by J Bennett
I press myself against the wall, but Shadow holds out his hand and crooks his finger, demanding that I come forward. DeAngelo is still moaning on the ground, catching blood in his palms. My legs feel like jelly.
Strong, strong, I chant to myself, because I’m going to have to try and fight. I won’t let him break my face. But he’s so quick. So brutal.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die in Biggie LC.
I move forward on slow, little steps. My ears fill with the sound of my own panicked breathing. I think I’m going to piss myself.
No. I can’t die here. Not in this shigit town. Not at the hands of some rogue psycho hiding behind black paint. I reach Shadow and ball my hands into fists at my sides.
A figure darts through the darkness, making for the front door. Shadow reacts, twisting, reaching, and then he’s suddenly clutching a wriggling girl by her neck.
I see black braids. Dainty pink bows. Corinne sobs and claws at him.
“No. Don’t, please!” Her mother takes jerky steps forward. “We have money.”
Shadow grins, and I think I know what true depravity looks like. Very slowly, with all the drama of an experienced Persona, he reaches back and pulls the molten axe from its loops.
“NOOOO!” the mother screams. Corinne’s movements are slowing, her hands now clutching Shadow’s wrist. How can he be so strong, holding a girl with only one hand?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Shadow has decided to make an example out of Corinne. What matters is that I have to stop him. I’m almost close enough to touch him. I would only have to take one more step.
I catch movement behind Shadow. DeAngelo is crouching. He meets my eyes and gives me a small nod. His lower jaw is a mess, puffy and stained with blood, but he looks noble, almost heroic. At my side, I extend three fingers. We’ll attack together, get Shadow off balance.
Shadow holds out his axe. The blade lights up, glowing orange. I can feel its heat. I fold my fingers. Three, two…
The back door in the kitchen slams open, and lights flood the room. I flinch and then crouch as bodies rush past me.
“Let her go!” a bold voice calls.
A swarm of sleek cam drones buzz overhead. I stumble sideways, trying to find a wall or something solid to grip as my eyes painfully adjust. People are moving. Voices rise. Customers cheer. A man dressed in a ruby red costume takes a bold stance in front of Shadow. Holo-fire arcs around his body. Another figure twirls from the back hallway in flowing white robes.
Someone did get out a call for help.
The Elementals have arrived.
I hear a new sound, the unmistakable charge of a laz pistol, followed by the stench of ozone. None of the Elementals use laz pistols, and they’re illegal for townies to own. The shots must be coming from Shadow.
The bright glow of the laser adds to the confusion. Flame, the hero in red, dives out of the way. The laser carves a huge, dark gash into the wall. It’s not a stun laz. Heroes and vils aren’t allowed to carry real laz pistols, just stunners. But Shadow doesn’t follow the rules.
Someone could really die. This realization snaps me into action.
“Come on, come on!” I hear myself scream as I stand up and start waving customers toward me. A few stumble out of their booths, and I shove them toward the back door. Most of the others are a mass of confusion, some frozen in their booths, others crawling across the floor toward the front door. Some happily record the entire encounter on their Streams. One guy stands on a table to get a better vantage point.
I look longingly at the back door. The bubble above Shadow’s wrist is still counting down. Less than three minutes. I need to put some major space between myself and this hellhole. Instead, I do the lobotomy thing and crawl farther into the dining area on my hands and knees, keeping as close to the booths as I can to avoid all the moving bodies in the center of the restaurant. Lasers continue to split the air. I hear a cry of pain and the crash of a body.
I ignore all of it and start grabbing people, dragging them from their booths. The man standing on the table uses some inventive curses when I grab his Band, blocking the lens. I point to the scorch mark that ate through the wall millimeters above his head. Suddenly, he makes like a world-class sprinter toward the front door.
I see DeAngelo, holding Corinne to his chest, as he rushes out the front door. The little girl’s father follows, dragging his feet, his face empty as a zombie. Her mother is a different story. The woman stands in the middle of the chaos, screaming her head off.
