The alley reeked of stale synth-noodles and desperation. Ethan, still breathing heavily from his encounter with the Kryll-infested rat (or whatever abomination it had been), leaned against a grimy wall, his stomach churning. The Algorithm, ever the unsentimental coach, was already running post-mission diagnostics, spitting out data about heart rate recovery and muscle fatigue.

"Inefficient," the AI declared flatly in his ear. "Recovery time exceeding predicted parameters by 17.4%. Nutrition deficit likely contributing factor. Suggest immediate protein intake."

"Easy for you to say," Ethan muttered, pulling his threadbare jacket tighter. "You're not the one subsisting on nutrient paste and hoping the rent collectors don't come knocking tonight."

He risked a glance back at the alley entrance, half expecting more mutated horrors to come crawling out of the sewers. The street, for now, was quiet. Just the usual neo-London hum of hovering vehicles and the murmur of crowds filtered through the towering chrome and glass structures. He felt…changed. The adrenaline still pulsed through him, but beneath it, a strange sense of… competence? He'd actually killed something. He, Ethan Blake, the guy whose biggest daily challenge was deciphering legacy code written in a language older than he was.

The Algorithm had turned him into something else. Or, at least, was trying to.

He started to walk, driven by a strange blend of fear, curiosity, and the AI's relentless programming. The Algorithm directed him toward a crowded market square, navigating him through the throngs of people with unnerving precision. It was in this square, amidst the cacophony of vendors hawking their wares and the brightly lit stalls selling everything from cybernetic enhancements to questionable meat skewers, that he met Anya Petrova.

He didn't see her at first. He simply felt her gaze. A prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a subtle shift in the ambient energy, like static before a storm. He stopped, pretending to examine a rack of second-hand datachips, his senses on high alert.

She was leaning against a pillar of the old city hall, a stark contrast to the gaudy neon that surrounded her. Where everyone else seemed to be striving for augmented extravagance, Anya was understated, almost invisible. She wore practical, dark clothing that blended seamlessly into the shadows, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. But it was her eyes that held his attention. Sharp, intelligent, and incredibly observant. They were the eyes of a predator, assessing him with a cool, clinical detachment.

Anya Petrova was a Hunter. He knew it instinctively. The Algorithm confirmed it a moment later.

"Anya Petrova. Designated Hunter Class: Alpha. Affiliation: Sector 7 Garrison. Threat assessment: Moderate."

Moderate? Ethan thought. He felt anything but moderate.

She pushed herself off the pillar and began to walk toward him, her movements fluid and graceful, almost unnervingly silent. The crowd seemed to part for her, an unconscious deference to her presence.

"You're new," she said, her voice low and laced with a faint Slavic accent. "I haven't seen you around before."

Ethan forced himself to meet her gaze, trying to project an air of nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. "Just passing through," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness.

"Passing through with that…glow?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Glow? Ethan frowned. He didn’t see any… The Algorithm filled in the blanks.

"Petrova is detecting residual energy signatures from your encounter with the Kryll-mutated organism. The signatures are emanating as low-level electromagnetic interference, detectable by individuals with enhanced sensory perception."

Damn it. He was leaking digital radiation.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ethan said, trying to sound innocent. "Maybe it's just the lighting here. They're always experimenting with new holographic displays."

Anya's lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Don't insult my intelligence. I've been hunting in these shadows longer than you've been coding. There's something…unusual about you. Something digital. It's…disrupting the static. Like a fly caught in amber."

She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. "And I don't like unusual. Especially not when it smells like Kryll."

Ethan's heart pounded in his chest. She was good. Too good. How much did she know? Did she know about the Algorithm? About the Kryll invasion?

"I really don't know what you're talking about," he repeated, trying to sound more convincing this time. He subtly shifted his weight, preparing to make a run for it if necessary.

Anya raised a hand, stopping him. "Don't. Running will only make me more curious. And trust me, you don't want me curious."

She scanned him again, her gaze lingering on his eyes, his hands, his posture. He could feel her probing, searching for something, and he knew she wasn't just seeing the same rundown programmer everyone else saw.

"Tell me your name," she said, her voice softening slightly, but still retaining its edge.

"Ethan," he replied, deciding that lying about his name would be pointless. "Ethan Blake."

"Ethan Blake," she repeated, as if testing the name. "What do you do, Ethan Blake?"

"I'm a programmer," he said. "I work for a…small tech company."

"A programmer," she mused. "Interesting. I've met a few programmers in my time. None of them emitted this…disturbance. What kind of code do you write, Ethan?"

The Algorithm was feeding him responses, calculated to minimize suspicion. "Mostly legacy systems," he said. "Maintaining old databases, that kind of thing. Pretty boring stuff."

Anya didn't look convinced. "Boring, huh? Then how do you explain the digital anomalies I'm detecting? The subtle fluctuations in the network traffic around you? It's as if you're a walking denial-of-service attack."

He decided to change tactics. Playing dumb wasn't working. Maybe a little truth would disarm her.

"Look, I don't know what you're sensing," he said, "But I can assure you, I'm not doing anything illegal. I just… I've been experimenting with some new software. It might be interfering with the network."

It was a weak explanation, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot.

Anya stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. I'll let it go…for now. But I'm watching you, Ethan Blake. Very closely. If I see any trace of Kryll activity connected to you, I won't hesitate to bring you in."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, metallic card. She flipped it to him. It was a Hunter's identification card, with her picture and official designation.

"Anya Petrova, Hunter Class Alpha, Sector 7 Garrison. Don't hesitate to contact me if you…stumble across anything…interesting."

She turned and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared. Ethan watched her go, a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. He had a feeling that he hadn't seen the last of Anya Petrova.

The Algorithm, of course, was already analyzing the encounter, calculating the probability of future interactions and adjusting its strategy accordingly.

"Petrova poses a significant threat," the AI stated. "Her detection capabilities are far exceeding baseline expectations for a Hunter of her class. Evasion protocols need to be implemented immediately."

"Evasion protocols?" Ethan scoffed. "You mean run and hide? That's your plan? After all that talk about becoming a 'bulwark against the Kryll'?"

"Survival is paramount," the Algorithm countered. "Engaging Petrova directly at this stage would be strategically unsound. We lack the resources and information necessary to guarantee a favorable outcome."

Ethan knew the Algorithm was right. He wasn't ready to face Anya Petrova. Not yet. But he also knew that he couldn't hide forever. The Kryll weren't going to wait for him to get his act together.

He looked down at the Hunter's identification card in his hand. Anya Petrova. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, seemed to burn into his soul. He knew that she would be watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. And he knew that the stakes were higher than ever.

He had to be careful. He had to be smart. And he had to figure out how to use the Algorithm's power without attracting the attention of the most dangerous woman he had ever met.

He sighed and started walking again, driven by the Algorithm's instructions. He needed to find a safe place, somewhere he could think, somewhere he could plan. Somewhere he could try to make sense of the mess his life had become.

But as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that Anya Petrova wasn't far behind. The hunt had begun.