1. Ive Got You

Niko never thought he’d be back here again.

He pursed his lips and glanced around the conference room of Station Twelve. It had been over three years since he’d last stepped into the crowded little city-moon of Kaapra-19’s Galactic Police headquarters. Its arched ceilings towered above him, warm light cast back upon itself in the mirror-polish of marbled floors. Old faces had greeted him enthusiastically at every step back into this building, people who he’d once known as friends and colleagues.

Several of them had actually stopped him along the way to ask how he was or recount some of his past triumphs at hunting—cornering one fugitive on an abandoned colony moon by bringing down the derelict buildings around him with explosions, catching another after a four-hour nonstop pursuit through an acidic alien bog. He’d been stalled under all the attention for a good twenty minutes before Zann, Station Twelve’s lead investigator and Niko’s half-brother, came and waved everyone away and dragged him back into the conference room for a private briefing.

“So,” Zann started. With a lazy wave of his hand, he summoned a holographic menagerie of grisly case file images that spanned the length of the entire wall. Their pale light washed over the room, painting everything a ghostly blue in stark contrast to the warm lights of the station. “You’re going to help me take him down, right?”

“I don”t know, Zann,” Niko said. “I never really planned to go back to bounty hunting.”

It was a lie and it wasn’t. Niko missed hunting. He craved it like he craved air—brimming with adrenaline as he slowly wore down the galaxy’s worst fugitives until they had nowhere left to run made Niko feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.

But he also knew what hunting did to him. Years later, he still bore the scars, some deeper than others. It took a toll on him, each job a little more than the last, each reckless injury a little harder to get back up from.

The last one had left him unable to get up at all.

“Then why keep the ship all this time?” Zann asked.

“Sunk cost fallacy. I’ve put thousands into modding it.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You practically worship that thing. I know you’ve been training with the suit, too. You even showed up in it. Besides, if money is an issue, I’ve already spoken with the chief and they gave authorization for Galapol to fund any supplies you’ll need for this.”

Zann leaned back against the long, shiny oak conference table and crossed his arms. Niko glanced at him. They made quite the odd pair. He didn’t resemble his brother much—next to Niko’s muscled frame and bulky suit of tech-armor, Zann stood skinny and sleek. His short-cropped hair grew in glossy, tight coils, his rich, ebony skin and high cheekbones favoring his father over their shared mother.

Niko, on the other hand, had a deep bronze complexion, just like their mother. His straight, shaggy, dark brown hair favored a man Niko had no memory of.

But both shared the same dark, perceptive eyes which peered out at the scattering of case file holograms that hovered before them now.

Zann raked his hand over his face. “Look,” he started. “All I’m saying is that I know you want this. I’m going to be blunt with you here, and I know you don’t want to hear it. But ever since you stopped hunting, you’ve been a shell of a person. You don’t even leave your fucking apartment, except maybe to go see Dad. You haven’t gone out in years. You’re just letting yourself waste away. Why do you think I got you the suit?”

Niko grunted. Everything Zann said was true—since he’d given up bounty hunting, Niko had sunk into a dreamless haze that could only clinically be called living.

He had never resurfaced since.

None of it changed the fact that bounty hunting was a deadly game and Niko knew all too intimately the sort of consequences it often led to. He didn’t need a fresh reminder of that.

“That doesn’t matter, Zann. I retired. I’m out of it now.”

“Yet you showed up when I called on you.” Zann smirked, his eyes forming smug, dark crescents. “Niko, you see this guy’s files.” His expression sobered up as he gestured to the holographic photos before them. “And I know you’ve been watching the news about him. I know you. I know it’s got to be eating you up inside. This might just be the biggest asshole this galaxy has ever vomited up so far. He’s our number one. If anyone needs to be brought down, it’s him. And if anyone’s actually capable of doing it, it’s you.”

“Zann—”

“Niko. There’s nobody better than you. You know I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.” Zann pushed off the edge of the table and looked Niko in the eyes, imploring. “The Kestrel has killed five planetary leaders, a renowned philanthropist, and a well-loved actor to date. Clearly the guy isn’t about to stop any time soon. Unless somebody makes him.”

