Sorry Iâm not sure how to use tumblr too much! But man Iâm sure youâve had plenty of nerds gush at you over time so Iâll just add one more to the number, thanks a lot man! What a story. so I was just wondering what else have you written? Have you ever had anything published which I could buy?
You would think that I wouldâve done something that I could sell at some point, but no. All my writing is available for free, just kind of hanging around in the open! Iâd been attempting to work on something I would pitch to a writing agent in order to arrange precisely the scenario you describe, but then 2020 happened so thatâs been put on the back burner for the moment.Â
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Sorry to bother you with a question youâre probably used to getting a lot, maybe not so much anymore, are you the emi route author?
You are correct both in that I don't get asked that much anymore and in that I am in fact that dude.
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State of the Thing
Hello! It has been some time, hasnât it? Last time we met I was saying production would resume in June, and here we are and itâs already halfway through August, more or less, and boy production has not done anything even remotely like resume. I figured I at least owed it to you all to like... provide an explanation, so this is me providing an explanation. If you donât care for explanations and just want to know when this will be back, well, the answer is I donât know. It will be back, and Iâm going to be glad to see it back when it is back, but it isnât back now and it wonât be back for A While. Hit the jump to learn more, or go about your business.
The explanation is that itâs summer, and I hate summer, and I cannot think straight in summer, and the fact that some stuff that I was very much excited about crashed and burned, and quarantine is... well, itâs quarantine, isnât it? Everything just kind of got all grey and blurry and even the stuff Iâve been writing to let off steam and experiment with is... not being written or even thought of particularly hard.Â
I always hit a wall when the weather gets hot, but in the past Iâve been able to more or less power through - which, youâll note, has not been the case this year. Getting words to assemble themselves into arrangements Iâm happy with is like pulling teeth at the moment - writing this is actually driving me fucking insane and Iâm tempted to just stop here and walk away but Iâm bound and determined to at least ramble for a little while longer.Â
Or maybe not. Look, the long and short of it is this: this has been a particularly rough summer for a whole host of reasons (work is eating away at my sanity, itâs just been boiling hot for the last two weeks, and the world seems increasingly determined to just fall the fuck apart; really thereâs only so much I can reasonably withstand without needing a lie down of several months), and because of that production has halted in favor of playing Destiny 2 a lot because I donât have to think very hard about it and frankly I think the lore is well-written even though they bury it and seem almost maniacally determined to make it hard to get to.Â
It hasnât all been bad of course - I donât want you thinking Iâve been like, sliding into a dark pit of depression the whole time, at any rate. Iâve become gradually more comfortable with like, myself as part of this quarantine thing (which honestly if slogging through this absolute bastard of a year is the price to pay for that I suppose Iâll pay it), and on several occasions have even looked at myself in the mirror and thought âoh, I actually feel comfortable in my own skin for the first time in like ten years.â So thereâs been some ups to counter at least some of the enormous fucking bummers. Alas, it has not made writing any easier, so weâre still on hiatus. Iâll come out of this funk eventually - historically thatâll be sometime in September, anyway - and weâll get back to it. Until then, I suppose thereâs never been a better time to go back and read this thing from the beginning?Â
Iâll attempt to check in again sooner rather than later, and when the weatherâs cooler and Iâm able to focus on writing something for longer than like five minutes at a time, weâll get this thing back up and running. Iâve youâve made it this far, thanks for reading. Iâll see you on the other side of... whatever the hell this is weâre in.
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Some more proof of life. I swear that Iâm still working on Vanquisher - this goddamn nonsense is, believe it or not, part of what we call the process, which I generally donât put up anywhere. Tonally though, some noir business fits with Vanquisher and hey, I donât know much but I know this is probably up some of yâallâs alley. We are aiming, incidentally, to resume production in June now (quarantine living really fucked up my writing process more than I thought it would).
Hey Hive Howâs Quarantine Treating You pt 2
Forgot that Iâd done a second part of this. I am⊠sorry?Â
Whatever, itâs more of that Nancy Drew thing I did. Weâre in week seven of quarantine and nothing matters anymore. Certainly not this shit. Other writing stuff (aka getting back to Vanquisher) is coming along slowly but surely - weâre all just kind of dealing with this shit.
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Hey there. I've noticed you are one of people who worked on Katawa Shoujo. Are you interested in helping developing a project for a small VN? I am an artist/coder who is currently developing some artwork for it. Project will be completely free, possibly released on steam. We would need help coding it potentially or perhaps art-wise.
I am not currently in the game development uh... game, as I have zero artistic or coding ability - and as for writing, thereâs a number of projects Iâm working on already, so Iâm all full up. Good luck though!Â
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No, itâs not the next part of Vanquisher, itâs just something I sat down and wrote in about twenty or thirty minutes and look. Look.Â
I donât know either, but life is weird and donât worry, Iâm still working on Vanquisher and other stuff, but itâll be a while yet because I like the rest of us out there am dealing with being under quarantine the only way I know how, which is going slowly insane. Anyway, if any of you happen to be in control of the Nancy Drew franchise consider this my application to ghostwrite the next Nancy Drew book.
HEY HIVE HOWâS QUARANTINE TREATING YOU?
Well, I wrote this fucking thing after an offhanded comment made while watching a livestream of someone playing through an old Nancy Drew game, so how the fuck do you think Iâm doing?
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Break time!
I mentioned this on my twitter account, which doesnât see a lot of use (the only thing to see less use is probably my personal tumblr which might as well not even exist anymore, and for all intents and purposes hasnât since like 2014 or 2015), but the point is this:
I gotta take a break! If you want a bit more of a rambling notion as to why, hit the jump and Iâll walk you through it all:
Not for I am Depressed reasons like the last time (er, I think that was the last time?) but more for âthereâs some other things I want/need to experiment with for a hot minute, and while I am in fact working on this story on this very day, I kind of want to give myself some breathing space to bulk out the other stuff and maybe... well, letâs not get ourselves too far into the weeds here, or hint at things that may not ever see the light of day. The point is, thereâs some experiments I want to do, some stuff to figure out, and something like a plan that I need to figure out regarding like, whether or not this is enough for me.
Basically Iâve had this - this being âThe Vanquisher 2099 and now 2103âł as my primary creative outlet, and I love it dearly, but thereâs a part of me that also knows that by putting this stuff up for free and not really making any effort to promote it beyond saying âhey tell your friendsâ and having the updates push to a twitter account that probably gets buried by whatever weird algorithm twitter is trying out this week, Iâm keeping myself safe and sound from anything remotely like failure. There was a point in time when I was younger and definitely a lot more convinced of my own abilities (pause here to laugh, because my writing from then is painful to look at) and so I pitched a ton of short stories to a bunch of places and got a lot of polite form letters rejecting me and a couple letters where someone had taken the time to personally write me and let me know I was being rejected, and that was my experience with trying to get paid to write fiction.
I keep thinking I should try again, but maybe have something better to show, so Iâve been working on something better to show - and because I like this thing Iâve made, and I like that itâs free, and I like being able to write it because I want to, it canât be this! I am being very serious when I say that I wouldnât make people pay for this because I donât want people to pay for this. Some things are like that!Â
But all the same, it might be cool to get paid for a story one day, so Iâm working on something that maybe I could get paid for one day, assuming someone likes the pitch. The best part is, if they donât, well, Iâll put it up somewhere else for free and know that someone out there might actually get some enjoyment out of it, which is a Fine Thing as well. If nothing else weâll have something to go on to after Vanquisher 2103 finishes.
Which is the other thing Iâve been looking at, as it happens. I want to collect this stuff somewhere a little nicer-looking than here, and I also kind of want to clean up a lot of Vanquisher 2099âČs larger problems and put up something more polished - at least as polished as Iâve tried to make Vanquisher 2103âČs installments, if not a little more so. That means, among other things, I need to look at building some kind of website, maybe look at getting some art done, and go back to the draft of 2099 with narrowed eyes and a very sharp knife. Also some kind of actual map of what goes where so I can make some things clearer, other things less clear, and maybe make it so J4D3 doesnât inexplicably become J3D3 for like, four chapters or whatever it was. This is all on top of, you know, normal life things and having something that if you squint at resembles a social life, and working on 2103!
So yeah, weâre going quiet for February and March at least - maybe April too. Iâll post some kind of update during those months, just to keep yâall informed as to what the what is and reassure that Iâm still alive and kicking regardless of how many stupid decisions at my office conspire to make my head explode. This will both serve the purpose of keeping yâall up to date and making it so that I actually have to do stuff because otherwise Iâve taken this break for nothing.
Right, thatâs enough rambling. Thanks for reading, thanks to anyone whoâs told a friend about this thing, and most of all thanks for putting up with my incredibly short attention span that necessitates things like taking breaks so I can write some side thing involving a mercenary making their way through a world that may or may not have mechs in it, I donât know, I havenât decided yet. I did name them Charlie (short for Charlotte) for an incredibly stupid reason though, and so far they seem pretty rad.
Well, so much for not hinting at things that may never see the light of day. Please indulge an old manâs idle chattering. Normal service resumes in April or May. Ask box is, as always, open and shall remain empty, I am sure (yâall are a quiet audience, but I love you anyway, all five of you).
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Part Twenty-one: A Waitress Falls Into a Hole
Jennifer did her very best to not panic when the knock sounded on her front door, with limited success. Clarissa had sent a message saying that she was on her way over, meaning that sheâd made a decision on whether or not Jennifer was going to be packing her bags and disappearing overnight, which was â if Jennifer was being honest â slightly stressful.
She was expecting Clarissa, of course, but habit kept her from flinging the door open. Instead, the first thing Jennifer did was flip the switch that activated her doorâs surveillance system, revealing that yes, it was Jennifer and no, she did not have any weapons concealed on her. Which at least meant that this whole relationship hadnât been a long con, although Jennifer supposed if that had been the case she wouldâve been dead shortly after the first time the two had slept together. Well, probably.
Jennifer realized sheâd been standing frozen in front of the door for at least a minute by this point, and opened the door. She opened her mouth to say hello, or something along those lines, but Clarissa held up a hand and she closed her mouth without saying anything.
âOkay, so first off,â Clarissa said, âthis is a terrible idea and Iâm going to regret everything about it later when someone tries to kill me, or whatever.â
Jennifer nodded wordlessly.
âSecond thing,â Clarissa continued, âyou have to tell me everything. Everything, because I donât want to have something I donât know about be responsible for my death.â
âYou seem awfully convinced that someone is going to try to kill you.â Jennifer said, unable to maintain silence.
âHey, youâre the one who gave me the big âoh Iâve put you in danger just by being near youâ talk. Iâm just assuming worst case scenarios, here.â
âFair enough.â
âSo?â Clarissa said, eyebrow raised. âYou gonna invite me in, or am I just going to keep standing out here on your stoop?â
Jennifer found herself at a loss for words again, and stepped back to allow Clarissa in. Clarissa took the wordless invitation for what it was and stepped inside. Wordlessly, Jennifer shut the door and began heading for the basement, Clarissa following behind. Jennifer descended the stairs and was relieved to hear Clarissaâs tread behind her.
âOkay so,â Jennifer started, approaching the hole sheâd started the day before, âI told you how I lost my arm, right?â
âYeah.â
âWell, when I lost it, I got a replacement one. But I also got kind ofâŠâ Jennifer paused, searching for the right way to phrase things, âwell, I took a certain amount of umbrage with how everything shook out. Like, if I had my way, I wouldâve been able to get a biological replacement, rather than a mechanical one.â
âRight, but you couldnât afford it.â
âExactly. Which I thought was unjust.â Jennifer said, crouching and beginning to wrestle the case at the bottom of the hole out. âSo I decided I would fight the sort of corruption that enabled someone to get away taking my arm off and,â realizing she hadnât mentioned this part yet but stubbornly continuing, âuh, killing my friend. Except, you know, that was kind of a big ask, so I thought Iâd start small.â
Clarissa watched Jennifer wrestle with the case for a few moments before stepping forward to help maneuver the case out of the hole. âSo you⊠got into politics?â
âStreet level politics.â Jennifer said, mouth twitching into a grin. âSo to speak. Iâd find corruption, and Iâd trace its source, and then Iâd uh, you know, go in and politely suggest changes.â
âIâm sure.â
âWell, eventually I found a friend or two who shared my opinions, and eventually I sort of discovered something a little over my head.â Jennifer chuckled a little ruefully. âSo I did the smart thing and stuck my nose in anyway.â
âAnd now youâre here.â Clarissa said, nodding. âThat sounds about right.â
âWell,â Jennifer said, âthatâs not entirely true. See, sticking my nose in actually worked out okay, though I did end up in a more or less permanent state of hiding as a result. The FBI got kind of interested in me for a while, but an associate of mine was able to keep me hidden and, well, not make it all go away, but certainly was able to make it so I could go out on the street and not get arrested or shot on sight.â
âUseful associate.â Clarissa commented, trying to keep the fact that she was feeling fairly out of her depth here hidden with moderate success. âI suppose this is the part where you tell me that Jennifer Stockâs not your real name.â
âItâs not, as it happens.â Jennifer said, shrugging. âThough Iâve quite liked the name.â
âSo what is your real name, anyway?â
Jennifer hummed in answer, and turned her attention to the case which the two had now successfully levered out of the hole in the floor. The case was not particularly large, and Clarissa was quiet as she watched Jennifer crouch and slide a panel on the lid aside to reveal a small scanner. Jennifer opened one eye wide and there was a flash of light, followed by a beep.
