The flight from Mars to Earth only took a few hours, with the dropship in the shuttlebay of an MASF starship. Travelling faster than the speed of light, the ship quickly drops out of warp, the sudden slowdown jolting the two operators in the dropship’s hold awake.

The starship stops, just outside of the maximum range of the scanners on the Earth’s orbital defence network. As the dropship’s engines start, Siyeon and her co-pilot run through the checklists. Switches are flipped, displays flicker to life as Siyeon rattles off everything on the checklist in front of her, her co-pilot affirming each enquiry.

The shuttlebay’s doors open as the dropship takes off. As soon as the dropship is clear, Siyeon applies full power to the ers, hurtling clear of the mothership. Within moments, a few button presses activate the dropship’s optical camouflage, its dragonfly-like form now a barely visible silhouette against the black backdrop of outer space.

Bora and Yoobin both check their gear. For the mission, they would be travelling light. A duffel bag with civillian clothes, backpacks, and only their sidearms for self defence along with a knife each.

“Entering the atmosphere in two minutes. Our current course places us over Shanghai, mainland China. Atmospheric entry will commence over the Yellow Sea. Local time is... 11:47 pm.”

“And it’ll be a short five-minute flight until we reach Namsan in Seoul” Siyeon nods at her co-pilot’s observations.

The lights of the cities below twinkle like the stars surrounding the ship, a sharp contrast to the dark void that was the Yellow Sea, which lay between the city the ship flew over and the drop zone.

“Depressurizing the cargo compartment in 10 minutes. Switching to What’s the weather like over Seoul?” Siyeon inquires as she remains focused on her piloting.

“Overcast. But no clouds below 10,000 feet. We’re looking CAVOK. Smog levels over the drop zone are within safe limits.”

“Brilliant. We’ve only got one chance on this, and we’re on the money.”

Siyeon mutters back her acknowledgement, heaving a barely audible sigh. Pollution levels in Earth’s atmosphere were off the charts compared to the relatively clear skies over Mars, and the last thing she wanted to do was to accidentally drop Bora and Yoobin into a literal cloud of acidic smog, but the fact that the clouds over the drop zone were considerable harmless gave Siyeon a form of relief

In the cargo hold, Bora and Yoobin check their equipment yet again. Yoobin running a checklist on their gear while Bora examines and cleans her weapons, her knife that went into a sheath strapped to her thigh while her handgun is placed in a holster on her left hip.

Both Yoobin and Bora then slip on their helmets, similar to the ones used by fighter pilots, strapping on their attached masks before running through the checks on their oxygen supply.

Siyeon’s voice crackles through the intercom a minute later, informing the two operators that they were about three minutes away from drop off.

And then the lights next to Bora’s head switch from green to yellow, indicating that the cargo hold was fully depressurized.

Two minutes till the jump. The black of the sea below gives way into the lights of Incheon, and then the lights of the highways leading into the Seoul metropolis.

The dropship’s cargo doors open, both Bora and Yoobin standing right at the edges. They would make the jump at 30,000 feet, falling at a speed of 200+ kilometers an hour. Bora takes comfort in the fact that her suit would protect her from the freezing, polluted air outside.

Seconds remain until the jump. Bora and Yoobin shoot each other a look, both of them silently counting down the seconds until Siyeon gives them the go.

From the open doors, the lights of Seoul loom up at them from below. The only difference between cities on Mars and Earth from the skywas the lack of Martian dust adding a reddish haze to the garish clusters of neon lights, while on Earth, somehow everything seemed to be under a drab tint, due to the smog.

A dark void in the city lights comes into view. Namsan Peak, their drop zone.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Yoobin lets herself fall forwards, while Bora turns, performing a backwards swan dive, the dropship’s cargo doors immediately closing after.

-

Falling. Falling and more falling.

The devices on Bora and Yoobin’s wrists flash as the numbers, indicating their current altitude drop rapidly. Yoobin closes her eyes, while Bora keeps her focus on the numbers on her wrist device.

The drop from 30,000 feet feels like an eternity as the numbers keep ticking down and the world disappears in dark grey

20,000 feet.

15,000

10,000

5000.

Bora and Yoobin’s hands reach for their ripcords. 4000 feet now. Yoobin’s lost count of the minutes that had passed the moment they leaped out of the dropship.

The minutes seem to slow even more in the freefall. And then Bora’s eyes catch sight of the altimeter hitting the 2500 feet mark.

With a nod, both Bora and Yoobin yank hard on the ripcords, the parachutes rapidly unfurling from containment, the sudden drop in freefall speed making Bora feel as if someone grabbed her by the back of her suit and yanked hard.

Both Bora and Yoobin slowly drifted down to earth, their forms barely silhouetted against the backdrop of neon dotted buildings, their landing zone just a hundred yards from the tower at the peak of Namsan.

Despite the omnipresent haze of smog, both Bora and Yoobin note during the descent at how the cityscape of Seoul somehow seems cleaner than the cities on Mars, where literally everything would be caked in a thin layer of red dust.

-

A blimp passes overhead, slowly drifting between the buildings as its loudspeakers loop an audio advertisement encouraging people to move to the Outer Colonies.

