《Into the Night》

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"You okay?"

Frowning, I reach up and tug at the neon green wig pinned to my scalp. Brushing aside the angled bangs, which were cut at such a precise length as to assault my eyes when the wind blew, I catch a glimpse of the mid-level Sect - the crop of massive steel and glass skyscrapers, the interwoven tubes of the tram, ascending through the plate, and the sky, clear, dark, and dappled with stars.

"I'd be okay if I hadn't been forced into wearing this stupid disguise," I mumble, feeling a few stray strands slick against my skin, made sticky from the replicated summer humidity. "This stuff's like straw and the weather's doing me no favors."

My frown worsens as my fingers brush the leather belt, cinching me in at the waist. I'd rather have a voracious python wrapping itself around me, at least it would eat me and end my suffering.

The jeans Della had tossed at me at the end of our briefing hadn't been any better. They were tight around the calf, loose around the knees, and ended at the unflattering length of mid-ankle. At least I'd been given sneakers to wear. They were a size or two too big, but I could walk in them without looking like a fool, so I considered that a small victory.

Sin nudges me in the arm, smiling. "At least you're well enough to complain."

"I think I'll only stop complaining when I'm dead and even then, I'm sure I'll find something to bitch about, so don't fret."

Sin slows his gait so he can stare down at me, his lips losing their smile from seconds ago. I guess macabre wasn't the right attitude to have during a run.

Clearing my throat, I continue to blather, hoping what I'd just got said gets buried in an avalanche of incoherent nonsense. "Hey," I place my arms behind my head, both bags of Elysium pressing down on my shoulders and bouncing off my hips. "I read on the Network, real cities made it hard to see the stars. And then all the company buy-outs of lower sectors and littering those sectors with product advertisements, made it hard for the stars to be seen so eventually, they stopped programming the lower sect's night skies with them."

Craning his neck plateward, Sin says, "Never really paid attention." Unencumbered stars reflect in his brown eyes. He smiles. "Guess there's an upside to everything."

I snort. "I wouldn't exactly call it an upside. More like an unexpected perk." I stare up at Sin, whose head is haloed by an overhanging sign. "Kind of like how a fork can have the unexpected perk of being jabbed in someone's eye."

"Wasn't an eye." Sin points to his throat. "Jugular."

"So our anatomy lessons came in handy?"

He nods. "An unexpected perk." The corners of his lips curve upward. Sin motions to Quint and Marava who walk arms linked in front of us. "You avoiding them?"

I purse my lips. Throughout the past month, my interaction with Quint and Mars had been minimal, on purpose. Every time I caught wind of the pair, or my eyes happened to settle on Mars, I'd turned tail and bolted in the other direction.

They'd seen a part of me I wasn't happy to have shared to those closest to me. Even Mars. Her scowls became somehow worse, sparkling with hints of pity or sympathy. I missed the cold hatred. At least then, she'd seen me as her equal. She despised me but we were equals. I wasn't just some broken toy nobody had the tools to fix because I'd killed someone. I made the choice, it was my burden to wear and if I let it bury me, that was my choice too. No one had a right to look at me like that. Least of all Marava.

"One-zero. Forks."

I eye Sin. "Forks?"

He shrugs. The four satchels slung over his shoulders slap against his sides, like ants ramming a mountain.  "It stuck."

"We're to meet at the Viper Nest," Keran says sidling up to me. She's got two satchels, each filled with Elysium slung in a criss-cross over her body. Underneath, her clothes are oddly contemporary - a long, duster, black, falls to mid-calf. A crop top covers enough skin to be considered a shirt but leaves enough exposed to warrant quick glances and lip smacks from passersby not comatose as they peruse the Network. "Local tech bar, nothing fancy."

The words tech bar conjure images of expensive tech - the latest neural headsets and Network NavDots, attached to peoples' temples. Men and women laying out on plush lounges in a haze of scented smoke, while the drip trays straddling their chins catch excess drool as one by one their wishes were fulfilled in virtual space.

Other people frequented these places too, seeking to drown out their realities through cheaper and less creative avenues. The bars always came stocked with top-shelf liquors, some imported from ally nations, others smuggled.

