Lora hid a yawn behind her hand as she made her way through the airport terminal, willing some energy into her tired limbs. It was nearly three in the morning, and her flight had just landed. Red eye flights weren't her favorite, but after waking up to a phone call from Alan about his pager going off, switching to the earliest flight she could get had seemed like a good idea at the time. The switch had lost its luster a little now, though—she'd been able to grab a few hours of sleep, but it hadn't been comfortable, despite her decades of experience with plane rides. At least she would be able to sleep in a little while Alan went to work.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, she made her way through the terminal, ignoring the signs directing other passengers to the baggage claim. She still had plenty of clothes at the house, so she never bothered with anything but an overnight bag. A buzzing in her pocket made her pause, and she took out her phone. The signal had returned all at once, filling up the screen with incoming notifications. She smiled at the list: Alan had, as usual, sent her multiple text messages while she was in the air.

She quickly opened them, scrolling through the messages. The first was short, saying he would see her when she landed if he didn't die of irritation at Mackey's late-night board meeting first; the second was longer, saying Sam had ruined the midnight release plans for ENCOM OS 12, and also jumped from the ENCOM roof. This was quickly followed by another adding that Sam had, of course, had a parachute. Lora raised her eyebrows, remembering Sam's most recent parachuting stunt at a press conference she and Alan had attended in San Diego a few months earlier. Considering how close it was to the anniversary of his dad's disappearance, she wasn't surprised Sam had pulled another prank.

The next one was about Sam, again. Apparently, Alan had gone to talk to him about the page he'd received the night before. That was a little worrying, if only because she wasn't sure how such a talk would go. Alan had tried to seem nonchalant over the phone, but Lora knew him too well to buy the act—the page had him excited, and Lora couldn't really blame him. She'd had done her best to keep calm herself, despite knowing it was most likely a dead-end. She had, thankfully, been able to encourage Alan to speak with Sam first before checking the arcade himself, though she had no idea if Sam would be as interested as Alan hoped he would be. Sam hadn't spoken to Alan in months, despite a handful of texts from Lora hinting that it was nice to be reminded occasionally that Sam was, at least, still alive. He could be especially stubborn at this time of year. She supposed the conversation hadn't gone well, because the next and final message was a note that Alan had gone to check out the arcade himself, with a picture of the game floor attached.

Lora frowned slightly, and scrolled through the last few messages again, fingers sliding over the glass. She had expected another message about finding something in the arcade, or more likely, a short text saying he had gone home and would wait up for her, conspicuously neglecting to mention that he'd been disappointed in his search, but there was nothing of the kind. The messages simply stopped at the picture of the inside of the arcade. She flipped through her contacts, searching for his number. Maybe some of his messages had been unable to go through while she was on the plane. That was fine; she doubted he would be asleep yet.

She dialed his number and held the phone to her ear, waiting for him to pick up. The line rang, and rang, and rang—and went straight to voice mail. She hung up, not bothering to leave a message, and tried again. Alan never missed a call twice. Even if he was so upset that he had gone to sleep without letting her know he was home, he always kept his phone by the bed. She waited again, expecting him to pick up immediately—the first call would have woken him—but there was no answer. After a few rings, the call went to voice mail again.

Lora hung up and stared at her phone. After Flynn disappeared, she and Alan had come to an unspoken agreement that they would always answer when the other called, no matter what time it was. The two of them had only missed a handful of calls between them in the last two decades. She ignored the faint tingling in her fingertips—there was nothing to worry about, he was probably just sleeping—and dialed the house number, silently grateful they'd bothered to keep a land-line.

The gratefulness ebbed as the house line rang and rang. There was no answer there, either, just the beginning of the voice-mail message. She quickly re-dialed, knowing even Alan couldn't sleep through this many calls. She clutched her phone a little tighter as she stepped outside, heading for the rows of taxis waiting for incoming passengers. The line clicked, and this time she listened to the answering machine's recording, adjusting her grip on the phone as she waited for the chance to leave a message.

There was a beep as Lora stepped up to the curb. "Honey," she said, "it's me. I just landed. I'm about to grab a cab, I'll be home soon. I hope everything went okay at the arcade. Call me when you get this, alright? I love you." Her voice was even as she left the message, and the hand she held up to hail one of the taxis didn't shake. She loaded her bag into the backseat of the first one to pull up, and gave the driver the house address and a quick smile as she climbed in after it.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, she unlocked her phone again and flipped through her contacts for another number. Once again, the line rang and went to voice-mail. She hung up and redialed immediately, trying not to feel frustrated. It was nearly 3 in the morning, after all—even Roy had to sleep sometime. She took a slow breath as she waited, and this time, the second ring cut off midway.

