Chapter 3:
Consideration
After dropping off the bag at the hotel, I fired back to Merc's AC cooling tower. Home. Before reaching it, however, he managed to reach me again after the interruption.
"CEL, you okay!?" he burst. My comms gave that long whine-like screech you hear when the microphone goes wrong.
"I'm fine, Merc," I said. My heart was thudding so loud, though. I continued to run, my excuse for its clamoring rhythm, fearing Merc could hear.
"Dammit, girl, I thought we lost you! I sent Kreeg to help you, but he couldn't find you after I lost connections to your location," said Merc. He was blowing a whole fuse of curses after every other "are you okay?" which was repetitive of him.
"I'm fine, Merc," I said, my heart pounding only because I found his cursing strangely touching this time. I kept quiet, though, as a tiny smile smacked itself on against my will. My panic was gone, I felt safe again. Those black guys back there wouldn't bother me again, at least for today.
"Did you get the job done?" Merc's voice was calmer, now. I heard typing. He must be researching something.
"Yeah."
"Good. Get your ass to the lair, NOW."
"Yeahhh, Merc."
I think by then my reassuring, calm words cooled Merc. His curses were gone, and his tone reached the level where casual conversation could take place. He hung up with a simple "see ya there", the one that anticipated and hoped for my arrival with a fatherly concern.
When I reached the AC tower, it was a white hump tinged by the glowing horizon. The sunset sunrays fingered through the slits of the AC's outside walls; I could catch movement in there. I recognized them belonging to Faith's mannerisms I knew so well.
Quietly, I climbed up top and fell through the gaping hole at the crown of the igloo-like tower. I heard the last strings of Merc's curses.
"Dammit, that girl! First you, then her!"
Apparently he was condemning Faith for her first mission. However, that tinge of concern and confusion was audible in his barks.
"What's worked them up?" he growled in ponder. "What the hell?"
"I know, Merc," said Faith's voice.
Merc was Merc. I personally didn't mind it when he threw fits. So, I made my entrance through the circular gape at the top, hanging by the rims, then dropped.
"Cel," chorused both. They turned to me, faces heavy with relief and worry. Faith and Merc glided to me, halting before me, and giving me those typical eyes that tried to show they weren't worried, when they really were. Actually, Merc was the one whose jaw was locked as his eyes betrayed the restrained look he wore.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Faith waited silently.
"Don't worry. I pulled the trigger on them," I assured them.
While Merc put a firm grip on my shoulder, Faith analyzed my expression, then turned to him. "I know Cel's calm all the time," she began, eyes gliding between me and Merc. "But Cel . . . you okay? Did something happen?"
I gave her an involuntary hard stare, trying to process through my mind how to rearrange my face into a persuasive expression. I cocked a corner of my mouth into my usual, conceited grin. "What, you wanted me to question them before killing them?"
Merc stared at me, rigid as if shot in the heart. Then, he turned and sat down onto his mobile chair, leaning on a thigh. "No. In that new circumstance, I would have permitted you to kill them rather than take them out one by one for interrogation. Too risky. They were Runners—no, not Runners. I dunno what's up, but whoever they are, whatever they wanted, it wasn't just the bag. Who knows. It could be that they have taken this whole Runners versus Callaghan more serious."
I shrugged indifferently. "I'll tell you this. They were irritating."
"I bet," concurred Faith, grinning for my sake.
That bastard, Tony. I'll remember that name. Too bad I didn't get his last name, but both of us knew how stupid that would be. I'm sure, however, me asking for it would have excited him.
I opened my mouth to say something, but held myself. I didn't know why, but I didn't want to tell them about "Project Icarus" or even connect "Tony" to any of our problems. Not yet. The fact that they only wanted me to join made this seem like something the others didn't need to know.
Faith caught my mouth since it opened. She gave me an anticipating look. "Yeah?" she prodded.
I looked at her before saying, "Be careful."
She smiled. "Yeah. That won't stop us, though."
"Get some sleep, girls," said Merc, wheeling his chair around to face his wall of computers. "I've got homework to do."
"Sofa," called Faith. She launched herself onto it in a princely manner. Then, she threw me a look when I didn't move from where I stood. "What, you want it?"
I just gave a tilted smile. "Nah, it's yours. But I tag the pizza."
"Nope, my label's on it," said Merc, reaching over to pull the box toward him. "Besides, you didn't get it when I asked you, earlier."
