London is an old city with lots of new problems—or at least that was how Robyn Redford saw it. From her current perch, a precarious ledge accessible only to someone with her level of parkour skill, the city stretched out like a sprawling beast of history and steel. She adjusted her favorite red hoodie, its hood casting a shadow over her sharp green eyes, and watched as the first light of dawn painted the cityscape with a golden glow.

  London was her home, and as a courier, she knew it better than most. She didn’t just traverse its streets and plazas; she felt the pulse of its neighborhoods, the rhythm of its alleyways, the weight of its stories. To her, the city was as much emotional terrain as it was physical. She knew its beauty—the historic architecture, the art, the resilience of its people. But she also knew its shadows, the underbelly where desperation festered and corruption thrived.

  Not that it was all bad. Some of the people she worked for were genuinely decent, fighting tooth and nail to resist the boots of those trying to step on them. Robyn respected those kinds of people—the ones who stood up to power, even when it seemed impossible. And lately, she found herself drawn to their causes more and more.

  Today's job was particularly irksome. Robyn had to deliver a package to her grandmother, Dr. Evelyn Redford—a woman she deeply admired but often found herself clashing with due to her unyielding stubbornness and uncompromising idealism.

  Granny Redford was a force to be reckoned with: brilliant, proud, and as sharp as a knife even in her later years. Robyn had always respected her intellect and resilience, but she struggled to understand how someone could hold so firmly to their ideals after all the hardships life had hurled their way. For Robyn, the world was a chaotic, unforgiving place where survival often meant bending the rules. But for Evelyn, those rules—her principles—were non-negotiable. It was a source of both inspiration and frustration for Robyn.

  “She’s probably already brewing tea and waiting to lecture me about the ‘bigger picture,’” Robyn muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes as she leapt to another rooftop, the morning breeze brushing against her cheeks.

  It had always been that way with her grandmother. Evelyn Redford was a woman deeply rooted in the counterculture of the 1960s, the kind who would march in anti-war protests without a second thought or face down mounted police during demonstrations for civil rights. She had that unflinching, rebellious spirit that had defined a generation—a woman who’d chain herself to railings in front of Parliament or wave a banner demanding nuclear disarmament. She embodied the fearless activism of her youth, the kind of defiance that made her a legend among her peers and a constant source of awe (and occasional exasperation) for Robyn.

  Robyn was, as she often told herself, far more practical than her grandmother. She didn’t waste time dreaming about fights she couldn’t win or chasing after lost causes. That was what she believed—or at least what she tried to believe. The gap between theory and practice, however, was a tricky one, and Robyn wasn’t one to dwell on the contradictions. Not that she’d ever admit it, but her side work as a hacker often blurred those clean lines of pragmatism she liked to draw. More than once, her talents had been quietly used to help the little guy, exposing injustices or dismantling exploitative systems from the shadows.

  What Granny Redford didn’t know wouldn’t hurt Robyn. She much preferred being seen as a bit more mercenary anyway. Heroics? That was a one-way ticket to misery, as far as Robyn was concerned. Every person she’d known who threw themselves into being the good guy had ended up either broken or bitter. It was easier—safer—to play it cool, to pretend she didn’t care beyond the payday. Better to stick to her rooftop runs and fast deliveries than to become some idealist martyr.

  At least, that’s what she told herself.

  The city was her forest, a sprawling urban jungle where concrete towers replaced ancient trees, and she was a bird darting through its canopy. Or at least, that’s how Robyn felt when she was out here, above the crowds and chaos. There was a certain freedom to it, the parkour and urban exploration. Moving swiftly and silently across rooftops, scaling walls, and vaulting over obstacles—it was a dance that only she could hear the rhythm to.

  Out here, away from the noise and grind of the streets below, she felt untouchable. No rules, no expectations, just her and the endless maze of the city stretching in every direction. It was freedom in its purest form, a brief escape from the weight of reality.

