47 – Epilogue

While Addie searched through the little deck she’d taken from the headhunter, Tony went through the other gear in the bag, laying it out on the scarred-up floorboards near the couch. He took out a bundle of shrink-cords, a blackout hood—complete with a built-in jammer, some grip-tape gloves, a box of disposable surgical gloves, a box of zip-meals, a carton of nutri-gel tubes, two auto-injectors containing a fast-acting tranquilizer, and—the cherry on top—a bandolier of “Lights Out” flash grenades.

While he worked, he tried to make small talk with Addie. “How was Beef?” She’d gone to see him the day before while Tony was out of it. He’d slept most of the day, but apparently, Addie hadn’t.

“He’s cranky, but he’s going to be all right. Doc Peters had to install a bunch of synthetic tissue in his hip and knee, but he saved his leg.”

“Tissue? Like tendons and—”

Addie nodded, still focused on her AUI as she scanned the contents of the data deck. “And everything—cartilage, ligaments, nerves. Let’s just say the Hellboys’ health coverage fund is going to take a hit.”

Tony snorted, wondering if the bangers had such a thing. More likely, they’d pay Peters back with favors or stolen medical equipment. He pulled the SMG out of the duffle and gave it a good look. It was an Icon Arms Pulse-10—honestly, a really nice piece of hardware. It shot 10mm ammo, was equipped with assisted aiming tech, and supported all sorts of attachments. Tony figured he’d get a suppressor if he kept it. “Sorry I didn’t come along, by the way. I mean, I got your message, but I was zonked.”

“Yeah, no worries. Yesterday was a blur, and I was antsy in the shop—didn’t want to wait around. I figured maybe you could use a little space. I mean, it’s not like you’re buddies with Beef, anyway. He’s always so rude—”

“Nah, he’s all right.”

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, and Tony looked up, having just pulled the mag out of the SMG.

“Found what you wanted?”

“Yes! There’s a vid of me here, but also files on all kinds of other people. I’m not sure if they’re victims or clients or both. Hang on…”

She trailed off, and Tony went back to the duffle, lifting out the shiny little needler. Nora identified it as a Yoshida Slim 99-A flechette pistol. Yoshida was a manufacturer known for quality. He would have been happy to own the little gun even back in the day when he had plenty of bits to spend. He popped the mag and looked at the densely packed, slender cartridges. They only housed a single needle, but they’d pack a punch and pierce all sorts of armor. He set it down near the SMG.

The third gun, which Addie had collected from the dead corpo spark, was another needler. It was made by Nogales Arms, a mid-range company, and loaded with botu-rounds—paralyzers. “Might come in handy,” he muttered, setting it aside.

“These are files on their other ‘clients,’ as that woman labeled them.”

“You mean people they headhunted?”

“Or were going to. More than half aren’t marked as ‘complete.’ We should warn them, Tony! What if other headhunters are operating in the Blast?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are. Yeah, we can give ’em a heads-up.” He looked at her, sitting at the little dinette table, hair pulled back in a ponytail, legs crossed, one foot twitching to some beat he couldn’t hear. She squinted in concentration at something on her AUI, motioning with her hand to flick through some element of the display. The sun coming in from the little balcony door was hitting her just right, framing her in brightness while the rest of the kitchen was dim. When she spoke, it almost startled him, and he looked away like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“There’s a lot of stuff on here—vids, games, music, but also all sorts of apps that look like they’re custom dark-ware.”

“Really? Like cracking daemons or…” He left the “or” hanging for her to fill in the blanks.

“Not sure. I’m not a pro and don’t want to run these without more info. They have titles like ‘Glass Spider,’ ‘WhisperTap,’ ‘NameWipe,’ and ‘Memory Burn.’ I mean, I can guess, but so could you.”

“You’re sure it’s not transmitting? Like, there’s no tracker on it?”

“Nothing. I mean, I’m not a netjacker, but I plugged this thing into it.” She held up a little cube-shaped device, black with blinking red skull LEDs on each side. It was a simple cracker and malware detector her father was selling out of his shop, and it was, supposedly, pretty good as long as you gave it a chance to update before using it. Tony had his doubts, but it had done its job cracking the deck’s PIN pretty damn well.

“Yeah, all right.” He nodded toward the door. “You ready?”

“Sure. You’re done?” She stood and walked over, tucking her fingers into the tight pockets of her slim, faded jeans.

“Mostly wanted to check out the guns. That needler is perfect for you, by the way—reliable, accurate, and the recoil will be minimal. Let’s find a place to do some shooting soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She peered at the duffel’s contents lined up on the floor. “So many shrink-cords. Too bad you didn’t find more trauma kits.”

“Here’s hoping we won’t need ’em.” He was being flippant, and she knew it. When she frowned at him, he sighed. “Yeah, I know. We’ll buy some.”