"I got it," I argued with a teasing smile. "I just dropped it. It was either Faith, or the pizza."
"I seriously think he wouldn't hesitate on that one," japed Faith, slyly grinning at Merc, who took the fourth to last pizza.
"Just save at least one slice for me," I said as I walked to the fiery halo formed by our entrance in the hole. Sun was setting.
Merc halted me. "Where you going? Can't go runnin' around on an empty stomach. Especially after being chased like that."
"I'll be careful. I got away, right? They're dead," I said, looking over my shoulders at him.
I wish.
Faith looked at me, then exchanged a glance with Merc.
"If I'm not back within fifteen minutes, catch me if you want," I told them, then jumped, hung, and pulled myself with ease out of our AC tower.
It was a toasty night, even though it was cloudless. There were few stars I could barely make out in the inky face above. With this city of lights smiling up the night, it was hard to believe a sun and a sky existed.
I inhaled the night scent. A cool sensation tickled me, nearly like coldness, but it was more out of love and exhilaration. My adrenaline always spiked every time I went Running. My passion, and my only.
I took a step toward the Edge, looked down at the eye lights, then tipped forward, and surrendered to black gravity. That quickness, that pull of falling, that was what I lived and would die for. Even though I was about to die at that second in falling, I betrayed that leaping flutter in my heart as I flipped with ease and landed on the awaiting building below me. Just as I landed, I rolled, dashed, reached for some construction iron poles sticking around, twisted, and flipped around them. After a series of wall runs and swinging, I found myself a nice flow. I kept to it, and just ran.
The Edge was only that hour in that second of falling. I yearned for it again, that feeling of living while you were dying, and jumped off onto another rooftop. Just a night jog through the city.
Something quick caught my eyes.
Well, will you look at that. On either side of me, they were running, looking at me. I could barely shape out their black forms soaking into the darkness. However, this was where the city lights at night were useful.
I landed. Then, I turned as they landed, crouched behind me. But not for the strike. They stood up. I felt a staring contest coming ahead. Finally, I scowled.
"How selfish can a Runner get?" one of them finally said.
The other slid off the helmet, revealing another goddess under it. She had long brunette hair, so thin and silky just the way she combed it to return it to its perfect state. A decently narrow, symmetrical face with a perfectly shaped nose, thin eye brows, soft lips that looked small and roundish, like that of a plastic doll you would love to kiss. I had a hard time determining whether she was tan or not; probably wasn't. Gray eyes pierced at me in the light of a company skyscraper's glares next to us.
"And what's your name?" I said, fists clenched, a fraud smile placed firmly and reluctantly on my lips.
"Reagan."
"And her?" I nodded to her partner.
Pepper took off her helmet. She didn't smile like she really did last time, just stared at me with observant eyes the way a scientist would note the progress of her experiment.
"You're probably one of the few whose name is Pepper," I reminded. My eyes locked coolly onto Reagan. "And that's a boy's name."
"Gonna look it up? Go ahead. We already told you we're under Project Icarus," quipped Pepper. "We don't care. You know all you could about us."
This frustrated me. So they didn't care what I did about them. Damn, what did they want from me besides joining them? Why me? Why not Faith or Kreeg? If they were willing to share every happy detail of their lives and Project Icarus with me, then what was the point of running or fighting or asking questions?
"What I want to know is why you haven't told your friends, yet," said Pepper, looking at me with her usual, gorgeous, yet observant frown.
I looked at her sharply. "You knew I wouldn't. I want to know that."
This time, Reagan spoke. "Think about it. Rather than trying to fight you Runners, why not pull you aside and talk it over? It'd be easier to have a negotiation; have one Runner filter her comrades' info to Project Icarus. You'll get paid better, treated better by high authority and the Blues themselves, and won't have to survive."
Her voice was a low soprano, that between your average teenager's and an adult's. Yet, it sounded dignified, intellect, too "cool" for a person like me.
They wouldn't give up. But why me?
Reagan snugged her helmet in her armpit like a basketball player with a basketball, then cocked a hip, looking at me seriously. "Fighting is difficult these days. We admit, we can't catch up with you Runners. In any case, you're not gonna risk your current friends. You're just cutting off their sources and information. We just want to stop the network of Runners. That's all we've ever wanted."
"I'm sorry, do we insult you?" I returned frostily.
Reagan and Pepper looked sideways at each other.