  Today’s job for Granny was odd, but then again, odd was pretty standard where Evelyn Redford was concerned. This one was a dead drop—bog-standard courier fare for Robyn. She made her way through the city’s labyrinthine alleyways, leaping from a low rooftop before landing in a narrow passage near an old pub. The place was more hole-in-the-wall than high-class, with chipped paint and the faint smell of stale beer wafting from its battered door.

  Her target wasn’t the pub, though. She spotted the old, long-abandoned police box nestled against the alley wall—a relic from decades past that no one seemed to notice anymore. Robyn crouched, sliding her fingers under the loose panel she knew so well, revealing the hidden stash inside.

  The item waiting for her was anything but ordinary. An armored briefcase sat snugly in the hollow, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim alley light. The AVN International logo was stamped boldly on the case—a clear indicator that whatever was inside wasn’t meant for the average citizen. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the hazard symbols etched on one side. Radiation, biohazard, high-voltage—every kind of “stay away” sign you could think of was plastered on this thing.

  “Typical Granny,” Robyn muttered, hefting the case carefully. It was heavier than she expected, which only deepened her suspicion. Still, Granny Redford was a scientist, and dealing with the strange and dangerous came with the territory. Robyn didn’t love being a courier for something that might explode, poison, or electrocute her, but a job was a job—and this one paid well enough to keep the lights on.

  As she adjusted her grip on the case, a nagging thought crept in. What the hell could Granny be working on now? She shook it off. Her job wasn’t to ask questions. It was to deliver. Still, the unease lingered as she prepared to leave the alley and slip back into the shadows of the city.

  Robyn had always prided herself on her well-honed sixth sense, an instinct for danger that had saved her skin more times than she could count. Right now, that instinct was screaming in the back of her mind like a klaxon. This case was bad news, and she could feel it in her bones.

  AVN International wasn’t just another faceless multinational. It was the kind of company you didn’t cross lightly, the kind whose power and reach extended into dark corners that most people didn’t even know existed. They had wealth, influence, and enough blood on their hands to drown entire nations. Robyn knew all this, and she also knew her Granny well enough to connect the dots.

  There was no way Evelyn Redford, proud and principled as she was, would work for a corporation like AVN unless she had a damn good reason—and that reason almost certainly involved taking them down a notch. Granny might have been a genius, but subtlety wasn’t her strong suit. If this case was tied to whatever scheme Granny was running, it meant trouble wasn’t just possible; it was inevitable.

  Robyn adjusted her hood, tightening her grip on the case. "Bloody fantastic," she muttered under her breath. She wanted to drop the case and walk away, let Granny handle her own mess for once. But she couldn’t do it. Whether it was her sense of loyalty, her curiosity, or her sheer stubbornness, Robyn was in this now.

  She sighed, slipping into the shadows of the city’s alleys, the weight of the armored case matched only by the growing tension in her chest. Whatever you’re doing, Granny, you’d better know what you’re up against, she thought grimly. Because I’ve got a bad feeling we’re both in deep now.

  Granny's place was a comfortable brownstone tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, with ivy creeping up its weathered brick fa?ade and flower boxes brimming with colorful blooms beneath the windows. It exuded a warm, unassuming charm, the kind of place that whispered of tea kettles and homemade biscuits. To Robyn, however, it felt woefully underwhelming as the destination for an armored briefcase stamped with hazard symbols and the unmistakable logo of AVN International.

  The juxtaposition was almost laughable—a quaint, cozy home for what could very well be a ticking time bomb. Robyn stood outside the door, the case dangling from her fingers like a dead weight, and sighed. "Yeah, this looks like the perfect place for something that could end the world," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  Shaking her head, she rapped lightly on the door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the street. The familiar shuffle of her grandmother's footsteps reached her ears a moment later, and the door creaked open to reveal Evelyn Redford. She looked as sharp as ever, dressed in a sensible cardigan and slacks, her piercing blue eyes lighting up when she saw Robyn.

  "Ah, there you are, my girl," Evelyn said, her voice warm and welcoming. Her gaze flicked to the case, and her expression tightened ever so slightly—a fleeting glimpse of the seriousness she always tried to hide from Robyn.

