Chapter 4:

Vanity

As I climbed over the Edge onto a rooftop, Faith was standing from above.

"Cel!"

She jumped and landed, then approached me. "Hey, where were you? I've been searching you for ten minutes—"

"I'm fine," I insisted, standing up. I took a deep breath to calm myself, but made sure it looked like I was only inhaling the beautiful night air. I smiled. "Night jog, ya know?"

"Merc told me about some black guys chasing you earlier," snapped Faith, gluing me to her dark eyes. "Imagine if they were around here, at night. They could have wrestled you down. And who knows what to do with you?"

"But nothing happened. Don't worry."

Nothing did happen. Just a protest and a chat with our shadowed enemies.

I ambled past her, tightening my ponytail. Faith followed me in cold silence. It was funny how dark and low her voice sounded, but I sensed a new warmness in her tone. I knew she had a fondness of me as a comrade, but I never thought she'd go this far expressing her concern. That hurt me even more, to be lying to probably the only true person I would ever have.

"Merc was trying to reach you," reported Faith, trying to get me to turn around to face her.

I just kept walking on. Then, I turned to her with an arched eyebrow. "Really? I didn't hear him."

That wasn't a lie.

It was clear, now. The Black Necks weren't just trained to mimic the street Runners, they could also break into our lines of communication. I wonder who was behind the scenes.

Faith's eyes shot at me in dark concern. "Exactly. What'd you expect him to think? That you turned your comms off?"

"I didn't, though," I backfired. This time I was getting badgered by her poking.

Faith slowed in her footsteps, but this time I decided to run ahead. Before she could ask another question, she chased me.

"Why are you running from me? From this?" she called after me.

"I'm a Runner. It's what I do best," I mocked her, smiling—while I wrestled with myself trying to calculate whether smiling too much or too little was giving myself away.

Approaching the rails to some construction boards on the sides of our rooftop, I jumped and grabbed hold of the rails. I followed this motion with a quick handstand, then stayed there upside-down, parting my legs wider while I attempted five handstand push-ups.

Faith balanced herself onto the same rails like the way a monkey or cat would perch itself. She looked at me. "Ya know, your refusal to talk is giving yourself away."

My jaw was tightened from trying to keep count of my handstand push-ups. Faith waited in fuming silence until I balanced like her, upright, and sighed. "Fine."

Tell her the truth, but not all of it.

I stuttered at first, but finally let the words tumble. "I'm seeing someone."

Faith's head jerked to me, short black hair slapping her in the face. "What—really?"

It was uncommon for Runners to build special relationships outside of their world. Faith knew that, Merc knew that, everyone knew that. It was endangering to beloved ones unless they were Runners themselves.

"Just a friend," I reassured her, smiling. "Not a guy or anything. We're going shopping together."

"Trying to be normal?" snickered Faith, but in understanding.

"I guess," I replied thoughtfully, looking down at the city streets, black mouths with moving, lit dots. Kinda like Pac-Man, heh. "Gotta grab what I can."

"Who's the friend?"

"Her name's Pepper. We took a liking to each other at the Fye store."

I cannot believe I just said that.

"Fye store? Ha, of all places? What, you like video games?"

HaHA, Faith. "I got a new iPod casing yesterday. I've seen her on occasions, and we just clicked, so I guess we're going to go shopping and get a massage."

"I don't think Merc's paying you that much," said Faith with uncertainty, but she simpered.

"Nah. Pepper's loaded, trust me."

Faith gave a short, light laugh while I smiled, mostly to the idea that I just referred to Pepper on friendly terms.

Then, Faith paused. "Why were you afraid to tell me this?"

"Are we friends or something?"

The Eurasian grinned. "Answer me. You're so . . . resistant."

"To make it short, I was afraid of endangering her and you and Merc. No one can know we have outside connections, not even our own Runners. You know that, Faith." I released another exhale, frowning. "Besides, I think Merc would forbid me a normal life."

"You call down there normal?" emphasized Faith in questioning disgust, glaring down upon the city.

She was highly devoted to the solitary life of the Runner. She didn't like a single thing about "normal life". I kinda admired her for being that kind of a rebel. It was even better to know that she still cared about people, like me, but I didn't voice that.

I thought about Pepper and Reagan's question of devotion, of where mine lied to. The city or our business . . . or ourselves . . .

My eyes caught Faith in a thoughtful glance over the city. "Faith . . . why are you a Runner if you don't give shit about the city?"

She looked at me, as if from a different angle. Her dark eyes searched; with that sharp-looking tattoo on her eye, it made her analysis a bit jagged to me.