"The Runners give false hope," said Reagan, giving a disapproving look at me. "We continue to have protests and riots just because of the Runner fans or clients. Those who support the Runners are the reason why this city's restoration is not complete."
"Not our fault. There are people who don't agree with you or candidate Callaghan," I said, shrugging one shoulder.
They looked at me again. It was so annoying, because one, they were so beautiful, too, in the glare of the skyscraper next to us.
Finally, Pepper said, "Meet us tomorrow at the mall on Blake Street. We want to take you shopping. And get a massage."
I stared, mind hazed briefly by what she just said out of nowhere. "What?"
"We should get to know each other. You Runners are so resistant, isolated, and violent."
"Tch, you're one to talk. Zapping me," I reminded.
"We wanna show you what Project Icarus is and its benefits," continued Reagan. "Penetrating your network running with information is better than fighting Runners and risk losing valuable people of Project Icarus. It's just easier and safer to use someone who knows the Runners' operations well. In return, you won't be bothered, not even by the Blues. Just whatever missions they give you, you come to us, and hand over the bag. Luxury is a valuable bonus, I'd go on that. Besides, we want a leader."
I stared again. Taking this all in was difficult; they were shadows talking to me in the dim light of the city at night. One could say I was hallucinating all of this and the strange offers.
Pepper explained before I spoke. "You were once them—"
"I still am," I reminded her.
"—So we want you to teach our men and women how to free-run like your street rats. You are one of Merc's top best, right?"
Couldn't blame them for thinking that.
"You think you'll convince me when you regard me, along with my friends, like that?"
"Sorry." Pepper cleared her throat, smiling apologetically. "We call ourselves Black Necks. There, you know who we are. By now, I think you have an idea of what Project Icarus is."
"A disturbance," I summarized harshly. I planted a hand on my hip, angered. "Not interested. Agitated. Next time you bother me or interfere with our network of business, I'll kill you."
"I told you from our last meet that I'd kill you," reflected Pepper, as if in thought. "But, here we are, talking under peaceful intentions. How nice I am, giving you opportunities. That's all what Callaghan's about: opportunities. 'Honor the past, celebrate the present, build the future', as the saying goes. How wonderful the human language and intellect can be. So, why don't we stake it. It'll give you one last chance to think it up before I decide to throw you away."
This was annoying. They weren't going anywhere with me. How strangely foolish they were to let me get away with all the information of Project Icarus they just told me, especially on the note that they were letting me go just like that. Once we were done I'd head for Merc and warn him about everything.
Then . . .
Say yes, I thought it out as they stared at me in silent wait. Next time I meet them, I will say yes. Let them think I've complied, when I really haven't. It's cliché, but that's only because it actually works: become the enemy to know the enemy.
"Hm, I guess," I told them.
To my quick, hopeful response they gave a look that I knew meant I didn't win them over. My fists tightened as silently as they could as I analyzed them warily.
Suddenly, I heard chanting. Distracted, and knowing they wouldn't harm me, I ignored the two "Black Necks", and walked to the Edge. Not far below, I saw a group of protestors.
"What . . .?" I murmured, eyes stretching in gradual shock.
Protests. I haven't seen or heard of any in so long; the city has been so scarily peaceful and safe since the November Riots.
I nearly cringed as Pepper and Reagan contaminated my personal sphere when they joined me on the Edge. They looked down, observant, nearly how those protective heroes used to in old-time movies.
"What's the protest?" I murmured.
It was supposed to be to myself, but Reagan answered: "Nothing to worry about. Just harmless protests."
"So late at night?" I burst, astonished.
"It's only seven."
Yeah, but at NIGHT?
I ignored them, continuing to watch.
It was just a random group of protestors on the streets. They sounded only like a droning from where I stood high above, but their chanting became thunderous and demanding. I saw the three police cops pull up, and the Blues stepping out to push them back passively.
I watched in terror, fearing the worst of a protest. Riots weren't good, even if it meant after a long time since the November Downtown Riots.
"Can't do a thing about it, Runner, can ya?"
I turned my head. Pepper was still looking down, almost as if looking down upon the protestors with this stale look in her eyes. "You Runners run from things like these. You only care about your jobs, making a living off people's woes and protests. You don't even listen to the news. We, under thriving for Callaghan's reelection, try to heal this city, especially after the Downtown Riots. We try to maintain peace and order, for the greater good."
"Just because something's good, doesn't make it right". I remember these to be Faith's words from a while back.
