Monday October 17th, 2050

  "So what? Are you going to beg Marranen to let you keep the van after this? Your costume won't be complete without it," Zeke mentions as they continue straight along the canal.

  "Maybe I will, man. Marranen likes me," Dez proclaims confidently as he rests his wrist on the steering wheel.

  "Really?" Zeke scoffs. "And you figured that through texts where she barely types more than a sentence?" He questions his driver as droplets of rain begin peppering the windshield and the top of the van. The gentle drumming of rain fills the van with a calming background song that mutes everything else that isn't their voices.

  "When you know, you know," Dez replies as various billboards along the side of the canal begin lighting the interior of the van in shades of advertising.

  "So you're leaving Em for a suit?" Zeke scoffs as the whole van burns in deep red.

  Dez rolls his eyes, and under any other circumstances, he'd be slamming on the brakes and launching an irate tangent toward Zeke, but he wants to keep this air of semi-professionalism they've been sharing. "Why do you always put words in my mouth, Z? It's called leverage. I cozy up to Marranen so she lets me get away with a few perks that wasters like you would never get!" He exclaims as the red subdues itself to a purple.

  "Jeez, Dez, alright, play our boss like a fiddle. Wasters are totally known for outsmarting suits," Zeke plays along with Dez's fantasy as the purple shifts into a deep blue.

  "What do you even know about women, Z? I've known you for a decade, and you've never gotten past a first date. Except with that one girl, what was her name…" Dez trails on, trying to look through the filing cabinets of his mind for a name that never was too important to him.

  "Anna," Zeke helps him find the dusty file.

  "Anna, that's right. You dated her for how long, three months?" Dez guesses as the blue brightens up to a nauseating cyan.

  "Four months," Zeke corrects him as he closes his eyes from the cyan cutting through the windows.

  "Shit, that was a long time ago, Z. She must've messed you up real bad," Dez remarks, not really remembering those times as they're clouded by times of early-twenties debauchery. "You never told me why you two didn't work out," he mentions as the cyan finally dips away, letting a neon green take its spot.

  "Can't tell you what I don't know. Just ghosted me one day; haven't seen her since. I wonder if she's still in Hartcord; she always mentioned going overseas," Zeke says, blinking away memories he doesn't want bubbling up right now.

  Dez chuckles. "Traveling? On a bartender's salary?" He questions this phantom woman's thought process as orange claims the van and everything within it.

  "Hey, she was making pretty good tips when she was working—"

  The canvas body bag tears loose, the fabric screeching as it fails its only purpose. Blonde hair, torn canvas, and the flash of a switchblade come crashing into Zeke as Samantha slams her elbow into his throat and pushes him against the side of the van. The tip of her switchblade touches his gut. "Keep driving!" She screams.

  "Holy shit!" Dez shouts as he begins to swerve in sudden panic. Thankfully, the empty road doesn't provide any obstacles to crash into.

  "You better keep the van straight, or my hand will slip!" Samantha warns Dez as the switchblade continues threatening Zeke's innards with every bump and sudden turn of the wheel.

  "Alright, alright! Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" Dez pleads with their meal ticket.

  "Our turn's up ahead," Zeke mutters, barely able to get the words out as Samantha keeps the pressure on his throat.

  "Make any turns, and you'll be loading your friend into this body bag instead!" Samantha shouts as orange shifts to maroon, then to yellow, then to pink, as Dez keeps the van speeding down the road.

  Zeke looks into Samantha's eyes. They're wild and frenzied, the color in them changing every time they drive past another billboard. Bags are under her eyes, but the rest of her face is blemish-free. Her hair doesn't look to have been washed in days, maybe a week. But the only thing that invites him to speak is the sweat slickening her skin.

  "You know who hired us?" Zeke asks her.

  "Was just gonna ask," Samantha replies, the pink lingering for a bit longer, its billboard stretching wide as it shows off cosmetic beauty products.

  "SS," Dez tells her on Zeke's behalf. "Sash—"

  "I know what fucking SS means," Samantha declares bitterly, her switchblade accentuating her words for Zeke. "Which suit hired you?" She questions the two exterminators.

  "Fuck if I know," Zeke responds, only to get his throat crushed even more.