An irritated Haseul merely stares outside the spinner’s windshield. Intending to drown out the sounds of the blimp, she turns up the volume of the song playing through her earphones, a synthwave track from a well-curated playlist. Whatever the title was, she didn’t remember, neither did she bother to check.

Haseul closes her eyes as her mind begins to wander again, cursing herself for forgetting to take her medication that would ‘clear’ the storm of thoughts in her head. Images of that unfortunate replicant from her last mission flash across her mind’s eye, interspersed with an image of Haseul herself with the barrel of a gun just an inch away from her face.

It takes Jiwoo yanking out the earphone from Haseul’s left ear to break Haseul out of it.

“You’ve been more quiet than usual. You alright?”

“When have I ever been alright, Jiwoo?”

Haseul snaps, her words coming out as a sigh instead.

“Forgot your meds?”

“Yeah but that’s not the point. The point is why me? Why couldn’t it have been any other Blade Runner? I’m not fit to be back on duty damn it. I failed both the psych and baseline tests. Twice. Twice! And please don’t give me that ‘you’re the KNPA’s best blade runner’ crap.”

Jiwoo remains silent for a minute as she weaves in between cars, unwilling to interrupt Haseul’s mini rant, then draws in a breath before speaking.

“Believe me I did try. I did try to talk them out of it. But we both know that what the brass wants, the brass gets. I’m sorry, ‘Seul. But they really wouldn’t listen to me.”

Haseul mrely nods in acknowledgement, before turning back to gaze on the cityscape. There was no point trying to argue as Jiwoo was indeed right.

Haseul remembers a conversation she had with an assassin she had shared a couple drinks with, in another slum after a much earlier assignment before that fateful one. Jung…something. The name escaped her, but Haseul vividly remembers that assassin, a lady with blonde locks, telling her after a dozen shots, that once one went into the underworld, be it on the side of the replicant resistance or the criminal underworld in general, there was no leaving.

Being a blade runner is the same as being a hitman, the only difference being that both were on opposite sides of the law. And just like a hitman, a blade runner can never really leave, as Haseul now found out.

“Okay so where to?” Not wanting to make the mood even bluer than it is now, Haseul decides to change the subject, knowing the futility of arguing about why the higher ups had insisted on dragging her back into active service.

“Itaewon. That replicant we’re after, Viian Wong and her buddies, they were last spotted at a hotel there. The Yukon, according to the person that gave the tip.”

Haseul groans. A shadow of its 21^st century self, Itaewon, a known red-light district, now turned into one of the many slums that dotted the Seoul megalopolis. Beat cops often travelled there in squads of three instead of the usual one or two-man teams, because in many cases, unfortunate officers and blade runners often met their ends at the hands of the many thugs that prowled Itaewon’s shadows.

Back in the day, Haseul would have refused to go in without demanding a SWAT unit as backup. But now, a burned-out Haseul was too tired and too angry to even pick up the hotline to Seoul PD headquarters. 

Haseul then glances over at Jiwoo, feeling the spinner slow to a halt as Jiwoo pulls over. Reaching into the glove compartment, Jiwoo then reaches for a submachine gun, officially designated the PDR, and then hands it to Haseul.

There were two of said submachine guns and Jiwoo takes the other one for herself, slinging it across her front while Haseul does the same.

“We’re going to be needing these if we’re going into that hole.”

“Amen to that.” Haseul nods, wracking back the bolt of her PDR, releasing it with an audible click. Their extra firepower now giving Haseul some sense of confidence.

Jiwoo chuckles, side-eyeing Haseul as the spinner starts moving again.

“Looks like we’ve got the old blade runner back.”

“For now. Let’s get going.”

-

Bora likes it when a plan comes together. Herself and Yoobin both landed in a clearing in the forest that blanketed the entire Namsan hill, somehow without getting caught in a tree. Yoobin had already started doing the parachute straps while Bora, in a fit of impatience, slices off her own straps with a knife.

Yoobin is the first to change into her civillian clothes, behind a tree, while Bora follows suit after. Both Yoobin and Bora stuff their suits and parachutes into their backpacks, intending to dispose of them as soon as they find a dumpster. Yoobin’s outfit consists of an olive drab trenchcoat over her clothes while Bora’s is a black anorak, both with bulletproof material sewn into the lining.

“So, once we ditch these, what’s the plan?” Bora asks, racking back the slide of her handgun, an FN Five Seven that was standard issue for MARSOF operators, checking for a bullet in its chamber before releasing it, Yoobin also doing the same with her own handgun as she shrugs after.

“Find the nearest fringe slum or red light district and start asking questions. If you want a bigger boomstick than our Five Sevens, we’re gonna have to find a way to procure weapons.”

To which Bora nods while she brings up a holographic map of the area. The nearest district that fit Yoobin’s criteria was a place called Itaewon, a red light district that was slowly turning into a slum.

“Nearest is Itaewon, directly south of the LZ. Where there’s shady business, there’s bound to be guns and lots of people who’ll sing like canaries if poked correctly. Rogue skinjobs like Viian are known to operate in places like that. No sane blade runner would go in without a lot of backup. I should know. That’s how I kept myself hidden before I managed to flee to Mars.”