"Lora?" Roy's voice was slightly muffled when he answered, as if he still had one side of his face smashed into a pillow.

"Hi, Roy," she said. "Sorry to wake you."

"Mmph. S'ok." There was some static and a distant curse. Lora wondered if he'd actually made it to the bed before falling asleep, or if he'd ended up passing out on his couch, and felt guilty for robbing him of some well-deserved rest. He'd been very busy with the Flynn Lives movement lately, and from the timing of some of the texts she'd received in the last couple weeks, his sleep schedule was all over the was more static, and then Roy asked, his voice a little clearer, "What time is it?

"Almost three. My flight just got in."

"Three? Huh. Not that late," he said, then yawned. "Sorry. What's up? You still at the airport?"

"No, I'm in a cab. Listen, have you heard from Alan?"

"Alan? Yeah, a couple hours ago. He said he was gonna check out the arcade, see what he could find out about that page he got last night. He told you about that, right?"

Lora nodded to herself. "He called me about it this morning. He also sent me a text from inside the arcade, about an hour ago. You didn't go with him?"

"Nope, he told me to get some sleep. I think he wanted to do it by himself, anyway," Roy said. "Why? You haven't heard from him?"

She answered as casually as she could. "Nope, not yet. And he isn't answering his phone."

"You tried him twice?"

"Of course. It just rings and rings until it goes to voice-mail. The land-line, too." She waited, but Roy didn't respond right away. His silence wasn't comforting. "He only said he was going to the arcade?"

"Yeah, he was already there when we hung up."

"He didn't say anything else to you? Anything at all?"

"Not really," Roy said, and she could just picture him running a hand through his curly hair as he tried to remember the details. "I mean, he told me he went to Sam's to talk to him about that prank he pulled—did he tell you about that?"

"He texted me while I was on the plane. He said Sam didn't want to go to the arcade, so he was going himself."

"That's what he told me. I offered to go with him, but…"

"But he told you to sleep," she finished. "He did send me a photo of the arcade floor-that must have been after he spoke to you. He hasn't sent anything else since." Her uncertainty lent a tightness to her voice as she added, "And now he isn't answering. I tried the land-line at the house, too. Nothing." Lora watched the lights of a passing car without really seeing them, waiting for Roy to speak. Again, the pause went on a bit too long for comfort, and Lora sighed softly. "This isn't like him, Roy."

"No, it's not," Roy said finally. "But there's no need to panic yet, right? Maybe he just didn't find anything about the page, and got upset about it."

That was definitely a possibility—Lora had warned Alan not to get too excited, worried that they were all three just working themselves up to inevitable disappointment-but even an upset Alan wouldn't have just gone home without a word. "He still would've said something to me, or you. He knew I was coming home tonight. And you know how he is about missing a phone call."

"Yeah. He doesn't." He went silent for a moment, then said, "You're on the way home?"

"Yes, about forty minutes away."

"All right," he said, as if that settled things. "I'll meet you there."

Lora shook her head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see her. "Roy, you don't have to—"

"It's fine, Lora. I mean, he's most likely at home, right? And if he is, and he's not answering, then he might be pretty upset, and I wanna make sure he's okay." He added, a little lighter, "Besides, if he's just asleep, this'll give me an excuse to come over and see you."

Lora smiled despite herself. "That's true. Missed me?"

"You know it. Bad movie night just isn't the same without you."

"Oh, really? I think you just want my leftover popcorn."

Roy laughed, and said, "I mean, you never finish your share, why let it go to waste? But that's just a bonus, I promise. Your presence is definitely the best part."

"Uh-huh," she said, "I believe you." She let the smile fade, continuing," I missed you too. But you really don't have to come over-"

"Lora, come on. I'm already awake, it's not a big deal. Besides, when we find him, we can both give him a talking-to about answering phone calls. We'll get to lecture him for once."

Whenthey found him, not if. That was reassuring. "That's true," she said. "Thanks, Roy. Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"Give me ten minutes and some coffee and I will be. See you soon."