  "Bullshit! You said a name earlier! Which suit?" She asks again, this time the switchblade drawing a droplet of blood that loosens Zeke's lips.

  "Devon Marranen," Zeke says as he watches them miss their turn. The storage facility becomes a distant memory as it sinks back into the stomach acid of the city.

  "Listen," Dez says, the one word showing every ounce of anxiety within him. "I'm just going to reach for the windshield wipers, nothing more. We didn't pack any heat," he tells Samantha.

  Samantha doesn't glance towards Dez, instead keeping her eyes locked on the kidnapper on the other end of her blade. She takes a couple of breaths as the colors of the van revert back into their original shades as they pass a white billboard sporting a juicy burger and fries combo. Her blue eyes look into the dark brown of Zeke's as she replies. "Any sudden movement, I dare you," she exclaims.

  "Please, I can't drive if I can't see. I won't do anything out of the ordinary," Dez promises before reaching for the wiper lever. He clicks the lever down one, and the wipers begin moving side to side, clearing up the view of the windshield. Dez's hand goes back to the steering wheel and pours relief over Samantha.

  "Tell me about Marranen!" Samantha demands, her eyes wild like her insides have been set on fire.

  Zeke groans before responding, saying, "Never met her, only talked through text."

  "Then how do you know she's with SS?" Samantha fires another question at the duo.

  "Pays like, SS!" Dez proclaims.

  "Do you even know what this job is about? Did she tell you why SS wants me?" Samantha questions her two captors, vitriol oozing through every syllable.

  "Don't get paid enough to know, miss," Dez tells her as the white finally surrenders and is replaced by the muted colors of reality. They finally shake off the stretch of billboards and advertising as they continue down along the canal.

  "That's convenient for her," Samantha remarks before shaking her head. She's unable to hold down her amusement and lets out a laugh. "You fucking amateurs! You really think SS would hire lowlifes like you? They only tolerate absolute perfection," she declares, words coming out like the deadly hiss of a cobra.

  "And what the fuck do you know about SS?" Dez adds to the questionnaire.

  Samantha scowls at her kidnappers. "Weird, huh? Your boss gave you a name and a number, and you pounced. Now that you're in the shit, you start asking questions. Well, it's too fucking—"

  POP!

  In an instant, the front right tire of the van pops, and the vehicle is sent swerving from side to side as Dez tries to maintain control. Zeke and Samantha jostle in the back, both of them scrambling, trying to get atop the other to no avail as they just can't maneuver effectively in the chaos. However, with the slick streets, Dez is unable to keep the van steady and overcompensates. The van tumbles and rolls down the edge of the canal, slamming into a short wall that keeps them from plunging into the frigid waterway.

  The bumper and hood of the van crumple, spewing up light smoke into the dark, cloudless sky. Dez pushes the airbag out of the way and checks the rearview mirror. Blood pours from his nose and, much like their van, is at an awkward angle. His vision blurs his face as he focuses on what's happening in the back of the van. Zeke holds Samantha in a chokehold, her switchblade now turned against her as Zeke holds it up to her face.

  "We're going to play this nice and cool," Zeke says, happy to finally be able to speak clearly. Although his joy is diminished given their circumstances. "You're going to behave yourself while Dez gets us back on the road," he demands of her.

  "Still going through with the job?" Samantha asks; this time it's her who speaks through a strangling filter. "Who do you think popped your tire? You were late. SS only tolerates perfection," she repeats to her two kidnappers.

  "It's a fucking junk van," Dez remarks. "Wheels will pop on a piece of shit like—"

  POP!

  PING!

  This time, the pop is distant, barely perceivable as the rain takes center stage of the symphony of the city. A bullet penetrates the roof of the van; it pushes apart cheap aluminum, and then fabric, and then flesh, and then muscle, but stops before reaching bone.

  "Fuck!" Dez roars as he clutches at his right arm.

  "Shit! Dez, you alright?" Zeke asks his friend as blood begins staining the gray jumpsuit.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Fine…fuck!" Dez shakes his head, more enraged than hurt.

  "They have us! We need to get out of here!" Samantha urges Dez and Zeke as she gives up trying to wrangle herself from the latter's grasp.