“What about this?” She lifted out the ballistic vest he’d taken from the female merc he’d killed.

“Has some bullet-proof plates. It’ll be good to have on some ops. We’ll need to buy some more gear like it, though.”

She set the vest down and tucked her fingers back into her pockets. “Lots of expenses.”

“Well, we better start earning, huh? Speaking of which, our appointment’s in less than an hour. Let’s roll.”

Tony led the way downstairs, relieved to see Mrs. Lane busy with a customer. He waved as he slipped out, holding the door for Addie. His mini-map estimated a thirty-seven-minute walk to the building where the district’s SOA administrator kept his office.

“We could spring for a cab,” Addie suggested, probably looking at a similar estimate on her AUI.

“What would we do with all that extra time, then? Besides, you need the exercise.”

“What did you just say?” Addie grabbed at his arm, clearly aiming to pinch him, but Tony sidestepped.

“Just kidding!” He motioned down the sidewalk. “Come on. It’s a nice day, isn’t it? I like walking with you.” That got a smile out of her, and she nodded, hurrying to walk beside him.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Addie made a happy-sounding sigh. “Special Operators Association, here we come! So we have to start at tier nine?”

“Nah, even worse—unranked. If we pull off even one job, though, we can apply for tier nine.”

“Yeah, but not free, right?”

“Nope. Five hundred each.”

“And it gets more expensive for each tier?”

Tony chuckled, stepping around a pack of young boys—banger wannabees. “Oh yeah, Ads. My tier-two rating cost me 85k.” While she gawped at him, he shrugged and added, “Applying for tier one costs a minimum of 250k.”

“What the heck? Why? What do you mean minimum?”

“Well, each tier becomes more and more exclusive; if you can’t handle the fee, it means you’re not pulling off the right kinds of operations. You’re expected to have backing, massive client lists, and a litany of legendary ops under your belt. People should know your name by the time you get there, whether they’re in the biz or not. Well, maybe not your name, but your handle. Think Grimwire, Horizon, Rook-9—”

“Ah, I get it. The scary runners everyone in the clubs whispers about. They’re all tier-one?”

“The ones I named? If they’re still alive, yeah.”

“Did you know people like that?”

Tony nodded, his mind drifting over images of chromed-out nightmares and shiny angels, high-speed duels, and whispered threats. He’d known better than to cross a tier-one operator, but he’d had his goals. Did he still, or was revenge everything? “Yeah, I met a few. I never had the occasion to work with ’em, though. Cross Corp kept me busy.”

Addie nodded, stooping to pick up a discarded beer pouch and angling toward an already overflowing trash bin. “If we apply for a tier but don’t pass the inspection, we lose the fee?”

“Yeah.” He watched her stuff the pouch into the side of the bin. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fail. I mean, we won’t apply if we’re not ready.”

Addie laughed and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You won’t leave me in the dust?”

Tony smiled crookedly. “Not a chance.” Did he mean it? At that moment, it felt like he did, so he smiled and laughed with her. “What’s your handle gonna be? You know mine.”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked!” She looked up at him with bright eyes, grinning broadly as they crossed at a green light. “Since you’re Shepherd, I figured I’d go with Dog Catcher. What do you think?”

Tony snorted. “Very clever, but I know you wouldn’t be caught dead with a name with ‘dog’ in it.”

“Hmm. ‘Sheep’? You know ’cause—”

“You really don’t have to explain it.”

“How about Leash? Oh, why are you frowning? Am I teasing you too much?” She poked him in the ribs, and Tony relented, chuckling.

“Come on, just tell me!”

“All right, all right. I was thinking of a name to go with my, um, journalistic ideals—something about shining a light on corruption. I thought maybe Torch, but then I decided people might think I’m a pyromaniac, so I went back to the drawing board. When I picture someone shining a light on corruption, I think of someone switching on a light and cockroaches scurrying—”

Tony smirked, nodding. “Like what happened in my bathroom this morning.”

“Hah! You need one of my dad’s little Kawaii robots; you can program them to catch bugs.”

“Shit, seriously?”

Addie laughed, nodding. “They’re good at it, too! I almost feel sorry for the roaches.” She sighed happily, then added, “Anyway, I thought I’d go with Switch. You know, like a light switch. At least I’ll know what it means.”

Tony nodded but held up a finger, hoping he wasn’t about to stick his foot in his mouth. “I get it, and it makes sense with your little story, but don’t you want people to hear your handle and be struck with an image? A switch…doesn’t inspire much of an image.”

Addie sighed and threw her hands up. “I’m terrible at it! Ugh, I hate naming myself. Spotlight? Too flashy. Truth? Too pretentious.”

