Eagle in the Wild 1 (Part 2 Begins)

A week into my fugitive life. The whole world was buzzing with stories about me. Even the TV in this dingy back-alley diner was no exception.

"Ugh, that company's totally doomed, huh?"

"Who cares about that? Erebus collapsed! And Alphabet took its place! We're all gonna die any second now, no joke!"

"But isn't Alphabet staying quiet?"

People were spitting as they argued back and forth.

"Ah, but doesn't it leave a bad aftertaste? Why would Alphabet replace Erebus? That 'Neige' guy... what does she know about AI?"

"What?"

"She figured something out and ran, right? Even ImmuneWire doesn't know what it is."

"You naive fool. You believe what corporations say? Don't you know who Neige was? The chairman's adopted daughter! Can they really brand the chairman's masterpiece-smashing adopted kid a criminal?"

I sat in the corner of the diner, pretending not to care while eavesdropping on every word. No one outside knew my face anyway, so no worries.

On the TV, the news anchor kept droning on about me.

A suit appeared on screen, sitting at the news desk, his face radiating ambition for a big political score today.

The anchor's face flashed a subtle smile at the word "classified."

I casually leaned my head on my hand, lifting both arms to cover my face.

"Ha! They said she was the chairman's adopted daughter, and damn, she's pretty."

"What the hell was Cashian thinking, adopting her?"

"Who knows, maybe some late-life pervy urges."

"Hahaha!"

I glanced at the TV amid their crude jokes. The face on screen wasn't mine.

"...Who the hell is that?"

ImmuneWire couldn't possibly not know my face.

...The company pulled some strings for me.

And they even left themselves an out. Thanks a ton. Too bad I don't have time to express my gratitude.

Alphabet suddenly stepping in for Erebus was a massive question for all humanity. Some areas had even geared up for war against it. But since Alphabet wasn't just staying still—it hadn't even reacted to attacks—the alert level had temporarily dropped.

I had no idea what lunatics thought they could take a shot at Alphabet.

Humanity's only way to understand this freak show was to catch me.

"Your food's ready, miss."

"Thanks."

As I sorted my thoughts, the diner owner set a simple pasta on my table. Something with bacon and a bit of garlic.

I'd lived on fine cuisine my whole life. Adapting to this would be tough, but I'd chosen this path—gotta make it work.

I lifted some pasta with my fork.

That's when V pinged me with a warning.

Damn, not simple pasta—heavy metal pasta.

Tasteless? Fine. Skimpy portions? Understandable. Overpriced? Whatever. But this heavy metal cocktail? What the hell.

I turned to glance at the other customers. Sighing as they shoveled it in.

How the hell do people survive eating this crap?

While I groaned at the squalor outside the company, Z chimed in. The stealth Hoverlid we'd ditched in the desert had been found. Meaning the noose was tightening.

The closer we got to the city, the higher the risk of detection, even with stealth. From some point in the desert, we'd had to abandon it and proceed on foot. We'd even walked into the city.

Our destination: steadily north from ImmuneWire HQ in Israel, to southeastern old Turkey territory. The biggest city here, Diyarbakır.

Famous for its Roman-era walls intact even after the Alphabet War—a walled city.

Why here? Simple: rare cultural relics draw tourists, meaning plenty of infiltration routes for someone like me. Plus, as part of the European Federation—my birthplace—lots of Europeans, so I blend in appearance-wise. Not much help in Turkey proper, but good enough to reach Europe.

Ugh, that Hoverlid was top-notch. Such a waste. Gotta snag the same model later.

I ignored V and Z's nagging, ditched the pasta, and stood up. Time to move—the net was closing in.

Chewing a food bar from a nearby shop as I walked the streets. Yeah, the same crap those kidnappers force-fed me way back.

Now I get why this garbage sells: all essential nutrients, no heavy metals. Only downside? Taste.

Had V block my taste buds just to choke it down. Taste gone, but the sandy texture lingered—had to endure that.

When I first ate this, I swore I'd hustle hard to never touch it again. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Look where that got me.

Hating that we'd run out of Hoverlid emergency rations. Sigh. Whatever—ignore the sand lump, focus on what matters.

I needed a fake ID. Obvious, right? Can't go around yelling "I'm Neige!" Not like some comic book nutjob.

Ways to get one: Steal it. Not from randos—hit up a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠local gang. Or hack admin offices storing ID data and forge one. Doable. No security can stop me. Or find a broker specializing in this... but showing up now demanding an ID? Same as announcing "I'm Neige." If I did, I'd have to brain-tweak ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the broker too.

Plenty of options, but whatever I pick, gotta be quick. Being in the city doesn't mean safe.

'V, speak up if trouble.'

V had already infiltrated the city's systems. Hijacking CCTVs along my path, feeding fake footage to hide me as I passed.

