Author's Note: the first couple chapters describe the Runner's feel, introducing a feel of Celeste, just to give those who haven't played the game a feel of the characters, plot, events, etc. The game was weak in plot, providing nothing much on the cool characters besides Faith. I wanted Celeste, being so hot and mysterious, to have her side of the story. Once you're pass chapter five, you will understand everything behind Celeste's reasons for betraying the Runners. For pictures of the characters, go to . Type in the search box exactly "by:duskricorn", and search my gallery for the titled pictures "Runners", "The Shard Sisters", and "Ari". I have "Tony" to last update onto my gallery, yet. You will know who they all are if you eventually read through my whole story.

Mr. Blue Sky

I know it's not clever to be listening to an iPod while Running—but you have to admit, iPods are still one of the sweetest inventions mankind has ever come up with. Life is a playlist, after all: there's the song for your car, the song when you get into fights the songs for the loss of someone dear, the song for cooking in your kitchen, for parties, walking in the city, being with friends, when you go to sleep, when you're next to the ocean.

The blinding white world below me was a swift blur; the sky was the only stroke of color that seemed a nice, infinite blue gravity. Just buildings, buildings, buildings; maybe some condos here, an apartment there, a cluster of houses here. But it was just a clean city, the product of tyranny and utopian safety. You barely saw stains and bird crap. That's what made it so annoying to look at and live in: too perfect, like a dream in which you knew your time was up; time to wake up, reality's ugly and imperfect—I wonder why campaigner Callaghan didn't accept that.

If you heard Lily Allen's songs, you could so imagine Runners jumping everywhere above the unaware citizens of Callaghan's city. That was the beauty of it: being able to exist without being known.

"Sun is shininin' in the sky. There ain't a cloud in sight. It's stopped rainin' everybody's in a play, and don't you know? It's a beautiful day, heyyyy . . .!"

"Celeste—!"

I plucked out the earpiece from my ear, Lily Allen's "Mr. Blue Sky" muted. I pressed my fingers against my earpiece to hear my trainer and ex-Runner top man.

"Hey, Merc."

Mercury's alto, sarcastic, yet strangely hysterical tone gave another series of curses. "Shit, what did I tell you about iPods? Blues could have snuck up on you—and because why? Because you blasted your la-la notes too high. C'mon!"

I smirked, calm. Awe, Merc.

"Are you going to say 'shit' all day, or you gonna tell me what you got, Merc?" I said, stopping at the edge of a rooftop.

Merc gave a quick exhale, the way a quick-tempered, yet kind father would do. He was kind of like those kind, barking, yet calm sergeants, if that made any sense. Fast to agitate, fast to calm down.

"Faith's back. I want you to meet her at our new training grounds and get her back in shape. Ya know, just in case."

Hearing my fellow Runner's name lit my eyes up. It's been three or four weeks since I've seen her Running. She miscalculated a jump, fell—a rather embarrassing, yet tragic error for a Runner—and broke a leg, I think.

"Sure thing, Merc," I replied, redoing my blonde ponytail.

"Great. And don't listen to your music, you hear me?" added Mercury stringently. All authority.

A boastful grin creased my lips. "Yeah, I know."

"Git going."

"Later, Merc."

"Runnin' down the avenue. See how the sun shines brightly in the city. On the streets where once was pity . . ."

I really never preferred the streets, not like Lily Allen described it in such a casual, city-lover excitement. We Runners are different from those people. We live on the Edge. It wasn't just the mystery of seeing the utopian skyscraper glass reflecting who you really are that made the Mirorr's Edge so worth dying for. It was that strange, dangerous feeling where you knew any leap could mean death or getting arrested—but you did it anyway. You had the power to leap or fall. It was all self-control, determining your motions, your direction, your fate. You on the Edge against the world below you. It sounds egotistic, but there is no harm in it when no one else is affected by it. No one really knows we exist—yeah, everyone does, but they don't look.

"Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, heyyyy . . ."

The exhilaration of lightness flushed throughout all my fingertips, limbs, stomach, and heart as I accelerated. I ducked and slid under air vents, strode and leaped over pipes or boxes, and propelled my heavy weight to a flight of lightness as my sturdy palms and flexible, springy fingers dragged me weightlessly over fences or other rooftop obstacles. It was a train of the Runner's flow: quick, beautiful, light, controlled, and yet still free. It seriously had that taste of destiny, which was in your strides, your decisions.

There was an electrical, fuzzy hiss from our communicators.

Then, I heard Merc talking to Faith on our comms: "Training time, Faith. Yeaah, I know you hate it. But that fall took you out of commission for a while. Now that you're back, you gotta keep it sharp. Check out our new training grounds. Pretty slick, huh? Celeste's not running out on duty, so just get to her, and go with the flow, okay?"