  "Yeah, here I am," Robyn replied, stepping inside. "And here’s your mystery case. Seriously, Granny, what’s in this thing? It’s got enough hazard labels to make a demolition expert nervous."

  Evelyn closed the door behind her and gestured for Robyn to follow her into the living room. "Let’s just say it’s something I’d rather not fall into the wrong hands," she said cryptically, placing the case on the coffee table. She examined it closely, her fingers brushing over the AVN logo with an almost imperceptible shiver.

  "That’s not exactly comforting," Robyn muttered, flopping onto the couch. "You know, most people your age spend their time knitting or gardening, not smuggling potentially apocalyptic science experiments."

  Evelyn chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with a mix of pride and amusement. "And most people your age aren’t scaling rooftops and hacking megacorporations for fun," she countered, a rare twinkle of mischief in her voice.

  Robyn smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned forward, her curiosity finally winning out. "Alright, spill it. What’s the deal with this case? And don’t give me the ‘wrong hands’ routine—I’m already knee-deep in this mess, so you might as well tell me what I’m dealing with."

  Evelyn hesitated, her gaze lingering on the case for a moment before she met Robyn’s eyes. "It’s a piece of technology AVN shouldn’t have," she said simply. "Something I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to keep out of their grasp. And now, thanks to you, it’s safe—at least for the moment."

  Robyn frowned. "Safe doesn’t sound very permanent."

  "It’s not," Evelyn admitted. "But it’s a start."

  As Robyn stepped further into the brownstone, her practiced instincts began to tingle, setting off quiet alarms in her mind. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t immediately place it, but there was a distinct unease crawling under her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Her first clue was the absence of the comforting aroma of tea—a fixture in her grandmother’s home, as dependable as the rising sun. The kettle was always on when Evelyn was around, its whistle a soothing reminder of her presence. But now, the kitchen was eerily silent, the familiar hum of domesticity replaced by an unnerving stillness.

  Then Robyn caught it—a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. The door to Granny’s computer room was ajar, and inside was chaos. Papers scattered across the floor, a chair overturned, and the faint, unmistakable signs of a struggle etched into the disarray. Robyn’s heart quickened as her gaze darted to Evelyn, who stood by the coffee table, seemingly calm but strangely detached.

  Granny didn’t like messes. She was methodical, meticulous. The scene in the computer room was wrong, and that wrongness settled like a weight in Robyn’s gut.

  Robyn adjusted her stance, subtly shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet, her body tensing like a coiled spring. She studied Evelyn carefully, her green eyes sharp and watchful. "Granny," she began, her voice low and steady, "something feels off. What’s going on?"

  Evelyn turned slowly, her piercing blue eyes meeting Robyn’s, but there was a flicker of something there—something fleeting and unreadable. "What do you mean, dear?" she asked, her tone even, but Robyn caught the faintest edge of strain beneath the surface.

  "That," Robyn said, nodding toward the computer room. "It looks like someone’s been through your stuff. And you didn’t even put the kettle on. That’s not like you."

  Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze shifting momentarily to the case on the coffee table. "It’s nothing to worry about," she said, too quickly.

  Robyn squinted, her sharp green eyes narrowing as the morning light streamed in through the curtains, catching Evelyn’s face in an oddly reflective way. There was something wrong—something profoundly unsettling. The sheen on her skin, the way she moved, her posture—everything about her seemed just slightly off, triggering a deep unease that set Robyn’s instincts ablaze. It was the uncanny valley writ large.

  "My, what glassy eyes you have today, Granny," Robyn said, her voice cautious but edged with suspicion.

  Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a disjointed approximation of a smile. "My, what shiny skin you have today," Robyn countered, her gut tightening as the words left her mouth.

  "My, what strange movements you have today," Robyn added, her voice dropping to a low, wary murmur.

  The twisted facsimile of her grandmother grinned wider, her voice warping into a distorted electronic trill. "All the better to eliminate nosey little girls like you!" it snapped.

