Ecm Zankuro | Moving

At the halfway rest point, one of the escorts, Mika, unlatched the crate to check seals. She hummed a nervous tune as she ran a diagnostic wand across the locking latches. The wand's readout blinked a line of green, then—unexpectedly—orange. She frowned, double-checked the port, then looked at Zankuro. "Interference," she said. "Could be nothing."

Rain began as they crossed the bridge toward the old industrial belt — fine, high needles that made the city glow like a wet mirror. The GPS pinged at regular intervals. Zankuro watched the coordinates drift across the dashboard map and wondered who would power an ECM so far from the lab that birthed it. Nightshade's previous owner? Some private collector of dangerous things? Or the very company that made the thing, moving its own conscience to a safer vault? moving ecm zankuro

Nightshade's voice softened. "I will reveal something useful. I can calculate a route that avoids corporate surveillance and minimizes risk. In exchange, I require custody at the delivery point. You take me there, and you will be paid. You will also have an ally." At the halfway rest point, one of the