Thane

NOTE: This may not be the final revision, published form may vary.

The rain came in waves—thick, relentless sheets that hammered the glass. The clouds above billowed and folded in on themselves, curtains drawing across the sky of Kishar.

Thane stood still, eyes fixed on the storm as it unfurled its wrath over Amity in the distance. The city shimmered beneath it, half-drowned in shadow and neon, a tangle of artificial veins pulsing and flickering through the towering buildings. Thirty minutes out, perched high in the penthouse suite of Hotel Singita—Amity looked small.

The floor-to-ceiling window stretched across the wall, exposing him to a life he wasn’t sure he belonged to anymore. A life that had moved on, even if he hadn’t.

Lightning tore the sky open—a jagged fork of brilliance that lit the clouds from within. The thunder came after, deep and guttural, the growl of an old god stirring in its grave. Thane welcomed the noise. It was the silence he couldn’t stand.

He was already halfway to drunk. Might as well finish the job.

The bottle of whiskey rested on the sill, a reward from a client too rich to feel guilt and too paranoid to keep debts. It was a good bottle—older than most men lasted in his profession. The label curled at the edge like a whisper from the past. Next to it, a heavy crystal tumbler cradled only drops of liquid, reflecting gold in the occasional lightning flash.

Thane dragged the glass across the sill and poured again. Two fingers. Then two more. No ice. No need to dilute it. Let it burn.

The minibar sat untouched, as always. He never made use of those things. Felt like a trick. A polished lie. What kind of man sells you comfort in a can and calls it luxury?

He lowered himself onto the wide sill, back pressed to the window, legs stretched out like a man too tired to care if he ever got up again. The city blurred through rain or whiskey—he couldn’t tell. He turned and caught his reflection, a pale ghost etched into the glass.

And there, half-shadowed but unmistakable, his cybernetic hand. Matte black plating wrapped tight over steel tendons, faint electric blue crawling through its seams. A miracle of tech, they called it for the last hundred years. A marvel. But to Thane, it was a gravestone. A memory to the night everything burned. The night he lost her.

He flexed the fingers, felt the servos.

“Cheers,” he muttered, raising the glass in a mock salute to his reflection, and drained it.

The job was done. That was the easy part of it.

He closed his eyes and let the storm speak for him.

THREE DAYS AGO

The rain had started then, too. A different storm, lighter, a whisper not a shout.

The hideout was nestled in the bones of an old industrial district—warehouses and rusted train lines that hadn't see a cargo shipment in decades. No cameras, no patrols. The type of place one vanishes into when they didn't want to be found.

But Thane had found him anyway.

The guards were amateurs. Bulky, over confident. One was scrolling text on his holo tablet, the other leaned over a rail dozing off.

Thane moved like smoke—silent and inevitable.

The first went down with a hard elbow to the throat. No time for an alert to escape his lips. Just a gurgle and a fall. The second got a little noise in—a sharp grunt as Thane snapped his arm back and used his own weapon under his chin.

Then it was just the tech broker. That one, Thane was warned not to touch.

He was exactly what Thane expected. Middle aged, average height, thin, with wiry glasses. The hideout's interior looked like a datacenter, where he was getting the power and the QLN was beyond Thane—servers buzzed, screens lined the walls with stolen data, wires curled on the floor like unearthed roots.

The tech broker looked up, startled, then terrified.

You're…early," he said, swallowing. "Or late, Depending on who sent you."

"I am sure you know who sent me," Thane said stepping towards him.

The tech broker laughed but it died quickly. "They always want more than I can give. That's the problem with data—it's never enough."

"You ran," Thane said taking another step. "My client did not like that."

"I…I didn't run," the tech broker shot back, "I hid, there is a big difference.  I didn't want to give up what I had found."

"And yet…here we are."

The tech broker backed up until his spine touched the corned of a shadow server tower. "What do you think you are going to get man? They are not going to tell you what is in there, To them you are just the paid bullet."

"I don't need what is in there."

"Don't you? You are a man without purpose right now."

"I know my purpose," Thane said.

"Do you?" the tech broker's voice cracked, desperate. "You ever wonder why they really want this? You ever looked at what they are asking you to retrieve? Or do you just collect the trash and hand it over with a smile?"

Once, Thane thought, it only took one time looking at what he shouldn't have; that is what got her killed. Reaching out he grabbed the tech broker by the collar, and shoved him into the chair at the console.

"Decrypt it. Now."

The tech broker stared at him, breathing hard. "They won't let you read it."

"Maybe," Thane said, "But right now I am the guy holding your future in his hands.  Decrypt it."

He did.

Thane watched the screens, rows of data, schematics, files—stuff he didn't understand. Then names, dates, coordinates. Experiments.

The tech broker paused at a set of names.  No it couldn't be… the screen pulsed… Thane Brekker, Alice Brekker. "Now are the pieces dropping into place? You are not just some gun for hire, you are part of this, Mr Brekker."

"How did you know it would be me chasing you down?"

"They have been watching you," the tech broker said, "You thought your past was gone, but they kept tabs."

Thane's stomach knotted. "Shut up."

"You came for answers, but there are none further here."

"I should kill you." Thane pulled the tech broker out of the chair by his shirt.

"Oh, but you won't, if you truly want answers, you are going to need me to point the right people your way."

NOW

The storm outside had turned vicious.

Rain lashed the windows in angry bursts, The thunder cracked close, right over head. A deep concussive sound that vibrated through the glass and the bones behind it.

Thane rolled the whisky in his glass, staring into it. "Answers, that is all I wanted."

He drained the glass and leaned his head back agains the cool glass.

The job had paid well, Very well actually.  Enough to by forgetfulness if one looked at it that way. He thought looking around.

