I let the water run down my face. I stood still leaning against the sink, needing a breather. I splashed some more of the refreshing liquid on the back of my neck and turned off the tap. The mirror in front of me showed a face that was disjointed and marked by dark circles under my eyes. The poor lighting in the bathroom where I stood described an unglamorous place, with stained tiles and questionable hygiene.
In the scant privacy, I could see the unfriendly gaze of the rest of the people in the bathroom, some of whom had a rather doubtful image, revealing the danger on their faces.

After walking for quite a while and crossing the barren and uneven terrain, I was finally in the Outcast Quarter, a place with more life than I thought. Along the way, my only path was the disused railway that ran through the old car cemetery. A deserted place with almost no vegetation, beaten by the sun. An exhausting walk.
I slung my rucksack back over my shoulder and emerged from the washroom of the crowded café I had arrived at a few minutes before. A place that, built of stained glass and rusted metal structures, simulated the style of the old eighties bars; it was nothing more than a makeshift building, I implied.
—Forgive my clumsiness! —mentioned an unfamiliar fellow, in a clear sign of apology, after our bodies accidentally tripped over each other. His prominent Arab features did not escape my notice—. I should watch my step.
—No problem. —I nodded my head as a sign that all was well. The man watched me carefully with an unusual strangeness, and then continued on his way.
The chatter of those present brought me back to reality. I pulled my hood back over my head, though I presumed that in a place like this I would not need to hide who I was.
I approached the counter and paid the bill for the food I had just consumed. The girl at the other end of the counter, with a rather youthful and cheerful demeanor, hurriedly took the money and gave me a mischievous yet flirtatious smile as she played with her blonde hair between her fingers. I ignored the clear signals she was giving me and turned my back without much regret.
Lately I considered myself very good at being inconspicuous, but I felt the weight of the curious stares as I made my way towards the exit. "I guess strangers are rare in these parts," I thought to myself.
I stopped for a second, pausing in front of the front door of the café, it was uncertain what awaited me in that quarter, or who was waiting for me. I yanked the door open, and it closed behind me.

The sun beat down on me without a qualm the moment I stepped over the threshold. The bustle of the motley crowd that frequented the streets caught my attention.
A mixture of shapes, forms, silhouettes, even unusual technologies showed me the mix of cultures, giving the neighborhood a unique appeal. Amongst the supposed evils, there was a certain air of freedom. "What a surprise", I imagined the opposite based on the stories coming into the city.
A myriad of flats and houses, built vertically, shall we say, not strictly aligned, dotted the landscape, along with a large number of booths and street shops that crowded the main streets.
The smell of freshly made food from the surrounding stands, the hawking of colorful textile vendors, the tables covered with the most unusual seeds and fruits, the huge passing shop with rustic replacement parts that was itself the busiest in the market; all the activity and daytime bustle pervaded the place. I was even surprised to see the small balconies and railings with a few plants, flowering gardens and greenhouses populating the rooftops.
Machinery that served as a means of transport for light deliveries and courier services flew overhead, although their finish was unremarkable.

All these buildings, alleys, avenues and markets led the passer-by to a central square, where ceremonies or festivals of some kind were apparently held. Still, amidst all the beauty, cruelty existed. "All that glitters is not gold".

"I wish, you were here," was the only thing that crossed my mind at the time. It was worth it to share this experience with her, to coincide in this place and to be able to embrace her in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. "Eva", the rebellious girl who took over my life.

Finding myself standing among so much cultural diversity brought me back to the past, to the memories of those days when my family decided to spend quality time together. We would travel for hours to the greenhouse communes, on the outskirts, south of the city, always so fresh and flowery amidst so much greenery, a sensory delight. The artificial lakes, the air filtered by the most precise technologies, the fine dew that bathed the vegetation that was only appreciable in that place, the boat rides and the long afternoons sitting on the dock watching the carp bobbing in the water. Somehow I got that feeling again as I wandered through the narrow streets of the Outcast Quarter, a name that did not do it justice.

A small autonomous in the shape of a black cat pulled me from my thoughts, getting in my way as it tangled between my feet. So well-crafted that it seemed to purr just like those little animals do, created with magnificent accuracy. A perfect robotic copy of the animal kingdom, demonstrating once again the creative or mimetic potential of the human being. I bent a little on my knees to feel its texture between my fingers, but as soon as it noticed my intention, it moved away, losing itself behind my back. I turned with the intention of following him with my eyes.

"What the hell?"

From one moment to the next, everything went dark, giving me no time to react or utter a word. The last thing I spotted was a strange, unidentifiable silhouette that was lost to my diminishing vision.

"Maybe the Wonder Trio?" "Mc Allistar?"

Everything was uncertain and yet possible. The stranger had doused me with a mixture of powders that had ended up clouding my senses and paralyzing my body. Darkness reigned. The freelancer had only been a distraction.
In my mind's eye, the flow of time stopped, I stopped feeling. Nevertheless, I was conscious inside, awake but unable to hear, see or decipher what was happening, like a soul in agony stranded in the middle of nowhere. Very slowly, I came to my senses.

