junkpunk

Ghost Signal

by PulpPistil

Tes is already underground when the signal wakes up. Six hours. A dead operator’s last map. The kind of score people kill for, according to the voice in her ear that never shows a face. The trunels under the data blocks are narrow, hot, and full of gas that does not care who fires first. Bodies from an earlier fight are still cooling on the way in. Gear is lying where it dropped. Other crews are already moving—city muscle, a loud little cell with a cause, and someone who has a personal reason to be on this channel. Tes came for the cache. Getting to it is not the same problem as leaving with it. The clock does not stop because the tunnels get crowded. Produced using AI tools.