“Well, when you said Torch, I thought of a light in the dark, and I liked it. Still, I get the idea of you worrying people would think you like burning things. What about Ember, though? A slow-burning, fiery coal, refusing to go out in the dark. A catalyst for a fire, a—”

“My gosh, Tony! Do you have a poet’s heart lurking in there?” Addie grabbed onto his arm, clinging to it as they walked. “I love it!”

Tony smiled, happy that she was happy. The pedestrian traffic was heavy, but they meandered around the clusters of people. The honking horns and shouting drivers faded into the background as he did his best to savor the unseasonably warm day and Addie’s company. He felt like much of his life had been cursed, but here, in the Blast, the most cursed place in the metroplex, he’d found a little piece of happiness. He’d met good people and made strong connections. He couldn’t help wondering if whatever had cursed him had died with his old life. Maybe he could make a fresh start in this most unlikely of places.

He shifted his arm, pulling it out of Addie’s grip but then draping it over her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “I’m glad we met, Addie.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes bright in the diffuse sunlight. “I’m glad too, Tony.”

***

Janet paced before her office windows, listening to the airheaded news caster’s report on the “stunning new development out of District Seventeen.” She was going on and on about the sudden bidding war taking place over a run-down cluster of housing stacks called Royal Breeze Apartments. “Those stacks were going to be mine,” she hissed, squeezing her stylus in her manicured fist so tightly that her AUI flashed, warning her that the pressure generated by her cybernetic hand was about to destroy the little device.

She relented and tossed the stylus toward her translucent desk. It bounced and flopped onto the carpeting, and she huffed in frustration. “Winston, get Ross on the line.”

“Right away.” Her PAI, as always, was nothing if not efficient. The call window flashed on her AUI, and she twitched her fingers, sending it to the CrystalGlass window pane. The call tone sounded once, and then Ross was standing before her, displayed in three-dimensional perfection as though he were really there. In this representation, he wore a tailored, brown Henderson suit, and his curly brown hair looked like he’d just stepped out of a salon. Janet knew it was bullshit; his PAI was doctoring the image.

“Well?” she asked.

“Excuse me, Miss Dawkins, but would you mind adding a bit more verbiage to that prompt?”

“More verbiage? How about this: Gregory, have you figured out how you failed to secure a buyout on that apartment complex before every corporation in the metro area started bidding and drove the price a hundred-fold beyond our reach? How’s that for verbiage?”

“I warned you that people were snooping around. The gang activity was too sloppy. You should’ve brought more people on board and paid what the holding company was asking.”

“So it’s my fault?” Janet struggled to keep from shouting, and the way she clenched her jaw as she hissed the question got Ross’s attention.

“Look, I’ll be glad to shoulder some blame. Maybe we should have gotten more aggressive sooner. Let’s be honest, though; it was always a long shot for our clandestine little holding corp. Those stacks were outside our reach from the start.”

Janet paced back and forth a few times, thinking. She wanted to blame someone, and Ross was an easy target, but he wasn’t wrong. She’d gotten greedy. If their little group could have snapped up those stacks, they could’ve leveraged that Dust access into billions of Sol-bits. “Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe the Dust coming up is an anomaly. Maybe it's too slow, too infrequent.”

“All concerns we fielded, yes. Look, Janet, hindsight’s twenty-twenty, as they say. We could have done things differently, but at the time, it felt like we were being clever.” Ross sighed and shrugged. “It’s not like we’re ruined. We’ve many irons in the fire, and if things do pan out for whoever buys Royal Breeze, we’ll find a way to profit from their good fortune.”

“True.” Janet reached up and tapped one of her manicured nails against her perfect, synth-diamond canine. “Still, do we know who broke the story?”

“Some small-time independent journo from the district—Adelaide Jones. She released it anonymously, so she’s not making anything off it. I blame the idiot bangers we had watching the stacks; I told them to get rid of her more than once.”

“Well, there’s plenty of blame to go around. You know where she is?”

“Yes. Should I plan a reprisal?”

Janet sighed, shaking her head. “No. Not yet. Keep an eye on her. She owes me, Ross. She owes us. Hurting her won’t accomplish anything. Let’s find a way to use her.”

“Sure. Anything else? I’ve got that conference with the Logan Group in a few minutes and need to—”

Janet flicked her fingers, ending the call. “Well, Winston, he made a good point. We’ve other projects that might pan out. Send a meeting request to Mr. Redding.”

“Shall I specify a subject?”

“The Boxer Corporation IDM project.”

“Right away.”

Janet sighed and walked closer to the window, looking out over the city. The NGT building might have been ruined from its former glory by the Blast, but her offices on the 197th floor still afforded her one hell of a view. “All those people, Winston, scurrying around like ants.” She lifted her gaze toward New Manhattan, and in the haze of corrupted Dust and pollution, she could just make out the silhouettes of the enormous megastructures near the horizon. “And those people in those towers are looking down on me, thinking the same thing.”