  "Us? We?" Zeke questions Samantha's choice of words.

  "Van is bugged, no doubt. We need to go on foot!" Samathana tells them before another bullet comes whizzing at the van, this one striking the bent hood.

  Dez punches the glove compartment, and it pops open; in it, a Tundra Owl hand cannon waits for him and his familiar grip. "Take her, Z! Bastards are trying to light us ablaze!" Dez exclaims as he opens the driver-side door. It hits the canal wall, but there's just enough space for Dez to squeeze out of the ruined vehicle.

  "Nothing stupid," Zeke grits his teeth, telling Samantha as he opens the back door and drags her and himself out of the van.

  All three of them take cover behind the van, huddling between it and the canal's wall. Dez scans the rooftops for glints, barrels, or anyone dumb enough not to be wearing dark colors. He doesn't spot anything until a muzzle flashes and another bullet flies past his head and into the murky water of the canal.

  "Dez, you're going to get your head blown off!" Zeke shouts.

  "Found you, motherfucker," Dez whispers, ignoring Zeke as he spots a sniper on a rooftop of an abandoned building. He aims the iron sights of his Tundra Owl and watches the sniper load another clip into the rifle.

  The sniper, wearing full black tactical gear and a ski mask, takes their time. They pull another three-round clip from their vest and slide it into place. They pull back the bolt of their weapon and position themselves again to fire. They look through the scope only to see what no sniper ever wants to see: their position compromised. .50 Clash Manifest does what it was made to do and rips through flesh and bone, with a healthy amount of brain too.

  "Fuck yeah! Fuck you! Shit for brains, scumbag!" Dez celebrates, pumping his arms as adrenaline courses through his veins and lets him forget about the pain in his shoulder.

  "That's great!" Samantha exclaims. "You just killed an SS employee with the loudest hand cannon in the city!" Her words are drenched with sarcasm as the rain begins to drench them.

  "Fuck you, bitch! I don't see you doing anything!" Dez shouts back at her, waving around his firearm with a sense of confidence and dominance now that the roles have reversed.

  "How do you know it was SS?" Zeke questions Samantha, pushing her to the van and keeping the point of the switchblade near her throat.

  Samantha scoffs and smiles as her blonde hair slickens in the rain. "Because you two were late on your delivery. SS doesn't care about the details; you failed, and now they'll kill you!" She declares, her smile shifting to a stone-cold glare. "You have no choice but to help me," she tells the two of them as Zeke begins to lower the blade.

  "Help you?" Dez's forehead churns with wrinkles. "We've got you, you stupid broad. We'll take you to the storage facility, and it'll be the end of that," Dez says before shoving the barrel of his Tundra Owl under her chin.

  "She's right, Dez." Those three words leaving Zeke's mouth, calm and steady. "Three rounds and then a reload; that's an SS Chimera Rifle." Zeke gently and carefully pulls Dez's arm and makes sure the barrel of his hand cannon is facing the ground. "They're after us," Zeke tells his friend as he lets go of Samantha.

  Dez looks at Zeke, and the rest of the world seemingly fades away. There's no rain, no blinding billboards, no girl; there are just two friends. "We fucked up," Dez utters with defeat in his eyes and hopelessness deep in his pores.

  "We did," Zeke admits, putting an arm on Dez's shoulder. "But we're not going to let them fuck us up," he declares, water dripping from the ends of his hair.

  "You two done?" Samantha asks, those three words shattering reality into pieces before putting it back together. "We need to go someplace safe. Someplace with internet and a computer," Samantha tells them, her eyes flickering past them to scan the rooftops on the other side of the canal.

  "As far as I'm concerned, you're on your own!" Dez shrugs, thoroughly tired of the bad luck they've been driving around.

  "We're fucked if we don't work together!" Samantha growls at him through gritted teeth.

  "Shut up, both of you!" Zeke orders, his words a bitter whisper. "Why do you need internet?" He turns to Samantha and asks.

  "I can scramble their comms and throw off the calibration on the van's tracker. Put us on the other side of the canal, far away, while we figure out what to do next," Samantha explains.

