1 – Runner Threads

Tony stood back and watched Addie’s form as she moved through the little shooting course they’d set up. They were inside a half-burned warehouse not far from the “skeletons” where Tony had once lured a fade to isolate it and keep it from harming people. It was a creepy building, and Addie had insisted that if they were going to use it for training purposes, they could only do so during daylight hours. It wasn’t a matter of being afraid of the dark—Dust-mutated people and…things were far more active at night. As far as Tony was aware, no one knew exactly why.

Addie’s flechette gun made snick-snick sounds as she fired off several more low-velocity training rounds. He continued analyzing her as she darted toward the next piece of cover on their course. She held her gun well, close to her body, finger to the side of the trigger. She was quick and decisive as she lined up the next target—a significant improvement from day one. Snick-snick, and two tiny holes appeared near the humanoid silhouette’s neck. Tony had taught her to aim for soft spots because even her armor-piercing rounds would struggle to penetrate a ballistic plate.

“Not bad, Addie!” he called as she put two needles in the face of the cardboard target labeled Corpo Goon. He was being positive, but he wasn’t stretching too far. She was much better than when they’d started practicing a couple of weeks ago. Back then, she’d been very hesitant with the gun, but now she handled it like a pro, even clearing jams when the low-pressure training rounds failed to actuate the slide. She wasn’t any sort of tier-one or even tier-seven gunslinger, but combined with her smarts and potential for Dust talents, she was shaping up to be a hell of an operator.

“Really?” she asked, tucking some stray auburn curls into her knit hat. It was chilly in the Blast—Fall was in full swing. “You cleared it a lot faster, and JJ says I failed to take proper cover on station four.”

“That might be true, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re improving every time.” Tony walked over to the folding table where they’d set up their extra magazines and boxes of needler cartridges. They spent most of their time working on Addie’s skills, but when Tony gave her an example of how to do something, he used her gun. The needler was basically silent with the low-velocity cartridges, which kept them from drawing a crowd. “Want to go again?”

Addie shook her head as she stripped her mag and made sure the chamber was clear. “I’ve had enough. Besides, we need to get ready for our meeting with Torque.” She snickered as she said the name. Tony smiled along with her; it was a little on the nose, but then, that’s the way handles in the business went. She’d see many weirder names than Torque if they stuck with it.

“Yeah, ’bout an hour to kill. I figure we’ll go straight from here, or—” He glanced at her two big plastic bags. She’d been shopping before they met for gun practice. “—do you need to drop that stuff off?”

Addie smiled, setting her gun down as she picked up one of the bags. “We need to go home first ’cause we both need to change.”

Tony looked down at his jeans, sneakers, and second-hand jean jacket. “What’s wrong with my clothes? They’re clean.”

“Come on, Tony. We’re meeting our first fixer in the Blast! Don’t you want to make a better impression? I mean, yeah, you look fine, but…” She began pulling things out of the bag. “I spent some time at the surplus store and Salvage Styles. I think this stuff will look good on you. Don’t you think we ought to wear some proper runner threads?”

“You went clothes shopping for me?” Tony wasn’t sure how to feel. Was that something a friend did? He’d been careful to try not to lead her on; she needed someone a lot more emotionally healthy than he was.

Addie smiled and nodded. “We’re partners, right? So, yeah, your rep impacts me, and that means I get to help you up your game here in the Blast.” She held up a heavy-looking black jacket with a high collar and roomy-looking pockets. “This is made of Hardline fiber. I got it from the Boxer corpo-sec surplus store. It’s supposed to provide protection against cutting and—”

Tony took hold of the jacket, nodding. “Yeah, I’m familiar. This is nice, Ads!” He started shrugging out of his jean jacket. “Let me try it on.” He could see she was tickled by his enthusiasm, which was good because he wasn’t faking it. The jacket was a slick piece. His arms slid into the supple composite lining, and, to his delight, the sleeves were just right for his long arms. “Shit—perfect!”

“I’ve been shopping with you a couple of times, and JJ remembered your sizes.”

“Good job, JJ.” The jacket sat on his shoulders nicely, heavier than denim but reassuring in its weight. Tony beamed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. It was a hell of a lot warmer than the jean jacket. He’d grown fond of the soft denim, but he didn’t feel guilty; it wasn’t like he was going to throw it out. Addie rummaged in the bag and pulled out another item—black, military-style tactical pants.

She handed them to him. “You don’t have to try these on right now!”

Tony took the pants, exploring them with his hands and eyes, smiling at the extra pockets, reinforced seams, and sewn-in polymer knee pads. “These are smooth as hell. Thanks, Addie!”

“I figured they’d go with those boots you got second-hand, right? And you’ve got plenty of T-shirts, so, yeah, that’s all I got you.” She shrugged and looked down, and Tony could tell she was a little flustered because her cheeks always gave her away. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to grab the sides of her head, tilt her face toward him, look into those pretty blue eyes, and tell her how much heappreciated her. Instead, he folded the pants and set them on the table atop his other jacket.

“That’s more than I got you. Don’t worry—I’ll think of something to make it up to you.”