The Kestrel.

Niko sighed. Zann was right—again. He’d been glued the past four months to the reporters, witnesses, and talking heads of non-stop news feeds as they’d chattered, wide-eyed and with hurried words about the elusive assassin who had quickly earned his spot as Galapol’s number one most wanted.

Ever since, Niko hadn’t been able to stop watching, listening, and reading about the gruesome assassinations of influential figures across the galaxy, all flawlessly executed by a mysterious figure known only as the Kestrel. The title was all they currently had on the guy, gotten only from a message left spray painted in near illegible writing on the brick side of a rooftop utility shed near his first kill: TELL THEM THE KESTREL IS COMING.

The handwriting was so egregiously awful that Niko was baffled how someone with a hand steady enough to snipe a perfect headshot on several different occasions could also scrawl out whatever abomination that was. How anyone had managed to work out what it even said was a whole other miracle.

Zann looked over at the holographic scattering of autopsy images and crime scene still frames captured from security feeds and drones, the name KESTREL hovering above them all in a wash of headache-blue text. Niko’s gaze drifted to a photograph of the third district senator of Delan-6, Nurun Jia, the lavender-skinned Heenva politician crumpled onto himself, prone on the ground, the aides flanking him forever frozen with panicked hands and fearful eyes. Around him was a dark puddle of violet-colored blood. Next to that image were several close-up photos of the bullet from his following autopsy. It matched with the same sniper rifle model utilized in the other assassinations.

Niko hated guys like the Kestrel—haughty, cruel, egomaniacal. People like him felt they were above the law and had a right to take the lives of others into their own hands. The murders a single man had committed had sent shockwaves of fear, trepidation, and unease throughout interstellar societies. Each new death sent entire governments scrambling, forcing hasty replacements of dead leaders. It was unprecedented, each death on a galactic scale that had never been witnessed previously.

Looking at the aftermath of his kills—the panic, the grief, the violence, all plainly on holographic display—made Niko’s insides twist with tight rage. He would love nothing more than to ruin the Kestrel’s day.

Once upon a time, Niko had lived for bringing garbage like him down. But ghosts of the past clung heavy to his legs now, dragging him back down to sober reality. He glanced away.

“Zann,” he said. “It’s— After everything that happened before— I’m done. I’m not a hunter anymore.”

His brother’s voice softened. “Niko. I know. I wouldn’t ask you to step back into that world if it was anything short of this. This guy is making public spectacles of killing the most influential and powerful figures out there. People who lead nations and planets. People who everyone is looking up to for guidance and stability. He needs to be stopped. I’m asking you to help me stop him. We’ve thrown everything we have at him so far and he just evades it every single time.

“I’m out of options, Niko. You’re my trump card.”

Niko winced. He could feel himself caving. “The chief really authorized funding? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“They did. I got it in writing. This is big, Niko. Probably the biggest case you’ll ever be put on. Even if you never hunt again after this, imagine finishing your career on this kind of bang. He’s out there unchecked and nobody can take him down so far. And he’s got that tech shit too. Impossible to get near him and he can straight up go fucking invisible.”

“Yeah, that’ll make it difficult.”

“If we could get our hands on some of that, though…” Zann whistled. “Imagine Galapol with stealth cloaking powers. Or society as a whole. Maybe nabbing this guy could be a silver lining in more ways than one.”

Niko swore under his breath. “This feels like… before, all over again.”

“It does,” Zann agreed, his expression growing tight and unreadable. A memory, haunted and ripe with roiling grief, threatened to surface between them, drawing the air out of the room. Both men stood in silence until Zann spoke again. “Which is why we both know how important this is.” After a pause, he added, “And why you need to be the one to stop him. You’re the best we’ve ever had, Niko. I’m not saying that as your brother, either, so don’t try to give me any of that ‘bias’ shit. You know the reputation you built. Everyone here knows it. It’s all they’ve been talking about since you walked in these doors.

“Ivrieet Talanari? Vasra Kolaryl? Roland Mausca? Dozens of other infamous criminal assholes we’d been trying to take down for years? You were the one who finally got them, Niko. You. I need you to do the crazy, incredible shit you did then again. This one last time.”

