Inside, the place was full of people. The majority of the people inside were victims of the storm. Walking around, I could see people lying on makeshift beds trying to fall asleep; others were trying to nurse their injuries. As I strolled through the chaotic scene, my gaze was drawn to a woman with the same hazel hair as Eva.

  “Wait here,” I instructed Henry, motioning for him to stay put as I approached her.

  As I got closer, I could make out the weary lines etched on her face, a result of too many sleepless night spent tending to the aftermath of the recent storm. She was hunched over a clipboard, scribbling notes frantically, and I could feel the weight of her exhaustion radiating from her.

  “Excuse me, Michelle?” I asked gently, striving to avoid any semblance of rudeness despite the urgency of the moment.

  She looked up at me, her tired eyes momentarily widening in surprise. It was evident she hadn’t had a moment to herself recently, likely overwhelmed by the gravity of her responsibilities. The clipboard she held was filled with information about the injured—names, injuries, statuses—a grim indication of the chaos surrounding us.

  “Make it quick, please. I’ve got a lot to check on,” she replied tersely, her patience worn thin from the demands of her role.

  It took her a moment to register who I was. Then, recognition flooded her face.

  “Wait... Max?”

  A radiant smile broke through her fatigue, lighting up her features as she stepped forward, pulling me into a warm embrace. It was clear I was the first familiar face she’d encountered in what felt like ages.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and relief.

  “Your sister is worried sick about you. She wants you to get out of here—she thinks something bad is going to happen. But looking at how busy you are, I can tell convincing you to leave isn’t going to be easy,” I said.

  Michelle gently set the clipboard down on a battered table nearby, its surface scuffed and marked by countless hours of use.

  “I understand why she’s concerned. But it’s not that simple, Max. These people are depending on me; I can’t just abandon them,” she explained, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I offered.

  “Actually, yes!” she exclaimed, her demeanor shifting as the urgency flooded back. “We’ve been running dangerously low on medical supplies. I sent a couple of volunteers to fetch more, but they haven’t returned. I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible has happened to them. If they’re hurt or worse, these patients are sick and I’m stuck here with no way to assist them,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rapid stream.

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down; it’s going to be okay. My friend and I can handle it. Just tell us where you sent them,” I urged, trying to calm her rising panic.

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  She took a deep, steadying breath, visibly attempting to regain control. “I’m sorry; it’s just so overwhelming. The last report we got was that they were at the GIM, but since then, our connection was abruptly cut off. I’m terrified that they might have been caught in the chaos,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

  “Great,” I scoffed lightly. “Don’t worry—we can take care of this.”

  I turned and made my way back to Henry, who was playing with a small dog that had wandered over to him.

  “Poor thing,” Henry said, his tone sympathetic as he gently scratched the dog behind its ears.

  “Where’s its owner?” I inquired, glancing around for anyone who might be searching for the lost animal.

  “He doesn’t have a collar, so I’m guessing he's a stray,” Henry replied, a hint of sadness in his voice as he continued to pet the dog.

  We strolled toward the heavy exit doors, a sudden jolt surged through me, sending a sharp electric shock radiating from the nape of my neck. The sensation was like a thousand tiny pins pricking my skin, and I instinctively recoiled, my breath hitching in my throat.

  “Argh!” I shouted, the sound echoing off the creaky wooden floorboards.

  The pain surged through me, sharp and almost electrifying, like someone had taken a high-voltage rod and driven it deep into the nape of my neck

  Henry caught a glimpse of my grimace and turned around. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

  “Something shocked me,” I managed to reply through gritted teeth, irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

  “A netrunner?” Henry suggested, his brows furrowing as he scanned our surroundings, acutely aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

  “Well, we are in Pacifica,” I replied as my phone began to ring, shattering the tense silence that surrounded us.

  I answered the call with a hint of suspicion, a nagging thought creeping in that the person on the other end might be responsible for the shocking pain still radiating across my neck.

  “Who is this?” I asked, anger slowly bubbling up.

  “Max Carver. The young man has been making quite a name for himself,” the voice on the line responded, calm and authoritative. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few months now. Call me... Hands.”

  “Okay, ‘Hands,’ what do you want with me?”

  “As I'm sure you're aware, Pacifica is a no-go for your kind,” Hands stated.

  “What do you mean by ‘your kind’? You mean mercs?” I shot back defensively.

  “Look. What happened with the Voodoo Boys three years ago has made business for me a lot more difficult. But I’ve found a new way of making my business work.”

  “What happened three years ago has nothing to do with me. Heck, I wasn't even in NC,” I retort.

  “Was it though? Last I recall you were a wanted man three years ago.” He stated.

  “You don't know the full story,” I retorted, my voice tightening with barely contained frustration.

  Hands shifted the conversation. “That pain you felt on your neck was a warning message. I suggest that whatever you are planning, you drop it and get out of Pacifica—while you still can.” The faint vibrations in his voice hinted at a threat.

  “And what if I don’t?” I asked, pressing him for more information.

  "Don't think of me as an enemy; think of me more as a messenger,” he replied

  “Look, pal, I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate right now. If you're not an enemy, then prove it and help me,” I urged.

  In the background, I could hear the soft sound of him pouring a drink into a glass—maybe whiskey, maybe something stronger. “Go ahead. What do you think I could help you with?” he asked, his tone oddly unruffled.

  “Two things. First, I need medical supplies for the injured. Second, I’m looking for a woman named Jade Richards. She’s married to a guy named Kyle Richards,” I said.

  There was a brief silence on the other end before he spoke again. “One second...Well, that's unlucky. They're both at the GIM. The place you're not supposed to go.”

  “Yeah, well, I've got a job to do,” I replied tersely, ending the call with a decisive click.

  “Are we expecting trouble?” Henry asked.

  “When aren’t we?” I replied.