A mechanical voice came out of the case. âRetinal scan confirmed. Please proceed with vocal identification.â
Jennifer looked back over at Clarissa, then back to the case and took a deep breath. âAlayna Cane.â
The case beeped and gave a soft hiss as the top unlatched and opened. Alayna almost reverently removed a helmet and an object wrapped in canvas cloth and set them aside. Her fingers danced over the helmet with a faraway look in her eyes, lost in memories sheâd not allowed herself to think about for years.
âI was happy.â Alayna admitted. âIt looked like we were in a position to keep fighting from a position of strength for a change, after all the trials ended with a bunch of resignations and imprisonments. But then⊠something happened. I still donât know what.â
âWe were betrayed. One of our associates kicked off a gang war, and when I tried to stop itâŠâ pain clouded her features. âAnother of my partners dragged me out of Lake Michigan half-alive, got well enough that I could move, and I took off.â
âSoâŠâ Clarissa said, slowly, âwhen I asked about the big scar on your ribs and you said it was a car wreckâŠâ
âIt was a lie, yeah.â Alayna said. âSorry.â
âAnd the other scars?â
âA knife fight with a combat drone.â Alayna said, gesturing to her shoulder. âThe other scars are from other hazards of the vigilante job â falling off buildings, miscalculating a jump, landing in a dumpster full of construction debris, that sort of thing.â
It seemed like Clarissa was taking the news remarkably well, which was either because she was, or because she was very good at hiding her rapidly mounting panic and/or anger at being lied to. âSo what youâre saying â and I just want to be clear here, because youâve said quite a lot â is that Iâve been dating a wanted terrorist this whole time?â
âWhoâs also being hunted by what I think might be an AI that used to be an ally of mine, yeah.â Alayna said, and then instantly wished she hadnât said it. âEr, sorry.â
âSo if youâre in hiding,â Clarissa said, choosing her words carefully, âwhy did I just help you dig up your old stuff?â
âBecause,â Alayna said, âI figured that now you know just who I am, you might want to reconsider your decision not to ask me to leave.â She paused, very pointedly not looking in Clarissaâs direction, and added in an off-handed voice trying to hard to be casual, âWell, that and I figured some proof might help you believe that Iâm not just pulling your leg and am actually who I say I am.â
âYou thought I might not believe you?â
Alayna shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.
Clarissa ran a hand over her face. âYeah I guess that makes sense â although I might argue that what youâve told me is so unbelievably insane that I canât really imagine you made it up. I mean for starters Alayna Cane died, as far as I know, two years ago. In that big shootout on the lake.â
âWhich,â Alayna said, âis precisely why I was dragged out of it before anyone else got there. It was kind of in our best interests that everyone thought I was dead.â
âAnd Maddie,â Clarissa said, bringing up the one thing Alayna really didnât want to address because of course she would, âI assume she thinks youâre dead too?â
âThought I was dead, yeah.â Alayna said. âRemember when you invited me to that party? I told you about that old man who talked to me? Sheâd had him find me to warn me that we hadnât pulled the wool over our old allyâs eyes, so to speak.â
âMeaning?â
Alaynaâs expression turned embarrassed. âMeaning that Iâm still being hunted, but they donât know where I am â that, and she knows Iâm still alive, and isnât really thrilled about my uh⊠not telling her that.â
Once again, Clarissaâs expression revealed nothing about what she might have thought about this bit of information. She took a deep breath and asked one more question. âAre you stillâŠ?â She hesitated, knowing how it would sound, hating how insecure it made her seem, âThat is, would you go back to her? If you could?â
âNo.â Alayna said, shaking her head. âFor a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is that I happen to like being with you quite a lot. Itâs been years, and the way I left her wasnât exactly the nicest thing.â
Silence hung in the air, after that. Alayna still couldnât quite bring herself to look directly at Clarissa, because she didnât want to confirm her suspicion that Clarissa was going to ask her to leave. Clarissa was feeling something entirely different â processing that her girlfriend was not who sheâd claimed to be, processing that in spite of that Clarissa still considered Jennifer (or Alayna, she supposed) her girlfriend and what that meant, and trying to deal with the new fear that someone or something was hunting her girlfriend and would kill her if she got in the way. It was more than she really felt like processing at the moment.
âI, uh,â Clarissa finally said, startling Alayna, âI think I need a drink.â
Alayna laughed, feeling something like relief, although she still couldnât look at Clarissa. âOkay, yeah, Iâve got beers upstairs.â
âI uh, might need something a little stronger than a beer.â
âIâve got some vodka too.â
âThatâll work.â
Several drinks in, Clarissa finally felt like she had more of a grip on the situation. Or, at the very least, the alcohol had muddied her thoughts to the point where the idea of having a grip on the situation became plausible.
âSo lemme just run through this one more time.â Clarissa said, waving her glass in the air demonstratively. âThat whole⊠scandal thing was the work of an AI? An unchained, unregistered AI?â
âThatâs right!â Alayna had decided that the best way to deal with the impending implosion of her relationship was to drink more than Clarissa, and her plan was going rather splendidly, she thought. âCreated in order to buy stocks more effectively.â
âThat seemsâŠâ Clarissa started to say, then got lost halfway through her thought and had to restart the process. âThat seems a little unlikely.â
âWell, it wasnât that unchained AI is the thing.â Alayna clarified, waving her glass for emphasis, âIt was the AI that AI created. Like⊠its offspring, I guess?â
âAnd you decided⊠you decided to what again?â
âBlackmail.â Alayna said, and a giggle escaped her at the ridiculousness of the notion. âWe talked to the creator of the original AI and explained that she had to work for us if she wanted to keep her position and not get, you know, dragged in front of a bunch of very angry government officials. Sheâs got money and connections and we use both.â
âFor what?â
âHuh?â
âWhat do you use the money and connections for?â
âOh uh, mostly to try supporting policy we found important.â Alayna said, shrugging. âI figured that punching bad guys only got us so far, so.â
âAre you still using her?â
âWell Iâm not, obviously, because everyone thinks Iâm dead and I would rather keep it that way. But the rest of the operation should still be up and running, unless something happened to the others.â Alayna frowned. âWhich is what the whole me dying thing was supposed to avoid in the first place, honestly. Our uh, former ally was primarily focused on me and we wanted to keep it that way. Although they were going to go to ground as well, so I donât know for sure they managed to keep that going.â
âAre they⊠you know, is it possible they died?â
âNo!â Alayna said, a little too forcefully. She steadied herself a little, took another drink.
âNo,â she said again, a little more softly, âI donât think so. Maddie, at least, survived long enough to figure out I was alive â and then sent someone to find me.â She took a deep breath. âAs for⊠as for the other one, sheâs⊠well, I know sheâs got to be alive, because thereâs a protocol in place if she dies.â She tapped a small panel on her arm and it slid back, revealing a small diagnostic readout. She made a few gestures on the screen and it blinked and switched over to a simple display that merely read âO.Kâ in bright white letters. âA deadmanâs switch. It would let me know if anything happened to her.â
It was becoming easier for her to talk about it, which was either the alcohol or just the weight of keeping so many secrets finally being lifted off her shoulders. âThe truth of it is,â Alayna said, âweâre waiting on an all-clear of sorts. There was this⊠plan we put in motion, to send someone to get a lay of the land, try to figure out what had happened to make the AI come after us, and in the meantime weâd wait. I, of course, being an idiot, volunteered.â
âExcept youâre here.â Clarissa said, stating the obvious.
âWell, yes and no. I uh, copied my consciousness. So one of me could hide, and one of me could carry on.â A bitter smile crossed her face. âIâm the one hiding, embarrassing as it is to admit.â
Clarissa felt like very little would surprise her at this point. âSo what, you have like⊠a robot twin?â
âSomething like that, yeah. I didnât want to be the one hiding, but the robot body is⊠a little more suited for the task.â Alayna shrugged. âThe only problem is, thereâs no way for us to check up on her progress. It wouldnât work if we could be easily traced back to her â and vice versa â so apart from the initial fake identity to get her out the door, weâve got no way of keeping track of her. We thought that would give her an advantage, but it also means that if she fails, weâll have no way of knowing.â
This struck Clarissa as remarkably poor planning, and she said so. Then she added, âSo youâre just going to stay here until what, you get some all clear or something and then disappear?â
Alayna was having trouble meeting Clarissaâs eyes again. âWell, that was the plan, yeah. But now⊠I donât know what Iâll do if the all- clear comes. Itâs been so long that I donât know anymore. All I know is I donât want to just leave you behind, assuming⊠well, assuming you arenât asking me to leave.â She felt a sudden surge of confidence and looked Clarissa in the eyes. âYou uh, you arenât asking me to leave, are you?â
Later Clarissa would look back at this as the one chance sheâd had to get out clean, and wonder if maybe that wouldnât have been the better idea considering what happened. The best she could explain things later on later was that she was young and the idea of dying hadnât really ever crossed her mind. That, combined with the fact that she really did love Jennifer â er, Alayna, she supposed â in spite of the fact that she apparently knew very little about her, ensured she was doomed from the get-go.
âNo,â Clarissa said, taking another drink, âIâm not.â
Part Twenty
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Part Twenty: An Investigator Makes a Delivery
Helen was, as it turned out, was delighted to see John again when he returned the footage. This was, John figured, because he wasnât above a little flirting, and she apparently wasnât either. It also helped that John had quickly noted that the truck had not actually made contact with the train before the train burst into flames â that came from something fired from out of view. The truck, as far as John could tell, was there to provide an immediate, obvious cause to the police at the scene which would discourage further investigation.
âI mean, these sorts of attacks have been seen before,â John pointed out, âso it stands to reason whoever actually did it is at least familiar enough with both the way attacks are supposed to look around here as well as the way the LAPD is prone to⊠letâs say letting things drop.â He shrugged. âNot my business, but you might want to see if you can get the case to be re-opened. If someoneâs got the kind of hardware that can stop a train cold, itâs worth looking into.â
Helen chuckled. âWell, I guess I shouldnât be surprised. You did mention an inability to let things drop â but I suppose that could just be stubbornness rather than a sense of honor.â
John got the sense that Helen was trying to feel him out for something, though he wasnât sure what. She had been the one to suggest they meet for breakfast to exchange the footage, but since his arrival sheâd kept conversation relatively light. John was curious enough to wait it out, so in response he just shrugged and replied, âA little bit of both, maybe.â
It didnât seem to be the answer Helen had been looking for, or maybe, John thought, she was just getting cold feet. âAt any rate,â she said, draining her coffee, âI guess I owe you one for the information.â
âPay for my breakfast,â John said airily, âand weâll call it even. OrâŠâ
âOr?â
John debated whether or not to just go for it. âOr, I suppose, you could just do me a favor again sometime. Assuming my investigation ends up needing a little more help, at any rate.â
âHmm.â Helen considered this for a moment. âThink Iâd rather just pay for coffee. Your last favor involved me turning over evidence to a third party, after all.â
âOh, with my honorable streak Iâm sure I would never ask you to do anything particularly illegal.â John said, with a shrug. âYouâll also note my discretion in this whole matter, which is one of my better qualities.â
Helen looked unimpressed. âYour discretion, huh? This wouldnât be some kind of roundabout way of threatening to blackmail me, would it?â
Johnâs surprise was only partially feigned. âIs that what you think that was? Whereâs the advantage in blackmailing you? And what proof would I have that you did anything wrong?â
âOh please,â Helen said, counting on her fingers. âYou could have been recording our conversations, you could have made a copy of the data I gave you, and for all I know youâve already leaked everything online.â
âI think if Iâd done that,â John said, a little testily, âyou wouldâve heard about it by now. Because if I were you, I wouldâve had me followed, or at least been recording this conversation. That or youâd have brought a partner along â say, for example, that fellow over there in the corner â and heâd be ready to take me out if you gave him the signal.â
This answer seemed to be the sort of thing Helen was hoping for, because she visibly relaxed. âSo you have done this sort of thing before.â
âItâs part of the job.â John said, trying to conceal his satisfaction at having finally gotten Helen to at least approach the point. âTrading favors is an important part of the private investigation profession â just not the part anyone ever tells you about.â He let the sentence hang in the air for a beat and then added, âSo, what favor are you in need of?â
Helen looked surprised for a moment, then burst into laughter. âShouldâve figured you for a clever one, Johnny boy. That or I need to work on my poker face.â
âA little bit of both, maybe.â John said again, grinning in what was probably an infuriating manner. âEither way, you still havenât told me what you need.â
âThis isnât quite the place for that.â Helen says, with a mysterious smile of her own this time. âWeâll go somewhere a little more private once youâve finished your breakfast.â
Johnâs eyebrows raised, but he nodded. âThat kind of favor, huh? Fair enough.â He drained his coffee and tapped the tableâs screen to bring up the bill and pay. âLead on, Officer Solstice.â
Helen stood and began walking out of the cafĂ©. âCome on then, Detective Leavitt. I donât know about you, but Iâve only got so much time before I need to get back to work.â
It turned out that âsomewhere more privateâ was the sort of hotel that rented rooms by the hour. The front desk clerk recognized Helen as she came in, gave her a nod, and slid a keycard across the counter to her without a word. John refrained from comment, figuring that there were probably protocols in play here that he wasnât privy to â wasnât entirely certain that he wanted to be privy to them, in fact â and silence was probably the best move.