Niko nodded, looking over at the scattering of holographic files, security camera stills, and portraits of the deceased. None of the people in them had done anything to deserve losing their lives in such a violent end. An old itch was starting to resurface in him—the need and want to protect. To make a difference.

To wake from his three years of sleepwalking and live again.

Niko knew he was far beyond saying no now. He closed his eyes for a moment, relenting, before asking, “Okay. Who do we think he’s going for next? What’s the intel?”

He tried to ignore the way Zann brightened, how he stood a little taller. “So, we’ve got a few leads, but it’s a matter of narrowing it down. We’ve been curating a list of upcoming big events for leaders, celebrities, everyone we can think might make it as this guy’s next target. But the truth is, it’s still just guesswork so far. Guy appeared out of nowhere one day and killed the Prime of Ghalaecua.

“After that, it was just one after another. But it’s not just leaders, right? It’s actors, philanthropists. There’s no certain basis or motive for why he’s doing it other than what we can guess is sheer ego. He never goes after these guys in secret. He takes them out where everyone can see it. The spectacle is the point.”

Niko nodded. “Right. Taking out the biggest and the best just to show he can.”

“You’ve dealt with the type.”

“So why not just advise canceling upcoming high risk public events?”

“Can’t cancel events forever, Niko.” Zann shrugged. “And it’s a big galaxy, with a lot going on. We did put out a warning but we can’t force anything. Some of them did cancel. But others are going on about how they won’t live in fear, that sort of bullshit. If I had to guess where he’ll end up next, though, it’ll be at the Grand Sovereign of Yhanwe-ha’s annual address.” He swiped a small portrait to the center of the room, then expanded it. Niko found himself staring back at the enigmatic, pious leader of the Quwa-quay people—skin of pale, pearlescent gold, an ornate and colorful veil hanging down over their sun-sensitive eyes. “Pattern recognition guys are predicting that one. Big event, big crowd. Huge public figure.”

“How do we—”

Niko was cut off by the groan of the old, heavy conference room door as it opened, followed by a surprised laugh. He tensed automatically, shoulders rising as he turned to see another detective—human, with near translucently pale skin, dark hair and thick black eyebrows—all but gaping at him. He was one of the new faces Niko hadn’t recognized at the station. “So, you’re the one who everybody’s going starry-eyed over.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Niko said.

The man’s gaze ran up and down along Niko’s armored body, openly mocking now. “Wow. What the hell’s with the power armor, though? This isn’t the battlefield, mate.”

Charged silence fell over the room before Zann snapped, “Fourier. Haven’t you ever seen a bounty hunter before? Is this your first goddamn day?”

“Right, sorry,” Fourier laughed again, clearly not sorry.

“What do you want? We’re busy,” Zann said.

“Came to tell you there’s been an update on the Kestrel case. He just killed Horu Duu’mari at the Diamond Comet Awards.”

“Fuck,” said Zann. He and Niko looked at each other. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Wait. The director of Twenty-One Toliai?” Niko asked. He had been an enthusiastic fan of the action classic growing up, reenacting several of the most famous fight scenes as an excited boy on his hapless stepfather.

“Yep,” Fourier said.

“Alright,” Zann said, his face a landscape of tension and stress. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Fourier disappeared through the door again, giving Niko a little salute and grin. Niko shifted his weight uncomfortably. Maybe he shouldn’t have come in the suit.

“Fuck,” Zann said again, voice hoarse with a fatigue Niko hated hearing.

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about the suit. Fourier’s newer here, so I’ll talk to him. Besides, you look cool in it. It’s fitting that you show up looking like a big armored badass. You’re the one who’s going to end this, after all.”

Niko was fully self-conscious now, though he appreciated Zann’s enthusiasm. “It’s fine, Zann. It’s not a big deal at all.”

“Look, I have to deal with this new kill,” Zann said, already moving towards the door. He waved the holographic files away, and the room dimmed in the absence of their blue light haze. “I sent you everything we have so far. I’ll update it with what we learn about Duu’mari.”