Blind the city's eyes and call it done? No way.

"Random ID check."

"Why?!"

"You don't watch the news?"

"I'm a guy!"

"The fugitive uses AI. Anything's possible."

Cops harassing folks like that was common here. Probably everywhere. News said all cities near Israel were locked down and on high alert—would expand worldwide if I wasn't caught.

Good thing I slipped in before the blockade. Even with my un-Turkish looks, I passed as a stranded tourist.

I walked casually, then ducked into an alley to dodge the cops.

How long could I keep this up? Not scared of getting spotted—just wanna minimize innocent casualties while escaping.

Mulling it over in the alley.

I froze at a voice from somewhere.

"Ugh, those cop bastards. Saw 'em going nuts thinking they scored."

"But boss, it's AI, and Alphabet?"

"What can we do? Dive cyberspace and shoot Alphabet?"

"No, but..."

"That's bigwig talk. Us? Stick to our business."

Jackpot—the local gang I was hunting.

'V, if you please.'

V kept breaching cyberspace. No CCTVs in back alleys, but car dashcams were fair game. Civilian ICE? Barely a speed bump.

She pinpointed the chatting gangsters nearby via dashcams.

"...Oh."

Big fish. Never faced 'em at ImmuneWire, but the name rang bells: New Babylon Cartel.

Hulking builds beyond normal humans, illegal cyberware mods, secret codes proving cartel membership. Alongside Aurora Family, top global crime syndicates. Their power rivals megacorps like ImmuneWire—stronger in back alleys than corps or states.

These were probably low-level grunts.

A solid plan hit me watching them. World-class crime org? Experts in fake IDs, smuggling, illegal entry, right? Corps rule the light, syndicates the shadows.

Borrow their hands for a bit?

'The world's chasing me—shouldn't I play at world-class level too?'

Like Alphabet dominating cyberspace. I had too much power to skulk like a rat. And if shit hit the fan with these guys? Their problem. World-class criminals like me, right?

'Got it. Got it.'

My mercenary days were about changing AI perceptions anyway. Fugitive life and AI reform—let's multitask.

Two enemies in the alley. I moved.

'Z, one favor. No face reveal. Apply mosaic tech to reality.'

'Exactly.'

I took a habitual deep breath before starting.

'Go time.'

The two cartel grunts pocketed their e-cigs.

"Yo, let's head in. Cold as balls at night."

"Yes, boss."

Finishing their cop-bashing ritual, they turned toward their hideout—when their ICE screamed warnings.

They snapped to cyberspace vision—only for all systems and ICE to shatter into data dust, scattering across the net.

Bodies frozen. Not even eyes could move; vision blurred out of focus.

No time to process.

A woman appeared behind, arm-in-arm.

"Damn, who makes cyberware like this? Internal structure's a joke."

Sweet scent rare in alleys, flawless skin. Mosaic face impossible to ID—in cyberspace and reality.

Unheard-of tech. Corp? State agent?

"...You trash don't deserve mercy anyway."

Playful tone flipped to menace.

"Guide me to your hideout. Now."

She granted 'walk' freedom. They had no choice but obey silently.

Kenan Yavuz, leader of the New Babylon Cartel's Diyarbakır branch.

That 'Neige' devil-host who supposedly dealt with Alphabet had his branch in hell.

"These cop fucks wanna go to war over this?!"

Didn't outright accuse them of hiding Neige or stirring shit—no proof—but they were rabid.

Fine. Countermeasures done. Hunker down, give no pretext, no justification. Survive.

Back-alley rule: cockroach, rat—nest in tight, damp spots. Cities got plenty.

"Stay sharp, yeah?"

"Yes!"

Nagging underlings to ease his nerves. Things had calmed lately.

"...Hey! Get me some coffee!"

Kenan flopped on the sofa with a sigh. But no coffee came—no response.

"Hey?! I said bring it!"

Exhausted, now lazy grunts. Fuming, he rose—and saw the bizarre scene.

All his men frozen solid.

"What the hell? Joke? Not funny."

Prodded them—no reaction, not even a blink.

He jacked into ocular cyberware for cyberspace view.

"Fuck...!"

Obliterated. Whole facility whitewashed. No such data net existed.

Someone pranked here—caused this.

Footsteps approached.

"They're all alive, don't worry."

Mosaic-faced mystery Euro woman. Real-world visual hack? Whose tech?

"...Who are you?"

"Who do you think?"

Kenan's mind raced: Neige, taboo-breaking mad bitmancer, fled Israel. Nearby city locked down hunting her. Inhuman skills, mystery tech—right here.

"No way... Neige?"

"Maybe."

"Ha, fuck. Life's fucked...!"

Alphabet-summoning devil-host. Why the hell here?!

Crushing his despair, she said coldly:

"Work with me on one job."

Kenan just wanted to bolt.