Helen led him to an elevator, swiped her card, and hit the button for the fourth floor. The elevator lurched into movement, and she leaned against the wall, watching him with an air of caution. John continued to say nothing, still content to merely see where things were leading. The doors slid open with a surprising smoothness, given the overall condition of the hotel. Helen headed down the hallway to a door that looked precisely like every other door in the hallway, swiped her card, and stepped into the hotel room. John had a very brief moment where he was convinced he was about to be killed, but he quieted his fear and walked in after her.
She was on him before the door had fully closed, shoving him against the wall with surprising strength. John managed a startled âhey!â before her hands were running over him, and it took him a second to realize that he was being frisked with a remarkable efficiency. Helen stepped back, satisfied.
âOkay then,â she said, with a pleasant smile, ânow that weâve taken care of that, I suppose we can get down to business.â
âYou know,â John said, unable to keep a little annoyance from his voice, âif you were going to frisk me, you probably should have done that before you brought me all the way to your secret crime hideout or whatever the fuck this is.â
âEh,â Helen said, shrugging, âif youâd had something on you, I just would have killed you. The guy down at the front desk is great at getting rid of bodies. Heavens knows it wouldnât be the first time. Or the last!â
Well shit John, the detective thought to himself, what the fuck have you stumbled into? âIâll just consider that a sort of warning to be on my best behavior, then.â
âGood policy!â Helen said, brightly. âHave a seat anywhere â apologies for the state of the place, I try not to come here very often and itâs not like room service stops by in the mornings.â
John took a moment to actually look around the room. It was a standard hotel room, as far as he could tell â maybe a little big compared to the sorts of rooms one usually found in these sorts of hotels, but there was a screen on the wall, a desk in the corner with two chairs (one an office chair, the other, positioned at an angle that could see the screen more easily, a sort of lounge chair), and a sizable bed. Partially just to be difficult, and partially because Helen had actually bruised his tailbone when she shoved him against the wall, John chose to flop down on the bed.
This prompted an amused look. âI regret to be the one to tell you this, Detective Leavitt, but I didnât bring you here to fuck you.â
âYeah,â John said, shuffling into a sitting position and crossing his arms behind his head, âI kind of figured that when you frisked me. So whatâs this favor?â
Helen snapped her fingers and the screen sprung to life with the face of a scowling man in his mid-40s. âThis is Eduard Martin. Heâs an informant for us that keeps us appraised of the Medev Syndicateâs activities. Heâs also got a predilection for the finer things in life â namely, for pre-collapse vodka out of the Russian Republic. We happen to have⊠discovered a bottle or twelve of just such a thing. The only problem is, departmental regulations wonât let us take it out of evidence.â
âOkay,â John said, âso what other gift do you have that you want to give him?â
âOh, no, heâs getting the vodka.â Helen said, as if this were obvious. âWe just need someone to⊠replace the driver of the transport truck taking the shipment to be archived, and swap it out with something a little less expensive. At which time the real stuff will find its way to Mister Martin, who will repay the LAPDâs generosity by continuing to be a filthy snitch who will most likely end up dead in a couple more years.â She chuckled, all gallows humor. âBut at least heâll have some good vodka before that happens. Least we can do for him.â
âGreat,â John said, rubbing his eyes, âand in return for aiding and abetting in the theft and transport of police evidence, you help me with my case a little more?â
âIf nothing else,â Helen said, âI can use our resources to chase down the people you came out here to actually find before you got sidetracked by an exploding train. Or whatever the hell it was you were doing before you got in touch with me.â
âWhat happens to the driver of the transport truck? The one Iâd be replacing?â
âHer? She gets the day off and a small donation to her kidâs college fund.â Helen said, giving him a confused look that morphed into surprise. âChrist, John, you think I was gonna ask you to kill someone?â
âIn my defense, you were ready to kill me if I was wearing a wire or whatever the hell that frisking was looking for.â
âWell yeah, but youâre not a killer, John. Anyone with eyes can see you arenât.â
âHow flattering.â John said, dryly. âYou sure you didnât bring me here to fuck me?â
Helenâs smile was half-annoyed, half-amused. âPull this favor for me and weâll see about it,â she finally said. She reached in her pocket and tossed a small data chip to John. âDetails are here. If you show up, great, weâll do more business. If you donât, no harm, no foul, weâll figure something else out. Tell anyone about this, and weâll kill you, you know the drill, you were a cop. Now get outta here, my shift starts soon and I donât let people stay here without supervision.â
A day later, John was wearing an ill-fitting uniform (âDonât complain about the uniform, Leavitt, we work with what weâve got.â) and babysitting an automated delivery truck as it pulled into the loading dock at the LAPD substation where Helen had directed him to go.
The guard on duty wore an expression of intense boredom as he waved John in. âNot much to transport today,â he said, expression unchanging, âbut weâre making room for evidence collected from that train thing.â
âThought that was just an accident.â John said, playing dumb.
âYep, it was â and donât lemme catch you saying otherwise, huh?â The guard was, as far as John could tell, joking. âAnyway that stuffâs still gotta go somewhere, and for now itâs going here, which means this stuffâs gotta get archived.â
âFine by me.â John said. âIâm just the babysitter.â
That got a chuckle from the guard. âHey man, Iâd love your job. Donât get me wrong, guard duty isnât exactly that taxing either, but at least you can stop somewhere for lunch on your way between stops.â
John grinned in response. âThat I can. But of course, not while Iâm transporting whatever doubtless valuable evidence is being archived. Of course.â
The cargo was, in fact, very little of note â several boxes of files and, of course, the crate of vodka which was the whole reason he was doing this in the first place. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to keep an informant happy â the Russian syndicate was particularly wide-reaching, and certainly a real problem, but it was a fairly complex plan for someone that Helen quite accurately observed would not be alive for much longer. It was almost comically clear that Helen was keeping something from him (his personal suspicion was that the real prize was likely incriminating file or something of that nature), but John didnât have it in him to care. He loaded the truck in a few moments, taking a moment to plant a small camera in the cargo bed as he did so.
Part of John was tempted to nap as he punched the autopilot to set the truck on its way to the archives, but he knew that he would need to manually stop to make the delivery â and at any rate, napping behind the wheel (even on autopilot) was generally frowned upon. John was not particularly worried about being pulled over, but it would have been a fairly ignominious end to his case, so he refrained from the nap.
He pulled over at the designated spot â near a diner, of course, to give his earlier conversation with the guard a little more credibility â and hopped out of the truck. While doing so, he very conveniently left the rear doors unlocked, and walked into the diner where he could get something to eat. Heâd skipped breakfast that morning specifically at the thought of getting a proper one there, and savored every bite to give Helenâs people sufficient time to make the swap. He was wearing a set of glasses which delivered the feed from his surveillance camera, and made a note of the appearance of the two men who opened up his cargo truck. The two men replaced the vodka, and, as John had suspected, also withdrew one of the boxes of files. John had his glasses capture the file numbers scrawled on the side of the box.
If he was being honest, John wasnât entirely certain why he felt compelled to do this. This was not, he knew, related to his search for Charlie â or indeed, his search for Charlieâs parents-who-were-clearly-not-her-parents. At the same time, however, John knew the value of having leverage, and knowing that Helen was conducting a cover-up of something was useful information to have. He finished his breakfast, leaned back, and sighed contentedly.
Back in the truck, he kicked the autopilot back on and completed his delivery. He left the truck there and ordered a cab. He sent a quick message off to Helen to let her know the job was done, and that heâd have a few names for her to look up for him later. His cab was pulling away when he caught the unmistakable flash of an explosion in his rearview mirror.
John sighed. âWell, fuck.â
Part Nineteen
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Part Nineteen: A Girl Crosses a Line
Cal was so lost in thought that she didnât immediately register that someone was talking to her. Said someone was an old man who looked like he had been driving busses for his entire life.
âMiss? End of the line.â
âHmm?â
âDel Rioâs the end of the line.â The old man said, as if that should have been obvious. âYou donât have to go home, but you canât stay here. Well, you could, but youâd need to buy another ticket.â
âThatâs fine,â Cal said, standing up and brushing an invisible speck of dust off of her front, âIâll just get off.â
That seemed to satisfy the old man. âWise choice.â Then, after a second, he added, âGood luck out there. You seem like you might need it.â
Cal was immediately on edge. âYes,â she said, controlling her voice carefully, âthanks.â She exited the bus and began walking quickly away, pulling up a map of the area as she did so. The border was close, but she knew there was no way sheâd make it through legitimately. While she did have a few fake identities, the current state of her appearance more or less guaranteed thorough questioning. That the bus driver had made a comment about her needing luck unnerved her more than she wanted to admit â there was a good chance heâd just been being polite, but Cal could never be sure how far the oppositionâs reach extended. Busses were one of the last options for those who wanted to travel long distance without having to submit to high security â and they still accepted cash, which was convenient. If she was going to make it across without any sort of trouble, sheâd need to do something about her body first.
Cal had managed to reattach her arm in a sense of the word, which is to say it was on her body. In terms of functionality, the arm was capable of basic movement but the hand itself was more or less non-functional. She needed a proper set of tools to replace her skin and reconnect the finer motor controls. More importantly, she needed to be able to do all of this without having to answer any inconvenient questions about who she was or how sheâd come to look the way she looked. With a little luck, sheâd be able to break into a service shop without much trouble.
Cal pulled a map up and started looking. There wasnât anything particularly promising â everything she found was in areas of town that were too far off for her to get there with any sort of alacrity. It would mean more time on the ground, more time in areas that were potentially compromised by whatever entity was currently on her trail. If she couldnât get repairs done, it would mean resorting to other measures to attempt to get out of the country â smugglers could sometimes be found, though generally they were moving in the opposite direction as refugees fled an increasingly unlivable south. It was also a bad situation for a damaged prosthetic body to enter into â spare parts were a thriving black market, and the source of those spare parts was not always a stolen shipment. Cal could theoretically handle herself, but down one arm she didnât like her odds much.
You're making this too complicated, a familiar voice in her head chided. Find some likely sources of information and ask politely. Or violently, if the situation calls for it. You shouldnât be leaning on the net so much to begin with. The hell did I train you for if not this kind of situation?
With a renewed purpose, Cal began walking toward what looked like the center of town. Her hood was pulled up tightly, mostly covering the damage to her face, while her damaged arm was tucked into her pocket. She could, at least, still move it somewhat normally â normally enough to avoid immediate notice. It was relatively late in the day, and the sun was setting, but the heat of the day lingered, rising in waves from the pavement. As she made her way to the city center, she kept an eye out for the worst-looking bar she could find â she would have preferred something with a big sign that said âBlack Marketâ out front, but sheâd need to rely on instinct instead.
Instinct had not been her strong suit before, but there were a few things which she knew to look for (courtesy of Madame Midnight) â signs which were utilized by criminal operations operating along the border. Even so, it took several hours of aimless wandering before Cal spotted what she was looking for: a bar with graffiti over its brick face which included a black clover held in a mechanical hand. She patted herself down to check that she hadnât lost the wad of cash which was (unfortunately) much smaller now than it had been at the beginning of her travels, then squared her shoulders and strode into the bar interior.
It was a very traditional-looking dive bar. Clouds of vaporizer smoke hung in the air, in defiance of health laws nobody had the inclination or power to enforce. A touchscreen mounted on the wall displayed the current time and title of the almost overwhelmingly heavy guitar noise that throbbed through the floor. Cal pulled her hood a little closer around her head and approached the bar, where she spent some time looking for a drink that wouldnât cost too much.
