself. Her boot caught the Veteran’s jaw mid-sentence, spinning him sideways. He hit the ground hard, scraping metal.

"You don't seem to understand where you are," Kira said, circling him like a wolf. Her voice was calm, almost playful, but her eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "This is my territory."

She grabbed a bent exhaust pipe and hurled it like a javelin. It clanged off his cybernetic arm, knocking him off balance.

He raised his gauntlet just in time to block a flying hubcap. She followed behind it, using it like a distraction, flipping over a hood and slamming both feet into his chest. He crashed into a wall of junk with a grunt.

Kira dropped low, scooping up a greasy chain and whipping it at him. It tangled around his arm, and she yanked—hard—slamming his face into a car door with a deafening clang.

He surged forward with a roar, shock module activating. Sparks danced across his arm as he lunged.

Kira ducked under the swing, rolled between a stack of bumpers, and popped up with a crowbar in each hand.

“I am coming for you, RoboCop.”

She charged—crowbars clanging like cymbals with each strike, a rhythmic fury. Her attacks were fast and erratic. One moment, she fought like a soldier—calculated, precise. The next, she giggled between strikes like a child setting fire to an anthill.

The Veteran caught her with a knee to the gut—sending her flying back into a pile of broken washing machines. Dust exploded around her.

For a beat, nothing.

Then… a laugh. Wet, wheezing. Coming from inside the pile.

A fist burst through the side of a dryer—followed by her head, upside down.

“Oh, you’re so screwed.”

She launched herself again, flipping through the air, landing behind him.

He spun. She ducked and kicked out a rusted wheel rim. It rolled between his feet—he stepped back instinctively—

Right into a bear trap she’d wedged under the junk pile.

SNAP.

His leg locked up in metal teeth. He roared, falling to one knee.

Kira closed in like a hyena.

“I told you,” she whispered, crouching low. “This place is mine. It breathes with me.”

But then—something shifted.

Her hands trembled. Her eyes flicked left. Right. Her breath hitched.

“No—no, not now,” she murmured, gripping her skull.

The Veteran struggled, wrenching the trap off his leg with a mechanical hiss.

Kira backed away, muttering under her breath. “Not this. Not her voice. Shut up. Shut up.”

She fell to her knees, slamming her palms to her temples. “I’m fine. I’m in control. It wasn’t me…”

Her head jerked. Eyes wide. Distant.

“…Casualties.”

Her voice broke.

The Veteran didn’t wait. He lunged, fist raised—

But before it landed—

CRACK.

A pipe slammed across his skull.

Zane stood behind him, shoulders heaving, eyes crackling with electricity.

But this wasn’t the same boy the Veteran had seen before.

This time he was colder. Sharper. Something primal pulsed beneath his skin—like a storm barely held in check. He didn’t speak. He didn’t hesitate.

He struck.

The first blow landed with thunderous force, sending the Veteran staggering. The boy’s fists moved like lightning. Every hit cracked through the junkyard’s silence, shaking rust from the walls. Even steel groaned under the weight of Zane’s fury.

From the edge of the chaos, Kira remained still, frozen in place, her face streaked with tears. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She watched—not just the fight, but the storm that had taken root inside him.

Zane landed another crushing blow, forcing the Veteran back into a pile of scrap that collapsed under his weight.

Kira’s gaze drifted across the wreckage. Her fists clenched. Something inside her clicked into place.

When Zane faltered—his knees buckling from the recoil of the Veteran’s counterpunch—Kira moved.

She surged into the fray, slamming the Veteran’s jaw with her fist.

Zane recovered and fell into rhythm beside her, their movements fluid and instinctual, as if the fight had choreographed itself. One struck high, the other low. One dodged left, the other flanked right. The Veteran reeled, overwhelmed, outpaced.

This wasn’t a fight anymore.

It was a hunt.

The Veteran finally understood.

He was fighting monsters.

“The money is not worthy,” he spat, slamming his left fist against the ground.

WHRRRRRRRRMMM—BOOM.

A shockwave detonated in a sphere of force and static, launching them both into the air like ragdolls.

Scrap metal rained down. The sky lit up with sparks. And when the dust settled… he was gone.

Zane lay sprawled on the gravel, once again unconscious.

Kira limped toward him, bruised and bloodied. She dropped to her knees, pulling him into her arms, one hand trembling as she brushed hair from his face.

“I’ve lost my edge,” she whispered to no one.

Her eyes locked onto the empty horizon—where the Veteran had vanished like smoke.