"See you." She hung up, and immediately looked to see if she had gotten any notifications while she was talking with Roy. There were none. She locked the phone and sat back, trying to relax. She refused to think about what they would do if they couldn't find him; instead she occupied herself by watching the lights outside the car window, and periodically checking her phone for any sign of Alan. As the ride went on, she sent off a few more texts, and she even called Sam, though she was unsurprised when he didn't pick up. He was probably asleep, and even if he wasn't, Sam was never very reliable when it came to answering the phone. She sent him a text anyway, asking him to call her as soon as he could.

After what felt like hours, the taxi finally pulled into their neighborhood, the only car on the street at this time of night. The house came into view, and she tightened her grip on the strap of her bag—the windows were dark, and there was no car in the driveway. She quickly paid the driver and gathered her things before getting out of the cab and hurrying up the drive to the door.

The outside light was on, which was a small blessing as she fumbled with her keys, though it wasn't enough to keep her from nearly dropping them. She caught them just before they slipped out of her fingers, and she shook her head slightly at herself. She must have been more tired than she thought. The correct key slid into the lock at last, and she pushed the door open and stepped into the dark house.

Something brushed against her legs, rushing past her into the house. She jumped in surprise, reaching for the light switch by the door. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she dropped her shoulders, feeling silly: a small black cat was winding between her legs. It meowed loudly as it looked up at her.

"Hi, sweetie," she said, dropped her bag on the floor inside the doorway. "You scared me. What's wrong, huh?"

The cat meowed again, and ran to the kitchen. Lora followed, turning on lights as she did so. The food bowl in the corner was completely empty. The cat sat next to it, looking up at her expectantly.

"Alan wasn't here to let you in tonight, was he?" she said softly. "Sorry. Here—" She retrieved the food from the pantry and filled the bowl. The cat immediately got to work emptying it, totally ignoring Lora now that it had what it wanted. Lora straightened up and put the food away, swallowing the worry worming its way up her throat. Alan's schedule rarely varied; he let the cat out before he left for work, and let it back in for the night whenever he got home. If the cat had been left outside, it meant Alan hadn't been home since he left for work almost a full day before.

Her fingertips were tingling again. Resisting the urge to start chewing on her nails, she left the kitchen and went upstairs, heading to their bedroom.

"Honey?" she called as she climbed the stairs, not expecting a response, but hoping for one anyway. She heard no sound from beyond the darkened landing, and the lights in the bedroom were off. "Alan?" she said, quieter this time, and flipped the light switch beside the door.

There was no answer, because there was nobody to give one. The bed was empty, the covers pulled up crookedly in a half-hearted attempt at neatness. In the far corner, the closet door was still partially open, a tie hanging off the knob, and a row of Alan's shirts was just visible in the light. The room was still, silent; there was no sign that anyone had occupied it in the last few hours.

Lora stood in the doorway for a moment. A hand drifted up to her mouth, but she stopped herself, making a fist, and forced her hands back to her sides. She walked over to the bed and straightened the pillows and the covers, tugging up the blanket and smoothing it with her hands methodically, then stood back to look at her work. It looked at least a touch neater now. She slid her shoulder-bag down her arm and carried it to the dresser against the wall. Unzipping the bag, she took out the few articles of clothing she'd brought from her apartment in D.C., quickly refolding whatever had been mussed during her flight, and put them away in the proper drawers. After taking her purse out, she folded up the shoulder bag and set it in its usual place beside the dresser.

A mirror hung above the dresser. Lora studied her reflection; her shoulders were bowed slightly from tiredness, her hair a little limp from the long flight, but her eyes, at least, were alert. She considered taking her jacket off, but decided she might need if if she had to go out again. The way things were looking, she might be out for a while. She pushed the thought away, and pulled the jacket straighter over her torso. After a moment's consideration, she retrieved a hair-tie from one of the drawers, and in one practiced motion, she gathered her hair into a neat bun at the base of her neck. Another look in the mirror made her nod to herself. There. That was better.

Then, all at once, Lora picked up her purse, turned from the mirror, and left the room. She strode back down the hallway towards the stairs, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so. Roy's number was already half-dialed, a plan of action forming up in her mind, when there was a distant sound of the front door knob rattling. From the landing, she saw the cat streaking past the foot of the stairs towards the doorway. She hurried down the stairs, calling, "Honey?"