“Corinne! Corinne!”
Clouds mist through the air. Rain must be using one of her devices. A plate shatters on the ground next to me, and I feel a squishy burger patty under my hand as I crawl toward the front of the restaurant.
I grab the woman’s wrist, smudging her expensive Band and yank her down. Less than one minute on the countdown clock. “Corinne’s outside!” I yell. “Come on!”
I glance around. Gust, the youngest and most beautiful member of the Elementals, is shooing a few last customers out the back door. Keeping ahold of the woman’s wrist, I pull her and myself outside. DeAngelo releases his charge, and Corinne staggers into her mother’s arms. The girl’s neck is mottled in deep bruises.
Our customers stand around the entrance of the restaurant, most in a daze. Some take selfies. One woman clutches her basket of Crazy Cleopatra Breadsticks and sobs. Others are gathering from the streets — mostly tourists, along with a few townies. A dozen Bands glow as they live-stream the action inside. A laser shatters one of the front windows and sizzles off a woman’s elaborate side bun. She screeches like a banshee.
“Back farther!” I holler at the crowd. I start pushing people.
“Back,” DeAngelo shouts with me. Thank God and Buddha and bear claw donuts for him.
The noise from within the restaurant abruptly stops. That doesn’t make me feel better.
“Keep going, keep going.” I wave my arms, herding the crowd.
The Elementals stumble out of the front door. Seed is limping, his face twisted in pain as blood gushes from a laz burn on his leg. Flame half carries him. My heart pounds so hard my entire body feels like a drum. I’ve been through plenty of cape-vil fights, but nothing like this. Not even close.
The Elementals shuffle toward us. The customers start clapping, a weak patter. Someone from the crowd begs for a selfie. Gust flashes the beautiful smile that makes suitors melt. She waves to the crowd. Her hand trembles.
And then the restaurant explodes behind them.
Chapter 5
Fav fight? I can't really say; I never enjoy fighting. My greatest joy is seeing the relief on the faces of the residents and visitors of Big Little City when they know they are safe.
Beacon, Interview with Reena Masterson
That night, bright, florid dreams assail me. I dream not of the explosion or Shadow’s greasy black face, but of the desert. Of unrelenting thirst. Of the fear slowly ebbing away until death is something to embrace. In my dream, Alby and I walk across the sand forever. Overhead, the cam drones watch, their lenses and all the eyes behind them eagerly drinking up our suffering.
The world watches us die.
In the morning, my hands tremble as I try to curl my fingers around the handle of a coffee mug, and my stomach twists at the thought of food. A high-pitched scream from the fashion show Lysee’s drooling over makes me flinch. I glance over at the holo-screen on the wall. The contestants are given straw and a specially modified Anders 3D printer. They have to make an outfit out of the stuff.
Straw. That’s about how strong I feel, but LGO. Life Goes On. It’s something you hear a lot in Biggie LC. Did Evil Santa’s Lunatic Elves grab you off the street and trap you in a giant Christmas tree ornament? LGO. Did you step in a pile of crap left from the Poetic Rider’s horse? LGO. Did a maniac blow up your restaurant as well as your paycheck?
LGO
Life goes on, and I still need to pay for college. This is the thoug
ht that forces me outside into the bracing, cool air. I walk the three miles to town, carefully skirting Iconic Square and sticking to the quiet side roads. No sense wasting my money on hired transport. My dollars are precious now.
My first stop is Palinsky’s. I’d like nothing more than to punch out all my aggression with Anthony, feel some fem power or whatever, but this stop is pure business.
Yun humans the desk. Ze wears a pale blue corset. Bright red umbrellas open and close on zir nails, as ze shakes zir head at my inquiry. “No open positions. Why are you here in person? You could have just applied online.” Zir Band emits an emoji of a confused monkey in spectacles arching an eyebrow.
I force a wry smile. “Have you seen my Stream score? I wouldn’t get through the filters.”