Of course, outfitting such places with millions of dollars worth of tech meant exorbitant entrance fees, but apparently we need not worry ourselves. The Titav had things under control and if they didn't I'm sure Keran would take control at the end of that shiny gun nestled under her arm.

Sin places his arms behind his head, as if we're out on a leisurely stroll, the five of us chatting away as though we were old friends, and not accomplices looking to hock illegal drugs to a club of sedated upper-plate elites. Marava walks with her arm looped in Quint's. Ever since his wound healed, he looked better and relieved that Marava had stopped mothering him so much.

I stop under a lamppost as the breeze whips my hair into my face. My fingers tighten along the strap of my bag.

"One-zero?" Keran turns to look at me, and the others, much like dominoes, fall in line.

"It's been awhile," I say, watching as a wisp of digitized cloud floats in front of the moon.

I hadn't seen anything but ceiling tile and bad floral-patterned wall paper in a month. I inhale. The scent of jasmine perfumes the air. Hadn't smelled anything other than sweat and rotting potatoes. Occasionally, I'd gotten a whiff of coffee or fresh soap, or Nol's scent, but-- nothing like this. Nothing that conveyed a sense of the outdoors. Crickets chirp, despite the lack of them in the sector.

Keran slaps my back, not forceful enough to make me tumble, but hard enough to knock the thoughts from my head. "We need to make the drop."

I shake my head. "I know. No dawdling." I scoff. "Really. Some day, I'm going to buy you that dictionary so you can add some new words to your mental lexicon." Glancing at Marava as she struts about in a red, form-fitting dress that falls to mid-calf and feels unnecessarily fancy for our outing, I add, "Think they have an expression store?" Keran sighs. "If so, I could pick up another expression to add to Mars' collection. You know, so she has something to do besides scowl, grimace and--"

"Fuck you, Ten," Marava says.

"Snarl," I finish.

Keran shakes her head, her expression grim. "I haven't missed you one bit." She trudges forward, stomping past Sin like a whirlwind, her duster billowing out around her.

"And here I thought we were the only dangerous Liars." I hurry to catch up, mindful not to put too much pressure on my ankle. For the first time in a while, it doesn't hurt to sprint like this, putting my full weight on my ankle without fearing that I'll snap it, shatter the bone and be left with a permanent limp.

Keran stares at the small towers of steel and glass rising like mountains ahead of us. At the brilliant glow of yellow, red, and green lights. It reminds me of the Christmases past I used to look up on the Network - the hundreds of archived vids of long-bearded, pot-bellied Santas, jingling silver bells, families gathered around a well-stocked table, all smiling and content. The snow. How it blanketed the landscape when the breath of winter froze everything in sight.

Now all we got was artificial snow, pressed powder, ivory in color, available in twelve life-like snowflake shapes. A menace to clean out of Aviary vents, and a real bitch when it got wet and expanded like a million wads of wet paper towel.

"Remember," Keran says slowly. "We do the fighting so no one else has to."

I blink. I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or to herself. Then, Keran swung her head and gave me a long, expectant stare. I swallow. "So, you become what others need you to be."

She nods and tries to smile, though her lips don't quite turn up enough.

"I know you'll hate me for this," I take a step toward the city, where Alexios waited for our arrival. The bags seemed heavier now, unseen weight bogging them down and taking my shoulders with them. "But the Collective and the Council are a lot alike."

Keran shrugs. "Where two groups of people are passionate enough, there's bound to be similarities." She motions toward the others to keep moving. I do the same, taking one step at a time down over the hill, toward the city.

"How have you been?" Quint's voice takes me by surprise. I haven't talked to him much since we returned to HQ after the first mission. I avoid meeting his gaze, too many things were still too awkward between us and I lacked Tujo's ability to smooth things over with a stupid observation or idiot remark. The ice between us was unbroken, slippery and dangerous.

"Fine," I say, picking up my pace to fall in line behind Keran. "You?"

Quint shrugs. "Healed." I feel his eyes travel down my body, landing on my ankle. "You look better..." His words fade. Better than before, he wants to say. Of course I'd look better than before. Before, I'd been a raging mess because his shitty girlfriend had said all the wrong things at precisely the wrong time.

