As you crouch on the edge of a rooftop beside Sienna, her crimson jacket catching the glow of a neon sign that reads “LIVE TONIGHT".

She looks at you with that sideways grin of hers, eyes sparkling with mischief even as she adjusts the grip on her escrima. “You ready? Or do you need to stretch first?”

You shoot her a glare, but it lacks real venom. You’ve been chasing this lead for weeks, a music executive running a front for illegal meta-enhancement distribution, giving desperate young artists “boosts” that left them broken or dead. You found proof. Sienna found the courage to help you take him down.

The irony isn’t lost on you, a street musician turned vigilante, taking on the corrupt record industry that once promised her the world. You almost admire her for it. Almost.

The two of you move like shadows, slipping into the building through a fire escape. The hallway beyond reeks of cigarette smoke, sweat, and stale champagne. Posters of pop idols line the walls, their faces glossy and smiling, unaware that their fame was fueled by blood and black-market tech.

Sienna hums softly under her breath, an old jazz riff.

“Music and crime, same tune different rhythm."

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

Inside, the sound of laughter and muffled conversation leaks from behind a steel door. The exec is here, the man who preyed on dreamers.

You and Sienna exchange a glance. She raises her armed hands. You pull your hood tighter and nod.

The door bursts open, and chaos follows.

Sienna is first, spinning through the air, her escrima a blur of red as it cracks against one guard’s jaw. You’re right behind her, disarming another before he can raise his gun. The air fills with shouts, the crash of glass, the shriek of a sound system shorting out.