Niko moved to exit after him, and as he reached the doorway, he could see the station was now alight in frenzied commotion: officers, investigators and researchers all undoubtedly scrambling under the freshly devastating news.

Zann glanced back over his shoulder before heading towards the swarm of activity. “You know what to do. Bring him down, Niko. End this quick. Do what you do best. Just like old times.”

Being back on the So?adora Despierta again was strange. The sleek, heavily-modded ship, which could bypass thousands of star systems in a matter of hours, had sat unmoving in Niko’s rented hangar for three years—though was frequently maintained and visited. Zann had recommended over the years that he take it out, have fun with it, that it might put a crack in his depression. But Niko hadn’t been able to bring himself to. It would have only reminded him of something he’d loved but had closed the door to.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sell it, either. Nor any of his weapons or gear.

Doing so would have locked that door permanently and thrown away the key.

Niko sat now in the pilot’s seat of the So?adora, parked among thousands of other ships, all pilgrims who had come to hear the spiritual address of the Grand Sovereign, whom the Quwa-quay people looked to as the mortal incarnation of their deity. The Grand Sovereign’s annual address was a source of inspiration, guidance, and hope for many Quwa-quay and even some members of other alien species. And the Kestrel was, likely, aiming to silence that hope forever.

Not on Niko’s watch.

Every foreign craft had been checked for registration as a precaution, since the Kestrel had begun picking off leaders around the galaxy. Once Niko had given the local authorities his registered hunting license number and explained he was working in contract with Galapol, he was cleared for entry.

He peered through the windshield up at the huge, looming twin moons of Yhanwe-ha, one scarred and deep red, the other pale, gray, and smooth as a polished stone. They looked down on the holy grounds, parking lot, and city beyond like mismatched, watchful eyes. Before him spread miles upon miles of intricately carved, ornate alien architecture, twisting pearlescent spires decorated with pale gold. He tried to steady his breathing. It had been a very long time and a lot was resting on his shoulders now.

Niko stood, clad once more in the thick, protective veneer of his armor, and walked to the back of the ship where the weapons lockers were, each step heavy and clanging against the floor. He leaned forward towards the leftmost locker, pulling his glove off, then pressed his hand against a biometric scanner. The lock clicked open with a satisfying, crisp sound, and before Niko lay a variety of firearms and grenades of various sizes and impact, each one appreciated and oft-used in a previous life. Taped on the inside of the locker door were the old, familiar photos of his favorite nude male models.

He opted for the rifle—his favorite, and a classic. High impact, explosive shots, messy, got the job done quickly. Though Niko usually tried to bring his bounties in alive (it was better to send them through the judiciary system and make them face the consequences of their crimes and maybe, maybe reflect on what a horrible person they’d been) it wasn’t out of the question to resort to more permanent means of stopping his mark, either. Galapol’s contract had given him clearance for using any means necessary.

Whatever it took to make sure the Kestrel didn’t hurt anyone ever again.

Niko fastened the rifle to the back of his armor, where it snapped into place with a magnetic lock, then grabbed two more pistols as backup. He closed the locker, casting his gaze towards the exit door of the So?adora.

In addition to the anxiety gnawing away at him, Niko felt something else beginning to culminate—something even greater, more overpowering. He felt a thrill now, intense, private, and hungry. Something that had long laid dormant, sleeping in the depths of him.

That same thrill and eagerness had always driven him on his jobs, had made him unable to capitulate until he was the last one standing. It was the need to bring down the worst the galaxy had churned out, the scraps and slime from the bottom of society’s general offering of people. Those who would hurt, wreck, and ruin.

It was personal for Niko. And Zann.

He had a feeling about tonight, something ephemeral but electric. He knew he would see the Kestrel here. Every cell throughout him buzzed, quiet and subtle, yet charged as the air before a lightning strike: the instinct that they would meet tonight.

He knew the assassin was here.

Niko pulled his helmet on and locked it in place, with another metallic snap, then stepped out of the ship and down its ramp, where his feet stood now on the gold-inlaid pavement of an alien world for the first time in what felt like eons. The door slid closed and locked behind him.