She heard the door scrape lightly against the floor as it swung open. There was a thump and a loud meow, followed by a voice. "Ow—c'mon, buddy, move out of the way—"

Lora stopped at the foot of the stairs, pushing down her disappointment. She knew the voice, but it wasn't Alan's. "Roy?" she said, turning the corner to the entryway.

"Lora?" There stood Roy, his hair a curly mess and wearing a hoodie thrown on over one of his old t-shirts, leaning with one hand against the wall as the cat twined itself around his ankles. He looked up hopefully as she approached, but her expression must have given her away, because his face fell almost immediately. "He's not here, is he?"

"No," she said, stepping around the cat as it disappointedly detached itself from Roy and walked back towards the kitchen. "No sign of him at all."

"Didn't think so. No car in the driveway." He reached out and hugged her, adding, "Good to see you."

She hugged him back, smiling for just a moment. "You too. Did you hear anything?"

He let go of her, shaking his head. "No, nothing. I called him a couple times but it went straight to voice-mail once, and then it didn't even connect at all. I'm thinking he might be somewhere without much signal—I tried tracking his phone before I left, and I couldn't get a location for it."

"But where would that be? He still had signal when he texted me in the arcade."

Roy shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe his phone died and that's why it stopped connecting on my last call." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Did you try Sam?"

"Yes, but he didn't answer either. It's so late, he's probably sleeping…" She glanced at her phone, then looked back up at Roy. "Even if he was upset that he didn't find anything, Alan wouldn't have gone off somewhere without telling either me or you where he was going. He wouldn't do that to us."

"You're right. That's not like him at all," he said. He blew out a breath. "We know he was at at the arcade. We should head over there ourselves." He gave a shaky little laugh as he added, "I mean, the last time we looked for a missing person there we couldn't find a thing, but…"

"Don't, Roy." She reached for his hand and held it tightly. "This isn't going to be like Flynn. Alan's only been gone a few hours. We're going to find him. There's no need to panic."

Roy smiled a little at the familiar phrase, and squeezed her hand. "Yeah. You're right, we'll find him."

"Exactly. We'll be fine," she said, and smiled, as much for herself as for Roy. "And we'll give him hell for worrying us."

He smiled back, tired but determined. "You bet we will. C'mon," he said, turning back to the doorway. "We should get started. I'll drive—and there's coffee in the car. You look like you need some."

"You have no idea," she said, hoisting her bag over her shoulder before following him outside and locking the door behind her. "Let's go downtown first."

"Downtown?"

"We should talk to Sam. He was the last one of us to actually see Alan—he might know something we don't."

"Good point. Downtown, here we come."

The trip downtown was not going as well as Quorra had hoped. She crept down a side-street, itching to lift her disc from her back and arm it—the streets were still crawling with Blackguards in certain sectors, and a tank stood sentinel at every other intersection. Around every corner was a potential threat, and she felt defenseless without a weapon, but an armed disc would be a dead giveaway that she was somewhere she shouldn't be. Still, even without her disc out, she was wary of being seen. Quite a few programs had caught a glimpse of her in the arena, and while she was fairly certain that none of them would be able to recognize her immediately, it wouldn't be smart to give any of them the chance to be curious.

Not that any of that mattered—she'd spent most of her trip close to the city's edge, away from most of the populated areas. She could barely get through the outer sectors, let alone the ones near the city center. She'd circled the entire city, sneaking through each of the outer sectors in search of a way in, but now she was on her way back to one of the remote bridges that connected the city to the Outlands. The lightrunner was hidden near it. She would return to the Safehouse, wait a few millicycles and try again. Maybe Alan had finally left his room. She was excited to show him the rest of the Safehouse, though she was a little nervous about speaking to him again. While it was nice to get a chance to talk with him a little more—she'd been worried he wouldn't want to, after his argument with Flynn—he'd asked a lot of questions about the ISOs. She'd answered them as best as she could, but the bad memories had been uncomfortable to deal with. Taking the trip had been an opportunity to clear her head as much as it was a chance to check the situation in the City.

She had, at least, been able to actually get into the City this time. She'd tried recently, just before the portal had closed, but there were so many guards and Recognizers roaming the city limits then that it had been impossible to even get close without being spotted. Clu had apparently assumed Flynn would make a break for it, since there were more soldiers out then than Quorra had ever seen, even during the early days of his occupation of the Grid. Clu had used as many programs as he had at his disposal to scour the city for any sign of the Users, but the portal had closed with no sign of Flynn, and now security had lightened, though not by much. She'd hidden the Lightrunner beneath one of the bridges leading from the Outlands without much difficulty, but it was obvious that Clu was still determined to find Flynn. Even from her place in the Alley, she could see Recognizers drifting high above, soaring away from the City towards the horizon.