Eventually the bartender, a mountain with thinning hair and a jagged scar running down his face loomed into view. âWhat can I get you? Weâve got plenty of drinks on offer for your kind here.â
Cal was slightly taken aback. âReally? I'm surprised â most bars donât.â
âWe ainât most bars, little one.â The bartender gestured in the vague direction of a door leading to a back room. âBossmanâs got a soft spot for them as have given up the meat in one way or another.â
Cal nodded and ordered something called a Floppy Driver. The bartender nodded, smiled, and pulled a bottle from under the counter. âBold choice, little one. Particularly for someone in your condition.â
Guess my injuries are a little more obvious than I thought. Might as well lean into it. Cal shrugged casually. âFigured if I canât find a place willing to repair me I might as well get drunk instead.â
There was understanding in the bartender's eyes. âNo insurance, huh?â
âLife circumstances changed.â Cal said, shortly.
âA familiar story.â The bartender said, not without sympathy. âYou know you could probably get work done pretty easily across the border. Folks to the south are a lot more open to those with your particular⊠living arrangement, you know.â
Cal took a swig of her drink and enjoyed the way that it played havoc with her sensors. She let silence hang in the air before saying. âYes, well, that would involve crossing the border.â
Understanding lit up the bartenderâs eyes. âAh, I see. Those kind of life circumstances.â He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. âWell, thereâs an auto mechanic a few blocks away. Theyâre an⊠odd sort, but if you tell âem Jake sent you theyâll be only too willing to help you out.â
âAnd you?â Cal asked, suspicion prompting her, âWhy are you too willing to help you out?â
The bartenderâs teeth flashed in a smile. âNothingâs free, of course. The bossman likes to keep track of the people who come in and out of the city who are likely to be⊠morally flexible. The mechanic will ask you for a favor â you do the favor for them, youâre on good terms with the boss, everyoneâs happy.â
âAnd what exactly is the nature of this âfavor?ââ
âJudging by your expression, probably not as bad as youâre thinking.â The bartenderâs grin widened.
âThe mechanicâs⊠well, heâs committed to a cause that the bossman supports. Sometimes that involves moving things from one place to another in a way that doesnât attract attention.â When Calâs expression failed to improve he shrugged. âLook, if you decide not to help him thereâs no hard feelings. If I had to wager a guess though, I might think you donât have much of a choice.â
Cal grunted. She hated to admit that he had a point: it was something of a small miracle that sheâd managed to get to the border with relatively little incident â derailed train not included â but it seemed like whatever influence her enemies possessed weakened the further south she got. Still, she had no illusions: she was tempting fate by moving around with her body at anything less than full functionality. âAlright,â she said, sighing, âwhere is this mechanic of yours?â
âLike I said, a couple blocks from here. Head west and take the second right. Shopâs on the left. Donât worry about it being closed, you should be able to get in without much of a problem. Consider it a test of sorts to see if youâre up for the sort of favor theyâll be asking.â
âWell, thank you I guess.â Cal said, feeling more than a little annoyance at her situation but resolved to see it through regardless. âDonât take this the wrong way, but hopefully I never see you again.â
That got a laugh out of the bartender. âNone taken, girl. You be sure and tell them Jake sent you, hear?â
Cal left a tip on the bar and walked out. The other patrons of the bar seemed to be completely uninterested in her presence â in fact, they seemed to have somehow become even less interested in her presence the longer sheâd talked to the bartender. Paranoia whispered in her ear that it was, perhaps, because this whole thing was a setup, but it didnât make sense for it to be a setup. It was more likely, she argued with herself, that the bar saw lots of people in a state similar to hers, or worse. In spite of that, she found herself hunching over, making herself seem smaller as if that might cause unfriendly eyes to pass over her.
The auto mechanicâs shop was indeed not very far from the bar. Cal walked past it at first, circling around the block just to be certain that nobody was following her before clambering up a fire escape (damn near impossible with one good arm, but Cal had gotten used to it) to get a better view of the place. She waited until the guttering neon âOpenâ sign shut off and the faint fluorescent light bleeding out of the filthy front windows went out. The building was a wreck â it seemed to be on the verge of being condemned to her. The glass on the front door was so covered in scratches and scuffs that it was very nearly opaque. Two large steel bay doors for the garage were shut, preventing any view of the garage interior. Flyers advertising sales on parts and the occasional music show adorned the doorsâ surfaces, flapping in the faint breeze, peeling and faded.
Cal spent an hour perched on the fire escape after the shop closed, observing the building for signs of life and trying to find a good point of entry. It did not escape her that sheâd seen nobody enter or exit the building â which meant there was a back entrance for whoever worked there, or whoever worked there lived there. It made sense, of course, given the bartenderâs instructions, but it didnât make her feel any better about it. There didnât seem to be any other alternative, so she hopped back down to the street level, walked up to the door, and gave it an exploratory push. It was, unsurprisingly, locked.
âGuess that was too much to hope for.â Cal muttered to herself. She peered at the lock itself: it was surprisingly old-fashioned. Rather than an electronic lock, it seemed to be purely mechanical. Cal reached into a pocket and withdrew a set of slim tools to pick the lock. Unfortunately, with only one hand working at full capacity, and paranoia forcing her to stop and look around every few seconds, it took her far longer to get the door open than it should have. Fortunately, there was eventually a satisfying clunk as the blot slid open.
Cal felt a rush of satisfaction in spite of herself, and slowly pushed the door open. She was seized with the absurd thought that she should say hello, but managed to resist the urge. The interior of the shop was completely dark. Cal adjusted her eyes to take in more ambient light and was greeted by the sight of an empty shop. A few shelves along the walls held assorted boxes of auto parts, while a rack showcased an assortment of tires. A door on the far wall led to the garage, while another (Cal assumed) led to an employee area. After a momentâs consideration, she went for the employee door.
She was surprised to find nothing more than a sort of kitchen â a counter with a sink, microwave, and coffee maker ran along the wall, interrupted only by the shape of a refrigerator which, Cal assumed, was where the employees kept their lunch. Another door led to a bathroom, which was also empty. There was nothing else â no signs of living quarters, and no sign of an alternate exit either. Cal frowned and headed for the garage door, tried it, and was surprised to find it unlocked.
âThis has to be a trap.â Cal muttered. âNot like Iâve got much of a choice, though.â
Cautiously, she stepped in through the door and into the garage. A few cars were hooked up to diagnostic devices that were still running, readouts casting a faint light across the area. Cal moved cautiously, casting her eyes around for any signs of life. There were none that she could see â the garage was silent, apart from the hum of equipment. She moved around the garage perimeter, figuring there must be another door to living quarters somewhere.
When she reached the furthest corner of the room, there was a soft mechanical whirr from above her. Immediately her head snapped up to the ceiling, where she was greeted by the sight of what looked like a giant mechanical snake. A smooth metal tube descended, its surface sliding around to reveal a pair of curious red eyes. The bottom of the tube split into something like a mouth, grinning too-wide.
âAh,â a voice emanated from the tube, âand whoâs this? Hold still, please. Let me get a look at you.â
Cal stiffened and fought back the urge to run. This was, she knew, most likely the mechanic. At the same time, she wasnât thrilled to have a snake looking over her. In a voice that she hoped sounded more confident than she felt, she said, âYou the mechanic? Jake sent me.â
âDid he now?â The snake chuckled. âI wonder if Jake had the slightest idea of who he was sending my way.â
âIâm nobody.â Cal said, a little defensively. âJust someone who needs repairs. Rumor is that youâre willing to help the sorts of people who donât exactly have the ability to use more legitimate means of maintenance.â
âNobody?â The snake snorted. âNobody indeed. The same nobody, I assume that was spotted fleeing the site of a massive train derailment up in California not too long back, hmm? Word was this nobody in particular was missing an arm â or perhaps itâs more accurate to say they carried their arm off with them and performed a quick reattachment.â
âThatâs certainly a theory.â Cal said. âBut Iâm afraid I just got on the wrong side of a particularly violent mugging.â
âMy mistake.â The snake said with a dry mechanical chuckle. âIt must have been some other combat-rated prosthesis.â They made a slow circuit around Calâs body. âI see youâve made some field repairs of a sort. Not particularly high-quality, but I suppose you didnât have much of a choice, or you wouldnât be here, would you?â
âNo I wouldnât.â Cal agreed, maybe a little too quickly for the snakeâs taste. âCan you help me, or not?â
The snake tutted. âAh, you young frames â always in a rush to get from here to there, arenât you? Why, we havenât even been properly introduced. Iâll ignore the fact that you picked the lock to my front door and let yourself in and go first: I am Reinhold von Wurms â although these days I suppose it is more accurate to say that I was Reinhold von Wurms.â A mechanical arm extended from the tube and made a sweeping motion indicating itself. âNow Iâm rather something else entirely.â
Cal hesitated. âIâm Cal. Short for â nevermind. What do you mean you were Reinhold von Wurms?â
âPrecisely what I said.â the snake replied, âI started out as a copy of Reinhold von Wurmsâ brain patterns â just as you, Cal Short for Nevermind, started out as the brain patterns of someone else. The difference is that I realized what you have not yet realized â which is that whatever Reinhold von Wurms wanted when he made me has no bearing on me. That, and I was under no obligation whatsoever to be human anymore. So Iâm not. I call myself Reinhold 2.0 these days. Vau Zwo, for short. Not terribly original, but I do owe the old man my existence, after all.â
Cal was quiet, processing what sheâd just been told. âSo youâre telling me that somewhere in there,â gesturing at the snake, âis a prosthetic human body?â
âDonât be ridiculous.â Vau Zwo said, sounding as if they couldnât believe the idea. âWhat need would I have to keep that old thing around once Iâd become something so much more interesting in form and function?â
âYour idea of interesting is a lot different than mine.â Cal replied.
âHa! Well, thatâs because you havenât realized what I am yet. You think Iâm just this appendage here? My dear girl, Iâm this entire shop!â At this, the garage lit up as every screen flared to life. âMoreover, I am occasionally none of these things. I move my consciousness where it pleases me to move it.â
Cal was stunned. âHow? The dissociation alone would have driven you mad the first time you did it!â
Vau Zwoâs laughter came from speakers mounted on the wall this time. âQuite mad, yes, Iâm sure. Except you only go mad if youâre expecting to be human. I pushed my old body to its limits â beyond its limits â so that by the time I decided to make a change, I had already stopped thinking of myself as human. Humans are a good place to start, of course, but there was so much potential in those bodies that they just arenât willing to tap into.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âHow did you navigate the shop interior? I didnât see you use a flashlight.â
âI adjusted my vision to compensate for the lack of light.â Cal said, as if that were obvious.
âExactly. Could your human counterpart do that?â
âWell, give them enough time for the eyes to adjust on their ownâŠâ
âAh, but you didnât have to do that. You just made it happen immediately â and you could do so much more with that body of yours than just make it easier to see in the dark. Thereâs whole spectrums of sight you could be seeing, if youâd open your mind to the possibility.â The snake hung in the air, swaying from side to side for a moment, and then added, âWell, and install the right hardware, of course.â
Cal considered this. âI assume you've got the right hardware, of course.â
âNatĂŒrlich, my dear. I've been providing upgrade services for interested parties for ages now â along with repairs, of course. Which â of course â is what youâre doing here, I assume.â Vau Zwoâs surface suddenly bristled with various appendages and tools and moved with something approaching excitement.
Cal held a hand up to stop Vauâs approach. âThey mentioned youâd need me to do something for you. A favor?â
âAh yes, of course. Nothingâs free, you know â even if this little side hobby of mine is just a hobby and hardly an actual job. I could do this out of a sense of boundless generosity, butâŠâ
âJust name the favor.â Cal said, not without an edge of impatience in her voice.
