Novels by Natiwana

"Easy," Bao muttered, his old hands darting forward to catch Kian’s shoulder as the younger man tried to force himself upright and immediately pitched sideways like a drunkard. "Don't try to stand too fast. Your vestibular system isn't running on an automated stabilization script anymore."Kian’s elbow slammed hard against the damp concrete floor, sending a sharp, purely organic jolt of agony shooting straight up his forearm. He hissed through his teeth, clutching his elbow with his other hand while squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of genuine, unmitigated dizziness. "My head," he groaned, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue. "It feels... empty. Like there's a hollow space behind my eyes where something heavy used to be.""That's called silence," Mei Ling said, stepping away from the doorway now that the distant hum of corporate skiffs had finally faded into the steady roar of the rain. She holstered her sidearm with a sharp metallic click that echoed off the brine vats. "Yo

"It means the internal timer has stopped," Bao snapped back, wiping a smear of dark, metallic grease from his forehead with the back of a trembling hand. "The node’s internal loop has completely collapsed. The feedback loop that was turning his veins into a live wire has burned out."Mei Ling lowered her pistol by an inch, her eyes narrowing as she watched Kian’s chest rise and fall in a steady, unassisted rhythm. "Burned out? You mean the system is gone?""Completely," Bao said, leaning back against a rusted salt vat with a heavy, rattling sigh that sounded like a collapsing lung. "No telemetry. No localized overlays. No data packets streaming into his optic nerve. The interface is dead."As if summoned by their words, Kian let out a low, ragged groan, his eyelids fluttering violently before parting. He didn't sit up with the unnatural, algorithmic precision he’d exhibited during the corporate raids, nor did he calculate his exit vectors with cold, machine-like speed. Instead, he fla

The air inside the abandoned fish-packing plant tasted of old salt, rotting scales, and lingering dampness. It was heavy enough to stick to the back of the throat, but to Bao, who had spent the last hour monitoring Kian’s shallow, erratic breathing against the cold concrete floor, it was the sweetest smell in the world."His core temperature is stabilizing," Bao muttered, his knuckles gray as he pulled the manual diagnostic rig away from Kian’s wrist. "The erratic spiking has completely flatlined."Mei Ling didn't lower her weapon, keeping her back pressed against the salt-cracked brick wall beside the rusted metal doorway. She stared down at Kian’s face, watching the pale, slack expression of a man who looked like he had just walked back from the edge of an abyss. "Flatlined? Is that medical speak for he’s waking up, or medical speak for we need to start digging a shallow grave behind the brine vats?""It means the internal timer has stopped," Bao snapped back, wiping a smear of dark

"Watch his head!" Bao warned, guiding Kian's shoulder past a jagged iron strut as they bundled his limp body down through the access hatch of the crane and into the blinding sheets of rain."Keep moving!" Mei Ling hissed, her boots slamming onto the concrete of the lower pier with bone-rattling force. "The corporate skiffs are clearing the third pylon. If they throw a thermal sweep across this dock, we're all ash."Bao strained under Kian's dead weight, his breath whistling raggedly through his teeth. "Where are we even dragging him? Every warehouse within two miles is wired into Vance’s secondary monitoring loop!""Not the fish-packing plant," Mei Ling said, already hauling Kian’s left arm over her shoulder to share the load. "The old salt-curing basement at the edge of the east pier. The thick brine tanks and heavy insulation layers play absolute hell with thermal imaging. Move!"They scrambled through the labyrinth of rusting shipping containers, the cold rain soaking through their

"Get his legs!" Mei Ling ordered, dropping to her knees beside Kian and grabbing him under the shoulders. "The strike team’s skiffs just hit the lower pier. If we don't move right now, we’re going to be executed right here on this crane."Bao didn't hesitate, grabbing Kian’s boots as a deafening roar of jet engines vibrated through the steel girders below. "He's completely dead weight! The feedback fried whatever was keeping him upright!""He's not dead, just short-circuited," Mei Ling snapped, hauling Kian backward away from the open drop of the platform. "Help me drag him down the maintenance ladder before the automated searchlights sweep this high."The rain hammered the rusted metal walkway as they maneuvered Kian’s limp, unresponsive body toward the access hatch. Every second counted; the hum of corporate tactical skiffs grew louder, vibrating straight through the soles of their boots and into their teeth."Watch his head!" Bao warned, guiding Kian's shoulder past a jagged iron s

The heavy rain lashed against the rusted girders of the cargo crane, turning the metal walkway into a slick, treacherous trap. Kian hung limply over the side of the winch housing, his body completely unresponsive as the feedback loop from the corporate network crash surged through his nervous system. The blue overlays that had mapped his reality for weeks flickered, fractured, and then vanished entirely, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute darkness behind his eyelids.Footsteps clanked rapidly up the maintenance ladder. Mei Ling broke over the edge of the platform first, her weapon raised, her eyes scanning the immediate perimeter before she locked onto Kian’s collapsed form. Bao was right behind her, his chest heaving, his face pale beneath the grime of the docks."Get his legs!" Mei Ling ordered, dropping to her knees beside Kian and grabbing him under the shoulders. "The strike team’s skiffs just hit the lower pier. If we don't move right now, we’re going to be executed right her

