to her stats, from every possible measurement. Stepford adorable. I thumb down to get city of origin, medical history, recruitment information, but all that has been overwritten with red lettering:
DECEASED
Fuck me. The girl who tattooed her name on Micah’s heart is dead.
I guess I’d thought maybe, just maybe, if I could track down Bryn, I’d be able to locate Micah. Make sure Adonis didn’t do any permanent damage.
Best of intentions that, in hindsight, are nothing but ridiculous.
I get ready to close out the screen, except I realize it’s not just Bryn. There are links to more names, ones I also recognize from Micah’s tattoo: Zane. Rina. Trav. Except a security firewall activates, and I can’t access more information without punching in a password.
“Jesus, Micah,” I whisper, “what were you guys into?”
And then I remember his hands on my face, his eyes burning into me.
Please, please don’t ever touch that rancid garbage ever again. It will fuck up your soul.
Applejack.
M
I have to stop. Breaths are getting shallower. If I’m not careful, I’ll start hyperventilating, maybe even pass out. A brutal stitch in my side throbs with every step, and I slump against the wall of a municipal building. I’m not even halfway to the mall, but it feels like I’ve been racing uphill for hours in a lead jumpsuit. At this rate, I’ll never make it.
A trolley rolls past, too fast for me when I’m winded and wheezing like this. I stumble a bit getting upright again and walk back out onto the main road, glaring at every cab that speeds by. One more thing I’m denied off-grid.
Feeling exposed, I slip into a crowd gathered outside the neighboring market. I glance up and down the street and see people huddled around every vidscreen and newslink they can find, watching intently. Guess the media blitz is working just fine.
I let the crowd close around me as a news blast dominates the screen, and one of their airbrushed talking heads, all brilliant teeth and bronzed skin, does his thing.
“Reports of small-scale rioting have been reported at the Paleteni Mall Complex this afternoon as overexcited crowds slipped past security cordons. They’re being managed by mall security and Facilitators, and once the issue is resolved, the Sugar Skulls’ performance will go on as planned.”
Rioting before She’s even sung a note? Impressive. I wonder if that’s Her doing or Trouble’s. I smile, despite the lingering pain from the chase.
It’ll take a while to get the crowd under control in a media-friendly fashion. There’s still time. Time to catch the show, time for her to pluck those strings inside me again.
Parting the crowd with excuse-me’s and pardon-me’s and hey-buddy-do-you-mind’s, I push my way to the corner where several fellow vidscreen watchers are flagging down an approaching trolley.
Normally I’d avoid it—scanner-free or not, confined spaces are not the fugitive’s friend—but it’s the only way I’ll make it to the mall in my condition. And luckily, today fortune favors the impulsive and injured.
Ludo. Finally.
Guarding my ribs, I brush past a few straphangers and sidle up to the sullen-looking elf, slightly pointed ears accented with cartilage piercings galore, decked in ripped jeans and a leather jacket one size too big. Reliable customer for most of the dealers in town, legit and otherwise. Plays dumb, but knows plenty. And he’s been ducking me for a while now. I even changed laundromats so I’d have an excuse to “bump into him,” but until now, no dice.
I slap his back with one hand, and he practically hits the ceiling. “Hey, Ludo, long time no see.”
“Hey, Mi—my man . . .” He catches himself. Eyes darting around, looking for an exit, his hand tightens on the leather strap overhead, as if he’s considering taking a chance and swinging to freedom.
I lean close and whisper, “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. There’s two off-the-clock greyfaces
DECEASED
Fuck me. The girl who tattooed her name on Micah’s heart is dead.
I guess I’d thought maybe, just maybe, if I could track down Bryn, I’d be able to locate Micah. Make sure Adonis didn’t do any permanent damage.
Best of intentions that, in hindsight, are nothing but ridiculous.
I get ready to close out the screen, except I realize it’s not just Bryn. There are links to more names, ones I also recognize from Micah’s tattoo: Zane. Rina. Trav. Except a security firewall activates, and I can’t access more information without punching in a password.
“Jesus, Micah,” I whisper, “what were you guys into?”
And then I remember his hands on my face, his eyes burning into me.
Please, please don’t ever touch that rancid garbage ever again. It will fuck up your soul.
Applejack.
M
I have to stop. Breaths are getting shallower. If I’m not careful, I’ll start hyperventilating, maybe even pass out. A brutal stitch in my side throbs with every step, and I slump against the wall of a municipal building. I’m not even halfway to the mall, but it feels like I’ve been racing uphill for hours in a lead jumpsuit. At this rate, I’ll never make it.
A trolley rolls past, too fast for me when I’m winded and wheezing like this. I stumble a bit getting upright again and walk back out onto the main road, glaring at every cab that speeds by. One more thing I’m denied off-grid.
Feeling exposed, I slip into a crowd gathered outside the neighboring market. I glance up and down the street and see people huddled around every vidscreen and newslink they can find, watching intently. Guess the media blitz is working just fine.
I let the crowd close around me as a news blast dominates the screen, and one of their airbrushed talking heads, all brilliant teeth and bronzed skin, does his thing.
“Reports of small-scale rioting have been reported at the Paleteni Mall Complex this afternoon as overexcited crowds slipped past security cordons. They’re being managed by mall security and Facilitators, and once the issue is resolved, the Sugar Skulls’ performance will go on as planned.”
Rioting before She’s even sung a note? Impressive. I wonder if that’s Her doing or Trouble’s. I smile, despite the lingering pain from the chase.
It’ll take a while to get the crowd under control in a media-friendly fashion. There’s still time. Time to catch the show, time for her to pluck those strings inside me again.
Parting the crowd with excuse-me’s and pardon-me’s and hey-buddy-do-you-mind’s, I push my way to the corner where several fellow vidscreen watchers are flagging down an approaching trolley.
Normally I’d avoid it—scanner-free or not, confined spaces are not the fugitive’s friend—but it’s the only way I’ll make it to the mall in my condition. And luckily, today fortune favors the impulsive and injured.
Ludo. Finally.
Guarding my ribs, I brush past a few straphangers and sidle up to the sullen-looking elf, slightly pointed ears accented with cartilage piercings galore, decked in ripped jeans and a leather jacket one size too big. Reliable customer for most of the dealers in town, legit and otherwise. Plays dumb, but knows plenty. And he’s been ducking me for a while now. I even changed laundromats so I’d have an excuse to “bump into him,” but until now, no dice.
I slap his back with one hand, and he practically hits the ceiling. “Hey, Ludo, long time no see.”
“Hey, Mi—my man . . .” He catches himself. Eyes darting around, looking for an exit, his hand tightens on the leather strap overhead, as if he’s considering taking a chance and swinging to freedom.
I lean close and whisper, “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. There’s two off-the-clock greyfaces
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