"A faint smell of chlorine, mixed with the rancid aroma of dampness" indicated my sense of smell. In the background, a little further away, I could hear a metallic tinkling, like small knocks through some pipes. After a while, I heard the crackle of "welding sparks" in the distance.
I was regaining control of my body, though at a speed I did not like. I identified myself as lying down, on a far from comfortable surface, but that was the least of my problems.

—Hey, kid. —I managed to hear, the voice sounded close— Don't be scared! —An unknown person was waving his hands like a lunatic in front of my face.
—Where am I? What do you want from me? —I was struggling— I feel a bit dizzy.
I could not quite make out the face that loomed in front of mine, I was only aware of a blurred silhouette that was slowly becoming clearer.

"Ouch!" I felt a sharp prick pierce my skin. What had that been?
—You see London, he's fine. He's perfect, it's just taken him longer than usual to wake up from the powder —mentioned a girl with no hint of empathy in her voice.
She held a screwdriver in her hand, which seemed to be the weapon that caused the puncture.
—By the way, you're no longer in the Outcast Quarter.

Who were these people? He caught a heavy glimpse of their silhouettes in the middle of what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary room. He was tall, with short dark hair and a muscular build, with a peculiar touch to his appearance that I could not yet make out. He was dressed simply and soberly, somewhat retro based on the fashions of the moment, just dark jeans and a pale sweatshirt. She looked like a girl in her late teens, I speculated, about fourteen, skinny and not very tall; she wore overalls with some grease stains and had her brown hair pulled back in what appeared to be a long, bushy ponytail.
—Sorry for the paralysis, it was the only way to bring you to our base without exposing us —the stranger man continued, he seemed friendly despite his recent image—, we know the three agents are following you, you were lucky to escape them, I think you underestimated them. Alicia filled us in. We could not risk you seeing our location, the Trackers could probe your mind in your sleep and that would get us into trouble.
—I don't know how you've managed to survive on the streets all this time, your survival instinct is nil —the girl mockingly mumbled as she looked me over from head to toe—. First, you attract too much attention; don't you know that even if you cover your face they can identify you? I guess you are luckier than smart.
The girl seemed to go all out with her blunt words.
—Good! You must really like the new guy to attack him with insults. Consider yourself lucky new boy, she's only like that with people she likes. She's entering puberty.
—Shut up, asshole!
—You see, that is just what I was saying. Do not be fooled, underneath that sourpuss disguise she is pure love. It is not easy for a girl her age to adapt to a place like this. She is the tough type.
The man held out his hand to help me, strangely his grip felt icy to the touch. I tried to hide my surprise, without much success, as I noticed his... robotic extremities. I sat on the edge of the gurney. My prying eyes kept lingering on the man's artificial limbs.
"A modified one."
—I have seen that same look of astonishment before. A pair of robotic arms is no big deal —stammered a senile-looking old man resting on the adjoining gurney, his restless gaze piercing me to the bone—. We are all modified at birth; it is the state’s best kept secret. I have seen it with my own eyes. They hide the truth and keep experimenting on us like laboratory mice. Do not trust in dreams, in dreams.
At the conclusion of his words, the old man turned around and resumed his rest, his back to us. My unfamiliar companions seemed to take no notice of the newly uttered plea.
—You fool, have you never seen a modifier? He used to be an Expeditionary before he came to us several years ago, one of the best I have heard of in the corridors —the girl said with an air of mock indignation—. He was the only survivor of his crew. —The man put his hand on her shoulder, interrupting her speech.
—That is right, I'm a modified —he mentioned, proudly raising his robotic arms. They were impressively finished, made of the finest of metals. "Titanium. No doubt, my surprised face had not gone unnoticed—. By the way, everyone here calls me London and this grumpy girl is Tayna Gray. Welcome to the headquarters of the Runners.

"Where had I ended up?" Alicia never talked to me about the kind of friendships that would greet me in the Outcast Quarter, much less, that I would end up in the Runners domain, though based on how little I knew her it really didn't surprise me. She was on friendly terms with all manner of characters, no matter what sphere they came from.

The Runners were wanted across the continent by a severe number of law enforcement agencies. Listed for countless crimes and embezzlements in major states and cities, no one had ever seen their faces. Recognized fugitives from justice. Their modus operandi was to leave no clues in their wake, avoiding any possible commotion, operating from the shadows in a mysterious way. Real ghosts.
Some years ago, I heard about them for the first time. They were the scoop, grabbing the headlines of all the newscasts; they had emptied the city's coffers and then disappeared like specters under the army's gaze. They were never found. That was one of the many times I heard of the Runners.
I would do whatever it took to see her, no matter which way I went, and I was in no position to negotiate or judge.

—I must get in touch with Alicia —I demanded.