"I dunno, anymore, to be frank . . ."

The Runner looked at me, hard, again. "And you? You do it because you're good at it, I know that. But do you do it for the business, for Merc, for the other Runners, or for yourself, or for the city?"

"Those categories are somewhat similar," I retorted, nearly in protest. But I took it seriously. "I sometimes thought I was doing it for the city, but I guess it's for myself, now."

"What about that Pepper friend? She worth protecting, even in a city like this?"

"Nah. Just a friend. We're just chick-bonding, I guess."

Faith laughed at my interesting usage of vocabulary. "It's just shopping and massages, right?"

"Right." I chuckled with her. Then, I dismounted the rail. "Well, Merc's probably pissed. Let's go."

"Right, right." Faith paused shortly to inform Merc of our return, whom I could hear clearly in my ear.

Man, he had vocals.

Faith and I ran side-by-side. Even the lights of the city couldn't catch us.

--

"I'm out, Merc." I picked up my earpiece and snugged it into my ear.

Merc was up early, as usual, researching. "Where you going, kiddo?"

"Shopping. Massages."

He paused, snapped off his communication headphones, and wheeled around in his chair. He looked at me. "What? Since when were you the luxury type?"

"I've always wanted to try it out."

"When you sign up for a massage, they're going to ask for your full name and everything."

"What are you, my father?"

"Damn straight, I am. I gave you that money, don't go zipping credit cards and throwing dollars like a spoiled teenager. That's your allowance."

I grinned, nearly chuckling at his failing jokes. "See ya, Merc."

"Hey, what did I say!" he protested. He was serious, but so was I.

"See ya, Merc."

I jumped up through our hole. From there, I greeted the sun, took out my iPod, and selected Lily Allen.

"NO iPODS!" bellowed Merc from the AC tower; he was peeking through the blinds.

I pretended to not hear him and ran off. Besides, this was for his own good. If I didn't show up, he was going to be killed when I came back, along with Faith.

Did I care that much?

Pepper's question was now answered: I'm doing this for my friends. But for myself, too. Not for the city. I knew that would mean not being able to be normal, settle down, meet a guy, and raise a family and blend with the crowd. But I didn't want that, to not to be able to run. I was willing to give that up just to run.

What was it going to be my whole life? Running, Running, Running?

I liked it, though, at the same time. I wish I always had life-long enemies who motivated me to keep Running, because I certainly didn't want to end up like those couch-potatoes, forgetting what the blue sky and rush of wind was like.

Again, the Edge sounds like a selfish choice. But it's better than being in a crowd, because you find yourself more alone in crowds: you against the crowd. When you're alone under the sky, ironically, you are not alone. I chose that, the sun, the blue sky, the rooftops, the rush of adrenaline knowing any moment I could die and not see Faith and Merc again.

Blake Street, right?

Pepper mentioned something about coexisting with Blues. That wasn't something to consider—I knew I would never get along with them. So what did she mean? They just wouldn't bother me on the streets, even on the rooftops? Did that mean I could walk into a public mall, my face probably recognizable by countless Blues who have tried to shoot at me before, and not get shot at for once?

Was Project Icarus that amazing?

The idea made my heart lurch and fall endlessly, as if removing itself downward to my stomach. Ugh. Nausea. I felt my heart sliding.

To be honest, I like getting into foils with the Blues. They were the best mocking targets, the greatest challenges second to Running itself. To be able to get away from them, from authority, from the organized patterns of law and life, to know you could die or get arrested, but doing it anyway.

I melted into a cluster of businessmen over a crosswalk. On the other side, I stood at the entrance of the mall, clusters of teenagers on a Saturday morning with their boyfriends and girls and bags and show-off clothes.

Now that I thought about it, Pepper should have told me when to meet her.

She must have cameras wired on to me, I predicted, because next thing I knew I heard a shout.

I turned. Pepper and Reagan and one more person approached me, friendly smiles beamed right at me like stage lights.

WHAT?

The man with them instantly grinned: a brunette with short, prickly hair, enough to remind you of the way grass sticks out, but not long enough to consider he had bangs.

From what I last recalled, guys don't normally shop, not like this. I was considering pointing Tony toward the Fye store where Ari was to entertain me—but I forgot how much he had the hots for me.

"Well, well," he sneered, expressing hints of facial hair and a goatee. Those rusty-brown eyes gloated at me with a lecherous gleam in them. "Isn't it the hottie? Great to meet you under friendlier circumstances, deary."