A crowd of people moved around and ahead of him, weaving in between their parked ships, funneling their way through checkpoints and into the holy monument where the Grand Sovereign was due to speak. Their waists terminated in a long, serpentine appendage instead of legs, on which they gracefully propelled themselves—the Quwa-quay species, who originated from here on Yhanwe-ha.

Their long, spindly arms and necks of iridescent white were adorned in a variety of gold bangles and ornately cut gems. Niko was unused to seeing their large eyes left bare, pale like luminous pearls. Yhanwe-ha was a planet tidally locked to its star, and the Quwa-quay people evolved steeped in the eternally dark side of their planet. Niko was used to the ornate and diaphanous veils over their eyes that protected them from foreign suns and harsh, artificial lights.

Some of the Quwa-quay noticed him as they slithered by in the distance, curious pearl eyes falling on his armor before turning away and moving on.

Niko imagined he wouldn’t be the only other bounty hunter here tonight.

His helmet chimed, and a portrait of Zann appeared in the right corner of his visor as a call came through.

“Answer,” he mumbled.

“You’re there?” Zann said, breathless. Niko imagined him running to and fro in the station, probably not having sat down once in several hours.

“Yeah, just got clearance and landed about ten minutes ago. Anything I should keep in mind?”

“Be fucking careful,” Zann said. “That’s what you should keep in mind. The guy’s good. Maybe the best we’ve ever been up against. We have agents stationed around the grounds as well as local sec. No one has spotted him yet, but that’s nothing new. We don’t know how he’s getting in and out unnoticed, but he is.”

“Got it,” Niko said.

“You have good instincts, though. Figure out where he is and tag his ass,” Zann said. “And, Niko. Welcome back.”

“Roger that,” Niko said, terminating the call and glancing around the holy grounds. Niko shook his head—the setup of the event was a tragedy begging to happen. The monument was built atop the burial grounds of the First Sovereign’s bones, all open, flat terrain with a gilded platform for the Grand Sovereign to stand upon for their address. And it was, in this particular case, fatally flanked on all sides by towering spires and skyscrapers that glittered darkly under the dim light of the large twin moons.

If they weren’t willing to cancel the speech, they could have at least moved it elsewhere. Religion and tradition didn’t work so simply, though. The address had always been held here, and would always continue to be, regardless of how many nearly-unhindered opportunities it would provide the Kestrel tonight.

The assassin obviously favored sniping from a distance, particularly seeking out high vantage points. Keeping the address here was basically a nightmare waiting to happen, but in the end, the Grand Sovereign had been one of the leaders to respond that they would not live in fear before others.

Have it your way,he thought.

Niko was determined to end this before it progressed any further, regardless. Horu Duu’mari would be the Kestrel’s last victim.

He peered up at the twisting, alien skyscrapers, trying to slip inside the Kestrel’s head. His gaze turned towards a particular skyscraper at the far end of the burial ground borders. If a sniper wanted a good shot, that was the best place to do it from. It was technically outside of the active grounds, but to a sniper with a phenomenally steady hand and a reliable rifle—both of which the Kestrel were proven time and again to have—it would be solid gold.

Niko knew where to go.

He made his way through crowds of Quwa-quay. A scattering of other species was mingled in—primarily either religious converts or foreign press and media, little camera drones hovering by, at the ready. Security stopped him a few times and he impatiently presented the same information he’d given before landing. Each time he was stopped, Niko became antsier and more frustrated. He felt every second that crept by in a keenly physical way—they crawled around through his suit, along his skin, pulsing with the beat of his heart. Driving him towards the high tower in the distance.

Foreign, scripted letters spelled out a puzzle along its side in a gentle glow of neon orange. Niko couldn’t read Quwa-quay, but given the antennas along the top which pierced the sky like great needles, he guessed it was some kind of broadcasting building. A quick search on his visor’s map as he closed in on it, finally past the thickest crowds, confirmed it as the Aman-aii Broadcasting Center.

Once he reached it, Niko pushed through the glass entry doors and into the dim but glittering reception lobby, full of its curving gold-edged counters and crystal-lined benches. The security staff immediately rose at the sight of him, fully armored and armed, but not drawing their weapons. They eyed him warily.

