"That pumping station on the edge of Sector Four," Garza said, his voice dropping to a rough, conspiratorial rasp as he leaned in closer. "It feeds the high-rise corporate blocks and leaves the squatter camps down in the basin dry as a bone. I need you to redirect the flow. Give my people water, and I’ll give you safe passage through the yard and every spare part my mechanics can scrape together."Kian let out a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the operational risks. "An automated municipal pump house? Those facilities are crawling with low-level security guards and automated turret grids. You're asking us to kick a hornet's nest.""I'm asking you to earn your keep," Garza countered, tapping the cold steel housing of his rivet gun against his thigh. "You want out of my yard? That's the toll. Take it or leave it, but make your choice before Vance’s drones sweep this sector again."Mei Ling crossed her arms, her gaze shifting from Garza to the rusted control terminal hu

"Corporate mercenaries?" Garza snorted, waving a heavy, grease-stained hand dismissively as he leaned back against a stack of rusted iron pipes. "Please. Those boys couldn't hit a wall if they were locked inside a broom closet. They’re local contract labor—kids straight out of the outer wards trying to earn enough scrip to buy a decent meal. They don’t want to die for a water valve any more than you want to bleed for it."Kian gripped the magnetic keycard tighter, his thumb tracing the rough edges of the plastic. "That doesn't mean they won't pull the trigger if they catch us messing with their control boards.""Which is why you make sure they don't catch you," Mei Ling snapped, stepping forward to snatch a schematic overlay off Garza's holopad before the union boss could protest. Her eyes darted across the flickering blue lines of the pumping station layout. "Garza said the maintenance tunnel bypasses the external motion sensors, but what about the internal thermal grids? If these ol

"That’s the spirit," Garza rumbled, pulling a heavy, scarred metal box from the cabinet and slamming it onto the wooden workbench with a dull, echoing thud. "You worry about the math, kid, and I'll worry about keeping Vance’s corporate hounds off our backs while you're elbow-deep in municipal wiring."Kian watched the union boss lift the lid of the box, revealing a jumble of rusted tools, spare copper wiring, and an old, dust-covered data terminal that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than a modern insurgency. "What is that?" Kian asked, stepping closer as the faint smell of ozone and old solder drifted up from the open container."That," Garza said, tapping the cracked glass screen of the terminal with a thick, calloused finger, "is where your little electronic ghost was born, or at least where it took its first ugly breath. Found it buried in the sub-basement of the old municipal archive building when we were stripping copper out of the walls three winters ago."Mei Ling a

Kian grimaced, shaking his head as a sharp wave of synthetic static flared behind his eyes, a phantom reminder of the system's invasive reach. "Knee-deep sludge through an old sewer trunk line. Perfect. Just what my immune system was asking for.""Stop complaining," Mei Ling snapped, stepping closer to the workbench and peering down at the rusted terminal with intense scrutiny. She didn't look up as she addressed the union boss. "Garza, are the sewer lines still monitored by corporate motion sensors, or did Vance’s detail abandon the lower pipes because of the methane buildup?"Garza let out a raspy bark of laughter, running a thick hand over his stubbled jaw. "Corporate suits don't like getting their shiny boots dirty down in the dark, little bird. They rely entirely on remote automated trip-wires at the main junction junctions, but those can be shorted out with a simple EMP burst if you know where the junction boxes are wired.""And we do?" Kian challenged, resting his palms against

"Thirty-foot radius, and it leaves a smell like burnt toast and fried copper," Kian muttered, gingerly lifting the taped-up microwave bomb off the wooden table as if it might detonate from a harsh look. He turned the heavy cylinder over in his hands, eyeing the exposed wiring protruding from the base with profound distrust. "If this thing goes off in my pocket, I won't need a corporate security squad to finish me off. My own nervous system will do the job for free.""Stop whining and pack it," Mei Ling said, snatching the device out of his grip and shoving it deep into the canvas side-pocket of her utility vest. She didn't look at him; her attention was entirely fixed on a faded, grease-stained municipal map spread across Garza’s workbench. "You heard Garza. The regional blackout starts at midnight. If we miss the window while you're standing around debating the structural integrity of a microwave part, Vance’s patrol drones will turn us into Swiss cheese before we even touch the peri