"Crime is a horrible thing, Celeste," joined Reagan.
What, now we're friends, too?
"We try to keep it low. We hate murderers, rapists, thieves, liars, terrorists, gunners, etc. Why do you think we oppress protestors? They get violent."
"And you don't?" I spurned.
"Only when necessary. The November Riots were horrible, we know. We were probably a few years older than you—maybe teenagers while you were a kid when they happened. We remember November . . ." Reagan's hair fluttered in the wind so serenely, I was kind of aggrovated as I examined her during her "emotional" speech. She seemed just like any other doll under tyranny. "We want to help candidate Callaghan rebuild this city into a safe place. A better place. Violence is necessary."
We returned our attention to the protestors. The night hummed on with their chants that could only be heard by an inch of the whole city. Worthless chants.
"Do you really care about your clients?" murmured Pepper. "We do. We care about the civilians. That's why we oppress them when it's necessary to make sure things don't go out of order. You just live because you live off the money."
"You're not a Runner," I told them, watching some protestors talk back to the Blues. "You don't know the Edge."
"Let us understand it, then," snapped Reagan softly. "We care as much about this city as you do. It's just in a different light, that's all. We coexist with the cops on city duties."
Shit.
My eyes caught a violent movement. A protestor was pushing a Blue.
Don't push, you idiot. What do you think triggered the November Riots in the first place?
I swore under my breath as the Blue's comrades backed him up. They pushed back. Shouts were inserted between them, first quick, witty protests—then louder. I could hear them fine, even with the city life of the nightly traffics buzzing around them.
"Shit. What do they think that's doing? Why are they even protesting?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady and calm.
"It's not protesting . . ." Reagan peered closer.
Damn, I could push her now, but I need to know some things first.
"I see their signs," she said. "They're ranting on about lobbying candidate Robert Pope's campaign. Something candidate Callaghan didn't do unsatisfied them. They're voting for Pope—they're complaining about Callaghan. And now things are getting pushy."
"Protests have happened everywhere else, too," informed Pepper. "You just never heard about it, because one, you're a Runner. And two, they were passively overrun to the point they weren't worth being mentioned seeing how unsuccessful they were. Project Icarus or the Blues quiet them down fast."
"See what Runners do?" sneered Reagan, eyes sliding toward me in a cautious, penetrating manner. "There is no order, just rebellion; the clash of two sides with different ideas. If we got rid of Runners, or dissuaded them to the point that they gave up, we'd have no problems."
I fired my blue eyes at them. Right now, what she said wasn't important. "Well, what are you doing? You said you're like the Blues—go down there and stop it before it gets out of hand!"
"These are the Blues they're dealing with," said Pepper. "The Blues will handle them, passively."
I returned my determined, stressed gaze upon the protestors. Reagan just mentioned it was getting "pushy": two men, a teenager and an older man, were pushing against the Blues.
Then, a cop pulled out his gun, aiming, but not firing.
"Hey, do something!" I pressured angrily, glaring at the two Black Necks.
They looked at me as if I was stupid. I blinked at them in angry confusion, before snapping again.
"The police will handle them," said Reagan casually.
"The police just aimed a gun at them," I growled.
"He hasn't fired, yet," joined Pepper. "No gunfires, yet. It's only slight force, now."
"I thought you wanted to prevent any progressions toward riots." My volume was peaking. My innards sweltered and rolled, that feeling of helplessness and ire.
Pepper gazed at me once more, those rigid, gorgeous, sapphire gem-eyes piercing through me. "I thought you Runners didn't care."
"I never said we never cared," I retaliated abruptly.
Did she really think we were that ignorant and heartless?
My head flicked crazily from them to the protestors. The crowd was scattering: either fleeing or pressing forward through the Blues. The quickest, but worst way to prove the protestors' point. And the only excuse for the Blues to prove their own.
"What are you WAITING FOR?" I demanded, trying to contain my voice.
Pepper folded her arms, looking at the protestors like a player studying her spawn in a game of chest. "What about you?"
"You just proved us wrong that Runners do care about the city they live in," hypothesized Reagan. "Yet, I never understood why they isolated themselves from their clients. Why they never join us on the streets. Why they isolate themselves from the civilians themselves, who could have once been family or friends to them. Is the Edge really all about yourself?"
I stared, dark eyes thinning. My voice was low, quiet, but not deadly. I was simply being honest. "Yes. But a solitude that, in a way, has no affect on anyone else. That's why we do it. Even the Blues sometimes don't bother with us."
