Damo comes to fetch Zef, and they head back to the train station together. Damo asks how it went, and Zef says, "Good. Yeah. It went good."

In reality, he feels a bit like he failed to do what he set out to: reassure his dad that everything would be okay.

The station is crowded with club-goers dressed up for the night. Others loiter around, smoking or staring into their HUDs. Zef's skin prickles as he scans a few men at the doors to the turnstiles.

None of them have visible tattoos, but their clothing is nondescript business casual, and they don't seem to be in any kind of hurry. At this hour, most commuters would be heading home, not into the city for work. He remembers what Gray said about the man he stabbed on the subway.

You get good at seeing through the disguise.

Zef slows down enough someone ploughs into the back of him. The pain in his chest flares.

Damo steadies him with a hand on his back. "Yeah. Dodgy crowd. I see 'em, too."

Too close to make a U-turn without attracting attention, they keep moving, but the closer they get to the men in suits, the more feverishly hot Zef feels. His implant might create a filter that disguises him on camera, but in person? Wig or no wig, they could recognize him.

"How did they find out we're here?" he whispers.

"Don't think they know we are. I reckon Rylan's setting up barricades 'round travel hubs close to any place you or Gray might frequent. Station closest to the bayou is a good bet."

"What do we do?"

"Play along." Damo's hand swallows Zef's bicep, stopping him. "Shit! I forgot my keys."

"O-oh, uh, should we? Go back for them?"

Damo turns him by the shoulder, babbling away. "Maybe I dropped them. Oh god what if they're lost?" Zef tries to play along, but he's dogshit about it. Stuttering and failing whatsoever to sound genuine. He almost looks over his shoulder but Damo strongarms him.

"You'll ruin the show, acting guilty like that. You ever taken acting classes?"

"I could barely afford engineering classes," Zef says under his breath.

"Right. Well, we're out of earshot now. So, plan B. We find a place to lay low for the night, figure out some kind of disguise or another way back home."

It's a worry. Zef's made the journey clinging to the back of trucks before, but he doesn't like the idea of doing that while surveillance is so high. He isn't sure hanging 'round his hometown is the best idea, either, but it's better than letting Rylan's suits get a good look at his face right before he traps himself on a subway car.

Damo goes over their options. They have two. Sleeping rough or renting a motel meant for activities other than sleeping.

Given the option of concrete or sheets with questionable stains, Zef doesn't know which is worse, but Damo says the benefit of shelter is people can't see you in it, so they opt for the latter.

They choose the sleaziest place Zef knows; a dive a couple kilometres out of town. The parking lot has a few vehicles in it, one or two occupied with people doing god-knows-what. Zef finds himself analysing every stranger with suspicion. Is that smoker really just taking a break, or is he a canary in Rylan's colemine? Is that trucker really just using the motel as a rest stop, or is he a spy? That guy's tattoos look old and aged blue, but are they really implants?

He can't fathom how Gray ever manage living like this, constantly looking over his shoulder.

They stop outside the motel reception. Zef, without his implant, has no access to cash, dependent on Damo for subway fare. Damo doesn't like the idea of using money on the wire. He suggests they take inspiration from the bus stop sex worker.

Through the window, the motel manager sits behind the desk. Damo says, "I'll offer him sexy favours in exchange for a free room."

Zef cringes. "You don't have to do that just to protect me."

Damo gives him a bewildered look. Then his face splits into a smile. "Ah, you sweetie pie innocent angel! I suck cock for free. Lookit that man in there." He gestures to the manager, a man in his mid-50's or older with silvering hair, a well-groomed moustache and the air of someone who owns a few chickens. "Dilf material. Silver fox."

Before Zef can process that, Damo saunters into the motel and leans against the counter. Zef can hear things he wishes he couldn't over the earpiece. If this goes where it's headed, he's ditching the Bluetooth. Looks like it will. The motel manager smiles fondly.