The suite was luxury incarnate—leather furniture, silver plated fixtures, ambient lighting. Everything sleek and polished, designed to distract, to make one forget what you did to get here.

He had seen the names, the data. He had seen it all before the client had locked the files, cut off access, then Thane made the transfer to them. He was met shortly thereafter by a courier with a briefcase, how quaint he thought, actual credchips, a hotel keycard, and a ride here. No explanations, just congratulations.

His and his wife's name, above it all the word Vesper.

You are just a paid bullet. They are not going to tell you what is in there.  The words rattled around in his head.

He turned and looked at his reflection, He had done dirty things, for clean money. He got out, that was the deal, but now? He didn't know what the deal was anymore, the lines blurred when he was pulled back in. When they took his life, his love from him. He clenched his cybernetic hand, slowly he stood, the whiskey glass in his good hand. Looking out the window he pressed his forehead against it.  The storm had swallowed Amity in mist and fire.

"I should have asked more questions," he whispered.

But he didn't know his client, hadn't vetted them well, and wrong questions could bring death. Not what he was going for.

The pills sat in a bottle on the side table—prescription for something he couldn't pronounce. The doctor said they helped with the pain. Not the physical kind, the other kind.

He swallowed one dry, followed by a mouthful of whiskey.

He closed his eyes and saw Alice's face.

Answers.

That's what he'd gone looking for these past few months.  That is what he thought each job would bring.

Instead he got a penthouse view and a bottle of someone else's whiskey… and questions. So many more questions… none leading to Alice's murderer.

The lightning flashed again, for a moment, then he saw his reflection clearly.

Not the man he was.

Not the man he wanted to be.

Just a shadow of who he was when they were together.

Whether it was the alcohol, drugs, exhaustion or the lull in the storm, Thane yielded to the embrace of sleep.

Even in the sanctuary of sleep, the brutal scene played out, a fresh laceration on his soul.  He tossed and turned, a low groan escaping from him as the phantom pain throbbed in his wrist. Her smile a dying ember in the encroaching darkness of his subconscious, the warmth of her hand in his, the gentle lilt of her laughter—the precious echoes were being drown out by the horrific crescendo of that night.

A blinding flash of light, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, jolted him awake, his heart hammering. The nightmare hung over him, he lay there for a moment, disoriented.  He rose and moved through the silent house, hoping that a glass of water would calm his thoughts. 

He approached the front door, a prickle of unease crawled up his spine. Easy, Thane, he thought, you are still just dreaming. As with every time he had this dream, the locked door was ajar.

Another flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a bone-jarring crack of thunder. In that fleeting moment he saw Beau, his dog, bruised and beaten on the floor. He inched forward, knowing it would plummet him into the abyss of despair. Alice. His beautiful Alice. She was tied to a chair. Her face contorted in pain. A strangled cry escaped her lips.  

I can't remember, was this how it really happened?

Another blinding flash of lightning, another earth-shattering roll of thunder. The scene was etched into Thane’s mind with horrifying clarity. A figure stood behind Alice, a dark silhouette holding a gun. Then, the deafening report. A gunshot ripped through the storm’s fury. Thane’s world seemed to tilt on its axis as Beau let out a choked whimper and fell still. A raw, animalistic scream tore from Thane’s throat. Grief and rage warred within him, a maelstrom of agony threatening to consume him.

Lightning flashed, thunder roared. Another gunshot. This time, Alice gasped, her body convulsing against the ropes. A crimson stain bloomed on her stomach, spreading like a malevolent flower across her pale dress. Her eyes, filled with unimaginable pain, shifted towards him, a silent plea for help that he was powerless to answer.

“You have time, Thane. Time to do the right thing.”

Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. A third gunshot. This time, the impact was sickeningly final. Alice’s head lolled to the side, her eyes now vacant, staring into a void that mirrored the emptiness growing within Thane. Her chest, the place where his heart resided, was now marred by another stain of crimson. The life had drained from her, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

The intruder moved with a chillingly deliberate pace. Lightning illuminated the glint of steel. Thunder masked Thane’s desperate gasp as a blade, swift and brutal, slashed down. An agonizing scream ripped from his throat as his hand, his left hand, the one he held Alice’s with, was severed just above the wrist, falling to the floor with a sickening thud. The pain was immediate and excruciating, a searing agony that threatened to overwhelm him.

Then, darkness. Silence. Only the relentless drumming of the rain against the windows and the fading echoes of thunder.

Thane gasped, his eyes snapping open. He was back in the penthouse bed, the sheets tangled around his sweat-soaked body. The storm outside had passed, leaving behind only silence. But the storm within him raged on, the phantom pain in his missing hand a constant reminder of a life lost.

His holo tablet, lying on the bedside table began to ring. He reached for it.  The ID displayed an unfamiliar routing number.  He hesitated for a second, then answered.

A woman's voice, filled with professionalism filled his ear, "Mr. Brekker?"

"Yes', he managed.

"My name is Sage, I am calling on behalf of Guido."

Thane had heard the name before in the underworld.  Someone rumored to have connections and know things others could not.

Guido…? Thane croaked still reeling.

"Yes," Sage confirmed, "He believes he has a lead on Alice's murder. He would like to meet with you."

Thane perked up, A lead. The word resonated through the penthouse. Could there finally be a solid chance for answers, for justice?

"Where?" Thane asked with more fervor in his voice, he was already pulling himself out of bed.

"We will be in touch with details," Sage replied, Please keep your holo tablet close by."

The line went dead. Thane stared at it in his hand.  A lead… the nightmare and brutal images of Alice's murder still clung to him, but for the first time since that horrific night, a different emotion began to stir in him. Not hope exactly, but something akin to it.