I didn't say anything, giving an appalled gape at Pepper and Reagan. How dare they. How were we going to "bond" with him leering down my ass?

"Tony," snarled Reagan. "Be a gentleman, for once."

"I am," he gloated.

His smooth, wealthy tone could have fooled and swooned any girl. In fact, he was dressed decently for a pervert, but a bit too flashy. He wore a black, tight T-shirt that easily suggested a strong upper body underneath a white button-up shirt. His jeans pants were baggy from low-riding.

Nice boxers, Tony.

Pepper removed some sunglasses—no wonder I didn't recognize her under them—beaming at me stronger than our previous meets. "Sorry, Tony wanted to see you again. And besides, he won't harm you. He sounds like a jackass, but he's not, really."

"Just following orders, Chickadee," agreed Tony with a casual shrug of a shoulder, hand tucked coolly into his pockets.

Chickadee? This seriously isn't the normal I was thinking of.

"He uses pet names for girls he's infatuated with," said Reagan, folding her arms. "Can you guess why he chose that pet name for you?"

Chick-adee.

Chick.

I'm SO flattered.

Reagan added, "He doesn't use them, often, though."

I glimpsed at her, nearly glaring. "I thought it'd just be Pepper and me. You hate me, right?"

"Loraine's orders," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "And if you want me to like you, then don't encourage my irritation."

I wouldn't care.

"Raine acts like your Drake, your contractor," clarified Pepper. "Dispatches us places to guard or take care of civilians or criminals. But she sometimes joins us Running. However, this time, she wanted to watch you from afar."

"I'm touched." I raised my eyebrows briefly, sarcastic.

"Let's go shopping!" boomed Tony, catching me off guard. I looked at him speechlessly, to which he returned with a stupid pout. "Awww, Celeste, wear a more interesting attire than that."

I was pretty comfortable in my familiar red, sleeveless shirt with the V-neck and dark-blue skinny jeans.

"She's a Runner, Tony," reminded Pepper, flicking a small purse at him. "She can dress however she wants. But don't try to wear that too much, Cel. For the Blues who would love to chase you anyway, they'll recognize you. Cameras," she finished by pointing at the outside entrance cameras.

"Try high-heels," suggested Tony with a grin. "They'll define what I'm sure are nice legs."

"I need these sneakers to run from you," I growled.

Pepper snorted, while Tony declared how pathetic I was at sarcasm. Then, the auburn-haired girl gestured us inside.

"Let's shop first, then relax afterwards," suggested Pepper.

Obviously, no one would ever identify her as a Runner or a Callaghan spawn under Project Icarus. Pepper was dressed in a black leather coat over a cerulean shirt I couldn't see. Blue jeans concealed black, leathered high-heel boots. Ok, not really normal—she could have been an FBI agent investigating the premises.

Reagan followed right after her, dressed in a casual black tank-top clad by a dark-green sports jacket. She wore jeans as well, with a black belt I wish I had and her own brown practical clogs.

Tony slowed down when I followed. I looked away from him, trying to focus on following Pepper and Reagan.

"Hey, Cel, we started off rough," he began, but I paced ahead of him quickly. He jogged to catch up, then walked backwards in front of me, arms beckoning to the ceiling as if begging. "Hey, hey. I'm a joker—they call me that, sometimes. Joker. But you can call me Tony."

"You're a sick, infected man with the worst nickname ever," I told him succinctly, trying to walk by him.

Ahead of us, Pepper continued to walk but shouted over her shoulders, "Tony. We want to get shopping."

Tony shot back, "What could you women possibly need? You already have frikkin mansions, like, on the 77th floor of one those skyscrapers up there! C'mon, we have all the time in the world!"

I heard Reagan fight with Pepper as they walked side-by-side. "This was supposed to be just us and Celeste. Why'd he come along?"

"Can't I be included for once? You treat this like high school," roared Tony in frustration.

I smelled morning vodka from Tony.

I jogged by him. I didn't necessarily join the other two Black Necks, but I trailed them like a child. Tony ignored me, for once, and slipped away into some cell phone store.

About time.

Noticing Tony's absence, Reagan exclaimed, "He's gone. Let's ditch him."

For once, I agreed: "What's there to shop for?"

"You seem to have an interest in music, Cel," outlined Pepper, stopping at some benches. She looked at me. "It suits your personality: the lone Runner who detests the city, Blues, and people besides Merc and Faith. And is foolish enough to listen to her iPod while Running."

"Why not?" I challenged, grinning.

"I'm not disapproving, I like your style," said Pepper defensively. "So how about we get you something? Like, I dunno, an iPod stereo, iTrip—"

"Runners don't own cars, Pepper," interjected Reagan curtly.