  Robyn’s instincts kicked into overdrive as she stumbled backward, her heart racing. Before her eyes, the illusion of Evelyn Redford shattered. The false skin began to unlock and slide apart like a grotesque puzzle, revealing the monstrous form beneath. Plates of metal shifted and clanged as circuits sparked and wires coiled, the form transforming into a hulking robotic canine. The glowing green eyes of the mecha-wolf pierced through the morning light, casting an eerie glow across the room.

  Robyn’s breath caught as she registered the full sight of the machine. A robotic tendril extended from its metallic body, gripping the armored briefcase with ease. Its voice shifted to a cold, male modulated tone, devoid of any trace of warmth or humanity.

  "Just had to be curious, didn’t you?" it sneered. "Well, no loss. Two dead Redford women are no skin off my back."

  Robyn’s fists clenched as she steadied her stance. Her fear quickly turned to resolve, adrenaline flooding her system as her mind raced for a way out. "Not today, you tin can," she muttered under her breath, her sharp eyes darting around the room for anything she could use to turn the tide.

  Things didn’t look good—not by a long shot. Robyn was in shape, sure, but at 61 kilos of lean muscle, she was no match for a mechanical monstrosity the size of a grown man, built from weapons-grade steel and bristling with hidden dangers. She stumbled back instinctively, her mind racing as the steel-wolf lunged at her, its jaws snapping shut with a metallic clang that sent sparks flying. It missed her by centimeters, but the impact took a chunk out of Granny’s favorite chair—the one she used to sit in while watching the tele.

  “Bollocks!” Robyn spat, throwing herself into a frantic roll to avoid another deadly swipe. Her movements were quick and fluid, the result of years spent navigating London’s rooftops and alleyways, but this wasn’t some rooftop chase or back-alley brawl. She was way out of her league.

  The wolf didn’t wait, charging at her with a force that made the floorboards creak and splinter beneath its weight. Robyn barely had time to scramble out of the way, her back slamming against the wall as her heart pounded in her ears.

  "What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with this?!" she snarled under her breath, her voice edged with a mix of fear and frustration. She could handle herself, sure, but that was against people—people with fists and guns, not… this. Not a steel monstrosity that could tear her to shreds and had apparently killed her Granny.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  That thought hit her like a gut punch. Her Granny, the woman who always had the kettle on and a fire in her belly to fight for what was right, was gone. And this thing—this thing—had tried to replace her just to get its hands on that damn case.

  Robyn’s fists clenched as she scrambled over the couch, trying to put some distance between herself and the wolf. It snarled, its glowing green eyes locking onto her with a predatory focus that made her skin crawl. If she was going to get out of this alive, she was going to have to think fast—and fight even faster.

  The wolf’s laughter—cold, mechanical, and dripping with mockery—echoed through the room as it stalked forward, cutting off Robyn’s escape route. The laugh made her stomach churn. This wasn’t just a robot; it was a remotely operated nightmare, piloted by some bastard who thought all of this was a game.

  “You sick bastard!” Robyn shouted, anger momentarily pushing back the fear gnawing at her. Her mind raced. If this thing was remote-controlled, it had to be receiving some kind of signal. If she could find a way to disrupt it, she might have a chance. But that was a big if, and the wolf wasn’t giving her time to think, let alone act.

  Its glowing green eyes locked onto her with predatory intent, and the robotic tendrils whipped out, aiming to snare her. Desperation kicked in, and Robyn hurled herself forward, ducking under the writhing metal limbs as they slammed into the wall behind her with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood and shards of broken picture frames scattered across the room, and Robyn winced as she glanced at the damage.

  Granny wouldn’t have liked that. Of all the things sacred to her, the memories of her late grandfather—carefully preserved in those photos—were untouchable. That thought sparked something fierce in Robyn, a determination she hadn’t fully tapped into before.

  She had managed to avoid the tendrils, and in a stroke of what she hoped was brilliance, she scooped up the armored case. Its heavy weight reassured her as she clutched it close, her mind scrambling for a plan. The case might work as a makeshift shield if things got worse, but it also gave her an idea—a risky, reckless idea, but it was all she had.