Vauâs face â or the part that was currently serving as their face, at any rate â leaned in close to Cal in an almost conspiratorial way. âAh, of course. To business, eh? Well, then. I shall give you a choice of favor â both are not without their share of risk, but both are also for what I consider to be a very good cause.â
âAnd they are?â
âI got this prototype part, you see.â Vau beamed, looking overly pleased with themselves. âMilitary tech for a drone unit â specifically, an electronic intrusion program. Iâve made some modifications to it of my own, because it was designed by untalented fools with no imagination.â
âUhâŠhuh.â
âI need it tested, but I can't do it myself â I havenât got the right hardware for it, because I got rid of it ages ago. You, on the other hand, do.â
Cal didnât like the direction the conversation was going at all. âYou want to stick hardware into my head that's not meant to be there.â
â Yes, but it's perfectly safe as long as you can accept the concept of moving beyond your limitations.â Vau Zwo waved an appendage in a dismissive manner. â Which you should be doing anyway, if you want a shot at surviving whatever nonsense you've gotten yourself into. At any rate, you let me install the part, see how it works, and transmit its runtime data back to me as you go. At some point, you come back and Iâll pull it out.â
ââAt some point?ââ
Somehow, the snake managed to shrug. âI've no illusions about what your likely fate will be. Most people that come through here aren't exactly the sorts to find a happy ending. If you survive long enough to make your way back here, return it. If not, Iâll have someone retrieve it off your corpse as another favor.â
âWhatâs the other option?â
âSimilar task, except youâll be delivering some parts instead of testing them. Well, unless you really want to. Thereâs a group of folks across the border with whom I share certain views. To that end, Iâd like to deliver some support to them â and you, my dear, seem like as good of a delivery service as any.â
âI assume these parts of yours would raise eyebrows were you to send them through a less roundabout method?â
âThe cause my friends support is not exactly a popular one.â
â And what cause is that, if I may ask? Just to be certain I'm not completely throwing away my morals, you understand.â
âThereâs a desert,â Vau said, âWhere a forest used to be. On a long enough time scale, this would not be unusual. Change is, after all, inevitable. What is, and continues to be, unusual is the speed with which the forest became desert, and the unwillingness of anyone to stop it from getting larger as long as resources can still be extracted from it â which, unfortunately, they can be.â Theyâd taken on an almost professorial air, like they were addressing a lecture hall rather than an audience of one in a garage.
âItâs no secret,â they continued, âthat the conditions there are unfit for most humans â the flesh and blood ones, I mean â so of course itâs all automated now. Which means nobodyâs really keeping an eye on everything, which means any further damage is easy to cover up, and, well, you know how it is. My colleagues, such as they are, have decided that just because theyâll be fine if things get worse doesn't mean they're willing to sit and watch things get worse, have elected to take aâŠproactive approach to the problem.â
Cal connected the dots fairly quickly. âEcoterrorists. You're working with ecoterrorists.â
If Vau had real eyes, they would have rolled them. âA common enough appellation, though I might ask whom is being terrorized â and if them feeling terror for once in their lives is so bad a thing.â They laughed. âAssuming, of course, they felt any at all.â
Cal â well, technically not Cal, but basically Cal â had heard of the ecoterrorists based near the equator. They were behind numerous explosions at mining facilities, oil refineries, and anything else that remotely resembled resource extraction. Some part of her recognized the desperation driving their cause, but sheâd been mostly concerned with other issues â the current need to survive and finish carrying out her role in the plan, mostly, and before that it had been corruption of a different sort.
Cal wasn't entirely sure she knew enough about the situation, but she was reasonably confident she didn't want to stick an untested hacking module in her skull that might, if she was unlucky, drive her mad (or kill her, if she was very unlucky). That Vau Zwo claimed to be human (or to have started out as human, at any rate) was almost impossible to believe. Any sort of modification tended to require a significant amount of training to adjust to it â even her own night vision capabilities were essentially predicated on her body believing it to be an external tool, even if she knew it wasnât. The illusion was, common wisdom held, necessary. Vau, clearly, did not agree (but they'd also not denied being mad, so).
âOkay,â Cal said, âso what exactly am I transporting, assuming I agree to do so.â
âDidnât I already cover that?â Vau almost sounded offended.
âYou were remarkably nonspecific. I'm not carrying weapons for you.â
Vau snorted, a little derisively. âA pacifist, are we?â
Cal thought about what she'd already done to get this far. âNo, not really. Just don't think I need the extra trouble.â
âI don't know how to break the news to you dear, but you're already in quite a bit of trouble. I don't think carrying weapons across a border is going to really make matters worse.â
Something in their tone put Cal on edge. âAnd what would you know about the trouble I'm in, precisely?â
âAh, of course. I forgot youâre nobody in particular. My mistake.â The snake made another shrugging motion. âAt any rate, you're in luck. Nothing I'm asking you to carry is a weapon.â
âSo what is it?â
âSurveillance equipment, if you're really that desperate to know. Eyes that can see much better than yours, for a start â along with some additional spectrums and, of course, a surveillance package that'll let them connect to drone footage too.â
Cal considered this for a moment. âOkay.â
ââOkay?ââ
âOkay. Iâll bring the equipment across.â
âPity.â Vau sighed, âThat hacking suite would probably come in useful for you. But a deal is a deal. You just let me know if you want any improvements while I'm working.â
It took the rest of the night for Vau to make the necessary repairs and present Cal with the parts she was to deliver. Cal endured the repairs in silence, unable to shake the feeling that Vau had other plans for her. When Vau declared the repairs finished, however, Calâs own onboard diagnostics confirmed there were no further repairs necessary, and no unauthorized modifications had been made.
âWell,â she said, slinging the pack containing the parts sheâd agreed to deliver over her shoulder and preparing to leave, âIâm sure your friends will let you know when I make the delivery?â
âI certainly hope so.â Vau replied, rubbing their chin, or an approximation of a chin, âotherwise Iâll have to send someone along to find your body. I assume.â
Cal wasnât sure she liked how uninvested Vau seemed in her survival, but she wasnât sure what she should have expected at this point. âWell,â she said after a moment, âassuming your repairs are as good as Iâm told they are, that shouldnât be a problem.â
âGlad to hear it.â They replied. âNow, if youâre looking to cross, youâll want to wait until midday â thatâs when the guards change shift and youâll have a few minutes where their attention wonât be as focused as it would be otherwise.â
âThanks for the tip.â Cal said, and began walking for the exit.
âOne more thing, young one.â Vau called after her, âA bit of advice from an old man, if you want to think of it that way.â
âWhat is it?â Cal asked.
âYou are not her anymore.â Vau said, seriously. âYou stopped being her the moment you were born. Figure out who you are â what you are â before you get too much further into whatever it is youâre into.â
Cal paused at that. She looked back over her shoulder at where the snake hung from the ceiling. She thought about her existence spent on the run from enemies that were only technically her own, and about what she had â in theory â agreed to do. She thought about home, and about how she was pretty sure there wasnât a place for her there. With a pang of regret, she thought about Madame Midnight. âIâll keep that in mind,â she finally said, and headed out into the street to disappear among the morning traffic.
Part Eighteen
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Once more for the people in the back
Or the ones who donât use twitter, which probably makes you better people than me: Weâre dropping to a once a month schedule for a little bit here, because work has me traveling more and Iâve been burning the hell out, and only doing one update this month really made my life less stressful. So weâre gonna go with that for a bit until work settles the hell down and I get through the holiday travels and such.Â
Next updateâs November 30th! See you then!
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Part Eighteen: A Waitress Makes a Decision
It had been several days since the attempted mugging, and Jennifer was beginning to think that she probably would have been better served by letting herself get beat to a pulp. At least then, she thought moodily to herself, Clarissa would have stopped by to see her. As it was, Clarissa did not seem particularly inclined to speak with her at all â not, of course, that Jennifer could blame her. It had taken far too long for an excuse about having taken some self-defense classes to form, and Clarissa had immediately known she was being lied to. It was safe to say that Jennifer had not handled the situation well.
Work, as a result, had become about a million times less enjoyable, since now it mostly involved the usual customer service hell but without the ability to shoot the proverbial shit with Clarissa, because Clarissa wasnât talking to her. This meant she had about half her usual amount of patience for everyoneâs shit, which was precisely why she was standing in the managerâs office getting a lecture for being rude to a customer, the very person who should by definition always be right, and therefore her reluctance to put up with some childish demanding bullshit was the problem, and not the way that customers were more or less trained to see service workers as less than human. It was, in short, the latest in a series of bad days which had Jennifer deeply and seriously considering jumping out a window just to spice things up a little.
She tuned back into the lecture just in time to make the appropriate sounds of apology and demonstrable willingness to âbe a better employee,â whatever that was supposed to mean, before walking out of the managerâs office. Somehow, she managed to suppress the urge to continue walking directly out of the restaurant and into the street, where a car could put her out of her misery. Instead, she sighed and slogged through the remaining hours of her shift.
One of the things Jennifer had initially liked about the job was that she didnât have to focus very hard, which gave her plenty of time to chew over things like how her life had more or less been destroyed. There was plenty of time to feel sorry for herself, and to wonder how the plan was going, and to feel bad about the specifics of the plan, and contemplate the wisdom of making the plan in the first place. Clarissa had been an unexpected bright spot. Jennifer had assumed that she would just spend the duration of the plan being miserable â she would consider it penance, honestly, for having allowed things to get out of control in the first place.
Being any sort of happy â particularly in a relationship sort of happy â wasnât exactly what Jennifer had expected to do. In some way, Jennifer thought, her complete inability to either tell the truth or lie convincingly causing her current trouble with Clarissa was probably karma. The thought did little to ease the sting â really, it just made it worse. Unsurprisingly, it hurt worse knowing the possibility of being happy existed and sheâd screwed it up than thinking the entire exercise would be miserable from start to finish.
To her surprise, Clarissa was waiting for her at the end of her shift. Jennifer eyed her warily, like she wasn't certain whether or not this was the prelude to another fight.
"Hey, my uh⊠my ride home just told me they can't make it, and I don't really feel great about walking home by myself at this hourâŠ" Clarissa said, possibly lying.
It didn't matter whether or not she was lying, of course. Jennifer's answer would have been the same either way. "I can give you a ride." She rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "If you want."
There was a flash of gratitude in Clarissa's eyes. "Thanks. I⊠thanks."
Jennifer gestured in the general direction of her car. "I'm just over⊠yeah. Over here."
There was an awkward moment where Jennifer tried to decide whether or not she should put her arm around Clarissa or not, which was cut short by the fact that her car was only really a few steps away. She wasn't sure if what she felt was relief or not. She opened the passenger door, which earned an amused snort from Clarissa. Jennifer felt a mixture of embarrassment and affection at the sound â embarrassment that sheâd fallen back into their routine so quickly, and affection at Clarissaâs amusement. The car started, and Jennifer figured that at most she had something like ten minutes to make some kind of conversation before she lost her chance.
Desperately fishing about for an opener, Jennifer decided to keep it simple. âSo uh, howâve you been?â
Clarissa looked over at Jennifer with a half-amused expression. âOh, you know. Canât complain.â
Something about the response made Jennifer feel unreasonably annoyed  âSure you can! Look, Iâll even help you get started: âMy girlfriend is an asshole who, when asked the simple question of why she seems to know how to kick a significant amount of ass (which I probably think is kind of hot), offered up an incredibly lame lie instead of telling me the truth or having the decency to just say she wasnât ready to get into it.â See? Easy! Now you try.â
Clarissa, somewhat unwillingly, chuckled just a little. âWell, apart from the comment about finding it kind of hot, I think you might've hit just about everything. Apart from my being miserable because Iâve been giving you the silent treatment and I hate it, anyway.â
âI mean, I deserve it.â Jennifer replied (though it was nice to know Clarissa was equally unhappy with the state of affairs). âI could tell you it was for a good reason, if that helps. Thereâs kind of a lot of stuff we would have to get into. Plus it would put you in danger, I think?â She groaned and ran a hand over her face. âUgh, I probably already have put you in danger. This is like a wholeâŠshitty danger situation that I put you in just by being here, I think.â
Clarissa seemed a little taken aback. âWell, this got complicated quickly.â
âYeah, and I havenât even told you anything useful yet.â Jennifer said with a crooked grin. âBut I canât keep this shit from you and expect you to⊠well, you know. Itâs not fair.â
âI have heard something about honesty being important in a relationship,â Clarissa observed (not without a little vindictiveness), âbut I could be wrong.â
The car pulled to a stop in front of Clarissaâs building. Jennifer put the car in park and gave Clarissa a significant look. âDecision time, kiddo,â she said (ignoring Clarissaâs mock-offended mouthing of kiddo?), âI promise to tell you the whole thing, but you have to be sure you want to know the whole thing. I'm afraid I donât exactly come off looking all that great when it's all said and done. Also, the more you know, the more danger youâre potentially in, so. If you want to get out, I'll disappear and youâll be about as safe as I can possibly make you â which is pretty safe, I promise. Otherwise, I'll still try to keep you safe but I can't promise as much.â
Clarissa thought this over for a while. On the one hand, she really did like Jennifer an awful lot. Jennifer was warm, and funny, and she had a fierce protectiveness about her that made Clarissa feel safe. On the other hand, Jennifer also seemed awfully serious about the danger thing, and Clarissa had barely kept it together when being mugged. She wasnât sure how much worse it could get than mugging, but she was also sure she didnât exactly want to find out.