"—Oh, right. How 'bout a massage chair? A new nano iPod—an iTouch—?"

I cut her off. "Runners do have cars. And Runners don't have a need for anything but shoes—but the iTouch sounds nice. I'm just concerned with the size it'll present to my pockets."

"I'm sure we can arrange that," said Pepper casually. "Anything else?"

"I dunno, indulge me."

Reagan was studying me with such icy eyes. Don't look at me. I was going to gratefully accept any opportunities of luxury I would receive. It wouldn't last long, considering I was going to bring down Project Icarus, soon.

"I need better headphones for my new iTouch, too," I told her.

"She demands all of these right away with such a casual face," noted Reagan, annoyed. "Selfish, I knew it."

I ignored her. So did Pepper as she wrote a list on those advanced organizers that looked like a cross between calculators, Nintendos, and cell phones. As I watched her type in my list of vanities, a question popped up.

"I don't see how this bonds us," I said.

"What matters is you," declared Pepper, stuffing the organizer into her leather jacket's breastpocket. "You're like a little project to us. We're wondering if you're like the other Runners. If so, with your similar interests, maybe we can appeal to other Runners if all deems necessary."

"Bribery, how typical."

"Well, in my terms, I think bribery requires some self-resistance from the person being bribed. But, in your case, you're openly willing to accept the deal. You're not under bribery," concluded Pepper.

None of that really made sense, but whatever.

I drew a conclusion. "So it's not just me you want to appeal to. I'm only the hook."

"Yeah, we gotta bigger fish to fry. So, we'll try to appeal to you. Let's go shopping, then we'll take you to some upper level private spas for a massage."

She was sure open about her evil scheme.

I followed them as they led me into stores any busy-bodied woman would go into: Linen's and Things, Baths and Beyond, Old Navy, Victoria's Secret, etc. Could you believe these chains would still exist in this future?

Pepper wanted us to take a look at what could possibly be my new home. We took a look at all sorts of furniture, including TVs, computers, and tableware. Did I want a balcony with a Jacuzzi and outdoor shower, a porch, a patio—nature, techno, futuristic, ancient, or modern-day themed? All the vanities of current civilization—the prisons to a Runner.

"Oh, and for future reference," said Pepper, "you will be referred to as Vanity."

I paused, looking at her, absorbing the new title. "What? First Chickadee, now Vanity?"

"I find it catchy," admitted Reagan, as if jealous. She pouted, resting a hand on her hip.

"We have codenames, too," explained Pepper. She pointed to herself. "I'm Bullet, Reagan is Kick, Loraine is simply her common nickname, Raine, and Tony's—"

"Pervert?" I finished hopefully with anticipation.

"—Greed."

"Close enough."

Fascinating names; I could somewhat see how they matched their suitors.

"It's simple. Just like how we can hack into your system of communication, so could other unfriendly people. That is why we have codenames. But that's only possible when we have our comms, which we don't have now considering we're only shopping. It's a harmless sight, right?"

"Just shopping and bonding. Totally harmless," prompted Reagan sarcastically. She sighed, as if exhausted by her vain efforts to befriend me.

Pepper turned to her. "I'm not dropping Celeste, Ray. You're gonna have to get along sooner or later. She's our best chance of Project Icarus' success."

Reagan didn't say anything. Good.

Tony bear-hugged me from behind, squeezing his thick arms against my innards and lifting me into the air. I seriously didn't want to feel his massive chest or any other body part grazing me from behind—I was close to showing off some moves, but reminded myself that we were in public.

"Let go of her, now, Tony," commanded Pepper.

"Let me speak for myself—" I gasped, about to snap off his arms.

"Don't, Cel," admonished Pepper in a low voice. She flashed those burning blue eyes at the thug. "TONY."

He was their pet, or something. A perverted dog.

He released me, grinning crookedly with a large shrug. I landed easily onto my feet, glaring.

Rearranging my red shirt, which he involuntarily shifted out of line, I continued to laser him with furious eyes. "You're really pissing me off."

"Save it later, not here," said Reagan.

Without further conversation, Pepper and Reagan walked out of the store. I followed intently. Tony was on my tail, grinning to himself.

"Massage, right?" he asked after we left.

I turned to him. "No. Not for you."

"Selfish there, Cel," he moped.

"You're not serious, right?" I growled, making a look at Pepper the way a teenage daughter probably would to her parents.

"He seems like a pervert, but he won't act it out, trust me," vowed Pepper.

This is stupid.