She smiled faintly; Clu still had no idea where Flynn might be. That had been the whole point of luring another User to the grid, and thanks to Quorra and Clu's own penchant for violence, that idea had fallen through. There was a certain satisfaction that came with knowing they had ruined Clu's plans—Flynn was still safe in hiding, and Alan with him—but even that was muted by disappointment. Flynn had been adamant about staying in the Safehouse to look after Alan and keep his disc safe, but it was hard for Quorra to forget the quiet devastation on his face as he watched the portal's light flicker and finally fade to black, a mirror of her own dismay.

Quorra shook her head slightly; she needed to focus. Now was not the time to think about what she couldn't change. She moved noiselessly, keeping close to the wall, and peered around the corner. At first the street seemed clear, but just as she was about to cross to another alley, a flash of scarlet made her freeze. A few blocks down, a tank rolled slowly through an intersection, accompanied by a squad of guards. Two guards broke off from the tank and started down the road, heading right for her.

She pulled away from the corner and pressed herself flat against the wall, hoping she hadn't been spotted, but quickened footsteps and rumbling voices told her she had. She took off down the side street, hoping she could lose them in one of the alleyways. She could fight them if she had to, but that would draw more attention, and getting captured was not an option. Her boots pounded against the glistening pavement as she rounded a corner and flung herself down another alley, head whipping from side to side as she searched for a hiding place.

The buildings here were mostly empty—non-essential programs had resided in this sector cycles ago, but Clu had repurposed many and driven out the rest—and some even lacked illumination, their edges a dull, powerless grey. She shot around another corner, the sound of stomping boots close behind her, and spotted a darkened balcony at the far end of the narrow alleyway. Without breaking her stride, she snatched the baton from its place on her boot and pressed a button on its edge. It thrummed with energy as a cable shot from one end, a grappling hook rezzing up at its tip.

She kept running as the hook slammed into the wall above the balcony. Another button press, and the cable went taut. Quorra's soles left the pavement, and she was hauled into the air, zipping upwards. Just before she hit the wall, she yanked the baton; the cable disintegrated along with the hook as she grabbed for the balcony's railing. Her momentum carried her over the rail, and she landed with a muffled thump on the balcony floor just as the pair of guards came tearing into the alley.

Quorra quickly ducked out of sight, grateful for the momentary cover, but she kept a hand on her baton, ready to rez up her blade if need be. The thunder of heavy boots grew closer, but slowed before they reached the end of the alley. She gripped the baton tighter. A deep voice, resonating through the filter of its helmet, drifted up to her hiding place.

"They entered this sector. Should we split up?"

"Negative," said a second, similarly filtered voice. "Customary sweep. We should alert the rest of the—"

A flash of light reflected in the glass wall above the balcony, and the voice broke off, turning into a muffled grunt that quickly glitched into nothingness. A familiar hum sounded in the alley—the buzzing of an armed disc. A third voice spoke, clearer but just as deep; it echoed off the walls.

"You two won't be alerting anyone."

"Halt, program!" the first guard yelled, and another disc hummed to life. "You are in direct violation of—"

To Quorra's bewilderment, a fourth voice cut him off. "Yeah, yeah, we got it."

There was another flash, and the first guard screamed. Quorra could hear the gentle clink of cubes as they hit the ground and rebounded off the walls of the surrounding buildings, the scream dying away. For a moment there was silence, and Quorra forced herself to stay still, pressing against the balcony wall. Be patient, Flynn would tell her. Wait to see what happens next. Finally, the clear voice spoke again, ruefully.

"We shouldn't have done that."

The lighter-voiced program was quick to respond. "Come on, you went after them first. Who's gonna miss a couple of guards? And I know you've been itching to derezz a few of them since we got out of the End of Line." His boots scuffed the pavement as he moved deeper into the alley, stopping just beneath her balcony. "Clu's too busy looking for that User to care about a couple derezzed programs, anyway. He could be halfway to Argon right now for all we know, with all those ships coming and going the last few millicycles." More clinks sounded, and Quorra guessed he had kicked at the pile of cubes left behind by the guards, sending them tumbling along the ground. "I guess we could've just captured them instead," he remarked casually. "Might've been easier to get intel out of 'em."