"Because they can't catch you," pointed out Pepper, softly. "Thus, Project Icarus: a testimony in which you, Celeste Post, prove your true loyalty to your city. It's your friends, or the city."
I muttered quietly. "I only run because they do."
"Really?" Pepper frowned at me before her eyes fell upon the protest below us, which suddenly melted into oppression. Not violent oppression, but not yet.
No one was going to help them.
I burst from my spot with Pepper and Reagan, aiming downward toward the closest rooftop. I landed with a thud and a grunt of agonizing frustration. I lunged forward, grappling onto thick wires in my Runner's vision, and gliding down. After reaching the end of the wire, I let go, landed, rolled, and sprinted toward the center of the street.
The street lamps were flimsy and half-shattered by the time I reached the site of the chaos. More Blues have arrived for backup. They were trying to resist protestors. Some humans scattered, others advanced, and others fought, but not to the point considered as complete violence. Guns were still aimed, though. I noticed some protestors had already dented and smashed the Blues' cars.
It was a matter of minutes when I took out three Blues who weren't treating civilians the way they should have been.
After taking them down, I realized what I have done.
Cel, what were you THINKING? Involving yourself like this! On the STREETS.
The wave of adrenaline that had guided me throughout the nearly violent outcome left my consciousness. I had remained well hidden in the shadows of the street lamps, but I was still nervous over the fear that I have revealed myself.
I could just imagine it: "Breaking news: blonde in red, sleeveless shirt and dark skinny jeans comes out of nowhere and takes out Blues during a protest-turned-passive-oppression-and-resistance. She came so quick and out of nowhere, she could have been a Runner!"
When I found safer heights on the safest rooftops I could think of, I was panting and sweating. A tremor ripped through my body, teasing my spine and making me suddenly shudder as if to a draft.
My heart thudded.
At least it was good to know I had a heart. As a Runner, that was a hard decision: risk revealing your identity as Runner to save fellow citizens, or let them die and save yourself. What shocked me the most was that I actually did stop a small riot. Not to just prove I cared . . .
I heard tap-like landings as the Black Necks joined me. They stood from afar, watching me silently, then walked up to me.
"I didn't think you'd do it," said Pepper.
"But, at the same time, we knew," supported Reagan. She slipped her helmet, mask, or whatever, on. "Because nobody's that heartless. We may not understand you Runners and your motivations of living—but we most certainly know one thing: you are not a Runner anymore, Celeste."
I snapped my head up, glaring at her, my eyes saying enough in total rejection.
"You humans reject so much of yourselves," said Reagan, staring at me through her eye holes. "You're now one of us, Celeste. We'll see you tomorrow, just to let you get a taste of the life under Project Icarus. It's beautiful. You'll learn a thing or two, on what living truly is."
Pepper joined her side, staring at me before putting on her choice of concealment. "Good to know you care. See ya tomorrow. Oh, and if you don't show up, we'll kill Merc and Faith and Kreeg and Drake. We honestly don't want to go the violent way, seeing how that will enrage your Runner fans and clients. It's just easier if you give us the information without harming the Runners. Then, they'll realize their line of business won't do in this hardcore city, and will give up. Things will melt back into place, peacefully, without violence. That is our aim."
Before they left, Reagan glanced at me with a steely look. "By the way, I don't like you. When you join Project Icarus, don't expect to be treated like a leader. A leader is made, not born. You'll be treated just like everyone else. A lot of us may hate you, you being a former Runner. You have an annoying, haughty attitude. All that."
Bitch. I glared at her, glad we had at least something in common.
"Besides, what's with all the heavy eye-liner?" taunted Reagan icily. I stared, shocked. "You're a Runner. They don't have time for life except running from it. Spending your time up here will keep you from a man; you Runners never provide yourselves for dates. But in Project Icarus, wealthy, attractive men would be attracted to wealthy, attractive women like you . . ."
"Ignore her," interjected Pepper, shaking her head at Reagan. "She means you have beautiful, bright blue eyes. We just can't tell with all that heavy eye-liner . . ."
"What do looks have anything to do with our discussion?" I hissed.
Pepper ignored me. "Look, it's easier if you just gave in, sometimes," said Pepper. "After all, you did mention you give more shit about your friends. So, just give in. No one will die, that way."
They turned, charged toward a wall, ran up it, skimmed some pipes and ziplines, and disappeared.