“No! We’re partners; I don’t want to hold things like this over each other, okay?” She stepped closer to him, her fingers working by her sides like she was trying to clutch something. When Tony just nodded, staring, fighting with himself, she cleared her throat and pointed to the other bag. “Wanna see what I got for myself?”

“Hell, yes!” He watched as she pulled out another jacket, this one yellow. It, too, was made from some kind of high-end fabric—he could tell because it shimmered a little and had rigid sections sewn on the elbows and around the collar. “Is that Polyweave?”

Addie beamed, nodding. “I spent most of my savings at that darn surplus store, but I think it was worth it. It’s supposed to be able to stop small-arms fire. Sorry, but they only had this one, and I couldn’t have afforded two of them, anyway—”

“Hey, don’t apologize. You know how relieved I’ll be knowing you’ve got that on? That is some bad-ass kit, young runner.” Tony took it and held it open. “Come on, lemme see it on you.”

Addie, clearly pleased with herself, put her arms into the coat, and then Tony let go so she could twirl, modeling it. She looked pretty damn good. It was a bomber-style jacket, and, as that style tended to do, it molded to her body nicely, bulking up her shoulders and shielding her neck with a high, stiff collar. The color was a little bright for Tony’s taste, but if she got it at a discount, that was probably why.

“Does it look good?”

“Shiny as hell, Ads. You’re gonna turn heads.” He grabbed the fabric, feeling it between his fingers. It was malleable, but the faster he tried to bend it, the more resistance it gave. Some kind of nano-structure in the material—metallic, if he recalled correctly—made it resist fast-moving things…like bullets. “How’s it feel?”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Really, really nice. Feel the lining.” She held it open with her hands in her pockets, revealing the silky gray lining. Tony ran his fingers over it, still warm from her body heat, and smiled.

“Yeah, that’s smooth.” He cleared his throat and looked away, taking a step back. “Guess we need to start making some money, huh? You burning all your bits on this gear and all.”

“Don’t worry. I’m getting more and more from my subs.” She was talking about her news site. Some of her vids had garnered some proper attention, especially the shootout at Royal Breeze. It didn’t seem like anyone had put together their involvement in the “Dust resurgence in the Blast,” but people searching for news on the Royal Breeze Apartments were hitting her page by the tens of thousands and watching the story she put together about the banger extortion going on there.

“I’m glad you’re making some scratch at least, even if you didn’t want to take credit for breaking the story about the Dust.”

“Yep.” She beamed, swinging her arms, hands still stuffed in her new coat’s pockets. “I’m getting tangential

page views.”

“Spare me the jargon.” Tony chuckled, turning to their little folding table. “Let’s pack up and head home to change, yeah?”

“Yep.” Addie went to work, loading her two needler mags with blue-tipped shredder rounds—armor-piercing. The little gun was nice and compact, and Addie liked how it looked. Tony knew it wasn’t really chrome despite the flashy mirrored finish. It was a nano-ceramic alloy that was pricy as hell and not to be found on most guns that might turn up in a district like the Blast. She slammed a mag into the grip, racked the slide like a pro, and then stuffed it into the waistband holster she’d gotten from her dad’s shop.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” he observed.

Addie gave him a thumbs-up, humming softly as she loaded the other magazine. “Thank you, kind sir.”

He watched her work for a second, then began stuffing the extra boxes and his clothes into the empty shopping bag. While he worked, he thought about their upcoming meeting. They were going to a club called The Ninety-Nine near the NGT building. Supposedly, it was one of the best spots to meet other operators in the district. It wouldn’t matter if it weren’t, though; Torque had requested the meeting there, so that’s where they were going. That’s the way it went when you had next to no rep, and you wanted to get work from a fixer.

There were anonymous SOA job-posting boards as an alternative to fixers, but Tony didn’t like the boards. They were known to be littered with honey-pots and corpo-sec entrapment operations. Sure, he was probably savvy enough to spot something like that before he and Addie got wrapped up, but why mess around with it? A fixer put another layer between you and the client, and they also had reputations to manage. Fixers who didn’t work on the level had short lives in the runner subculture.

Addie slipped her second full magazine into her coat pocket, then threw the empty ammo box into a barrel still smoldering from someone’s nighttime trash fire. “Ready?”

Tony hefted his bag. “Ready.”

They walked out of the abandoned warehouse onto an industrial street lined with other such buildings and a few construction yards. The traffic wasn’t heavy, but the vehicles driving around that neighborhood were big and loud, so they walked in silence for a while, heads down and collars up against the cold. Tony kept his human hand in his pocket but held the bag with his cybernetic fist.

The arm was working fine, and it was sturdy and strong, but he looked forward to the day he could get something a little sleeker—a little more nimble and with some synth nerves attached to the housing. The rubbery pads on the fingers gave him some sense of touch, but there were far more elegant solutions on the market. “All it takes is money,” he muttered.

“What’s that, T?” Addie’s use of the nickname made him grin. Beef had started it—in the Blast, at least. Plenty of people had called him “T” in his old life.

“Nothing, Ads. Just thinking of all the stuff I wanna buy.”