  “Bugger off, or… or… I’ll open this thing!” Robyn snapped, holding the case up for the wolf to see. Her voice was firm, despite the terror threatening to break through.

  The mecha-wolf paused, its glowing eyes narrowing as if analyzing her threat. She could only hope that whatever was inside this damned briefcase was important enough to make the operator think twice.

  "This is where I say, 'That belongs to me,' and you say, 'Over my dead body,' something I will gladly arrange," the wolf's voice taunted, dripping with twisted mockery. It lunged, steel jaws gleaming in the flickering light.

  Panic surged through Robyn as she swung the case with every ounce of strength she could muster. The wolf snapped at her but missed, its metallic teeth clamping down on empty air—just as the corner of the heavy briefcase collided with its head. The force was enough to crack the case's reinforced lock, and with a metallic groan, the lid flew open. Its contents—a swatch of brilliant red fabric—spilled out and landed in a heap near Robyn's feet.

  Her breath caught as a voice emanated from the crimson cloth, cold and mechanical, yet oddly alive: "Host detected. Compatibility: 80%. Symbiotic interface within acceptable parameters. Initiating cyber-symbiotic interface."

  “What the hell?” Robyn blurted, eyes wide as she stumbled back. She had no time to make sense of what was happening—the cloth was moving, as if alive, and the steel-wolf wasn't about to give her a breather. Its glowing eyes narrowed, and it lunged again, faster and deadlier.

  The crimson fabric moved like lightning, shooting toward her ankle. Robyn screamed, trying to step back, but it was too fast. The cloth wrapped around her leg, spiraling upward with unnatural speed. She clawed at it, desperate to pull it off, but it was like trying to grab smoke—impossible to grasp, and terrifyingly fluid. It climbed across her body, covering her arms, chest, and face in seconds, wrapping her in an alien embrace.

  "Get off me!" Robyn shouted, her voice muffled as the fabric sealed itself against her skin. Her fear morphed into a strange mix of adrenaline and confusion as she felt something… shifting inside her. The cloth wasn’t just covering her—it was bonding with her, syncing with her very being. Her mind swirled as the voice returned, this time in her head:

  "Interface complete. Host capabilities enhanced. Defense protocols activated."

  Before Robyn could fully process the words, she felt a surge of power unlike anything she had ever known. Her muscles tensed, her vision sharpened, and her entire body felt alive in a way it never had before. Her mind screamed that this was impossible, but her instincts told her otherwise.

  The wolf snarled, its tendrils whipping toward her once more, but this time, Robyn didn’t back down. Her hand shot out, faster than she thought possible, and caught the writhing metal limb mid-strike. The strength in her grip was startling; it was as if her body had been turbocharged.

  “What… what is this?” she muttered, staring at her glowing red-covered hands. The fabric shimmered faintly, responding to her thoughts, as if waiting for her to take control.

  The wolf’s voice growled in frustration. “You think that will save you? I’ll rip it off your corpse!”

  Robyn’s lips curled into a smirk, the first flicker of confidence blooming in her chest. “You can bloody try.”

  The wolf lunged, a mass of snapping jaws and writhing tendrils, but before Robyn could fully register her next move, the red cloth reacted. It flowed like liquid, forming a long, flowing hooded cloak that snapped taut around her shoulders. The edges flared outward, pulling her back with surprising grace, as if it had a will of its own. Only it wasn’t just the cloak—it was her. The strange cloth seemed to have merged with her body, reacting as seamlessly and fluidly as her own instincts.

  "Force multiplier suggested," the voice now living in her head stated in an oddly polite, matter-of-fact tone. "Enemy combat parameters exceed current host capabilities."

  “Yeah, no kidding!” Robyn snapped aloud, her voice tinged with panic and disbelief. Her senses were alive in a way she had never experienced. She could feel everything—the shift of the wolf’s movements, the weight of the air displaced by its mechanical limbs, even the faint hum of its energy core. The cloak had expanded her awareness, turning the room into a map of danger zones and opportunities.

