A/N: Sorry for the long radio silence, I started grad school and things got a little hectic. I think I can get back to a decent upload frequency now.
"You're here because we think you have the mental and physical grit to help us hit the runners on their own turf. It will be hard. It will be frightening. You will be injured, maybe seriously."
Dillon shifted in the cushiony, white leather office chair, imagining slipping from a balancing beam and his ankle folding beneath his weight. A quick glance at the three other recruits in the conference room with him revealed that they didn't feel the same. Or at least, weren't showing it.
"But what you'll realize is that the runners only have one thing you currently don't have – training. And we're here to provide that for you."
The speaker, a tightly athletic, middle-aged man that Bridges had introduced as Darius Weathers, gestured to a large screen that took up most of the wall. A photo of a large, open-air training room appeared. Dillon saw ladders, beams, ropes, platforms of varying heights.
"Our training facilities are comprehensive, replicating just about any rooftop obstacle you might encounter." Weathers waved his hand again and a mannequin outfitted in some sort of blue and black body armor replaced the training room. A CPF badge gleamed above its heart. "Our personal protection gear will give you an immediate edge over the runners." He tapped the screen. "Boots with impact absorption, gripping tread, and steel toes. Knee and elbow pads. Studded gloves. Helmet and face mask. The armor over the chest and back is hinged to bend with your body, and will protect against small arms fire. This is all still in the prototype stage, and we will adjust the equipment to your needs and feedback."
Another wave of Weathers' hand, and the mannequin faded away. "Krueger Security and the CPF have three goals in this joint effort. One, to apprehend and arrest runners on the rooftops."
The words '1) Apprehend and arrest runners' appeared on the screen.
"Two, find and clear out any runner bases or safehouses. We know they must be operating out of somewhere."
'2) Identify and eliminate runner safehouses'
"Three, to grow and establish a rooftop patrol that prevents runners from becoming a problem again in the future."
'3) Rooftop patrol'
"Now, this is a big simplification. And K-Sec is very aware that there will always be runners, to an extent. Just as there will always be murderers, thieves, and so on. But we can and will break up the runner network that has established itself in Glass." Weathers paused, adjusted his starched white and orange uniform. "I'm sure you're all aware of the incident at the Shard."
A few hums of agreement.
"You might have been briefed on some of the less public details – that Kate Connors was going to be passed from CPF custody to K-Sec, and that this pass-off was interrupted by her sister, notorious runner Faith Connors. What you might not have heard was that Faith was assisted by a rogue law enforcement agent, Detective Miller."
Dillon sucked in a breath, earning a glance and a nod from Weathers.
"You knew him. He was a good cop, it's surprising that he turned on the CPF. Although he and Kate had a working relationship, he had not been known to allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgement. I say 'had' because Miller was killed when he resisted arrest at the Shard, and opened fire on K-Sec personnel."
Dillon bit down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood. It might have been better that Miller died. What would have been in store for him had he been taken in by K-Sec might have been close enough to a death sentence. Interrogation, then life in prison. Then an "accident" in the prison cafeteria or a darkened cell before too long.
"Miller told Faith about the pass-off at the Shard, and it appears that he had been working with her for some time. The true nature of their relationship is not yet known. It seems that he was the only office in his department who was colluding with the runners."
But why? Why had Miller chosen to help an assassin and a runner? Could they tell him that?
Weathers did not. He cleared his throat and changed tack. "The asset that we lost in the heli crash was a runner that had an arrangement with us. He provided us with invaluable intel and training insights. His loss is not insurmountable, but it's one that we will definitely feel. Thankfully, this runner had helped us to lay enough of a groundwork that we can continue on without him. Our main servers in the Shard sustained heavy damage, temporarily cutting us off from much of our databases. But this, too, is only a temporary setback. We have all the important stuff backed up onto servers here. And with that all said…" Weathers glanced at his watch. "I think this briefing has gone on for a few minutes too long. Let's go get fitted for our personal protection gear, yeah? I'll go make sure the equipment is all ready."
Once Weathers had left the room, Dillon turned to the other recruits, two men and a woman. He extended his hand to the blond man seated across from him. "Dillon McKnight."
The blond gave him a quick, crooked smile. "Odin Smith. Pleasure." There was a friendly gleam in his blue eyes that Dillon took a liking to immediately.
The woman next to Odin thrust her own hand out. Her dark fingers closed around Dillon's in a surprisingly strong grip. "Name's Susannah Abara." Her tight bun didn't so much as shift with her nod.
"Jacob Wilson," said the slender man next to Dillon. Jacob kept his folded arms clamped his chest. His eyes were blue as well, but they lacked the amicable shine that Odin's had. Jacob's were steely, shifting.
"Where are you guys from?" Dillon asked.
"Anchor," Odin said. "Sixth District."
"Sky City, Eighth."
Odin whistled. "What's that like?"
Susannah shrugged. "Mostly boring. A lot of rich, stuffy businesspeople, a lot of bright windows. Not much happens. I sometimes wish I was somewhere a little… dirtier, to be honest."
Dillon jerked his chin at Jacob. "What about you?"
"Downtown."
Dillon smiled. "Me too. Which district?"
"Fourth."
"I'm in Fifth. Guess our beats never crossed paths."
"Guess not."
Dillon made a mental note to be civil but distant with Jacob.
"Bet you've got more day-to-day excitement than I do, huh?" Susannah winked. "More delinquents and lawlessness."
Dillon thought of the boy runner splattered on the pavement; the woman runner squeezing behind soggy boxes of trash and rusty dumpsters, the flighty and wild gleam in her eye, the flash of red as she disappeared up the ladder. "I guess you could say that."
Odin clapped his hands together. "Speaking of delinquents, who's ready to trip some runners?"
"Oh honey, I can tell we're going to be good friends." Susannah's wide grin shattered the severity imparted by her slicked-back hair and vice grip.
"You're speaking my language," Jacob muttered, without making eye contact.
Dillon barked out a laugh. "Soon the runners will have rumors about us."