"Anything they could have told us will be on their discs." A metallic scrape echoed dully, and the first program sighed. "This one's busted."

"Let me look at the other one." Some footsteps, and then another metallic sound. "It's still intact. Well, mostly. Let's see if it works."

A silvery light glinted in the glass of the wall above Quorra's hiding place. The second program laughed in victory. "All right," he said, "let's see what we've got here…"

The light wavered, then brightened again. It began to flicker and distort, and the two voices fell silent. Quorra waited, hoping they would find whatever they were looking for in the disc and leave quickly. From their conversation, they were rebel programs. While she sympathized with any program who wanted to take down Clu, some of the rebels would find any excuse to fight, and fighting would bring unwanted attention. She could hear a slight murmur of voices, very faintly, and then the muffled but unmistakable roar of a crowd.

"Hey," said the second voice, "this one was on the light cycle grid."

"There's the User," said the other voice. After a moment he added, "He could use a few lessons."

"No kidding. Oh—there he goes." The second stranger hissed sympathically. "I bet that hurt. Kinda surprised he didn't derezz."

"Users don't derezz. They're stronger than programs are," said the first. The light dimmed, then flared again. "The rescuer."

Quorra smiled despite herself. The second program made an appreciative noise. "Nice ride. I've never seen a vehicle like that before." A flash, and Quorra thought she could hear a muted explosion. "That User's lucky," the program continued. "Clu would've annihilated him."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? C'mon. He was nanocycles from getting killed. If that program hadn't gotten him out of the arena, he'd have gotten a disc to the chest, no question." The light flickered again. "Off into the Outlands. Let me see if there's anything else…" The reflection in the glass shimmered. "Just before deresolution. Looks like they were following someone."

"Pause it."

The shimmering ceased, and the two were silent. Quorra closed her eyes, a hand creeping instinctively for her disc. She didn't want to hurt them, or bring any attention to herself, but if they started looking around, she wouldn't be able to stay hidden for long.

"Huh. Those light-lines…." The second program was speaking again. Quorra's fingers grazed the edge of her disc. "That look like the rescuer to you?"

The first program took a moment to answer. "Too hard to tell. This one didn't get a good look at them. Keep going."

Quorra kept her hand on her disc, but opened her eyes. The light was flickering again, the memory playback continuing.

"That's you," the second program said.

"And that's you." The light flared brightly, almost painfully so, before finally fading to darkness. "Looks like that's it."

Quorra relaxed slightly. Maybe now these programs would leave, and she could make her escape. Boots thumped quietly beneath the balcony, paired with the gentle sound of cubes scattering along the ground.

"Hey," said the second program. "This one left a baton behind." Something whistled through the air. "Think fast!"

The whistling stopped, and the first program sighed. "Nice try," he said wryly. "I can still see, you know." More whistling, louder this time—he must have thrown it back—before it stopped again.

"Just testing you," the second program said. "Think we should bring that disc to the Commander? She might be interested. She could probably take a look at your eye while we're there, too."

"No thanks."

"What? You want your visuals to short out? I'm not gonna lead you around by the hand, you know."

"As if I'd want you to! I just don't want her yelling at me. You know we're supposed to keep a low profile."

"Aww, you're still afraid of her? I thought you could handle anything, Mr. Mastermind."

"Of course I'm afraid of her," the other replied bluntly. A scuffing noise echoed in the alley, and two pairs of footsteps started to resound as the programs moved away. "And so are you. Don't think I didn't notice you sending Rasmus to meet with her last cycle instead of going yourself."

"Hey, Rasmus volunteered!"

"Uh-huh. I believe you."

"C'mon, you don't really think I'm scared of her, do y—ow! Hey!"

"Shut up."

"What? I'm not scared of her!"

"That's not what I'm talking about! Look up there."

Quorra froze. Her fingers tensed on the edge of her disc. There was a pause, and the second voice spoke again.

"Is that a hole?"

"In the wall. Looks like it came from a cable hook," said the first softly.

The second didn't answer. There was no more movement, no boots thumping or cubes rolling. The silence stretched so long it was agonizing, and then the twin hums of two armed discs filled the alley.

Quorra acted without thinking. She pressed a button on her baton and swung it high above her head, rezzing up the light cable again. A section of the building jutted out over the alley; she aimed the baton for that section and fired. As the hook buried itself in the wall, she tugged on the cable; simultaneously the buzzing of the discs grew much louder. The light cable retracted, yanking her upwards just as the two discs crashed into the balcony wall, sending cubes of data flying past her boots as it shattered.