  Robyn’s eyes darted around, desperately searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon. Until she found it, dodging would be her only option. She leapt backward as the wolf lunged again, its snapping jaws narrowly missing her and tearing through the remains of the coffee table instead. Shards of wood and glass flew, but Robyn twisted in midair with an agility she didn’t know she possessed, landing lightly on her feet.

  The wolf snarled, its frustration mounting. Its frame shifted with a mechanical grind, revealing a pair of concealed gun barrels that locked into place on its back. Robyn’s eyes widened as the barrels began to fire, spitting a rapid hail of bullets that shredded through the apartment like paper.

  “Suppressive fire?! Bloody hell!” Robyn threw herself to the side, the cloak responding instantly. It flared out, catching the air like a parachute and pulling her into a controlled roll behind the overturned couch. The bullets rained down, splintering furniture and punching holes through the walls, but the cloak seemed to absorb or redirect some of the shockwaves, keeping her movements smooth and unhindered.

  Her mind raced, adrenaline surging. This wasn’t just a fight—it was survival. She wasn’t up against a thug or a hired goon; this was a weaponized predator, designed to kill. And yet, despite the terror clawing at her chest, Robyn could feel a glimmer of something else: possibility. The cloak wasn’t just protecting her—it was empowering her. If she could figure out how to use it, maybe she could even the odds.

  Her gaze fell on an old woodcutter’s axe mounted on the wall. It had once belonged to her grandad, a hardworking and honest man who had spent his life as a lumberjack. The sight of it brought a pang of grief and anger—memories of a man who had stood tall and unyielding in the face of life’s hardships. Now, his axe was the last tangible piece of him, and it would have to do more than just hang there.

  The cloak's edges snapped out like living tendrils, wrapping around the axe as the digital voice spoke in its calm, calculated tone: “Sufficient force multiplier found. Optimization required.” The strange red fabric enveloped the old steel and wood tool entirely. For a moment, Robyn could only watch, her breath caught in her throat, as the cloak began to shift and reshape the weapon. When it finally withdrew, what remained was still unmistakably the lumberjack’s axe, but transformed—its bright red sheen glowed faintly, as if newly forged, the blade sharpened and reinforced with advanced technology that seemed to hum with latent power.

  “That’ll do,” she muttered under her breath, disbelief mingling with awe. She tightened her grip on the axe and tensed for her next move.

  The wolf’s glowing green eyes locked onto her, and its guns swiveled to track her position. Before it could fire, Robyn sprang from cover, the cloak reacting in perfect harmony with her movements. She launched forward with a burst of speed that left the air crackling behind her. Bullets screamed past, narrowly missing her, as she rolled across the floor, her hand shooting out to grab the axe. She swung it free from its mount in one fluid motion, rising to her feet in a defensive stance.

  The axe felt heavier than she remembered, but the cloak coursed strength through her arms, balancing the weight and making it feel like an extension of her body. She held it high, the blade catching the faint light of the room, its crimson edge gleaming with promise.

  “Alright, you metal mutt,” Robyn growled, spinning the axe in her grip with surprising ease. Her lips curled into a fierce, determined smirk. “Let’s see how you like this.”

  Robyn surged forward, the weight of the axe propelling her with newfound power and precision. The mecha-wolf snapped its tendrils toward her in a desperate attempt to stop her advance, but the altered blade hummed with an otherworldly energy, slicing through the metal appendages like they were paper. Sparks flew as severed tendrils clattered to the floor, the creature’s attack failing to halt her momentum.

  "Wolf-VR Drone Alpha 02 model," the calm, digital voice echoed in her mind, its tone unbothered by the chaos surrounding them. "Primary neural uplink location identified and highlighted."

  Robyn's eyes darted to where a faint glow illuminated on the wolf’s metallic back, the overlay provided by the cloak revealing weak points in its armored hide. The signal device—it was there, clear as day. The cloak's augmented interface displayed additional vulnerable spots, each point a roadmap to dismantling the mechanical monstrosity.

