Moaning.

I just nodded back. Yeah. For real. No bullshit. No secrets. Then came the weird noises.

Grunting. Moaning. Definitely non-human.

Mia threw up her hands, apologized, and dashed off like a flustered anime maid.

We shared a look that said -what the hell now? - And waited.

She returned, sweating slightly, visibly annoyed, and muttered another apology.

— Look… I’m not gonna try to stop you, Ali. But God, it hurts to hear this. You’re really going through with it. I can see it in your eyes.

- Another one? Did they all form a damn ‘Don’t Go Club’ without me? - I thought grimly.

Mia led us into her converted office, which used to be a kid’s room — and man, what a transformation. It clashed so hard with the rest of her granny- chic apartment it looked like we stepped into a secret NSA outpost run by a glam vampire.

Walls were lined with plexiglass panels. The floor was covered in thick industrial vinyl. A control console loomed in one corner with a dozen blank screens hanging above it like techno-spiders.

I’d only been in this room twice. Mia guarded its boundaries like a digital dragon.

— Ali, sweetheart, this is mission control. From here, I’ll be monitoring you and your nephew. I’m installing extra cams on your back and sides so I can track everything. If something nasty tries to jump you — I’ll see it coming.

— To make sure you hear him clearly across that freaky distance, I’m uploading a new audio-boosting patch to your implant. You’ll get his voice directly in your brainstem. So even if you’re walking into hell alone, we’re still with you.

I felt tears sting my eyes, which isn’t really my style. But damn, she gets me. Mia knows I'm scared, even behind my bulletproof bitch persona. And she’s doing everything to make sure I don’t feel alone in this lunatic mission.

I saw the worry lines deepen on her face — she looked like she’d aged ten years in ten minutes. I couldn’t blame her.

When we met, she was just some shy nerd in her first year of tech college. I was… well, me. Age doesn’t hit me the same. I get older, sure, but it’s a glacial creep. Not like regular humans.

Back then, she was just Julia. Everyone said she’d be the next god-tier hacker. But inside her buttoned-up shell burned a wildfire of suppressed chaos. Eventually, she said -screw it- to social expectations and went full webcam queen.

But she didn’t do it the sleazy way.

Julia — now Mia — built her empire on her rules. No sleaze-streams for random creeps. Nah. Now it’s private shows only. Exclusive VIPs.

She plays strip bridge. Yeah. Bridge!

If she loses a hand, she peels off a layer. If she wins? Her opponent undresses and does whatever she tells them.

Mia plays like a damn card god. So naturally, she wins. A lot.

And her followers? Become her very obedient, very naked disciples.

Knowing that her mechanical obsession hadn’t gone anywhere, I once suggested she lead a double life. Just like me.

So Mia — empress of dark cravings and camgirl charisma — started buying all kinds of drones off sketchy trade sites, souping them up, and sending them out to patrol the borders of the Wall.

She became my irreplaceable recon partner. Before that, I had to ride around with cops and border freaks just to get a whiff of what was going on out there. A boring, muddy nightmare. But now? I had the Mistress of Metal on my team — and she ruled the air like a dominatrix with Wi-Fi.

She was currently planting micro-cams on my jacket like a high-tech gardener sowing seeds. She installed uplinks to herself and Antwan like she

was building her own personal satellite network. Her fingers flew over the keyboard at speed levels usually reserved for supernatural possession.

Antwan, the tech nerd that he is, watched her in full awe-mode, like he just met his keyboard waifu.

Then we heard it again.

That guttural, squishy moan coming from the other room. I squinted toward the noise and raised a brow.

— Girl… are you torturing someone again?

Julia flushed tomato-red, her words glitching like a corrupted voice message.

— N-n-no, not at all. That’s just… a c-client.

— Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Everything. If it was just a toy, you wouldn’t look like someone caught you summoning Satan with a glowstick. — I crossed my arms. — Don’t tell me it’s who I think it is…