“That’s more like it,” he said. He slapped her on the shoulders and let her go. His cheeks were tinted red as he sent the job details over. “You’ll need to pass through one of the NDPD checkpoints, but they won’t hassle you too much if the bribe is large enough. After that, post up on Santa Clara street with the others and give them hell.”

  // INCOMING TRANSFER DETECTED

  // PLEASE WAIT…

  //

  // UPDATING…

  // NEW BALANCE: 10,219 CREDITS

  “Thanks, Doc. You’re the best,” she said. She grabbed the last few pieces of gear and gave a small wave before heading for the nearby elevator.

  It was night in the city, and the colors poured over Malory in a vibrant avalanche. The mask hugged close to her face and kept her anonymous, but she didn’t want to take the monorail rocking so much hardware, so she called for an autonomous cab and paid the fare with some of the credits meant for the bribe. The ride was silent. She didn’t pay extra for music or an AI conversation, so she amped herself up until her blood boiled. Then, she sent a short message to Nadia with a thank you and a promise to call soon and closed her organic eye to dig into the documents the Doc had given her. The language was cold, calculating, and heartless, and it bothered her to see that kind old man in a different light. When the cab pulled up to the NDPD checkpoint bathed in a dozen high-powered spotlights and rifle sights, Mal finished rewatching the memory of Banks’ death. She savored the moment life left his eyes as she slid out of the seat, adjusted the grenade launcher, and sauntered forward. When the light broke, she was face-to-face with an entire squad of pigs and military bots secured behind sophisticated defenses. Any other day, the view would have sent her running, but she continued on without a care in the world.

  “Halt!” One of the low-level cops screamed. He was the one on shit duty, forced by the rest to take point. “The outskirts are under quarantine. All access is prohibited, so turn right around and go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

  “Look,” Mal said. She ran her metal fingers across the loaded cylinders of the grenade launcher with enough pressure to let out a high-pitched squeal. “I’ve got a job to do, and I’m on a bit of a time limit. How much do you want?”

  “What?” he asked. He was baffled by the audacity, the poorly-veiled threat. It pissed him off, and his hand reached down to rest on his sidearm. He was initiating a pissing contest instead of jumping at the offer. Must have been fresh from the academy, then. The implant spit out a little blue label, as if in response, and marked him an up-and-coming rookie. “I said the district’s closed. Now, fuck off!”

  “I asked how much you want,” Mal said. She sighed and continued to rub the metal again and again until he cringed from the noise.

  “Six thousand,” another officer called. He was older, a jagged scar running down his temple to his jaw. Union insurance would have covered fixing it ages ago, but he obviously enjoyed the air of intimidation it lent. Guess the badge wasn’t enough. Overcompensating.

  “You got a deal,” Mal said. She wired the credits and then moved forward. The scarred officer pulled the rookie out of her way as she flashed a sly smile.

  “What’s happening, sir?” the rookie asked. His bushy eyebrows were scrunched up until they met in the middle. It wasn't a situation covered in training.

  “Nothing at all,” the older officer said. He nudged the rookie with an elbow as he transferred a slice of the bribe. “It’s been a pretty uneventful night on guard duty.”

  When Mal was out of earshot, she bent over and laughed. They were so damn serious until she dangled credits in front of them and they dove at it like starved strays. The look on the rookie’s face. She laughed until she cried and her side stitched. When she was done, she pulled the mask out of the way to wipe away tears, adjusted the weight on her frame, and headed off to her destination. It was too quiet, and she could hear each step she took. The residents were warned to stay indoors, and they observed her progress through slits in their blinds. They knew the drill, and they weren’t willing to catch stray bullets, but curiosity drew them to watch what little they could anyway. Mal kept her eyes to the night sky, the broken moon swirling so far out. The scientists claimed the fragments would devolve one day into a beautiful ring, just like Saturn, but until then, it only represented a world that’d never come back—steady seasons, the ebb and flow of the tides, even the rotation of the Earth, all misaligned. She wondered what it’d be like to look up without fear of the heavens falling on her head, the safety of it, but it was another thing unchecked corporations had taken from them. Energo Lunar still existed.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  When Malory reached Santa Clara street, she found the fortifications on the corner paled in comparison to the NDPD checkpoint. There were cheap, prefabricated barricades, some old sandbags with most of the insides missing, and an assortment of household objects meant to trip up anyone that scaled them. There were members of the Black Hands that drew short straws and a few hired mercs posted around, but no one moved to stop her, so Mal did her best not to slip when she climbed over. When she reached the top, she chose a spot beside a woman holding a shotgun near the front lines and was ready for the showdown—all the grenades, the flash-bangs, the extra ammo loaded and waiting, safeties switched off. She had promised the Doc to survive, and she was going to try her best to keep it. The woman next to her whistled an old military tune that belonged to her unit as she loaded in armor piercing slugs. Her dog tags were displayed over her jacket, but Malory didn’t bother to read them. She didn’t want the weight of another soul on her conscience if the woman fell in battle. No more mourning. Mal gripped the handles of the grenade launcher and looked off into the distance. It wasn’t long before a convoy approached and stopped just out of range.