Muffled, Zef still makes out his answer. "Very flattered, but I'm married." He holds a hand up from behind the desk to show Damo his wedding ring. "I'd give you a discount for making an old man's day, but business hasn't been booming."

Well, that's unfortunate. Damo plays it smooth, thanks him anyway, then heads outside. "Drat. Guess we hack our way in."

Damo hacks the security cameras to loop footage so they won't catch he and Zef sneaking into an empty room through a window. When asked how he could tell it was empty, Damo reveals he has thermal x-ray vision that allows him to spot living things through walls. When asked why he didn't opt for this first rather than offering the manager a blow job, he gives Zef a long-suffering look.

"I could tell you he's less likely to rat us out if it means admitting he let us stay here off the record in exchange for sex, but that's only half the reason." He grins toothily. "Some of us are sluts, Zef."

Zef nearly falls the rest of the way into the room, his foot caught on the sil. "Oh... Not shaming or—"

"No, no. I understand." Damo scans the room corner to corner for hidden cameras, finding none. "Your heart belongs to one man."

Zef can't meet Damo's eyes. "Gray and I aren't... I wouldn't go that far."

"Suuure, you just look at everyone like they're a five course meal 'n you haven't eaten since the Palaeolithic era. You just stick your neck out for any old joe blow you meet. Mind if I shower?" Damo shucks his clothes with practised ease, down to his gotchies in seconds flat. As Zef whirls around to give him privacy, Damo adds, "See? Case in point. You ain't got eyes for anyone else." He suddenly gives his underarms a sniff. "Fuck this humid bog air. I feel minging, and I don't even perspire."

"Should I keep watch?" Zef says.

"Nah, I'll do it with my special laser eyes." As he disappears into the bathroom, he adds, "Get some sleep while you can. Up at the crack of dawn."

The shower comes on with an epic groan. Zef does his best to relax by kicking off his shoes and massaging the soles of his feet, but it's hard to unwind without pyjamas or a hot drink. Nothing except the sound of traffic and a headboard thumping next door.

Crawling under the threadbare covers, he closes his eyes and does his best to drift off. He hears Damo emerge at some point, the smell of cheap motel shower gel following him.

Zef must manage a few winks. He comes to with a start, Damo's hand shaking his shoulder. The room's still dark. Not even a hint of dawn light through the slats in the blinds. Still night time. Damo sits on the edge of Zef's bed, a finger to his lips. He peers at the wall, seeing through it in a way Zef can't.

"What is it?" he whispers.

Damo doesn't say anything. Outside, footsteps crunch through gravel. Coming closer. Pausing. Coming closer again. Sounds like two pairs of feet stopping outside each door.

Zef wonders for a fearful moment how anyone could have tailed them here. Middle-of-nowhere, no sign of Rylan's goons, but then he remembers what kind of world they live in. So many cameras, so much surveillance, all those people at the train station, the motel manager, the people in the parking lot. Any one of them could have tipped someone off.

Or Rylan's just putting her whole pussy into funnelling resources towards finding them. Checking every spot they might stop.

Silently, he reaches beneath the pillow and retrieves the knife Gray gave him. He'd taken it just in case, grateful Damo agreed to help retrieve it, or it would still be in his shitty apartment. Its warm weight is comforting in his hand, but he still hopes he doesn't have to use it, fears he won't know how.

Gray made stabbing someone look easy. Zef stabbed a croc with a broken bottle once. It had been self-defence, then. This shouldn't be any different.

The footsteps encroach 'til they're right outside the door. They stop. Damo rises silently and stands, back flush with the wall next to the door. Zef doesn't know what the people outside are looking for or how they're combing each room without going inside. X-ray tech like Damo's?

Or merely looking for a room meant to be unoccupied?

He's not sure whether to feign sleep or get ready to run. He settles for both, head on the pillow, vision straining on the singular crack of the door.

They wait. Silence outside. Damo's head tilts though, like he can hear something Zef can't. Then he hears it, too. The light tread of footfalls on the roof.