“Let’s hope Torque has a job for us, huh?”

Tony winked at her—a habit he’d been told was not beloved by everyone. “That’s right, sis. He better. Beef said he would, right?”

“Yep.” Her breath puffed in little white clouds as she kept pace with him, and her cheeks were rosy from the chill. He thought she looked pretty as hell.

“How is the big guy, anyway? Haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

“He’s back to his old self, hanging around in the alleys, terrorizing the locals and bullying his little cronies.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “He thinks…”

When she trailed off, Tony reached over and nudged her shoulder, sending her off balance. “He thinks what?”

“Hey!” She rebounded and charged forward, bumping him with her shoulder. She was a lot shorter than he was, but the impact had a surprising amount of force behind it. He stumbled and laughed.

“You should’ve played more sports. You’ve got a nice, low center of gravity!”

“Is that some kind of short joke? I’m not short!”

Tony held his black metal-and-plastic hand up, the shopping bag dangling. “Easy! I surrender. Come on, what’s the deal with Beef?”

“He thinks I owe him a dinner. Back when you guys came to rescue me—when I thought he was dying—I asked him if we could go out to eat again, you know, to try to encourage him to keep breathing.”

Tony snorted. “Well, that’s not a big deal. Let the guy take you out for barbeque again.”

“I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea, you know?”

“Yeah, Ads. I get it.” He sighed, all too familiar with how one’s desires often conflicted with the designs of fate. “If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one having trouble like that.”

Addie’s eyes opened wider, and she looked at him intently as they walked, almost running into a light pole on the corner. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Oh, I ran into Maisie at the gym this morning.” Tony shrugged. “She wants to get lunch to, uh, talk about things.”

Addie got quiet, and Tony immediately wondered if he should have kept his dumb mouth shut. She and Maisie didn’t get along before the other woman’s uncle forced her to lure Tony into a trap. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell Addie was a little sweet on him, despite what a bad idea that would be, and she probably didn’t love the idea of him meeting with Maisie. After they walked in silence for a few more steps, crossing the street into their neighborhood, he nudged her shoulder. “It’s just a lunch. I think she still feels guilty about what her uncle did.”

She sniffed, probably because of the chilly air. “Just be careful. You don’t know how involved she still might be with the Black Jades.”

Tony nodded. “Trust me, I will be.” Thinking about ambushes brought his mind to the comfortable weight pressing against his lower back—the .40 caliber pistol he’d taken from the bangers at The Royal Breeze. It was a nice, solid gun, though not as premium as Addie’s. He’d cleaned it up, gotten some polymer-coated rounds designed for stopping power, and tested out the smart-sight calibration. It was dialed in for up to twenty meters.

When they turned onto Clarence Avenue, Tony pointed to Bert’s shop. “I’ll meet you out front after I get changed, okay?”

“Sure. We’re taking a cab, right?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, unless you wanna jog.”

“Hilarious. See you in five minutes!” She waved and jogged across the street, and Tony walked to the flower shop, above which his apartment waited.

When he walked inside, the bell rang, and Mrs. Lane looked up from behind the counter. She was arranging a bouquet, her hands busy trying to weave some tiny white flowers amongst the bigger, brighter ones. “Tony! I was afraid I’d miss you today. It’s almost time to close up shop.”

“Hey, Mrs. Lane. How was business?”

“Slow, honey. Slow, slow, slow. Why don’t you help me out and buy a bouquet for that pretty girl down the street, hmm?” She chased her words with a giggle.

Tony waved his free hand, walking past her counter toward the back stairs. “You’re trying to get me in trouble.”

“What? Why would that get you in trouble?”

“Mrs. Lane, I might not be old and wise, but I’ve learned a thing or two, and number one out of all my lessons is that women equal trouble.”

“Oh, you! That’s nonsense!”

Tony laughed and hurried to the steps, calling over his shoulder, “Just kidding, Mrs. Lane! I’m just not lucky in love.” When he was out of earshot, he muttered, “And that ain’t no lie.” A few double steps later, he was outside his door, pushing his thumb to the biometric lock. He went inside, through his spartanly furnished living room, to his bedroom, where he had a folding table in one corner piled with his clothes. The only other furnishing in the space was a foam, queen-sized mattress he’d ordered on the city net—no bed frame.

He kicked off his sneakers and changed his pants, surprised by how well the ones Addie bought him fit. There was no way he could pull off the same thing. If he tried to buy her clothes, it would take a stroke of luck for him to get anything right. He stuffed his pistol holster inside his waistband, then, for good measure, put a flash-bang grenade in his coat pocket—one of the ones he and Addie had scavenged from the mercs who’d tried to kidnap her.

He stopped by the fridge to grab a Mr. Nuke—an orange-flavored protein and energy drink—then, at the door, stepped his feet into the well-used black combat boots he’d picked up at the second-hand store. When he bought them, he’d installed new insoles and fixed a leak in the pneumatic system that made them auto-tighten around his feet. He grinned as they worked, humming as their tiny pumps filled the gel-lined air bladders.

“All right, Nora,” he said to his PAI. “Call us a cab. It’s time to meet Torque.”