Mal lowered her head and ran. A tax consultant firm, a nonprofit resource center, an upscale gym, an empty startup space for rent, a strip joint full of despondent men, a little coffee shop that catered exclusively to suits, an Art Deco dance club that hadn’t opened for the day, a Brazilian waxing studio, three different pawn shops with ‘We Buy Gold Here’ signs, and a credit-advance place all blew past as she went. When her lungs had enough, she slammed through the doors of a quaint diner that reeked of a bygone era. She ignored the waitresses and headed for their bathroom. She didn’t use her hack, afraid it was how they tracked her down. Instead, she used the last dregs on her credit chip to turn on the tap and scrubbed the dried blood from her body—Martin left a large smear on her shirt when she hugged him, and that’s what finally broke her. She cried and cried, let the sadness wreck her body until no more tears would come and then punched the mirror. It didn’t break. She was grateful no one else had come in, and she wiped away the snot. When she left the room, she grabbed a booth and booted up her network to make a call.

  // SEARCHING MEMORY BANK

  // PLEASE STAND BY…

  //

  // SUBJECT FOUND

  // CALLING NADIA

  “Hello?” Her girlfriend’s face hovered and sparked a new wave of nausea, the nerves still too raw. Nadia smiled in recognition, and then it faded. “You look like shit.”

  “I fucked up,” Mal said. She leaned back in the faux-leather seat and ran her tongue over the fresh scab on her lip. It was tempting to peel it away.

  “What happened?” Nadia asked. Her overalls were stained with grease; she was in the middle of another project. Something always needed inventing.

  “Martin and Spencer are dead,” Mal said. She trailed off in thoughts of Spencer’s newfound confidence, of the warmth of a last hug, and shuddered. They weren’t people anymore, just broken children’s toys discarded by an unfeeling hand.

  “How?”

  “ZenTech, I think,” Mal said. She picked at her fingernails and didn’t want to feel anymore—the guilt, the shame, the two lives led to their end.

  “Makes sense,” Nadia said. She set the tool in her hand down and focused. “The Committee dragged me in a week ago and grilled me about your visit. Threatened expulsion for my association with you.”

  “I didn’t want anyone else caught up in my shit,” Mal said. She met the gaze of a waitress heading for her booth and tried to straighten her hair.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” Nadia said. She gave a faint smile that Mal would have loved under any other circumstance. “The dean intervened on my behalf. Said such a promising student shouldn’t be held to account for the mistakes of a lesser.”

  “What can I get for you?” the waitress asked. Her face was kind, but the blood on Malory’s clothes was difficult to ignore. Probably had her net primed on the emergency line.

  “I’m not sure I can afford anything,” Mal said. She was flat broke.

  // INCOMING TRANSFER DETECTED

  //

  // ACCOUNT CREATED

  // UPDATING…

  // NEW BALANCE: 4,317 CREDITS

  “I sold the design of one of my hands a few days ago. Get some food in you before you lose it on that poor lady,” Nadia said.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “What would you recommend?” Mal asked. She’d never seen so much money.

  “Our waffles are pretty good,” the waitress said. She leaned in next to Mal’s ear and whispered. “I’ll hook you up with my employee discount. You look like you’ve had a bad day.”

  “Thank you,” Mal said to both of them. If she hadn’t gotten it all out in the bathroom, she would have cried then. She didn’t deserve kindness.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” the waitress said. She headed to other customers.

  “I’d come and meet you in person if I could,” Nadia said. She picked her tools up again and adjusted a part off screen.

  “I wouldn’t let you, anyway,” Mal said. Not until the hit squad was called off. It was a mistake she’d never let repeat.

  “Let me know when you head back to the satellite tower,” Nadia said. She twisted her wrist and clicked something into place. “I’d like to be there in spirit when you cross out their names. I wasn’t close to anyone in our cohort, but it still feels important.”

  “I love you,” Mal said.

  “And I you,” Nadia said. She lifted a bundle of gears, inspected it, and added a strip of metal. “Keep in touch, let me know you’re still alive.”

  When the call ended, Malory listened to the chatter of the other diners. Some showed concern for the new flu strain spreading in the outskirts, but most were absorbed with mundane conversations about celebrities, shows, and new products they had to have. Life moved on. What did these people care for two more dead street rats? They were another statistic on the net to be glossed over with all the other violence. Not even a blip on the radar; only famous mercs caught the attention of the public when they fizzled out. When the waffles came, they were topped with fruit and synth-bacon shaped in a goofy face. Mal drowned them in syrup and forced herself to eat. The fruit was fresh and reminded her of the scene in the rehab cafeteria. It had nothing to do with her, but felt so much a part of her now, as real as any of the grief she carried. She chewed the bacon and swallowed. When the plate was empty, she paid the bill and headed back into the city. There was a place she could be alone, somewhere the Doc had told her about when she’d pestered him into a conversation, and she summoned directions from the implant interface.

  The route took her near the orphanage, but she didn’t want to go there. Knowing the younger generation wasn’t doing well on their own wasn’t something she could handle, so she wound through the sparse paths to the wall where she boarded an industrial elevator to the observation deck—it wasn’t legal or wise to go all the way to the top because of the mechanisms that powered the skyfall energy field; the army guarded them as a religious duty. Mal used a few credits to activate the elevator music and let a soft melody envelop her. It was AI-generated slop designed to avoid royalty fees, but it still soothed her fractious mind. Each note curled along her spine and helped relax stiff shoulders that were caught in fight-or-flight. She knew she had to work through what happened, or she wasn’t going to last long. She leaned against the wall and hummed along as she rocketed into the sky. When the doors opened, she sent the entrance fee to the robot that greeted her and made her way to the tempered glass. Malory was the only soul in the place; normal people didn’t want to see the miles of wasteland and abandoned structures that stretched out to the horizon.

  It is you, once again.

  The young woman from the ZenTech mainframe appeared in the space beside her, far more vivid than the flickering apparition she had been. Malory recognized the dress from the memories that forced their way into her mind. She just didn’t have it in her to be afraid, not after the aquarium. She was pretty sure she wasn’t crazy, but who could say what was possible when she was so far past the limit.

  You aren’t supposed to have that eye. It belongs to the lullaby of dead dreams. Where the purple flowers grow. Grow. GROW.

  “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” Mal asked. She was desperate to be alone, not playing at necromancy or suffering the depths of a psychotic break. Her head throbbed, and there was a low buzz behind her ears.

  You took what is mine. You will earn it.

  “The eye?” Mal asked. She rubbed the line on her temple that was raw and healing. The thing had damn near killed her when it activated. “Feel free to take it back.”

  We all disappear into the sun one day, like the dead boy on the forest floor. You will be my wind-up soldier and march. March. MARCH.

  “Stop with the fucking riddles,” Mal said. She turned back to the view and followed a broken road that wound around what used to be a neighborhood. People still lived out there. Moved from place to place as transients and venerated the skyfall forecasts that kept them away from impact zones. She wondered if life was easier that way, out in the waste the corporations left behind instead of under their oppressive boot.

  There is a safehouse. A coffin. Coffin. COFFIN.

  “I can just go back to the Black Hands. I don’t need you to play cryptic savior,” Malory said. She pictured a world regrowing from the ashes, free from greed and grubby little hands that wanted more, always more. New plants, budding in the sunlight. It was nice.

  They will follow. Climb into the coffin instead. Lay low, their attention span won’t last.

  // NEW COORDINATES RECEIVED

  // LOADING…

  //

  // PROCEED TO THE ROUTE