"Glad you haven't been swaddled to death."

An awkward cough slips out of Quint's lips. "Glad you haven't become as pill obsessed as Nol."

"He's a genius."

The image of Nol tense and straight-backed as he eyed the beakers of Elysium flits to mind. There was something to be said about the intensity with which he approached his work, or-- I gulp, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks-- anything that piqued his interest. His aloofness fell away, and a spark ignited in those eyes of his, one that signaled he was alive in the world and not simply a part of it.

Quint stares at me - unwavering, intense, probing my face for answers to a question he hasn't asked. A searing heat spreads from my cheeks down my neck until it settles in my stomach. "He's a loon for sure," I add, wishing to quell whatever ideas might have been dripping into Quint's mind about Nol and I. "But he's also..."

A heaviness settles in my chest. Nol is also what? Surprisingly dedicated? Compassionate? Serious when it comes to things that mattered? I shake my head so wisps of wig shield my face from Quint's view. Why was I trying so hard to defend Nol? Why had anger ignited inside me when Quint called Nol 'pill-obsessed' when he was? Nol could identify a pill from across the room. Could describe the subtle differences in chemical taste if asked. And yet...I didn't want Nol to be boiled down into his simplest parts. He wasn't some solution that could be reduced over a burner. He was...something. To me at least. But what? My shoulders slump.

"Ten?" Quint waves a hand in front of my face. "You okay?"

"No." I shake my head and sigh. "But that's okay. I've been un-okay for awhile."

Marava strolls up to us and jerks Quint into her. "See? Nol's weirdness is contagious."

"I'd rather catch any disease Nol has over the syphilitic cocktail you've got brewing in your shorts any day."

Marava raises a hand, her nails painted a lively blue.

I grin. "So instead of treatments you've spent all your extra cred on a new manicure. Way to prioritize."

Snarling, she brings the hand downward, slicing through the air. I close my eyes and brace for the impact, but no pain erupts on my cheek.

I look and find that Keran's grabbed Marava's wrist. "None of that," she says, throwing Marava's hand down. "Not while we're on a mission.

Marava throws her head back as an exasperated sigh escapes her lips. "Fine," she says, brushing aside her bangs. "But if she says another thing to me," her eyes flit to her nails, "When my nails go red, it won't be because I've painted them."

I chuckle. "Yeah, yeah," I say, waving her off, much to her venomous disapproval. "We get it. You'll use my blood instead of cheap paint." Her eyes harden as she looks my way, the corners of her lips curving upward into a cruel smile. "Because you hate me," I add. She flashes her teeth.

"Let's go." Keran tugs my arm, a little too hard, and I stumble a few feet before my shoulder clips her in the back. "We're almost there," she adds, pointing at the hazy, neon distance. "Third building on the right."

The building Keran speaks of is as classy as any other Tech bar I've seen advertised on the Network - it looks like a crystal palace smothered between twin smoke stacks of steel and opaque glass. Three stories high, all curves and etched glass, a dim rose light pulsating from inside.

My fingers tighten around the straps of my Elysium bags. Almost there. Almost done.

As we turn the corner, an e-billboard, assaulting us with the latest aviary weather conditions and local news, blinks, its feed interrupted, before beginning to strobe a violent red. One by one, other billboards follow suit. The few neon signs gracing the sky go dark. We all freeze. It's not until I hear the metallic voice drone over the speakers that I realize what's happening.

People of the Sect: You have been summoned to an emergency meeting. All Sector residents and temporary visitors are required to attend. Failure to comply will result in detention by Sector Police and lead to further action being taken. Please proceed to the Community Hall in Homestead Four with caution.

"Dammit," Keran spits. She slaps her thighs and turns around to follow follow the crowd of people ambling in the direction of the Hall.

"Are you serious?" I say, eyeing the tech bar in the distance. "We're going?"

 Keran throws me a quick nod while she continues to march away from the Viper's Nest. 

I sigh. " That's a surefire way to get caught."

"We have no choice," she says. 

Her hands twitch at her sides, her trigger fingers  flexing, closing around invisible guns that could somehow blow the situation into something sensible, something within her control. 

Whatever happened to us next was up to luck, or fate, if such things existed.