Yun glances at zir Band. I can see the exact moment ze finds my Stream in zir proximity list. Zir eyes widen and blink. Then ze looks up at me, holds out zir wrist, and snaps a pic with zir Band.
“I’m checking you in at the gym,” ze says with complete seriousness, “and I’ll give you a big heart smiles tag from me. That will give your score a little boost.”
“Thanks,” I say. It’s a nice gesture, especially because Yun has a thriving Stream, but I’m so far behind it won’t help much. No politico will admit that Stream scores are basically used as a good citizen ranking, but they also made it legal for employers to use them as a hiring factor. I’m sure at the time they said something like, “Employers need to take into consideration a prospect’s social cohesion and healthy interaction with their peers, blah, blah, blah.”
What that law really did was just speed our descent into a massive, unending popularity contest. The Fame Game writ large in every single city and town. Kids get Bands young, and parents flush with crypto Loons bring in special Stream tutors to give their progeny an edge.
“Alice, don’t space on me.” Yun is leaning over the desk, zir eyes hungry for details. “Spill everything about Shadow. The Redemption Café is a smoldering husk. A husk! It must have been pure thrills!”
The last thing I want to gab about is what happened last night, but it turns out that Yun doesn’t really need my input anyway. Enough tourists live-streamed the showdown that apparently everyone in Biggie LC already knows just about every detail.
Yun is amused that Flame got the worst of the explosion. They had to cart him to a burn unit all the way in Chicago. He and Seed will need skin grafts, and Seed’s leg is a mess from the laz hit. Rain and Gust are in the hospital, too, with broken bones and lacerated organs. If they hadn’t been wearing their carbon fiber suits, they surely would have died.
“That stunt was brills. Shadow is the worst,” Yun gushes happily.
Stunt. Yeah, right. According to DeAngelo’s Stream, he’s at the med clinic getting his jaw wired shut as they graft his bones back in place. At least the treatment got approved and fast tracked.
It was a miracle no one died.
“Shadow doesn’t even have a Stream,” Yun says. “They’re playing like he isn’t sponsored. He’s all mystery.” Ze shivers, and zir Band flashes an emoji of a cat, back arched, tail up. Ze looks at me.
“You’ve got to have made The Elementals’ ep. When it runs next week, you’ll grab a little fame. Add followers. Your Stream will gush.” Yun pauses in thought and then speaks out loud. “The Elementals are demolished. Flame may be out for good. That means tryouts for a new member, not to mention they’ve got a major revenge storyline to work with now.”
Yun shake zir head in appreciation. The umbrellas open and close on zir nails. “This is going to rocket their ratings. Shadow was probably the best thing that ever happened to them.”
“What if Shadow isn’t sponsored?” I ask quietly.
Yun laughs. Ze is a rare original townie. Ze grew up here, watched PAGS come in when ze was a kid and flip the entire place upside down. Ze’s seen it all, from Season One.
“Course he’s sponsored,” Yun says. “You think they’d let some random lobotomy run around with a molten axe?”
“Maybe. If it gushed ratings.”
Yun bats away this idea. “You’re pure cyn, Alice. PAGS controls everything. Ev-ry-thing. They just give Shadow a long leash; let him really danger things up, but he’s still leashed.”
“Yeah. K.” Doubts lace my thoughts. Maybe last night was some kind of mistake. Maybe the bomb went off too soon or the capes lost track of the countdown. But what if DeAngelo and I hadn’t pushed the crowds back? Surely the explosion would have obliterated us. My gut is telling me that something is very, very wrong.
“I’ll let you know if any positions open up,” Yun says. Ze gives me a flirty smile, “Or maybe I just accidentally fritz out the cleaning bot.”
I give the non-binary a little smile. “You’re my hero.”
Zir Band sends out little holographic heart-shaped bubbles in response. I turn to leave, knowing I’ve lost my best shot at getting a new job, when Adan pushes open the front door and strolls in.
Buddha farts.
Of course he’s wearing a tight muscle shirt, teched out to give him every possible physiological reading during his workout. The thing probably notifies him of any incoming pimples, too. It def costs more than an entire week’s paycheck from the Redemption Café.
