Mac.
He seemed like a normal lad. A good lad, even. Good-hearted, certainly. Well-intentioned. But deep inside, he knew the ugly truth: he was a criminal, and part of an international conspiracy.
Or had been, anyway.
Certainly had gotten involved in terror. Hundreds of thousands, even millions of dollars in damage were due to him. At least he couldn't count any deaths - though he felt he'd killed somebody, somewhere. He just couldn't put a finger on it. That was the danger with the criminal life - it became just like breathing, just another routine bodily function. Just, normal.
Lawyers do the unethical, find ways to make the mostly-illegal legal. Assassins do the illegal. Mac?
Mac was doing what had to be done.
Survival was key here. No room for moral-highhorses, no time for fancy philosophizing, no allowance for relativistic debates. When it comes to life itself, a person will do anything - anything at all.
Which is why Mac was part of The Network. He wasn't even sure the legality of it. Running an unlicensed courier service was probably banned. Running one that blindly ran packages was certainly unethical - Schrodinger's principle was no protection against aiding and abetting hard criminals. That it was ran on underground servers, unadvertised to the world was a big red flag.
That isn't to say it was unpolished or inefficient. No, it was as polished as any commercial product. Far more efficient than the postbox - or government-sanctioned shippers. Faster, by far. It was slick, really.
All you had to do was open the app, and hit "On".
From there, the server would scan the online runners. It would keep track of packages. It would find the fastest handoff points. It would automatically route packages to the fastest, freshest runners. It was brilliant, really. Little tracking stickers inside the packaging's shell would keep track of the location, and keep track of who touched it. All this info would be relayed to the server, managed in real-time.
It was a thing of wonder.
And so far, it was running only in one city. Moscow.
Each runner would get a payment. The good runners - the A-rank - would get longer routes, better pay. The best - the S-rank - could run routes solo.
The server didn't immediately rank one. It provisionally placed one in A-rank, threw S-rank missions, and if the runner was decent, kept them there. The failures were moved to the bottom ranks.
There was no leaderboard, no central place. Only a star-rating in the corner of the screen. Mac looked at it. Five stars - he was still in the good books.
There was time for one last mission. One last fling. One last run. One last ride.
He hoped it would be a good one.
Eco-Terrorists Busted!
International police efforts have nailed the notorious eco-terrorist group, Gaia Defence Force. Co-ordinated forces of Netopia, Electopia, and Interpol simulatenously raided homes and shelters of the most wanted early this morning, GSP spokesman J-Dog Arnold says.
They have the footage to prove it.
"The six-year string of high-profile crimes has ended." Arnold told reporters. "The wheels of justice may turn slowly, but the arm of the law has finally caught them."
Gaia Defence Force had recently claimed credit for the killing of cruise king Larry Lawrence, and the recent bombing of the Antartic Hotel.
Court appearances are scheduled for next week.
Mac's transer beeped. Showtime, baby!
The pickup-zone was three blocks away. Even in this rain, it wouldn't be a long run. No obstacles, no traffic. The app screen indicated that this would be a "medium" - twenty minutes' worth of running. There was no "handoff" icon - it was the final leg.
Mac ran.
The cold shower wrapped itself around him, isolating him from the outside world. It came down constantly, loudly, masking his footfalls. He could make out lights, though the outside world was blurry.
He passed newstores, cafes, specialty stores. Law firms, banks, offices. Repair shops, import stores, high-end clothing stores. Electronics stores, post offices, pharmacies.
It was all one long blur.
The handoff went slick, as smooth as the rain. A runner in yellow handed the package as they passed. Mac swung the straps onto his back, and checked the app.
The dropoff point was 4km away. Maps indicated it was a construction site - some sort of tower.
Mac sighed and steadied himself for the run.
18 minutes later, Mac was cursing.
No frickin' way. He could see a white sheet waving from the 40th - no, 42nd floor. Was he really going to have to go up that? Oh, hell no.
No delivery, no pay...
... and either way, his rank was going to take a dive. He sighed as he snuck up a stairwell, making his way into the building.
It was going to be a long run.
Random materials covered the floor - steel, tools, wood, drywall, insulation. Plastic and metal pipes sat in the center of the floor. Mac wasn't interested in that - or the elevator shaft - he turned his eyes to the main stairwell.
He pushed the metal door open, and started jogging up the stairs.
Fourth floor. Fifth floor. Eigth floor.