“You’re not supposed—”

Niko sighed, reciting his well-worn line. “Bounty hunter. License 44-8783-332, working in contract with Galapol of Kaapra-19. I need access to the roof.”

“There’s nothing on the roof,” the security guard to the left responded in heavily-accented Galactic Standard, their pale eyes looking him up and down. He saw another guard run a check on his license number, a pale blue hologram hovering before them. “We’ve run checks every ten minutes. And we’ve had personnel guarding the elevator. You’re wasting your time here.”

It pained Niko to be delayed like this, and it was all he could do to keep from groaning audibly. Their argument would be acceptable in any other circumstance, but the Kestrel had an uncanny way of simply showing up in places he didn’t belong. Places, even, that had been under strict observation preceding his kill.

“I understand that. But I still want to check it out. It’s a potentially critical vantage point I want to keep an eye on.”

The security guards all stared dully at him now, clearly not thrilled to be told they weren’t doing their jobs. They mumbled to one another in Quwa-quay, one giving a soft, almost musical laugh. Niko could tell they weren’t a fan of him, but at the moment, he couldn’t spare any fucks to give. A guard to the right of him shrugged and responded in even more heavily-accented Standard, “This is what Galapol sends. Enjoy the view.”

“Thanks, I will,” Niko managed to grunt out before heading to the nearest elevator. The building was kept so dark that without the aid of his visor, he likely wouldn’t be able to see much at all. The visor also allowed him to catch the smirk that flashed across the elevator guard’s face.

I need to thank Zann for this suit,he thought.

The elevator was unsurprisingly empty, except for him. A single, dimly-glowing crystal dangled from the ceiling as a light source. The floor selection interface was written in Quwa-quay, so he jammed his finger into the topmost button, figuring that indicated the roof, or as close as he was going to get to it. It was a crapshoot with alien architecture, especially with a species who didn’t utilize stairs.

The doors slid shut and Niko was left to an agonizingly long ride up sixty stories, accompanied by alien elevator music that he figured must somehow sound pleasant to Quwa-quay ears. To Niko, it resembled a cat in heat yowling, set to a minimalistic twang of string instruments.

It wasn’t to his taste.

And then the doors opened again, freeing him of his aural hell and revealing an upward-ramping passage that terminated in a single door. He pushed through it and out into the open air of the roof. Above him, the moons filled most of the sky, lingering huge and ominous, almost as though pressing down on him. They felt closer than before.

A breathtaking view spread before and below him—a tapestry as wide as he could see of twinkling lights, dim neon signs, and glinting gold designs which comprised the cityscape of the Yhanwe-han capitol.

Far, far below were the hallowed grounds where the Grand Sovereign was about to speak. The height was dizzying—cars, ships, and people all resembled little more than ants crowding around a single, sacred spot. Niko’s heart began pounding heavy and fast inside his chest, as an old, familiar adrenaline spiked through his veins like a drug.

I remember this.

He reached behind himself, unlatching his rifle from its magnetic lock and switching off the safety. Each breath flowed in and out of him consciously now, steady and setting a rhythm to every crucial second that passed.

He glanced around, gaze sweeping over the length of the building. Just as the security guards had said, there was nothing here. No one. The roof was empty, quiet, and still, save for the rhythmically blinking lights of the great antennas it bore.

But something didn’t feel right, and it pricked at Niko’s skin.

That intense lightning-strike breathlessness still hung heavy in his chest. Every instinct from his earlier days hunting told Niko the Kestrel was here. The feeling screamed, sang inside him like a beacon.

This was the spot. It had to be. But where was he?

Niko stepped forward quietly, head tilted as he scanned the building again with standard visual, then thermal readings, then even ultraviolet. He looked up at the grand broadcasting antennas as he moved swiftly and cautiously around utility structures, gun first. And was met with nothing but stillness, silence.

Celebratory fireworks began erupting in the sky around him then, shattering the heavy silence, heralding the commencement of the Grand Sovereign’s address. They painted the mirror-windows of nearby spires in myriad colors, and filled the air with roaring booms that sounded a bit too close to gunfire for Niko’s comfort. He knew that below, the Grand Sovereign must be making their way to the sacred platform.