Yoobin chuckles as she stands up, dropping her handgun back into its holster.

“Well there’s our plan. Let’s ditch the chutes and suits first then get going.”

“Got it. Let’s rock.”

-

Haseul draws in a breath as soon as she steps out of the spinner and immediately regrets it. The air is filled with a variety of smells; dried piss, festering garbage, the stench of heated grease with an acrid undertone, confirming to the blade runner that the stench is that of some cheapskate eatery owner using gutter oil that was burned and long dead, in a fryer somewhere.

 Haseul slips on a facemask, one of the cheap $1 surgical masks one can find in literally any convenience store. The mask was intended to conceal her features, as the aforementioned surgical masks, which were standard issue, were utterly useless at keeping out anything but the biological contents of someone’s sneeze or cough. Jiwoo doesn’t bother with a mask, instead wrapping a bandana around .

The ubiquitous neon signs dot the strip they stopped at, bathing the night sky in a haze of purples, reds and varying shades of blue and teal. The environment reminds Haseul of someone’s LSD trip brought to life.

“According to the directions, the hotel we’re looking for is just at the end of the street.”

Haseul glances ahead as Jiwoo points out the direction of the target building, catching sight of several strangers shooting looks their way.

It doesn’t take the aforementioned strangers to wordlessly give way to Haseul and Jiwoo, recognizing Haseul herself through sheer presence alone. Despite the masks, it didn’t take that long for them to realize that one of the National Police Agency’s best blade runners is back in action, the sight of the PDR slung across Haseul’s front ensuring that Itaewon’s denizens keep their distance from herself and Jiwoo.

Ignoring the stares and scowls from the people around them, Haseul and Jiwoo casually stroll through the doors of the Yukon hotel, a rather seedy-looking establishment, with their hands over their handguns.

The only person they meet is a half-asleep receptionist, who offers no resistance, not even a demand for a warrant, even after Haseul flashes her badge, instead mumbling the room number of Haseul and Jiwoo’s person-of-interest along with the floor that the aforementioned room is located on.

-

The first thing to greet Haseul and Jiwoo as Haseul opens the door with a spare key from the receptionist is the smell. That familiar musty smell of damp fabric and wallpaper. Haseul draws her PDR, while Jiwoo proceeds to rummage through the closet.

The room was a mess, as if the occupant had left in a hurry, the pillows, blankets and even the comforter haphazardly tossed aside. One hand on the grip of her submachine gun, Haseul proceeds to rifle through the drawers one-handed, eventually coming up with several photographs.

Most of the photos are of the other two replicants that the brass wanted eliminated, with their names scribbled under their faces by amazing coincidence. The first one was a male. Typical flower boy appearance that judging from the dossier Haseul had on him, hid a ton of physical strength and combat skill. ‘Choi San’, as his name reads out. Led the attack on the Pyongyang HQ of the KNPA to break out Viian Wong. For a damn box, Haseul thinks to herself.

The second, a female. As youthful as Jiwoo herself, and with doll-like features. Despite her childlike appearance, Chaewon, as the name under her face stated, had a long rap sheet with the KNPA, most of which Haseul skimmed through during the ride from Seoul HQ to Itaewon.

The next photos are selfies of Viian. Taken with a polaroid camera. Haseul’s gaze lingers just a bit longer over Viian’s face, her attention drawn to Viian’s eyes. Eyes that brought back a flash of Haseul’s last assignment before this.

She’s pretty cute, I’m not gonna lie. Haseul chuckles to herself, her expression quickly shifting after. She was starting to feel pretty icky about having to put a bullet into the owner of the polaroids, with the flashes of that unfortunate Nexus-3 replicant from her previous assignment doing little to help her.

“Found anything?” Jiwoo yells, breaking Haseul’s train of thoughts. Finding nothing in the bathroom or the closet, Jiwoo opted to stand guard at the door, her PDR at the ready.

“Not yet! I-uhh, I just need a couple more minutes.”

Haseul returns to the task at hand, sifting through the rest of the photos. The final one is extremely familiar.

The person in the photo, was someone Haseul did know. That blonde assassin she shared a couple drinks with by chance while she was off-duty, many moons ago. Said assassin’s hair was now a more hazelnut color, but Haseul somehow remembers that face. The name escapes her, but the nickname doesn’t. The synthetic feather taped to the back of the photo confirms Haseul’s suspicions.

The Red Owl.

“Hey Jiwoo! I got something!”

And Jiwoo comes running over, as Haseul holds up the photo of the Red Owl.

“Buddy, I think we now have a lead.”

“Kim Jungeun, aka the Red Owl. Doesn’t surprise me that she’d be in contact with Viian or the resistance, given what she does for a living.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“What? Find her, have a chitchat over drinks or something?” Jiwoo asks, the incredulity in her tone increasing with each word.

“Precisely what I was thinking.”  Haseul chuckles with a shrug after.

“Works for me. As long as it gives us a way to get to Viian and her two replicant pals.”