My heart trotted up to a catchy beat, increasing as I saw ahead pipes in my "Runner's vision" up ahead. Timing my rapid footsteps to my accelerating heart rate, I pumped my arms, quickened and widened my feline-like legs, pushed forward, ejected the heels and soles of my feet off the edge of my current rooftop, and soared: my legs were nearly horizontal below me as if I was nearly doing a split; but the second they did, I made them kick in the air as all my limbs flailed while keeping my focus on the pipes. I thudded against them with a loud hallow boom and a triumphant grunt. I looked up, climbing, feeling the metallic red pipe under my one bare hand. Turned to my left, saw the other pipe, stretched and jumped, and landed against it, hugging it like a koala bear to its tree. Scrambled up lithely, clambered over the edge with a swoop of my lean legs, and continued my dash to Faith.

"Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why you had to hide away for so long? Where did we go wrong?"

My first favorite line in the entire song. The city was dangerous, yet beautiful. Now it's safe, and ugly. Apparently the city was sane enough to vote for a tyrannical mayor. The city's whose protest oppressions against Callaghan's reelection led to our jobs as Runners. I don't even remember the reasons for voting for such a mayor, it was so long ago. But, you know, in my honest opinion, being the messengers for the rebels didn't mean some Runners agreed with their clients.

"Hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race!"

I wondered what Lily Allen meant there, back then in 2006, 2007, 2008, etc. Sometimes I thought I knew, but I still don't know. I don't even know why I'm still a Runner going against chances I knew weren't mine—ours, the Runners.

Always Running.

Why capitalize the word "Running"? Since when were we given such labels? We humans have that weird urgency to label things we truly don't know anything about, as though experiments. I mean, I am proud of my title as a topnotch Runner—one of the best, under Merc, actually . . .

I was going to put the philosophy life into further consideration, but I saw a black figure leaping like a black panther down toward the training grounds.

Faith Connors.

I found a small smile pull at my face. I slowed down, stopping at a wide rooftop, our "new" training ground, according to Merc. The added adjective "new" had no effect on me considering all the buildings and every godforsaken human were the same in this city.

By the time Faith reached orange stairs, I tucked two fingers to my mouth and blew a hitch-pitched birdlike whistle. I saw that small Eurasian silhouette of hers turn to me; I waved. She didn't wave, just kept on Running—running—toward me.

She gave a final jump and leap off a board that jutted out onto the slope of my rooftop. When she ran up to me, I gave her a quick flicker of observations:

Hasn't changed. Still wore her favorite black tank top with the white strips striking down the sides of her torso, meeting the whitish cargo pants with strings choking the lower right hem. Her favorite red running shoes squeaked softly like a feline's padded feet when she shifted on her feet, as if pumped.

Faith was quiet for once, but she gave me an acknowledgeable nod of a smile. I wondered if those scars from her fall were there. Nope, it was all gone: flawless white skin; long, defined planes of jaws meeting rather thin lips for someone who was half Asian. Her ink-black hair swayed thinly high above her shoulders, bangs covering what faded eyebrows were there, her tight Asian eyes most definitely lukewarm. They greeted me with a thin, lit up darkness.

Can't forget her famous eye tattoo: two jagged triangles poured down from the bottom of her right eye, one taller than the other. I couldn't help but think teasingly, Her make-up's running.

I stretched my quads, hugging my calves against the back of my quads. Then, I reached forward to pat. "Hi, Faith, welcome back," I said with a gentle, small smile.

She curled her fists, ready for Running. It was her only life to her, so she treated it with seriousness, yet fiery passion. My eyes retraced the intricate block-looking black tattoo branding her entire right arm, a symbol of her secret dedication, her story.

"Didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon," I added quickly in a friendly, lit-up tune.

I casually bobbed on my feet before slightly turning, my back facing her, beckoning her with a quick wave, as I dashed across another random board that jutted out and leaped on to a lower rooftop. Then, the flow returned through my veins as I tackled a fence, climbing and leaping over it. I turned, waiting for her patiently and quietly with an observant expression.

Faith had her few falls every now and then, making me regret for not being last every time she attempted old tricks. She once nearly missed a jump; I had to haul her back up. Nevertheless, we continued. Training was done within seven minutes, Merc told me I had to do some errands while wondering if Faith herself was ready for her first mission back.

"First thing's first, Cel. Pizza, then taking the package from Faith at the east communications tower," added Merc.

"See ya later, Faith," I told her rather cheerfully. I bobbed once again on my feet before jogging away.