“Ta, Alice,” Adan says, surprise rippling across his face. “I saw you were in the explosion last night. Are you hardy?” He seems genuinely concerned.
I glance back at Yun, who’s leaning over the counter giving me a big go for it! grin.
Without a word, I grab Adan by the wrist and tug him back out the front doors. The morning chill is easing, but Adan’s breath still puffs when he speaks.
“If you’re taking me up on that sparring invitation, you’re going the wrong way,” he says good-naturedly as he allows me to tug him further down the sidewalk. I glance around, making sure no cam drones linger nearby. Can’t be too careful with all those zoom lenses and sound enhancers.
“Maybe I’m crazy, utter lobotomy,” I start.
Adan grins. What the hell does he think I’m winding up to?
“… but I think Shadow’s off network,” I clarify. “I think he’s a freeter. A dangerous one.”
Adan’s handsome face folds into puzzlement.
“He had a laz gun last night,” I tell him. “A real one, not a stunner. That bomb he planted could have killed people.”
Adan must hear the desperation in my voice, the tremor of fear I stupidly let through, because his cocky expression shifts to concern. “Are you alright, Alice? Really?”
The sincerity in his voice is actually touching. It’s these moments, when the human parts of him come out, that make me actually like him… at least a little.
“You have to be careful,” I tell him.
He lets out a warm chuckle, and I swear his green eyes twinkle in the sunshine. “We’ve all got to be careful in this crazy town, but if you’re feeling nervous, the offer to spar still stands. I bet I can teach you a couple of things.”
His eyebrows dance suggestively.
…and here’s when my concern for him tails it. Maybe I should spar with him. It might feel good to land a few punches to that chiseled jaw. The trouble is, I’ve seen him going rounds against some of the gym’s instructors. He’s good.
“And you can always call a cape if you’re in need,” he’s saying with patronizing kindness.
I grab the front of his shirt and yank him down, probably crushing all the delicate, interfaced tech woven into the fabric. His hands automatically tighten on my wrist.
“Don’t go up against Shadow. Seriously,” I tell him.
This is when it finally downloads for him. I know who he is. Who he really is.
He lets out a high, garbled laugh and looks around quickly for cam drones. His Band beeps, probably letting him know that his heart rate just spiked. I let go of his shirt, and Adan very carefully tugs it back in place. He pats his hair, though his black locks haven’t moved from their casually tousl
ed state.
“My heart rate’s dropping,” Adan says, his voice hollow. “Better get to practice.” He turns abruptly, gives me a cautious glance over his shoulder, and then hurries into the gym.
Well, so that’s a mess now. He’s prob pondering if I’m going to blackmail him or sell his secret to the highest bidder. All I wanted to do was to keep him from getting killed for ratings — literally.
I shrug. I warned him, so that’s off my conscience. Might do his precious ego good to stew a little. I push thoughts of handsome, cocky sidekicks out of my mind. I’ve got another ass to save.
My own.
I spend the rest of the morning slowly walking the back streets of Biggie LC, carefully avoiding Iconic Square. The businesses are smaller around here, mostly feeding supplies, services, and consultations to the larger establishments in the town square. They also run almost entirely on AI and robos. Even though Bob has already cheerlessly informed me that no one is hiring, I duck into every business and ask anyway.
I collect a pile of polite rejections, mostly from cheerful customer service chatbots that offer to take a pic or vid to post to my Stream. These underwhelming results are no surprise. Robos can perform low-skilled work better, faster, and longer than humans and require only the cost of maintenance. They don’t steal from the company, or take extra-long lunch breaks to watch CGI squid-dolphin porn on the company Pod. Honestly, I wouldn’t hire humans either.
My next stop is Shield University. Competition for the relatively few teaching aide positions is fierce. It’s a lowly job, but also one of the few available to humans in education these days. I know the people who apply usually have teaching credentials, sometimes even master’s degrees and PhDs. Still, it won’t kill me to try.