"They're scared of something downtown."Wren said it without turning around. Her nose was still working, reading the night air of Marana like reading paragraphs one by one. They moved through the ruins of the suburbs, rusted cars in the streets, broken windows staring empty, asphalt cracked by the roots of purple flesh plants. And in every block, in every shadow, Wren detected life. Rank-D. Rank-E. Small. Hiding."Rank-D monsters don't hide from humans," Kael said. Her voice is low, almost without vibration. "They attack. Always.""These ones don't." Wren stopped at an intersection. Pointed toward the university buildings in the distance. "Everything I smell is moving away from downtown. Not from us. From there."Dash stared at the darkness ahead. Tucson. Or what was left of it. Silhouettes of tall buildings broken like teeth ripped out by force. And between those silhouettes, the red glow they'd been chasing for two days, brighter now. Closer. Pulsing slowly like breath."We're not g

The emergency ladder on the side of the crater was made of rusted steel, and every rung creaked like a bone being slowly broken.Kael went down first. Knife in hand. Eyes adjusting to the darkness rising from below like water. Dash behind her, one hand on the ladder, one hand on his canvas bag strap. Wren at the very back, her nose already working before her feet touched the first rung."Antiseptic smell," Wren whispered. "And meat. Old meat. Not fresh rot. Old rot."They went down. Three meters. Four. Five. And at the bottom of the crater, a concrete corridor stretched in two directions. Emergency lights were still on, red, blinking slowly, giving a light that made everything look like it was inside the stomach of something alive. Independent power. Solar or generator. Still working after years.On the wall, a steel plaque. Worn but readable:CALLOWAY INDUSTRIES, FIELD STATION 7, BIOLOGICAL RESOURCE MANAGEMENT."Field station," Dash said. His voice echoed in the empty corridor. "Not

The south gate of Ironway opened without a sound at four oh three, and the darkness beyond it felt like a mouth that hadn't finished chewing.Kael stepped out first. Knife in her right hand, eyes scanning the horizon that the sun hadn't touched yet. Behind her, Dash, canvas bag on his back, portable pan clinking softly with every step. And at the very back, Wren, her nose working, reading the air like reading pages of a book.To the south, that red glow was still there. Pulsing. Slow. Like the heartbeat of something very large and very patient."Don't look at it," Kael said without turning. "You stare too long, your brain starts making up stories. And stories in the gray zone usually end with you running the wrong way."Dash looked away. Stared at the ground. Black veins ran beneath the surface of the sand like frozen blood vessels. Denser than he remembered from the trip to the U of A field station. More alive.Gray zone. The first twenty kilometers.They walked in tight formation. D

The night before departure, Dash cooked not to fill stomachs, but to fill bones.Three portions. Three plastic containers he sealed by pressing the plastic lips against the hot rim of the pan until they melted shut. On the counter, lined up like ammunition: Sandvein Lizard Jerky for Kael, sliced thin, dry brined, rendered at low heat until dry but not burnt. Gloomcap Consomme for Wren, two hundred milliliters, clear, stored in a small glass bottle wrapped in cloth. And for himself: Gristle-Boar Rendang, half a portion, the sauce reduced to a thick paste he could spread on dry bread if there was no time to reheat."Buffs are useless if we don't get a chance to eat during a fight," Dash said without turning around. He was still slicing. "So we eat before. Before we enter the red zone. Before something chases us. Before our hands are shaking too much to chew."Wren sat on the stool, watching. "And if we don't get a chance to eat before?""Then we don't eat. And we survive without the buf

"Theo. Theo, can you hear me? This is Dash. Frequency 147.3. Respond."Static. A white hiss that filled The Rusty Skillet's kitchen like the sound of an ocean that didn't exist anymore. Dash turned the dial. One millimeter to the left. One millimeter to the right. Same frequency. 147.3. The frequency Theo had given him the night before he left, while tying his pack shut at the doorway, while looking at Dash with eyes that already knew he might not come back. "If there's any news, I'll call on 147.3. If you don't hear from me in three days, assume I've become seasoning."Three days hadn't passed yet. Only one. But Theo's voice last night, panicked, gasping, cut off mid-sentence, was not the voice of someone who was going to be fine.Dash pressed the transmit button again. "Theo. Respond. Any time."Static.He released the button. Stared at the radio. Stared at the map spread across the counter. Theo's hand-drawn map, ink scribbles, lines showing tunnels beneath Tucson. And in the corne

"Forty-seven Hunters. Rank-B and above. They need to eat in five hours. And you have ingredients for fifteen portions."Kael stood in the kitchen of The Rusty Skillet in full armor, knife at her hip, blood not yet dry on her arm from perimeter prep. Behind her, through the window, the southern sky was still red. Pulsing. Like a heart too big for its chest.Dash stared at the counter. What was there: leftover Sandvein Lizard from two days ago, three kilograms of frozen Gristle-Boar meat, and two baskets of Gloomcap Mushroom. Fifteen portions. Maybe less."The drainage tunnels," Wren said from the corner. She was already standing. Canvas bag on her back. "Sector Seven, going down. There's a Rank-D nest. Rats. Small lizards. Insects. The meat is small, but there's a lot of it. I can pull twenty kilos in two hours."Dash looked at her. "Alone?""I've been alone for three years." Wren tightened her bag straps. "I know those tunnels. Know where the nests are. Know what time they sleep. And