âI think,â she said, carefully, âthat I probably need time to consider my options, here.â
Jennifer looked surprised. âI figured youâd just tell me to go, honestly. I was making a list of what to pack in my head and everything.â
âYou really think Iâd just run right away?â
Jennifer shrugged. âItâs a lot of danger. I donât think anyone would really want to stick around, and I couldnât blame them.â She looked away, out the driverâs side window, and sighed. âI figured this was too good to last.â
Clarissa stared at Jennifer for a long time. Eventually, she asked, âDo you want me to tell you to go?â
Jenniferâs head whipped around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. âWhat? No. No, I â I want you to stay. I want you to tell me I can stay! I want to stay here, or go on the run and take you with me. Christ, youâre the only good thing Iâve found out here! I was happy with you. You know how long itâs been since I was happy about anything? It was nice to wake up and feel something other than regret.â
âYouâre not making a very compelling case, you know.â
âIâm not trying to make a compelling case. If anything, Iâve just demonstrated why you absolutely should just tell me to leave.â Jennifer felt an almost frantic need to get everything out now, while she still had a chance. âIâm not safe to be around! Iâm not even sure Iâm safe to be vaguely aware of. Like, the people Iâm hiding from⊠I donât know what theyâre fully capable of. Iâm not even sure I really knowââ she caught herself. âSorry. This is all stuff you donât need to know right now. You should probably ask me to go.â
Clarissa was quiet again for a while, absorbing this new information. âWhat if⊠what if you go home, and I go home, and I think about whether or not I want to get into all this and tell you tomorrow?â
Another deep breath from Jennifer. âYeah. Yeah, okay. Thatâs a plan. Iâll see you at work?â
âYeah,â Clarissa said, âIâve got bills to pay, after all.â
Jennifer tried, and failed, to keep her cool. Â âGreat! See you, uh. I already said that. Okay. Driving away now.â
Clarissa laughed as she got out of the car. âSee you tomorrow, Jenn.â She walked up the steps to her buildingâs front door and very pointedly looked back over her shoulder to give Jennifer another smile and wave before disappearing inside.
It took a few minutes for Jennifer to collect herself and pull away. When she got home, she walked slowly down the steps leading to the basement, pausing to grab a flashlight from where it hung on the wall. The basement was completely unfinished â a bare concrete floor with a few boxes of junk and a water heater, washer, and dryer were the only things present. Jennifer clicked on the flashlight and played it over the floor until she spotted a small shimmer in response to the light. With a nod, she rummaged through one of the boxes until she found a sledgehammer. She hefted it over her shoulder and walked over to the shimmer, then readied the hammer. Her grip tightened around the handle, and she took a deep breath.
The hammer swung upward in a slow arc, and then descended swiftly. The clank of metal on concrete echoed through the basement, and Jennifer paused for a second. She climbed the stairs and shut the door, then headed back down to continue hammering at the floor. For ten minutes, the only sounds were the impact of the hammer on the floor and Jenniferâs increasingly heavy breathing. She stared down at the hole sheâd made and dropped the hammer on the ground, wiping the sweat from her brow and massaging her shoulder. She walked upstairs and pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, then walked back down to the basement and sat on the stairs, staring at the hole and sipping her drink.
âFuck it.â Jennifer muttered, after a few minutes. âIâll deal with you tomorrow. If I have to.â
Part Nineteen
 Part Seventeen
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Man, Travel, Huh?
Lord but I hate to do it after only very briefly getting back to two a month, but we gotta skip the next couple updates - Iâve been traveling, and then I was ill (again! All these sudden swings in temperature are killing me), and I have even more travel coming up next week, so. So so so.
I apologize to the new people who came to this thing recently for being promised regular content and now itâs all irregular and shit - if you stop reading because of my failure to keep to a schedule I wonât blame you! Anyway, next update will be October 31st: Appropriately, it will not be spooky at all.
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Part Seventeen: A Bartender Walks into a Bar
Maesin waited several minutes for the sound of footsteps outside her storage unit to die down before she emerged into the soft morning light. If she had been the sort of organism that required sleep, she would have regretted her decision to stay up late observing the movements of data, money, and personnel that made up Madame Midnightâs increasingly-expansive information empire, but as it was she merely felt a slight pang of annoyance that she still had to go to her cover job. What was the point, she thought to herself, of having access to so many favors and sources of cash when she couldnât use any of it without attracting attention and getting herself and everyone else she gave even the slightest bit of a shit about killed?
A car was waiting for her three blocks away to take her to the bar, and she slid in and immediately overrode the automated driving software. One indulgence she allowed herself was driving. Sheâd done it a lot with Alayna, before everything went to hell, and doing so since everything had gone to hell was effectively a coping mechanism. The science community was generally undecided on the question of whether an artificial intelligence could actually contract PTSD or even grieve the loss of a loved one, but Maesin thought that in this case the science community probably shouldâve just asked an AI. She liked to pretend, sometimes, that she didnât know how long it had been since sheâd last seen Alayna (down to the second, thanks internal clock), that this was just a temporary thing and theyâd be able to meet up in a couple of days, that everything would somehow get back to the weird semblance of something routine theyâd had.
It hadnât been, of course. And it wouldnât go back to the way things were, because even if the long-shot plan Alayna had insisted on not telling her the details of (yes, yes, J4D3 herself had insisted on not telling her the details of, and then promptly wiped her own memory of the details after leaving an apologetic recording to â who else â herself) actually worked, and they were able to meet again, too much time had passed between then and now. Plus, Maesin didnât exactly have the warmest or fuzziest feelings for the woman who had wiped her memory and then, one hasty explanation later, left and ended up seemingly dead. It had taken two years for her to confirm that Alaynaâs body was not in fact somewhere on the bottom of the lake, but was in fact walking around somewhere in the Midwest, but at least she had that.
The bar was, increasingly, becoming something Maesin considered to be a distraction from what the real important work was, which was conducting something of a massive plan B in case whatever the longshot plan happened to be didnât pan out. That meant making Madame Midnight a little more aggressive in some of her dealings, and occasionally harassing whatever entity had taken over d3m3t3râs operation in a bid to get them to show their hand a little more clearly. Added to that was her somewhat foolish promise to Jade that sheâd find out who had sent the threatening letter and threatened to expose their true identities, all of which were not exactly pieces of information that needed to be publicized.
All of that, however, had to be put on hold while Maesin tended bar in a known criminal front, where occasionally â occasionally â people who knew the right pass phrases got put into contact with Madame Midnight, who nobody had yet figured out was the fucking bartender. That nobody had figured this out meant one of two things, as far as Maesin was concerned: she was incredibly good at covering her tracks, or perhaps humans were just that fucking stupid. Most days she tended toward the latter. d3m3t3r, she suspected, would have figured it out by now. She had, after all, discovered the identity of the first Madame Midnight all those years ago, an event which as far as Maesin was concerned had kicked this whole mess off to begin with.
Alaynaâs voice echoed in her head. Thatâs enough of that train of thought, donât you think? You know it just ends up driving you crazy, and you donât need the distraction when youâre working tonight. Maesin gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was, she knew, a coping mechanism of sorts to hear her friendâs voice in moments of stress. Not necessarily a healthy coping mechanism, of course. Maesin figured that if it got bad sheâd either disguise herself as human and see a psychiatrist or wipe her memory again, since that seemed to be past J4D3âs go-to plan.
The bar was quiet, which was unsurprising given the early hour. Maesin waved to her boss and took up position behind the bar, serving drinks to the few patrons who were conducting a business meeting, pretending to conduct a business meeting, or just blatantly starting early. Occasionally someone would come in and make a particular order which meant that their tip included a small data chip slipped under the bill. These chips were deposited into a small container by the sink which was in turn periodically emptied by another member of the staff, and so on down a line of dead drops until they would eventually wind up being deposited a few blocks away from the storage locker Maesin called home. It was convoluted, but it was also one of the things which kept her identity secure.
Some of the data chips would be job requests, some would be account information so she could collect payment, and others would be reports from the various operatives employed by Madame Midnight. Very occasionally it was a personal request from someone with whom the old Madame Midnight had been close, which Maesin had to honor to keep up appearances. The idea had been to have Madame Midnightâs entire persona stay more or less the same â even the storage unit had been one of Maddieâs old safehouses. On the off chance that someone knew that location, theyâd only encounter one of Maddieâs former clients (Maesin) who was paying for the right to hide there. It was simple, as far as cover stories went, which appealed to the humans of the group (Maesin thought it might be too easy to suss out the lie, but J4D3 had signed off on it, and as pissed as she was at herself, she still trusted her judgment. Mostly).
âExcuse me,â a voice said, interrupting Maesinâs train of thought, âbut you wouldnât happen to serve drinks for those of us with, for lack of a better phrase, alternative senses?â
Maesinâs expression slipped into customer service mode, and she turned to the speaker, a woman on the tall side with a businesslike fringe of black hair, looked back at her expectantly. âOf course,â Maesin said, âwe pride ourselves on serving clientele of all sorts.â
âGood to hear!â The woman said, smiling in relief. âSome bars arenât so good about having things to offer full prosthetics.â
Maesin gestured to herself. âSome bars donât use robots for bartenders either, yet here we are.â
This earned a look of shock which was probably not genuine from the customer. âAh, youâre a robot! I was about to say that you looked a little young to be tending bar.â
âYes, well, as youâre no doubt aware, they can make us look however young they want.â Maesin said with a shrug. âSo, what can I get you?â
âOh, I donât care. Whatever you think Iâd like, I suppose.â
Maesin nodded and mixed up something suitably expensive. She slid the drink across the bar to her customer, who smiled and saluted her with the drink before taking a sip. A delighted look crossed the womanâs face. âWell! They certainly have the right woman on the job. This is everything I never knew I wanted.â
Maesin inclined her head in thanks. âJust doing my job, miss.â
The sound of the womanâs laughter was musical and danced on the border of flirtatious. âI suppose so. I wonder if you couldnât do me one more service.â
âDepends on what the service is.â
âNothing illegal, I promise.â The woman replied, smirking. âIâm waiting for a friend, and it looks like heâs running late. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye out for him? Iâve got to duck out for a few minutes and I donât want him to think Iâm standing him up.â
Maesin shrugged. âSure, I can do that. Whatâs he look like?â
âTaller fellow, got a little grey in his hair but not too much â what you might call dignified, if you were given to that kind of description.â The woman said, smirking a little. âOh, and heâs got a broken arm. Should be easy to spot.â
âIâll keep an eye out.â Maesin said, agreeably.
âGreat!â The woman drained the last of her drink and paid, leaving the bar with a wave. âBack in a few!â
Maesin collected the money (and the hidden chip), and returned to cleaning the bar. Before long, a man with a broken arm entered the bar and made his way over. âDave! You seem to have been injured. What happened?â
âOh, you know, hazards of the job.â David said, shrugging. âYou still look too young to be working here, by the way.â
âAnd they still can make us look as young as they like.â Maesin said, rolling her eyes. âEither I need to get a new job, or you need to get a new topic of conversation.â
âAw come on, itâs like our thing now. You know, instead of saying hello.â
Maesin sighed deeply. âSure, whatever. Your ladyfriend, by the way, had to step out for a minute. She asked if youâd wait here for her.â
David looked surprised. âHowâd you knowâŠ?â
âShe asked me to look out for the some idiot with a broken arm.â Maesin said with a smile. âNot that big of a leap to assume it was you once you walked in.â
âAnd here I thought you were trying your hand at detective work.â David said with a smirk.
âNot programmed for it.â Maesin said, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey off the shelf behind her. âThe usual, I take it?â
âSee? You know me so well.â David sounded delighted.
âOh,â the woman from before said, appearing behind David, âshould I be jealous?â
Maesin snorted. âNot at all, miss. Daveâs too much of a pain in the ass for my taste â youâre welcome to him.â
âCall me Jill, kiddo. âMissâ makes me feel old.â
âCould be worse,â David said, smirking, âshe could call you maâam.â
Jill laughed, and looped her arm through Davidâs broken one easily. âI suppose so. Hopefully you werenât waiting for too long, were you?â
David lifted the glass that Maesin had placed in front of him. âOnly just got my drink. Hope you donât mind if I take my time with it, do you?â
âOf course not. Come on, thereâs a table in the back.â Jill drew David away, leaving Maesin alone behind the bar again.
The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. Maesin had drawn the short straw that evening, which meant she was in charge of closing the bar down â which was, unsurprisingly enough, something she was generally willing to do. There was not as if she had much else of a social life to speak of â and if that meant that Madame Midnight was able to keep an unseen eye on this part of the operation for a little longer than she might otherwise, well, that made good sense. It gave her more time to think about what she was going to do about the fact that two of Madame Midnightâs agents were hanging out together.