--

Hell, Merc, I thought furiously as I got pizza. You'd think an old tramp Runner like him would be able to get his own pizza, rather than sending the delivery girl. He was occupying himself guiding Faith on her first mission back.

Runners need to be able to get the pizza or shop for clothing once in a while. How else would we live? Plus, even though I'd prefer the rooftops, it's nice to be able to walk like a normal civilian amongst the crowd, not being chased by Blues. It'd be a waste of money to have us being the ones hiring other normal people to deliver our necessities. My eyes caught hold of a new hot-red case for my iPod. I was in the mood for music, and I wanted my attire as well as my iPod to match it. Normally, Merc would be watching me and condemning me for my shopping desires, but he just sent me for pizza, what made this any more dangerous?

I've been in this Fye store before. Good stuff. Once I found my case to my liking, I greeted my daily acquaintance, Ari, who was the cashier.

"Hey, Cel," she welcomed with a small smile of her thick, full lips.

"Hey."

It wasn't that I was much of a talker; I didn't want to risk letting her know who I was, where I came from, and what intentions I brought with me. The iPod case purchase was self-explanatory; otherwise, other random questions she prodded at me did not often have an answer. An obvious, distinct blonde and dark blue-eyed woman like me would be easy to track down, whether by camera or word.

"For a nano iPod?" asked Ari as she took my purchase as well as my money, scanning it and all of that.

"Yeah. The small ones are the best," I stated, avoiding talk.

"Hm," she returned with a thoughtful smile, trashing my purchase into a plastic bag. "It's been a while."

"Yeah. Work's got me." Once again, avoiding talk. Plus, I'm sure Merc was getting low awaiting his pizza. I was on the scale trying to determine whether or not to just let him suffer a few growls in his gut. Worse than getting punched, I know, Merc. This was payback for all my failed attempts against him during training. He always talked like a Jedi master-wannabe, the wise cracks and everything.

The cashier handed me small plastic bag. "Stop by more often, ya?"

Ari was good kid, though. Only nineteen, but with the small, hollow, cute voice of what you would have mistook belonged to an innocent, yet mature 11-year-old on the other side of a phone conversation. It was so appealing and cute for a mature-looking girl like her. She had pale-silver eyes that were strangely addicting to stare at from afar in contrast to her somewhat tan skin. Today was Friday; she wore her favorite: circular yellow flat-eyed goggles resembling swimming goggles. They tangled well into her mop-of-a-hair, though most of it seemed curly or wavy, I couldn't tell. Some bang-like strands of hair framed her pronounced cheeks. Apart from her face and short, tousled hair, I gave her fashion taste an admirable scan.

"Hey," I began, trying to be polite as I reached forward and gave a tug at her scarf. "This is new."

It was black-and-white, striped, and long as hell. You could hang someone with it. It complimented her attire, well: leather-blue, sleeveless vest that bared her arms. A black shirt underneath met her white belt, which held up rather kick-ass camouflage cargo pants of black and white, like the TV channel when it went "buzzzzzz". I leaned over her counter, taking in the large black marine-like boots that consumed her from knee to toe. I would dress like her, but my kind of taste would define me out of a crowd like the ugly duckling, me being a Runner.

Ari beamed, eyes seeming to absorb more light, highlighting them in this blinding shade of blue. So warm. She'd make a great friend, but being a Runner had its limits with relationships, other than your fellow Runners. I loved Faith and Merc, but only because we shared the same passion, the same cause. Sometimes I felt it was better to have a friend who didn't do or liked what I did, like Running . . .

"So you noticed?" chirped Ari, pulling at the part of the scarf choking her throat. "I'm surprised. We barely see each other."

"Yet you always sound like you're trying to get to know me, stalker."

"In this city, gotta grab what you can," she reminded. Wise words; she was right.

She and I, without thinking, looked all around us, specifically at the corners of the store. Whether or not there were cameras visible, we knew they were there. Everyone in this city knew, nor didn't care.

"So, a date, then?" jested Ari, knuckling my arm with a soft pound of her gloved hand.

Just as I smiled, a frown weighed me down. I realized I was picking up a friend. Her cheery expression faded from its glow as she eyed me quizzically. That sickening feeling knotted inside my gut as I realized, of all people, customers or not, she wanted to befriend me.

"Cel?" And to be able to use my nickname already.

I gave a tiny smile. "Sorry. Dazed. I gotta get going. Things for work."

She went along, serious for my sake. "Kay. See you around, hopefully."

Sorry, can't. We're not friends, I snapped at myself as I left the store. When I abandoned the mall in the parking lot, I dragged along the traffic sidewalks to get Merc's pizza.