Something was wrong.

This was the perfect spot for an egotistical sniper to take out his victim with little interference to contend with. The best spot, in fact, in the entire surrounding area.

But no one was here. Had Zann and the Station Twelve research team misjudged where he’d end up next? It was certainly possible—after all, Zann had seemed outright thrown for a loop when Fourier announced Horu Duu’mari’s death. Galapol was running off of guesswork here.

Maybe the Kestrel had no interest in the Grand Sovereign. That didn’t feel right either, though—the holy leader of Yhanwe-ha was an immensely influential entity in the galaxy. If the Kestrel were truly driven by ego and some sick notion of fame, this would be too much to pass up.

Niko had one more thought. Something else he could try as a last-ditch effort before returning to the ground and trying a different building.

He began rotating through different frequencies of his helmet’s wireless radio. If the Kestrel was in communication with anyone, and was nearby, he’d be able to pick up his private frequency. He was far enough away from the ground that other nearby devices wouldn’t transmit this far, and the huge antennas around him stuck to certain powerful, public frequencies.

Niko rotated through several, with nothing but static, until suddenly his helmet was awash in a startling sea of sound. It wasn’t talking, however. It was music—the middle of a pop song, a shimmering ocean of buoyant melody and rhythm, wrapped around a woman’s voice.

“Baby, I’ve been looking for someone like you,

Now that I’ve found you, baby, I’m never letting go.

You’re in my orbit, caught by my gravity. I’m your star.

Your star, your starlight burning.

When you’re lost, my love will guide you home.

I’ve got you, baby.”

He was here. He was on the roof somewhere.

Niko raised his gun, frozen, ready for a fight. His pulse hammered in his ears, louder even than the song itself. He stared straight ahead, something catching his eye now—a distortion of the air itself, as though it curved and bent subtly. In the silhouette of a man. His heart leapt into his throat the moment he realized he’d been up here the whole time, so close to the very killer he’d been hunting, and hadn’t even seen.

He could barely make out details; looking from the corner of his gaze gave a clearer picture than trying to see him straight on. The figure before him was distinctly male: lithe and agile, elegant.

I’ve got you.

Niko aimed at him, but as he did, the man twisted in a single, fluid movement, looking directly back at him now, his own sniper rifle raised. Niko hadn’t even made a sound.

Niko had been walking around the roof all this time. But it wasn’t until he’d aimed his gun that the Kestrel had turned to face him. He had a feeling this guy possessed the same level of instinct Niko himself did, the sort of skin-prickling tension that came with knowing you were being watched or, in this case, aimed at with a gun and malicious intent. Until now, Niko hadn’t even registered as a threat to him.

He could just barely make out the odd contours of the man’s head—he was wearing a mask of some sort. It protruded out from his face, terminating in a sharp point like a bird’s beak, obscuring whatever lay beneath.

“Not again,” the Kestrel growled.

The contempt and condescension in the man’s voice drove Niko into an instant, white-hot rage. It was the way someone would talk about a stain on their shirt, or dropping a glass.

Mild irritation, annoyance. Maybe even exasperation. Nothing more.

Niko was better than mere inconvenience. And he was determined to show the Kestrel as much. He fired first, an explosive shot straight to the chest, the sound swallowed up by the fireworks show around them.

Nothing happened.

Or, rather, it did. But it wasn’t anything Niko had expected.

The very air around the Kestrel distorted and rippled in a shockwave from the impact, eidolic. He had a shield or energy barrier of some kind, tech that seemed to only exist in movies. Niko had never seen anything like it in all his years of hunting, and it had stopped a bullet easily in its tracks.

The Kestrel fired on him too, and the bullet ricocheted off his armor.

This wasn’t going to work. Niko changed up tactics, relying now on an old, brute force move. He liked it best up close and personal anyway, liked fighting people one on one, body against body. There was something primal and thrilling about it, something he craved and missed more than he’d wanted to admit. He wanted to tackle the Kestrel, throw him to the ground, and break through all his tech and defenses. Maybe break him too.