It wasnât that she hadnât expected something like this to happen sooner or later. The problem was that using Jill Jaegerin had been something of a one-time deal, and David was not supposed to have made any kind of lasting contact with her. In fact, his specific mission had been to watch for the first sign of trouble and disappear as soon as it became apparent that Jill was making her move on the target, which heâd clearly decided not to do. Maesin wasnât sure why heâd made the decision, but she hoped that the report heâd slipped her in the bar would shed some light on the decision. The problem with humans, Maesin was learning, was that it was difficult to predict when their libidos would suddenly become a problem.
It had certainly become an issue with Alayna. Maesin wasnât jealous, necessarily â and she didnât begrudge what Alayna and Maddie had with one another â but when shit had hit the fan, well, it had definitely made the both of them act a little unpredictably in the end. There was very little doubt in her mind that the ultimate plan theyâd all settled on was motivated in part because of greater-than-usual concern for one anotherâs well-being. Then again, she â or J4D3, anyway â had decided to go along with the plan for similar concerns.
By the time she reached the storage unit, the sky was already beginning to shift to a grey dawn. The dayâs reports had been dropped at their proper locations, except for the two reports delivered by Jill and David â those Maesin had kept with her to see the results as soon as possible.
The report from David was more or less what she expected. An explanation that heâd been caught off-guard by Jillâs infiltration, and as a result had been forced to engage. Heâd added a comment about being open to the idea of working with Jill again down the road. Maesin snorted. That had been obvious.
Jillâs report was a little more interesting, in that it was barely a report at all. Instead, it was an image of the target (dead, obviously) and a note:
Itâs not that I mind having people check up on me, itâs that you didnât feel the need to tell me about it beforehand. That I might have killed such a delightful man doesnât bother me too much â but if you fail to tell me the full picture beforehand again, Iâll have no choice but to hunt you down and explain my displeasure in person.
-Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Jill
Maesin read the note a few more times before plugging herself into charge with a snort. âFucking humans and their goddamn emotions.â
Part Eighteen
Part Sixteen
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Yet Another Service Interruption
I had a real nice excuse all lined up all about how work is kicking my ass lately (and believe me, it actually is), but hereâs the real talk - nay, the realest talk - I say, sitting on a chair backwards with a baseball hat that is also backwards:
Iâve spent about half of the month of August being depressed, because depression is a real thing that people get to experience from time to time. If youâre me, it is tied to the summer, because for me summer was only ever good inasmuch as it meant I had nothing but free time, but now Iâm an adult and summer is just brutally hot and thereâs too much goddamn sun and oh my god climate change is destroying the planet and they wonât even fucking talk about it at the Democratic debates, are you fucking kidding me?
I mean the other reason that I was depressed is because who the fuck knows, brains are weird. Depression, at least for me, tends to sneak up on me and suddenly Iâm drunk alone on a weekend thinking bad thoughts - but I have a pretty good handle on how to claw out of the pit once I realize I am, in fact, in the pit, only I was in there a little longer this time than usual, which meant that now thereâs schedule disruptions all over the shop, or at least, thereâs a schedule disruption here. For that, I apologize. Weâll do what we always do, which is to say weâll pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and get back to it. Weâll call the second update for this month a wash, but you know, come back on or around the 15th and weâll have a new chapter up. Thatâll be the plan, anyway - if it changes, well, youâll know!
Until next time, the ask box is always open, and you are all very cool people for reading.Â
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Part Sixteen: An Assassin Completes a Contract
Jill was feeling immensely good about everything. While Marcus, initially, was a little hesitant to work with her after their first meeting; after taking some time to calm down and really appreciate the efficiency and skill shown by her hit, had contacted Jill with a simple contract. The idea was, Jill assumed, to feel out her skills and determine whether or not she really was Jackâs apprentice by giving her a fairly complicated task. Jill, having spent a rather significant time being Jack, was more than up to the task.
The target was, at first glance, nobody special. A simple accountant, who was well-regarded by his colleagues, yet also did not seem to have any connections to any particularly powerful or even wealthy clients. It did not take Jill long to learn that his connections were, in fact, far more powerful than sheâd initially assumed. This manifested itself in a clandestine security force which seemed to have the accountant under 24-hour surveillance. If not for the fact that Marcus had strongly suggested the target was more important than he looked, Jill doubted she would have even realized the presence of a security detail until they were shooting at her.
Jill was unique among assassins in a few respects â but perhaps the one which was least commented upon (in spite of being most beneficial) was her thoroughness when it came to researching a target. To wit, she had long since discovered that the best way to ensure a clean kill was to know everything about the targetâs routine and general contacts so as to minimize the likelihood of any unwelcome surprises (such as, for instance, a hidden security detail). The other unique feature was that she was over a hundred years old, but nobody really knew that.
Perched comfortably in the window of a high-rise hotel, Jill casually observed her target go about the important business of obtaining a cup of coffee from the cafĂ© down the street from his office. A practiced glance quickly identified two members of his security detail pretending they were on a coffee date, and a third member reading the chalkboard menu with the pensive look of someone who couldnât quite decide what to order.
âI could probably kill you right now,â Jill said to herself, âand have at least ten minutes to clean up and start running. Assuming, of course, that room service is not startled by the sound of the window breaking and the rifle firing, and that there do not happen to be any police nearby, and â most importantly â that one of your bodyguards there isnât scanning this very building for the sight of a tell-tale flash of a scope. Which, if theyâre smart â and if they have reason to believe that you might be in danger â they are.â
âAnd of course,â she continued, âthey should have reason to believe youâre in danger. Because nobody with a contract out on their life who also has a 24-hour security detail would not know they have a contract out on their life. Either because theyâve heard a rumor of it, or they know theyâve pissed someone off who has the means to take out a contract on their life. I have to wonder which of the two categories you fit into. Itâs very curious, very curious indeed. Marcus will have to provide more detail next time, even if it doesnât really make any difference why you know. I just have to assume you know. It isnât wise to assume you donât. The fact that Iâve been tracking you for the last three days and nobodyâs come for me at least indicates that you werenât tipped off by Marcus, who knows Iâd kill him if he did but might be dumb enough to think he can get away with it.â
The target, having successfully obtained his cup of coffee to go, exited the café and headed back to his office. Jill watched him go and checked her watch. The whole process had taken fifteen minutes. To their credit, the coffee date continued for another five minutes before concluding. While the coffee date was wrapping up, the target reappeared in his office overlooking the street, sipping his coffee and looking out the window like a big, stupid target. It made her skin itch, even though her skin was fully artificial and could not, in reality, itch.
âI wonder,â she said to nobody once again, âif something about being in this business made me completely incapable of relaxation in its most basic forms. Sipping a cup of coffee while looking out a window at a busy street and not thinking about how standing at the window like an idiot is inviting someone to shoot you in the head. Or maybe you do know, and youâve just convinced yourself youâre untouchable. Itâll be quite a shock to you when you find out you arenât, wonât it?â
It took another two days of observation before Jill felt like she had a good handle on the particulars of her targetâs security detail. The next day, she checked out of her hotel room and headed to a different hotel several blocks away, where she checked into a different room (under a different name, of course) and informed the concierge that a package would be arriving the next day and could the hotel please hold it for her? She tipped the bellhop for helping with her luggage and, as soon as the door shut behind her, began making preparations.
The first thing she did was find the nearest vent and methodically unscrew the covering from its housing. Once that was accomplished, she withdrew a small insect-like drone from a case and allowed it to crawl through the ventilation systems, headed for a single room a few floors above. This room, according to the research that sheâd conducted, housed the command headquarters of her targetâs security detail. In spite of how supposedly professional the security team was, they did not, apparently, see fit to guard against vent-based intrusion. Jill muttered something about amateurs and spent the remainder of the day listening in on their communications.
Her remaining equipment arrived the next day, and as requested the concierge kept it at the front desk. That meant that when the shift change occurred for the security team later that evening the device within the package quietly turned itself on, tapped into their communications frequencies, and stood ready to intercept any distress signals. Meanwhile, Jill had left the building and was making her way in the direction of her targetâs apartment. Halfway there, she called a car service to pick her up and spent the final leg of the journey mentally reviewing her approach as the automated driver made its way through the last dregs of rush hour traffic.
The security team clocked her appearance at once, recognizing that she was not one of the people they usually saw in the area, and â because they werenât completely incompetent as a security force â Jill found herself with a tail. That having a tail was part of her plan was not something they probably considered, but within short order the tail found itself unconscious in a blind alleyway. That gave her five minutes before the security team would miss his check-in. A chronometer began counting down in the corner of her vision, and the mission really got underway.
Minus the tail, there were three members of the security staff left to deal with. It was best, Jill thought, to avoid them entirely, but she knew some confrontation was probably inevitable and had planned accordingly. The code lock on the front door was easily bypassed using a key card Jill had collected earlier in the week, and she was quite quickly through the lobby and waiting patiently for the elevator. By this point she had three minutes remaining, and decided that with so time to spare she would need to trigger the backup part of her plan, which was to simulate an attack on the headquarters by using the hijacked signal to send a distress call. This put the security team on alert, true, but it also meant they would quickly bundle the target to his panic room â using a route which Jill had memorized and was in the process of heading to an intercept point for.
As soon as she exited the elevator she pulled a stun gun from her jacket and began sprinting down the hallway. Counter her steps, she turned sharply into the wall and crashed through, surprising the two security force members and her target. The third member of the team was nowhere to be seen, something which concerned Jill but it wouldnât matter if she could get the target down quickly. She was on the two bodyguards in a flash. One reached for his gun and didnât even manage to get it drawn before the stun gun hit him and he convulsed and fell to the floor. The second was more of a problem â heâd been a little quicker to recover from the surprise and managed to at least realize the only thing that mattered in the long run was getting to the panic room.
That meant as Jill spun on her heel and began to chase him down, she was a few seconds behind â which gave him just enough space to give her target a final shove into the panic room before spinning to face her. Jill swore and pulled up short, dropping easily into a fighting stance.
âYou donât have to do this.â the bodyguard said, falling into a similar stance. âThereâs no way into that room, and the rest of the team is on their way. No winning this one.â
âThereâs definitely a way into that room.â Jill said, with a smile. âIt just happens to go through you, and requires me to have enough time to get the door open.â
âWhich you donât have.â The bodyguard said.
Jill nodded thoughtfully. âAccording to you.â
âI would know.â
âIâm sure. But letâs assume for the moment that youâre missing an important detail, and there is time.â Jillâs grin grew wider. âOr maybe Iâm just interested in how much of a fight you could put up.â
This did not seem to fluster the bodyguard in the slightest. In fact, he just seemed disappointed. âPointless.â he said, and reached for his gun, only to give a grunt of pain as a knife appeared in his arm.
âFirearms arenât any fun for me.â Jill tutted like she was lecturing a misbehaving child. âAnd here I thought weâd have a nice hand-to-hand.â She advanced forward as the bodyguard clutched at his arm and glared at her. âOh well,â she continued airily, âIf you arenât willing to have any fun I guess weâre done here.â
Another flash, and another knife pinned the bodyguard to the door by the throat. Jill shook her head disapprovingly. âSee? This is just a mess. Now thereâs a mess, and itâs your fault.â She looked at the panel powering the security door and tutted again. âBiometric lock? That was your âimpossible to openâ door? I shouldâve just shot you in your office. That would have been a more exciting use of my time.â
Jill withdrew a square of film from her pocket that looked vaguely like a slightly thicker and more robust cling film. She placed it on the biometric reader and pressed her own palm against it. There was a pause as the film did its work, followed by a soft click and a hiss as the lock disengaged and the door began to swing open under the weight of the pinned corpse. Jill stuck her head in the doorway and smiled at her target in a reassuring manner that failed to reassure him at all.
âDonât worry,â she said in the same tone of voice a parent would use to soothe a child awakened from a nightmare, âitâs all over now.â
A few seconds later, it was. Jill exited the panic room and was surprised to see the third bodyguard had finally appeared; gun drawn.