  Dez brings his lips together and whistles; it's almost lost to the rainfall. "Tech whiz? No wonder SS wanted you," he remarks. Dez scratches at his head while he thinks before groaning and remembering how dire the situation is. "My place isn't too far. We can go there; I've got a computer, and you can work your magic," he says. Dez then flashes his gun again, holding it up and looking at Samantha with a fierce stare. "But don't you fuck up my shit."

  Samantha nods, tired of the tough guy schtick she's had to endure for what feels like hours upon hours. "You'll need to take off your uniforms," she tells her newfound allies.

  "Bugged?" Zeke asks her as he begins unzipping the gray Rodent Rapture jumpsuit.

  Sam nods, and it's all he and Dez need to know before they shed their disguises. Zeke's white undershirt immediately darkens a shade as rain begins peppering it while Dez's black shirt takes the moisture just fine. They each step out of the uniforms, their dark jeans finally breathing again, only to get drowned.

  "We need to take the van; it's our only option," Samantha proclaims. "Don't drive it directly to your place; drop it off in walking distance," she instructs them.

  "Alright, let's go," Dez nods before getting back behind the wheel.

  Samantha sits in the passenger seat while Zeke sits in the back, the switchblade still in his grip. He goes back and forth between keeping his eyes on Samantha and keeping them on the roofs around them as they drive by. Sweat builds up on his brow, and tension bundles up in his gut like a tangled mess of electrical cords as they continue on the quiet night streets. The seconds drag like molasses, minutes burning away like brick, until the car finally comes to a halt in an unmarked residential parking lot.

  "Alright, let's bounce!" Dez says before the three of them leave the van behind and begin walking on the sidewalks.

  Redhook greets Dez and Zeke like it always does, with a warm smell that's married to cigarettes and wetting itself. The brick-faced buildings don't know what to make of the woman walking between them. They settle on their tried and true method they use with every outsider: wait. Wait and find out whether this is just another flash in the pan or someone who's going to do something. As long as something doesn't get rid of the cigarettes, the buildings don't mind.

  Dez leads Samantha and Zeke into an apartment building, its front door pleading with him not to wake him so late as it groans. He walks past the elevator, not even bothering to check if the maintenance guy has got it running again. They go up the stairs: first floor, second, third, fourth, fifth, and finally sixth. Dez slides a key into the first door on the left and breaks the barrier between Hartcord and his own slice of The States. Dez holds the door open for the two of them before shutting and locking it.

  Large glass panes watch the three of them enter into the apartment. They allow them to look through and gaze upon the grime below. Tall buildings and some skyscrapers take up the backdrop while small, rundown mid-rises lay claim to the surrounding neighborhood. The distant glass and concrete monoliths watch them with bated breath. Rain streaks on the glass as the gray clouds sob. The streaks blur the shades of Hartcord into a runny mush that, for some reason, gives them a sense of ease as they catch their breaths in the apartment.

  The apartment is small, with the resident's whole life on display within the four hundred square feet allotted to him. Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and, of the most importance right now, computer desk, all share the space.

  "Computer's over there," Dez points to his left to a desk beside his bed. Atop the desk is a simple setup: a keyboard, mouse, and one cheap monitor, all linked up and ready to go. "Internet is already connected," he tells Samantha, who's already sliding into the chair.

  Samantha begins furiously typing away on the keyboard; she moves through screens Dez has never seen before. She opens up the console and continues typing, mixing in a few clicks on the mouse here and there. Soon Samantha speaks to the computer in a soundless language. She's back in college, turning off security cameras, opening up admin rooms, and swiping digital identification. She doesn't want to leave the memories. She knows reality didn't stay that happy and carefree.

  "Done," Samantha says, looking away from the monitor to see Dez and Zeke standing in the kitchen, each drinking an Ouroboro-Cola. "Nice to see you two are enjoying yourselves; you totally earned some relaxation," she speaks with venom-tipped sarcasm.

  "Want one?" Dez offers, his hand on the fridge door handle. He takes it off when she shakes her head. "Suit yourself," he shrugs.

  "So you threw the tracker off and buzzed up their comms?" Zeke asks her, after savoring a sip of the slightly flat cola.