He rushed forward, charging the other man. He fired once, then twice more as he rapidly closed the ground between them, all three bullets ineffective and uselessly stopped in the air, eliciting similar shockwave effects as before.

The Kestrel turned away before Niko could reach him and leapt with the elegance of a competing diver off the edge of the skyscraper. It was all Niko could do to stop his charging advance before going over the edge himself. For a brief moment, he was bewildered—had the Kestrel decided to take the easy way out on his own terms, once cornered?

But that didn’t seem right either. The man had come off as far too prepared, far too arrogant, and simply unafraid of Niko. Unfazed, even.

But how could anyone survive a jump like that? Niko looked down over the side of the building. The Kestrel was gone. His frequency and music were lost as the distance between them rapidly grew, and Niko was left with only static in his ears. His gaze fell to the sea of people far below, gathered around the Grand Sovereign as they delved into their address.

The assassin was somewhere among them now. Any of those people could be in danger, the Grand Sovereign in particular.

Shit.

Niko ached, every cell in him on fire with desperation and panic. He had to go after him. Had to catch up. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let a killer like that win. The Grand Sovereign’s life was in his hands now.

For a dizzying moment, something wild and dangerous called for him to follow, to leap right off the edge and figure out what to do from there. He’d always had that kind of self-abandonment during hunting.

There was a time before when he would have done that very thing.

But a vivid flash of memory—of falling, of broken glass and the devastating shatter of human vertebrae—ripped through him, raw and visceral as a bullet to the gut. Niko found himself dizzy as he stumbled away from the building’s edge, the world swimming around him. It was hard to breathe.

He would have to find another way down.

Niko ran back to the elevator, jamming the button for what appeared to be the first-floor symbol repeatedly. The doors closed, agonizingly slow, and the yowling music started again. The sound grated against him, clawing his patience into ribbons. He needed to be back out there, needed to be pursuing the assassin who’d come to make another devastating kill. Instead, he was trapped in an elevator, nowhere to go, left simply to stand and wait.

He had been so close.

Niko should have jumped. He knew he should have jumped. That’s what had made him so good before—he threw himself away, a cruel exchange that always caught his bounty at any cost.

But the cost had been himself, once, irreparably. And so now he had backed down, gotten scared. And lost the Kestrel.

It was all Niko could do to keep from punching the elevator interface, but he knew tantrums wouldn’t make it go any faster.

I should have jumped.

Jumping was suicidal. It was destructive. He knew this. Yet the line repeated itself like a deadly mantra through his brain now anyway.

His thoughts were churning together, coalescing into an intense, spiking headache. Niko felt hot sweat running down the back of his neck, under his helmet. He didn’t know where the desperation and adrenaline of his encounter with the Kestrel ended and the nauseous horror of past trauma began. It all warred within him in a sickly skirmish.

He knew he would be too slow now, knew he had lost this battle. The Kestrel was surely long gone and every part of Niko screamed inside, demanding justice. Demanding blood. Another life was about to be lost, and it was all due to his hesitation. Inside the suit, it was getting hard to breathe.

The doors slowly slid open, and Niko pried them apart, forcing himself through. He booked it through the lobby, the security guards looking alarmed as he flew past. Then he burst through the front doors, the air in his lungs liquid and burning, when a single firework rang out in a roaring boom.

No.

It wasn’t a firework.

The fireworks had stopped since he’d made his way back down. This was something else. A shot, singular and precise, and followed now by screams which only grew in intensity as more and more voices joined in.

The crowd gathered across the holy grounds erupted into chaos: people trying to flee the scene, Galapol agents rushing towards the stage, and at the center of it all, the Grand Sovereign of Yhanwe-ha, slowly sinking to the ground in a limpid, gentle motion as their private security gathered tightly around them. Their blood trickled off the platform, feeding the sacred grounds below.

Desecrating them with the violence of their death.

Niko slowed to a walk now, and then stopped entirely, dazed and shocked. There was no reason to run anymore, no reason to hurry. The world swam and spun around him. All the adrenaline in his body melted away into a slurry of icy shame and horror, the taste of unpalatable, rare defeat on his tongue.

He had failed.

The Grand Sovereign was dead.