The ear muffs were good. Minna had fallen asleep almost immediately, her head lolling against the tactical lining of her stroller. I wheeled her through our threshold, the quiet inside checking against the burnt ozone of Torvin’s dining room. The three rooms served less as a home and more as a fortified holding pen for my family, smelling faintly of stale synth-bread and copper from last week’s stray plasma scorch. The rent was cheap because the building, the ‘Cinderblock Spire,’ was rumored to be a former incinerator stack. The landlord swore it was just a coincidence that the plumbing hissed like an angry gas leak and the walls sometimes wept black soot. Liro was already at his workstation, a salvaged data-pad jury-rigged with enough extra wiring to resemble a small, angry octopus. He was humming some grating synth-pop tune, fingers flying across a virtual keyboard. "You finished with Glaze?" he asked, not looking up. "I thought I heard some… heavy traffic on the 5th Sector comms. Sounded like a party." "Just a delivery," I said, shrugging off my reinforced delivery jacket. "Standard fare. The usual collateral damage." I checked Minna one last time, ensuring the mufflers were secure. She deserved a peaceful sleep after a high-threat run. The quiet held for thirty-two seconds before the unit's ancient comm-box crackled to life. It sounded like the System clearing its throat, if its throat were lined with velvet and disdain. [Observation: The current domicile, while strategically defensible, suffers from egregious aesthetic deficiencies. The persistent bio-matter stains on the walls are particularly offensive. One must maintain standards, even in the pursuit of… vigorous culinary distribution.] [New Reward Unlocked: Self-Cleaning Blood-Stain Remover. Description: A revolutionary enzymatic spray that eradicates even the most stubborn organic residues. Non-corrosive, scent-free, and surprisingly effective against evidence. Now, perhaps your living space can aspire to mere squalor, rather than outright barbarism. Do try to keep it tidy, Nura. For the sake of the children.] I blinked at the digital display, then glanced at the faint, spattered pattern near the air vent. Had that been there before? Maybe. It was hard to tell with the general grime. “Self-cleaning… blood stain remover?” I murmured. “That’s actually… practical.” The flat had always been a lost cause, a smear of lingering skirmishes and forgotten rations. This could change things. Scrubbed plaster. A fortified penthouse. The dream was slowly, violently, taking shape. Just as I was contemplating which specific, unidentifiable stain to target first, a knock echoed through the thin metal door. Not Liro’s usual frantic rap, nor the landlord’s whining series of taps. This was a deliberate, almost formal set of three sharp impacts. I drew my stun-stick, a habit that served me well. “Who is it?” “Greetings, Kaddem. Corso Vance. We spoke at the Neon Wok.” The voice was smooth, a little too smooth, like polished synth-steel. My hand tightened on the grip. Vance. The one who had watched me beat three men with a thermal thermos. The city’s rumored 'top predator.' This was either a shakedown or a rival trying to assess my capabilities. Both were lethal scenarios. I nudged Minna’s stroller behind the reinforced fridge, just in case. “Liro, cover.” Liro grunted, his fingers still flying. “On it. Accessing building schematics now. Just in case you need a quick escape route through the ventilation system.” I unlatched the door, opening it just a crack, my stun-stick leveled. Corso Vance stood there, looking far too composed for the Cinderblock Spire. He wore a tailored dark grey overcoat that probably cost more than my entire weapons cache, and his dark hair was swept back, not a single strand out of place. In one hand, he held a bouquet. A very strange bouquet. It was a cluster of glossy, dark berries nestled amongst deep purple flowers and broad, sinister-looking leaves. They looked suspiciously like the ‘Graveyard Berries’ I’d seen in a botanical encyclopedia once, known for inducing swift, agonizing paralysis. “Vance,” I acknowledged, keeping my voice flat. “To what do I owe the… unexpected visit?” He offered the bouquet with a slight, almost hesitant gesture. “A token. My apologies for the… territorial dispute at the Dispatch Hub. And for the oversight. I hadn’t realized the ‘Apex Predator’ was operating in the culinary sector.” He paused, then added, “These are nightshade. They're quite resilient, even in this climate.” I squinted at the berries. Resilient, and deadly. Typical assassin’s gift. “Right. Thanks. What do you want?” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping… perhaps we could discuss mutual operational strategies. Over a meal. A professional sit-down, if you will. I’ve heard you’re… exceptionally efficient.” He gestured vaguely down the grimy hallway. “There’s a new synth-sushi place in the Chroma district. Very exclusive. Excellent cover.” Dinner with the district's primary hitman? Was this some elaborate trap? An attempt to poison me with my own nightshade? My mind immediately began calculating angles of attack, escape routes, and how many times I could stun-stick him before he got a clean shot off. Minna stirred in her stroller, letting out a soft sigh. My grip shifted on the baton. This was not a viable venue for small talk. “I appreciate the offer, Vance,” I said, keeping my tone flat. “My schedule is booked, and I work solo.” I pushed the slab toward its latch. He moved quickly, placing a hand against the doorframe, his expression surprisingly earnest. “I understand the need for discretion. Shared reconnaissance, especially with current activity in the sector, could serve both of us. I’ve found that a collaborative approach often yields superior results. And I assure you, my intentions are purely professional.” He paused, then added, “I’m also adept at child-proofing a perimeter.” Child-proofing? That was an odd thing for an assassin to say. Maybe he was more unhinged than I initially thought. Just as I was considering whether to flashbang him or simply kick him down the stairwell, Liro’s voice crackled through my comm-ear, sharp with urgency. “Nura! Drop the sushi date! I’m pulling Skillet chatter off a tactical channel. Local sweep protocol targeting our floor. They’re lining up on the primary egress right now.” My gaze shifted past Corso's face toward the corridor. Our front door. Vibro-soled boots were already rattling the corroded floor plates, heavy and quick. This was an active breach. "Vance," I said, rotating the stun-stick toward the hallway. "Your dinner plans just got cancelled."

Poisonous Nightshade and Playdates