  "Tracker, yes; comms, no. Messing with comms is a bit more risky; it's central, so there'd be a chance they could reroute it back to our location," Samantha explains, standing up from the computer chair and walking to the glass window panes. Her breath fogs a bit of the glass, and her imagination fills in what it blocks. "This city was beautiful when I was a kid. I felt like with enough effort and time, you'd be able to do anything. Now I know it's just another demon dolled up with makeup, hoping that you'll only see the blinding, bright lights." The glass fogs a bit more, the city slowly being replaced by one she would want to call home.

  "Pssh," The sound escapes Dez's lips before he walks over to his computer. "Hartcord has always been Hartcord. If you want face value, move to Ouroboros," he scoffs as he checks to see if his computer is still in working order after the abuse Samantha put it through.

  "It isn't the city," Zeke says, pushing off the kitchen counter. He walks toward Samantha, drink in hand. As he stands behind her, he looks into the city he's always called home. "Hartcord is and always will be the best city in the world. It's the people that give it a bad rap," he defends his home from a woman who also calls Hartcord home.

  Samantha shakes her head, her gaze still on the make-believe world forming in front of her as she tunes out hustlers on the street, vagrants being ignored as they beg for scraps, and a distant speck of light. "The city is its people, and the people are the city. There's something about this place that attracts—" She thinks whether to say what's on her mind but comes to her decision upon finally registering that distant speck, high up on a skyscraper miles away. "Monsters," she finishes her sentence before turning to face Zeke, turning away from the world she'll never get.

  "Monsters," Zeke chuckles. "What, like boogeymen? You want to know the beautiful thing about Hartcord: no matter how big, strong, or scary the monster is, a bullet can take it down. Hell, if you're lucky, a well-strung-together sentence can take it down," he declares.

  Samantha turns around and looks at him with apathy mixed with a tinge of empathy. "Only the bullet," she avows.

  As soon as those three words leave Samantha's lips, Zeke notices the faraway glint that's been watching them this whole time. Before he can move a muscle, before he can yell a warning, before he can be the hero, he becomes a witness. A faint popping sound mutes the rest of the world. The soundwave cascades through the midnight, firing its payload towards its destination. Towards its destiny. The bullet easily pierces the glass, not shattering it but leaving behind a small hole that stamps its existence into the future crime scene.

  Zeke feels liquid pouring onto his hand. He looks down and sees a hole in his cola can with the Ouroboro-Cola leaking out from it. Zeke pulls his attention from his drink to the woman standing in front of him. Zeke drops his can and catches Samantha before she can hit the ground. Dark blood surges from a gaping wound above her stomach. For a moment all he can hear are her ragged breaths.

  Huff

  Huff

  Sigh

  Samantha's chest doesn't rise again, and as her last breath leaves Zeke's mind, all the sound of the world comes crashing back down upon him.

  "Shit, Z, get away from the windows!" Dez shouts as he takes cover behind his desk.

  Zeke hits the deck and slowly drags Samantha's corpse with him as he hides from the sniper's glint behind the kitchen counter.

  "What the hell happened?" Dez's face contorts with confusion and concern as he notices blood pouring from Samantha's stomach. It pumps out onto his wood flooring, threatening to forever leave it a dark shade of crimson.

  "A Solo hacker met the SS Fire Brigade! We were in over our heads, Dez. This is it," Zeke proclaims, looking his friend dead in the eyes as he keeps checking Samantha's pulse, hoping to feel something different.

  "Fuck that!" Dez exclaims. "We're not going down without a—"

  A long hiss interrupts Dez as a thick smoke invades the room from underneath the front door. The smoke slithers inside, slicing apart the oxygen as it sinks into every nook and cranny, every opening, every pore. Dez and Zeke begin coughing relentlessly, the smoke twisting around them like a constrictor. Their coughs are so loud, they don't hear the front door get busted open.

  Shadows dance, and Zeke watches a large figure walk through the smoke to Dez's side of the room. The smoke conquers his lungs, keeping him coughing and keeping him from helping. His eyes burn as they notice his own shadow approaching him. A tall man wearing a full tactical suit and gas mask approaches Zeke through the thick screen of discomfort. Zeke takes his hand off his mouth to reach for the baton the man's wielding but doesn't have the strength to grab the weapon. He does have the strength to spit hatred.

  "Fuckin' backstab—" The baton comes down and the lights go out.