His lungs were burning, and he wasn't even at the finish yet. His legs felt like lead. Why had he taken this? What was the point?
Eleventh. Twelfth.
He didn't know.
Sixteen. Twenty.
What time was it?
Twenty one. Twenty two.
Nigh on 4AM, as far as Mac remembered.
Twenty five. Twenty eight.
Somebody had scrawled a smiley on the wall. Mac gritted his teeth. His body was screaming for a rest, but he wasn't letting it.
Thirty. Thirty one...
... he was starting to slow. His legs were in full revolt now, his sides aching. He slammed into the concrete wall, chest heaving. There were still eleven sets to run, and this was getting tiring. How much time had passed? Thirty minutes? Forty? Mac had lost track.
He pulled himself up, steadying himself on the metal rail.
"Come on... You can... do this." he huffed.
And slowly, he started back up again.
GDF brought down from inside: report
A report released by top analysts stated that notorious eco-terrorist group Gaia Defence Force had been brought down by a turncoat. The report concluded with a statement indicating that a CSIS agent may have been involved.
Mac pushed the door open.
Music blared from a stereo in the middle of the room. Two men in overalls assembled a wallframe, one laying out boards, the other nailing.
Mac set the package down, and extended his transer.
"Sign for the package, mister..."
The nailer looked up. "Wot's that?"
"Sign for the package."
"Oh. Okay..."
Mac read the sloppy scribble as he tucked his transer away. "Thank you, mister Heisenberg..."
Mac turned and headed back for the stairs.
His transer buzzed again mid-way down the tower.
The PUZ was nearby, and there was even a handoff icon. Perfect. Might as well, since he was already here... His five stars had shrank to but three, and Mac read "Easy" on the difficulty screen. Payout would suck, but at least it would get his rank points up.
Mac thought back to outside. The pickup zone - that would be across the street. As he pounded down the stairs, he felt exhilarated, less winded. Adrenaline kicking in?
Twenty. Seventeen. Twelve.
Mac's rainjacket came unzipped, flapping behind him like a cape.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
This was more like it. This is what he'd signed up for. Action! Challenge! A workout!
The pay...
Well.
Six. Five. Four.
The time for the handoff was fast approaching, and Mac was rushing.
Three. Two. Out the side.
The timer continued to run down.
Mac jumped, dashing across the road. A black car narrowly missed him, ripping down the road at a rapid clip. The antenna caught his raincoat. It ripped it, pulling it off.
He caught sight of a brown-coated, fedora-wearing figure. He hurried.
The figure shoved the package into Mac's hands.
GDF top killer still loose
Police are still searching for GDF's top-ranked thug, codenamed "Black Scorpion". Authorities describe "Black Scorpion" as a caucasian female, between 19 and 27 years old, approximately 5"4, red hair, and gray eyes. Police suspect "Black Scorpion" may be hiding in a small town in Electopia.
The hand-off was six blocks away.
A horde of people spilled out of a nearby theatre, stumbling, shambling, spreading like a human stain.
The rain was still coming down, and Mac was starting to shiver. As he put the straps on, he wondered aloud. "What am I doing here?"
He would get no answer, save for the rain... and the crowd.
The crowd spilled across the street, traffic be damned. Young people, old people. T-shirt people, fur coat people. The crowd was the most damn inclusive bunch Mac had ever seen- and it was coming straight at him.
What could Mac do? Stay and wait? Or backtrack and run like hell? The package wouldn't deliver itself, that's for sure.
He ran.
The crowd expanded behind him, slowly fracturing, but mostly just staying put like a human roadblock.
The blobiness seemed familiar. And terrifying.
He ran like a demon, taking a corner at the interesection, speeding down across. A block wouldn't be enough distance - two would barely cut it. He skipped the first turn, took the second.
A bus passed him.
Mac kept pounding forward, the water spilling off his hair. His shirt was thoroughly soaked. The rain was slowing a bit, but was still swarming the ol' earth.
Mac passed Ye Olde English Pub, dodging an old coot who was muttering something about staples and mice.
He kept going. This would only take five minutes, he swore.
He was right.
When he handed it off, he smiled.
And then started to walk across the road.
He didn't see the car coming.
"Black Scorpion" turncoat: report
A leaked memo indicated that police already have GDF killer Black Scorpion in custody - and that Black Scorpion is acting as a witness. Police declined to comment, replying with a note that they are not allowed to comment on the veracity of rumors.