The cable hoisted her through the air. The two programs were shouting below her; she glanced down at them long enough to see the paler, shorter of the two catch his disc and throw it again as his taller, darker friend raised an arm to shield himself from the rain of cubes. She kicked off the wall, aiming herself for the low roof of the building to her left. The cable derezzed as she flipped swiftly over the roof's edge, but not swift enough—a searing pain sliced into her shoulder as the shorter program's disc whirled into it.

The disc whizzed away, the blow too shallow to leave it lodged in her arm, and she tumbled onto the roof. The cubes in her shoulder ground against each other painfully, but she rolled out of the tumble and into a run, dashing across the rooftop. She didn't know if the two programs would follow her, but she didn't give herself the time to check. She leapt across the edge of the building to a neighboring one, heading for the edge of the city. She didn't have far to go; the edge was only a few buildings ahead of her, one of the bridges connecting the City to the rest of the Gridjust beyond it. A thrill of relief ran through her—if she was right, that was the bridge she had hidden the Lightrunner under. All she had to do was make it to the bridge, and she could disappear into the Outlands.

She continued leaping from roof to roof. It was dangerous to be so out in the open, but quicker than dodging through alleyways. The city limits were only two buildings away now. There was a guard tower farther down the bridge, but if she could just make it to the vehicle she could use the bridge itself as cover until she moved out its range . She halted at the edge of her current rooftop long enough to check that the street was empty before dropping down to the pavement. The landing jarred her shoulder, but she kept moving, sprinting towards the bridge that was visible at the end of the road.

She heard a shout behind her. "Hey! We just wanna talk to you!" It sounded like the second, shorter program—she hadn't lost them after all. She ignored him and kept running, not bothering to look back—the pain in her shoulder made her doubt talking was all they wanted to do. She veered off to the right just as she reached the base of the bridge, and bounded over the low barrier wall lining the edge of the empty outer street.

There was the lightrunner, parked just where she had left it under cover of the bridge, a few yards out from the barrier wall. She hurried towards it, but just as she reached out to activate the door, an explosion blew her off her feet. The force threw her forward and she crashed against the vehicle, her damaged shoulder banging into the door. She slid down a couple feet until her boots hit the ground, and then her knees. The world seemed fuzzy at the edges; she reeled, and had to grab at the lightrunner's frame to keep herself from toppling to the ground. Had one of her pursuers thrown a light grenade? Did they not care about any guards who might be near by? Rebels should want to avoid them as much as she did.

There was another shout from above her—it sounded like it was coming from just above the barrier wall. She glanced back and saw the two programs watching her; the shorter one was yelling something to her, but she was too disoriented to discern the words. She dragged herself to her feet and pressed a hand against the door. It lifted upwards, and she stumbled into the driver's seat, pulling the door down after her. The vehicle hummed into life at her touch.

Through the windshield she could see the two programs still standing at the wall. The taller one lifted his arm and lobbed something at her; still disoriented, she didn't realize it was another light grenade until it was almost upon her, flashing red. She widened her eyes and gunned the lightrunner into reverse, speeding backwards, but too late—the grenade struck the nose of the vehicle and erupted, the brilliant flare forcing her eyes shut. One of her tires lifted off the ground from the force, and she clutched at the steering grip, still reversing, trying to keep steady. The wheel slammed back downward, the impact jarring her shoulder again.

She opened her eyes, blinking the daze away. Fragments of incendiary data clung to the frame of the vehicle, illuminating it. "Come on," she groaned as she took in the damage: a crack of damaged code was spreading from the nose of the vehicle towards the windshield. The two programs were small glinting figures now; as she watched they disappeared from view, leaving the top of the barrier wall.

Quorra threw the lightrunner out of reverse and swung it around, not waiting to see if they were going to pursue her. As long as she had the lightrunner, there was no way they could catch her in the Outlands. As she rocketed over the craggy rocks, the crack in the frame inched closer to the windshield, a few cubes of data streaming from the nose. She squeezed the steering grips, praying the code would hold together long enough to get her home, and sped away, leaving the City behind her.

Chapter soundtrack:
"Good Morning Girl" - Journey
"Everything Will Be Alright" - The Killers
"Major Minus" - Coldplay