  “Gotcha,” Robyn muttered under her breath, her grip tightening on the axe as she adjusted her trajectory.

  The mecha-wolf lunged, its glowing eyes narrowing as its jaw snapped inches from her. But Robyn was faster. The axe, now transformed into a deadly vibro-weapon, let out a low, resonant hum as she swung it in a wide arc. The blade struck with brutal precision, cleaving through armor and circuitry alike. Sparks erupted as the axe met its mark, severing the uplink device in a single, decisive strike.

  The wolf staggered, its movements growing erratic as the signal faltered. Robyn didn’t let up, her instincts and the cloak’s guidance working in perfect harmony. Another strike, and then another—each blow calculated, each swing of the axe landing with devastating power. The drone’s once-menacing frame was now a sputtering, sparking mess.

  Finally, with one last powerful swing, Robyn drove the blade deep into the wolf’s central core. The hum of the axe reached a crescendo before the mecha-wolf’s glowing green eyes flickered and went dark. The creature collapsed in a heap of twisted metal, its reign of terror brought to an unceremonious end.

  Robyn stood over the wreckage, breathing hard, the axe still buzzing faintly in her grip. “Not so tough now, are you?” she said, her voice edged with adrenaline and triumph. The cloak’s voice chimed in her mind again, calm as ever: "Threat neutralized. Host safety ensured."

  Robyn allowed herself a small, weary smile. “Yeah, well… next time, maybe give me a heads-up before I’m fighting a bloody robot wolf, alright?”

  "Noted. Host prefers additional warnings in a timely fashion," the voice replied with its unflappable calm. After a brief pause, it added, "All AVN combat drones are equipped with self-destruct mechanisms to prevent evidence of their operation. I recommend immediate removal of the drone."

  Robyn's eyes widened in alarm. "Then bloody well get rid of it!" she snapped, her heart racing as she instinctively backed away from the wreckage.

  "Understood," the voice responded without the slightest hint of urgency.

  Before Robyn could question what the cloak intended to do, it sprang into action. The red fabric surged outward, wrapping tightly around the remnants of the mecha-wolf. With an almost effortless motion, the cloak retracted and hurled the shattered drone through the nearest window, sending glass shards scattering as the metallic body sailed into the air.

  For a moment, silence hung in the room. Then, outside, a bright flash illuminated the night as the drone detonated—or rather, imploded. The explosion collapsed inward, consuming the drone's remains and leaving behind only a fine pile of ash and unrecognizable scrap that scattered harmlessly in the wind.

  Robyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, watching the display from the shattered window. "Well, that’s one way to take out the trash," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "Next time, maybe don’t wait until it’s about to blow me up to mention that, yeah?"

  The cloak responded with its usual composure. "Acknowledged. Adjustments will be made to future threat alerts for host safety."

  Robyn rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Oh, that’s comforting..." as she turned her attention back to the ransacked apartment. One thing was certain: whatever mess her grandmother had been caught up in, Robyn was now neck-deep in it too.

  "Life signs detected. Medical assistance required," the voice announced, its calm tone cutting through the haze of Robyn’s thoughts. Her vision shifted again, the crimson edges of the cloak seemingly expanding her perception. Heat signatures and faint heartbeats materialized in her view, pinpointing the source—her grandmother. She was still alive, though weak.

  "Thank God!" Robyn exhaled in relief, her heart lifting for the first time since the chaos began. "Can you help her?"

  "We can help her," the voice replied. "We are equipped with a variety of functions designed to assist the host and its objectives, including emergency medical support."

  Robyn didn’t waste a second. She nodded, pushing through the mess of the apartment toward the room where her grandmother lay. Her breath hitched at the sight—Granny Redford was slumped on the floor, her silver hair matted with blood, her usually vibrant features pale and drawn. But she was breathing, however faintly.

  "Hang in there, Granny," Robyn whispered as she knelt beside her, the cloak shifting almost intuitively to form a supportive sling around the older woman’s frail body. "Alright, Cowl, do your thing."