  “Heads up, it’s showtime!” someone screamed.

  A sniper round kicked off the exchange, exploding through a synth-wood table turned on its side. Splinters flew in every direction, but no one was injured. Malory lowered her head below a barricade and drew in a deep breath as she listened to more shots ring out. Some of the defenders returned fire, but she was patient. To her left, the ghost materialized, but it was calm and subdued. Her digital form felt more real somehow, more solid, as if she’d fed on each soul Malory had reaped and grown stronger. There was a lull, a few moments of quiet, and then hell unleashed. The ZenTech squads moved forward under a cascade of smoke and tear gas and fat machine gun rounds that slammed into the encampment. Muzzles flashed, and a rocket soared high overhead and detonated behind the lines. It was deafening, but Mal didn’t panic. She just squeezed the grips and waited. A young voice near the impact site begged for their mother, and the woman next to her fired a couple slugs over the barricade. When Evie stood to her full ghostly height and pointed, Malory moved on instinct; she raised the wide barrel in the direction the ghost wanted and sent a grenade through the gunsmoke air. When it exploded, she felt the concussive wave rattle deep in her chest and smiled.

  The next ten minutes were a slog, and the scent of spent ammunition and tear gas stung Mal’s throat and made her eyes water. There was carnage all around, dead and wounded from each side. The vet with the shotgun had a chunk torn out of her face, and Mal dragged the tough woman along as they repositioned. Her metal arm managed the weight as she launched more grenades. The woman was conscious, even though Malory saw cracked teeth shining white and bloody where her face used to be. There wasn’t anything to do but endure. Either they’d win, or it wouldn’t be a problem much longer. Malory grabbed one of the flash-bangs from her belt and hurled it toward two corpos flanking a murder bot and it erupted in supernova white. She drew the lantern and shot each of them square in the chest. When they went down, she pulled an incendiary grenade and bounced it between the bot’s feet. The lenses of its targeting systems were warped by the light, so it wasn’t able to do anything as deep red flames erupted over its intimidating visage. A few seconds, and the sensitive circuits and wires melted and shut the whole thing down. The new lungs kept Malory from being winded, but her flesh was weak.

  “You’re pretty good, kid,” the vet managed. She spat out a mouthful of chunks and phlegm on the ground between them. Her skin was sallow, and she fought through the shock.

  “Don’t talk,” Mal said. She bent down, reloaded the cylinders, and got back to it. There weren’t many left. “Just keep fighting.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. The shotgun was loose beside her, and she made no effort to lift it again. She used a makeup mirror to look at the damage and trembled.

  “You’re just gonna lay down and die because you aren’t fucking pretty anymore?” Mal asked. It was absurd. She sent out another volley of grenades, and it made her grin when they blended through the enemy like a garbage disposal.

  “That’s not what I meant,” the woman said. She sighed, but didn’t know how to continue, so she raised a shaky finger and dragged it across her throat. As if that answered the question.

  ZenTech is attacking the headquarters of the Black Hands. This entire operation was a charade, a distraction to draw away vital defenses. Your little gang is about to be consumed. Consumed. CONSUMED.

  “The headquarters?” Mal froze mid-aim, but didn’t wait for an answer. She jumped over the barricade and sprinted toward the enemy.