Too much to hope it's a raccoon.

They stop somewhere above Damo's head. No knock comes at the door. Just the slow, agonising turn of the handle as someone tries to open it without a sound. It's locked, but the lock gives a quiet creak like they keep turning the knob anyway. The sound of the bolt caving to the increased pressure cracks loud as a whip.

As the door flies open, Damo doesn't move. The shape of a man fills the entryway, cast in silhouette by the flickering, moth-infested porchlight. Behind him, a second figure stands poised as back-up. Zef sits bolt upright. Hopes the fact he kept his wig on throws them off. His squeaky cry of alarm is at least authentic.

It doesn't stop the man, who moves forward with deliberate steps. A strangled fear comes over Zef because the way he sees it, Damo can take this one by surprise, incapacitate him, but the guy waiting on the porch will see, will move in to help his partner, and Damo's an android but can he overpower two guys? Two guys who might be outfitted with gild similar to Gray's?

Zef doesn't wait to find out. Under the covers, he flips open the knife and grips it tight.

The sound on the rooftop returns, quick and rhythmic as a rabbit's heartbeat. It reaches the edge of the awning outside. Before Damo makes his move, a shadow descends upon the second man. He crumples under the weight, taken to the ground. His cry cuts off with a wet thump, a knife lodged sideways through his throat. At the same time, the intruder in their room whirls around, but no sooner can he try to help his partner than Damo seizes him by the throat. The struggle that ensues lasts only a second. Damo's fist has his windpipe in an unbreakable hold. Circuitry flashes under his skin, as if a war of technology exists beneath the surface of their physical contest. Damo wins. The goons arms go limp and he slumps to floor.

The shadow from the rooftop yanks his knife free and steps into the porch light.

Gray.

"You little shit," Damo hisses under his breath. "You're supposed to be hiding, not pulling Batman 'I-am-the-night' bullshit."

"You can ground me later. Situation changed," Gray says, tone dripping with sarcasm. The knife in his hand drips on the carpet. He flips it from an underhanded grip to overhand, moving towards the fainted guard. "Need to finish off this fucker and get out of here."

Damo stops Gray with an arm 'round his shoulders. "It's just some security detail. Poor motel manager's gonna have his work cut out for him with the dead body on the porch."

Gray has that wild-eyed look. Rabid without foaming at the mouth. "He saw Zef's face."

"She'll suspect Zef is here from the trail of dead bodies— oh, for Christ's sake."

Gray stands, yanking the dagger from the chest of the second man he's killed tonight. He wipes the blade on the corpse's shirt and says, "All this will prove is that I was here. We can talk about patching the holes in this shitty plan, later. I let enough of her goons get a good look at me while I was alone, so Zef's secret's safe. Ish."

Damo groans. "You could have been caught yourself— no, nevermind. We can't waste time pussyfooting around here. Zef, are you ready to get a wriggle on?"

Zef, holding Gray's knife in one hand and his shoes in the other, already moves toward the door. He doesn't look at the dead bodies. He feels like he's close to getting used to this, and he doesn't want to get used to it. His stomach twists.

Gray herds them toward a truck parked in the layby. Probably stolen, like every other vehicle Gray's driven.

Zef piles in, putting on his seatbelt. "What did you mean by, 'the situation changed?'"

Gray, tossing the bloody knife onto the dash and starting the engine, replies by turning on the radio. He skims through channels playing music until he lands on a news report. In tones of hyper-dramatic consumer enthusiasm, the caster says,

"Bionic Capital stock rose a record-breaking 19% today after unveiling a new product in development that they say could change the course of human history. For years, cybernetics have created a new era in medical advantages, but what about that side of our health nobody ever talks about? You heard it here first, folks. Bionic Capital is creating tech to cure the nation's mental health crisis—"

Chills erupt up Zef's arms. No.

"—and they're calling it Project Serenity."