  "Administering aid," the voice confirmed as a portion of the cloak’s fabric extended into thin, precise tendrils. The threads pulsed faintly with light, scanning Granny’s injuries and stabilizing her with what Robyn could only describe as advanced bioengineering. A faint hum filled the air as the tendrils worked, sealing minor wounds and administering what she assumed were nanotechnological treatments.

  Robyn swallowed hard, her mind racing. She didn’t have time to fully process what this Crimson Cowl was, or what it had meant by we precisely. But right now, all that mattered was her grandmother. She reached out and gently held Granny’s hand, her fingers trembling. "You’re going to be alright, Granny. I promise."

  The voice broke through her thoughts again. "Stabilization complete. Immediate danger mitigated. However, additional medical attention is advised for full recovery."

  Robyn nodded, brushing a tear from her cheek as she cradled her grandmother’s head. "Alright, one step at a time. But you better not give up on me, old lady," she murmured, her voice wavering despite her attempt at a smile.

  ***

  Elsewhere, deep beneath the AVN International headquarters in London, a sterile sub-basement hummed with the electric buzz of advanced machinery. The centerpiece of the room was a sleek, ominous pod connected to an array of heavy cables, its surface crackling with erratic bursts of energy. Inside, Bartholomew Wolfe, the enigmatic and ruthless CEO of AVN’s London Branch, lay within the Neural Uplink Pod, his face tense as data streamed across the monitors surrounding the station.

  Red warning lights flared across the room, accompanied by the shrill whine of alarms. Technicians scrambled, shouting over one another as they fought to regain control.

  "Feedback levels are spiking—dangerously high!" cried a panicked scientist. "We’re losing stability in the uplink matrix!"

  "Cut the power! Disconnect him before the feedback kills him!" another shouted, their voice tinged with desperation.

  Before the scientists could act, a man in a sharp black suit stepped forward with grim determination. Marcus Dempsey, Wolfe’s personal bodyguard and trusted enforcer, assessed the situation in an instant. While he had long since stopped questioning his employer’s more unorthodox methods, the idea of Wolfe personally piloting the experimental drone still unsettled him. This, however, was no time for debate.

  Dempsey grasped the emergency release handle on the side of the pod and pulled hard. The handle groaned under the strain before finally giving way, severing the Neural Uplink Pod's connection to the grid. Sparks flew as the cables disengaged, and the pod hissed open with a cloud of pressurized mist.

  Bartholomew Wolfe’s eyes snapped open, his gray pupils glowing faintly from the residual effects of the uplink. He gasped for air, his usually composed demeanor momentarily shattered as his cybernetics recalibrated to his body.

  "Sir, are you alright?" Dempsey asked, steadying Wolfe as he staggered out of the pod.

  Wolfe waved him off, his voice cold and sharp despite his obvious fatigue. "The drone was destroyed. That... little guttersnipe has the Cowl."

  The lead technician stepped forward cautiously. "Mr. Wolfe, the feedback levels suggest significant damage to the neural relay. Continuing to use this system could—"

  Wolfe’s piercing gaze silenced the man mid-sentence. "I’m well aware of the risks, Doctor," Wolfe snapped, his composure quickly returning. "But the loss of the Crimson Cowl is unacceptable. That weapon was meant to be ours, and now it’s in the hands of a reckless thief."

  Dempsey stepped in, his voice steady and practical. "We’ll retrieve it, sir. This... Redford girl doesn’t understand what she’s dealing with. She’s outmatched."

  Wolfe smirked, though it was devoid of humor. "She may think she’s clever, but no one escapes AVN. Dispatch the Reclaimer Units. And prepare the Canis Rex—this is far from over."

  As Wolfe straightened his suit and strode out of the room, the technicians exchanged uneasy glances. Behind him, the hiss of machinery filled the air as the Neural Uplink Pod began its shutdown sequence. The hunt for the Crimson Cowl had only just begun.

  https://www.worldanvil.com/w/the-specials-universe-killerkorax)