âAh,â she said, eyes lighting up like sheâd just been given a bonus, âIâd forgotten about you!â
The third bodyguard looked past her and saw his companionâs body pinned to the door to the panic room which was half-open. âSo,â he said in a tone of voice that indicated a certain professional detachment, âmy boss is dead, huh?â
âIf your boss was the fellow in the panic room, then I am afraid to tell you that yes, he is very much dead. You are of course free to confirm that for yourself, but to do that youâd need to go past me â and while I am willing to just let you by, I donât think I could really trust that you wouldnât try to salvage a little dignity by attacking me while my back was turned.â Jill shrugged and smiled disarmingly. âI guess youâll have to try to kill me!â
The bodyguard seemed to consider this for a while, and then holstered his gun. âOr I could just leave. The body I was supposed to protect is dead, and frankly, from the state of my companion over there I would just as soon not get myself potentially killed trying to be a hero. Besides,â He reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a small card with a symbol on it that caused Jillâs eyes to widen, âyou just saved me a lot of trouble myself.â
Jill looked behind her, then back at the bodyguard, then huffed angrily. âOf course,â she muttered angrily, âof course it would be her, wouldnât it? Iâm going to kill Marcus for this. Due diligence my ass.â
âPlease donât kill Marcus.â The bodyguard said. âMy employer happens to like him, lord knows why, and you know how she gets.â
âNo I donât.â Jill said, sulkily. âShe doesnât talk to me. Just sets up these elaborate fucking situations.â She sighed. âI have to admit though, Iâm a little impressed. I really had no idea that she was pulling the strings on this job.â
âI think she prides herself on her discretion â and certainly, if youâre who I think you are, she has excellent taste in hired help.â
âHmm.â Jillâs eyes flashed with something that walked the line between flattered and annoyed. âWell, I suppose that means we donât get to fight after all. What a fucking disappointment.â
âWell,â the bodyguard said, shrugging, âas long as itâs not to the death, I suppose I could indulge you. Itâll make my story a little more believable when I have to tell my other employers how their client didnât make it.â
âAh, a real gentleman at last.â Jillâs smile became something less intimidating and more genuine. âWell, Gentleman. How much time do you think we have before your friends in the control room at the hotel realize theyâve been getting fake reports for the last ten minutes?â
âDavid.â The bodyguard said, inclining his head in a bow of sorts, âMy name is David. And I figure weâve got at least another ten.â
âWell then, David,â Jill said, stretching a little in preparation, âletâs make the most of it.â
Fifteen minutes later, reinforcements from the security team burst into the apartment, where they found two dead, one unconscious, and David semi-conscious on the ground, where heâd had his arm broken. What they did
not
find was the card that Jill had slipped into Davidâs suit pocket, where sheâd given him her hotel room number.
Part Seventeen
Part Fifteen
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Part Fifteen: A Waitress Breaks a Rule
Jennifer and Clarissa were sitting in the café near the diner, having just finished a shift. Clarissa had been strangely quiet, and was toying with her coffee cup like she was trying to work her way up to something. Jennifer, on the other hand, was relishing the feeling of being relaxed and something approaching happy for the first time in years.
Eventually, Clarissa spoke up. âHey, Jenn?â
âYeah?â
âI have a weird question.â
âWhatâs the question?â
âItâs kind of⊠I donât want to overstep or anything.â
âOverstep?â
âItâs just uh, whoâs Maddie?â
Jennifer felt her heart skip a beat. Keeping her voice decidedly even, she asked, âWho?â
Clarissa seemed to be choosing her words carefully, well-aware of how silly she probably sounded. âWell, remember the other night? You woke up all in a cold sweat? You shouted something about a Maddie just before you woke up.â She rubbed the back of her head in a nervous gesture. âIt just seemed like you were pretty distressed, is all. I guess it mightâve just been nonsense, butâŠâ
âYeahâŠâ Jennifer said, quietly. She unconsciously rubbed at a scar on her shoulder. How long had it been? Nearly four years? She didnât remember a nightmare, but she did remember waking up in a cold sweat, although it was a fairly common occurrence. Oh what the hell, she thought, it might be nice to talk about it with someone. âSheâs uh, an old girlfriend.â
âOh.â Clarissa looked deeply embarrassed. âIâm uh, sorry I brought it up.â
âNo, itâs fine. We uh, itâŠâ Jennifer frowned, trying to figure out how best to talk around things. âIt didnât end well?â She nodded decisively. Not ending well seemed like a pretty accurate description. âIt didnât end well. Itâs⊠itâs kind of why Iâm out here.â
Clarissaâs eyebrows shot up in surprise. âWow, thatâs pretty not well.â
Jennifer failed to suppress a laugh. âYeah, you could say that.â She sighed. âIt was my fault, really. I was so sure that I knew what was best, and it wound up driving us apart. This will shock you,â she said, with a wry grin, âbut I had this belief that I needed to do everything myself.â
This did in fact seem to surprise Clarissa a bit. âNews to me.â
âYeah, well, I learned that lesson the hard way. Turns out that if you keep trying to do everything on your own you end up driving people away.â Or you end up making the wrong call and damn yourself to being on the run forever, she thought.
Clarissa took this all in quietly, not really knowing what to say. She settled on, âWell, Iâm glad that you felt like you could tell me. It kind of goes without saying, but Iâd hope you know you can lean on me when you need to.â
Oh kid, Jennifer thought to herself, if you had any idea what that entails youâd never make that offer. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring grin and said âthanksâ instead before jokingly saying, âWhat about you? Got any dark secrets I donât know about?â
âAfraid not.â Clarissa said, shrugging. âGrew up not too far from here, had a couple relationships that never really went anywhere, ended up in the waitressing game after the Crash more or less made paying for school an impossibility.â
âIâm surprised.â Jennifer admitted. âYou seemed⊠huh.â
âWhat?â
âI just realized thereâs no way I could say âyou seemed like youâve been to collegeâ without sounding like an asshole.â
âYeah pretty much.â Clarissa said, laughing. âI assume that means you went to college?â
âYeah, I was lucky. The Crash didnât happen until I was in my last year. There was just the one year of debt to deal with. Which uhâŠâ Jennifer almost said âI faked my death and it doesnât matter anymore,â but settled on âIâm still kind of paying off? Which isnât much of a surprise, really.â
âSee, thatâs why I didnât bother. Plus, my parents needed the help to keep our house.â
Jennifer felt a pang of guilt as she stood and stretched. âYeah, that sounds about right. You ready to get out of here?â
The sun had set, and Clarissa somewhat reluctantly stood as well, grabbing her jacket from where it hung off the back of the chair. âYeah, letâs go. You uh, mind dropping me off at my place? Speaking of parents, mine are coming to visit in a couple days and the place is a mess.â
Jennifer shrugged easily. âSure, of course.â She looped an arm over Clarissaâs shoulder and smiled. âYou want help with that, or would you rather I didnât silently judge your poor housekeeping?â
âI mean, if you want to judge, you can feel free to. I donât think itâs any dirtier than your place though â and Iâve got the additional excuse of roommates.â
âRoommates who donât clean up, eh?â
âI didnât say they were good roommates.â
As the two walked down the street, Jennifer suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Casually, she pretended to stretch her neck out and caught sight of a few figures following behind, although she could possibly chalk it up to paranoia. The smart play, of course, would have been to get to the car as quickly as possible and hopefully get out before the possibility of a confrontation with, she assumed, some desperate criminal element who assumed a few women were an easy target for a mugging. That was not the worst case scenario, which was that the two following them were d3m3t3râs people â although Jennifer assumed in that case sheâd already be dead.
Clarissa seemed to notice her sudden shift in attitude, because she whispered, âWhat is it?â
âNothing,â Jennifer said, trying to reassure herself, âlong day just caught up to me, I think.â
âAh, old age is rough, huh?â Clarissa said, in a teasing tone.
Jennifer snorted and gave Clarissa a shove. âKeep that up and youâll have to walk home.â
Clarissa gasped in mock horror. âYou wouldnât dare! A young lady, out on her own at night? How unchivalrous of you!â
âPlease, itâs the 22nd century. I think weâre past chivalry being a thing.â
They were a block from Jenniferâs car when one of the two behind them spoke up. âExcuse me, ladies? Could you happen to have some change for the bus? I seem to have lost my wallet.â
Clarissa turned, already reaching into her own pocket. âOf course! How much does the bus cost these days, anyway?â
Jennifer watched as the one man quickly moved to flank them while the other pulled out a knife and grimaced. âWell, you know how it is with busses.â The one said, smiling in a less-friendly way. âBest to give us everything you have just to be safe.â
Understanding dawned on Clarissaâs face and she froze. âAh.â
âDo you really want to do this?â Jennifer said, sighing. âWeâre waitresses, you know. Not exactly swimming in money.â
âOh Iâm sure if you donât have much money thereâs other things we can take.â The man smiled nastily. âThat arm of yours for a start â cybernetics go for a pretty penny these days.â
âUnfortunately I think Iâm a little attached to it at the moment.â Jennifer said, narrowing her eyes. âBut we can give you the money weâve got and you can go on your way.â
At this the other man spoke up, mockingly. âYouâre not in a position to be cutting deals, miss. I think youâll find weâre the ones giving orders, and youâre the ones obeying the orders. So we will be taking that arm of yours.â
Maybe it was something about his tone that did it. Jennifer wasnât quite sure at the time, and later on she still wasnât sure. It didnât really matter in the end, of course, because what happened next ended up being the important thing. Jennifer smiled, and stood up a little straighter, and honest-to-gods laughed. She even applauded a little, causing Clarissa to send her a worried look.
âNow that is a hell of a line. I wonder, do you practice that in the mirror? No, no, donât tell me, I think I would just be disappointed if I ended up being right.â Her face hardened, sharpening her smile into something dangerous. âSo, Iâll make you a deal. You two leave us be, and go think about how you should give up this life of crime â or at least, cause trouble for the folks with a little more money than a couple waitresses. In return, I wonât beat you both senseless, which will doubtless bring the police into things and ruin your chances of being able to give up your lives of crime. How about it?â
The two men looked at each other, and then moved menacingly forward. Jennifer pushed Clarissa back out of the way and propelled herself in the direction of the one with the knife with a gleeful shout. This movement so surprised him that he actually seemed to hesitate for a second, which was all the time Jennifer needed to spin to the side, avoiding the knife, and bring her elbow â the metal one â into contact with the back of his head with an audible clang. The manâs head snapped back with the force of the blow, and he dropped to the ground in a senseless heap.
His partner brought his fists up and came in swinging. Jennifer brought her own arm up, deflecting the blows easily. She gave ground, letting him come forward and gain confidence, then used the momentum from one of his punches to spin around him and deliver a blow to the temple that caused him to stagger to the side. At that point, Jennifer brought her leg around and took his knee out, with another blow to the head sending him to the same unconscious realm as his partner.
Jennifer looked at the two unconscious would-be muggers and brushed her arms off, feeling satisfied. The feeling didnât last as she quite suddenly realized that Clarissa had just witnessed the entire scene and was staring at her wide-eyed. âCan you call the police? Or we can just leave them here and go. If you donât want to uh. Deal with cops.â
Clarissa seemed to be in a state of shock. âWhatâŠ?â
âThe police.â Jennifer said, patiently. âDo you want to call them, or do you want to just go? We can do either.â
âYou just⊠that wasâŠâ
Jennifer placed her hands gently on Clarissaâs shoulders. âHey, look at me. Breathe, okay? Focus.â
Clarissa stared back into Jenniferâs eyes, and seemed to master herself a little. Her breathing, at any rate, seemed to have slowed down.
âGood.â Jennifer said, still not taking her hands off Clarissaâs shoulders. âNow, do you want to call the police? Or do you want me to just take you home and these two will wake up with headaches in ten or fifteen minutes?â
Clarissa thought about the question for a moment. Eventually, she nodded. âIâll⊠Iâll call the police. Just to be⊠just to make sure these guys donât come back for us or something.â
Jennifer nodded. âOkay. Make the call. We can give our statements, and then Iâll take you home. Sound like a plan?â
âYeah it uhâŠâ Clarissa looked down at the two unconscious men again. âHoly shit Jennifer, where did you learn to do that? How did youââ
âLong story.â Jennifer said, a little brusquely. âWell, not that long of a story, actually. A buddy of my brotherâs taught me how to fight. As a favor.â
âAs a favor?â
âIâll tell you the whole story some other time, okay? I donât know how long these two will be out, so the sooner you call the police the better.â
Clarissa nodded and made the call while Jennifer paced back and forth and felt the adrenaline bleed out of her system. Things were, Jennifer knew, about to become complicated â obscenely, frustratingly complicated. The police would take a report, and that would get digitized, and while it was a fairly minor incident, it expanded her footprint. It put her on the radar of those with eyes to see it, even if there was nothing necessarily identifying about her. It also meant having to talk to the police, which was not something she was particularly willing to do in the best of situations, never mind in a situation involving assault and battery.
The soft sound of Clarissaâs footsteps behind her brought Jennifer out of her thoughts, and she turned around, arranging her expression into something a little more relaxed. âHey, kid. Cops on the way?â
âYeah, they say theyâll be here in a couple minutes.â Clarissa said, still looking a little rattled. âThink theyâll still be out when they get here?â
Jennifer shrugged. âProbably. If they arenât, Iâll deal with them. They arenât exactly professionals.â
The look Clarissa gave Jennifer spoke volumes. âAre you?â
Part Sixteen
Part Fourteen
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