The sphere of lightning arced through the air, cutting into the darkness of the alley. It burst on the ground, scattering electric sparks. Then another struck the wall, spraying bits of brick and clouds of dust.

  The woman shielded herself with her arms; debris peppered her face, and she nearly stumbled into the trash cans. Regaining her balance, she kept running; her pursuer was right behind.

  The sharp clack of her tall black boots echoed off the walls, that frantic clack, clack, clack forming a cacophony that, had this been a different place or time, might have alerted someone to come to her aid. But here and now, it only confirmed how alone she was in this.

  She pushed through clouds of steam rising from the sewer grates, swirling up like ghostly claws reaching for her ankles. In such a narrow passage, there was only one direction to go—forward; there was no turning back.

  Past curtains of mist and a heap of stacked cardboard boxes, the alley opened up to reveal a dead end. There, at the far end, stood the back door of a warehouse, lit by a flickering bulb, and above it, nothing but a brick wall and the pitch-black night.

  “Give it a rest already, babe!” called the man chasing her. “I’m gettin’ real tired o’ this!”

  The girl tried the back door, but it was locked, just as she’d suspected. She could have forced it, but she didn’t. Like her pursuer, she was worn out and wanted this over with.

  A few minutes earlier, she’d taken an energy grenade to her right shoulder, tearing part of the long sleeve of her black T-shirt, and the pain was starting to sink in. She reached for the wound and flinched. It burned—a lot. It felt wet. Sweat? No… blood.

  How could she have been so careless, letting herself get ambushed from behind again? Hadn’t she learned her lesson after the attack in the nightclub?

  You should be ashamed, dear, she thought. If her father had been there, he would’ve been so humiliated to see his daughter caught in such a stupid way, he might have handed her over to the enemy himself. Juzo, on the other hand, might have scolded her with that hard gaze of his, but then he would’ve offered advice along the lines of, ‘Now that you’re in this mess, figure out a way to turn it around and get something out of it.’

  And she was on it.

  Pushing her messy black hair from her face, she tucked it behind her ear—her long hoop earrings gleamed gold.

  Having crossed the port area and the city’s rundown neighborhoods without any other hunters joining in, she was certain now—her pursuer was working alone. She’d played the easy prey long enough; if another fox had been lying in wait, he would’ve pounced by now. Under the poor lighting and cover of night shadows, it was most likely just her and this one pursuer now.

  “Juzo, this one’s for you,” she whispered, her eyes misting up.

  As she stepped on the drainage grate by the door, she felt a slight shift followed by a metallic click. Without meaning to, she’d dislodged the grate with the heel of her boot.

  A good soldier knows how to make the best of what’s available, she thought. Now all she needed was for this guy to slip up, and she’d make sure her shoulder wound was worth something.

  Out of the shadows appeared a man in a bright olive-green Military uniform, though his walk and overall appearance gave him away more as a loudmouthed auto mechanic than as a real soldier. His combat jacket was rolled up to his elbows, wide open, exposing a hairy chest that would make any high-end stylist cringe. His face, sporting a scruffy stubble and thick, dark mustache, only added to the impression that he smelled awful.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “Damn, Vicky!” the man said. “How d’you not end up kissin’ the pavement with those pretty lips o’ yours runnin’ ‘round in them heels?”

  She forced a smile, trying to look natural and hide any trace of pain.

  “Want to try my boots, Simon? Then you can find out for yourself.”

  Simon scoffed but kept his distance.

  Vicky’s smile grew wider. “Nice outfit, Simon, though I doubt the Military’s taking deserters like you back these days. Nope! You’ve always been into costumes, haven’t you? That’s why you’re so curious about my heels.” She fixed her big blue eyes on his dark, glistening ones, motioning him closer. “Why don’t you come over here and try them on? C’mon, Simon! Who knows, you might learn something new about yourself swapping out your boots for mine.”

  “Vicky, Vicky…” Simon spat on the ground. “You’re still the same loudmouth who wouldn’t shut up even in the damn electric chair.”

  “And you’re still the same nobody who once betrayed Juzo and me,” she replied. “A piece of garbage.”

  Simon wiped the sweat from his face with his arm, giving Vicky a clear view of the black chromed cuffs on his wrists. They were Auriga models like the ones she’d worn that Friday at the club, just before being knocked out by the Eddanian.

  “Let’s make a deal, Vicky.” Simon’s eyes glinted with lewd intent. “I could look the other way, pretend I never saw ya… if you, y’know…” He licked his mustache. “C’mon! Told ya already, your little boyfriend’s good ’n dead, so he ain’t gonna get jealous. Why not come with me? I’ll give ya my shoulder to cry on.”

  “Filthy, lowlife son of a bitch,” Vicky muttered through clenched teeth. Pain and rage burned through her like acid, but she couldn’t let her emotions take control—not now.

  “So, what d’you say, Vicky? Huh?” Simon pressed on. “I’ll treat ya like no one ever has. You’ll see.”

  Vicky forced another smile, her mind set on one thing, Give me the slip-up I’m waiting for, you creep.

  “First, congrats on learning a new word: ‘treat,’” she said. “Second, a beer-breath kiss or a pool game at one of those dive bars you love doesn’t count as a treat.”

  Simon bared his teeth and clenched his fists. Good, Vicky was getting to him.

  “I’m gonna shove a Fotia down your throat to shut you up, bitch,” he threatened, and curling the fingers of his left hand, he formed an energy grenade and fired.

  Vicky dodged it easily. Sparks rained down beside her.

  Simon formed another grenade with the same hand and fired again. Vicky dodged it again.

  “Ha! Always with the same hand, huh?” she taunted. “Oh, I forgot—you’ve only got one implant! But don’t feel bad, dear; the morgue is full of idiots who didn’t stop the treatments in time. At least you were honest enough to say, ‘Thanks, but I’m good with this.’”

  Simon was fuming.

  “Look, I’ll show you how the strong do it.” Vicky extended both arms, triggered the order with a flick of her fingers, and formed a sphere of energy in each hand. Then, with a clap, she disintegrated them. “See that, Simon? How does it feel knowing I, a woman, handled the full treatment, while you, all macho, could only make it halfway?”

  “I’m gonna kill ya!” Simon roared, charging at her with a Fotia in his left hand and his right hand ready to strangle her.

  “Finally!” Vicky cheered. She kicked the loose drainage grate with her boot, sending it up. Simon stumbled on it, and while it didn’t bring him down, it distracted him enough for her to drive her heel right into his groin, right there.

  The Fotia in Simon’s hand fizzled out, and he dropped to his knees, writhing in pain. Vicky wasted no time; she grabbed him by the hair and yanked him backward.

  “How can you be so stupid?” she said. “If I don’t react right away, it’s because I’ve got a plan, Simon.”

  Then, placing the open palm of her hand on his bare chest, she released a light surge of energy that lit up the alley in a blue glow. She could’ve let loose an electric blast strong enough to be a real Fotia, but she didn’t want to become a cold-blooded killer over a wretch like Simon. Besides, she had to be careful—she couldn’t risk damaging what she really needed.

  He gave one last groan and collapsed, twitching slightly.

  “Look at you, squirming like a cockroach hit by poison.”

  Standing over him, Vicky grabbed his arms, unfastened the Auriga cuffs he wore, and slipped them onto her own wrists. Checking that her jolt hadn’t damaged the mechanisms, she slid her fingers over the chrome surface of both cuffs, bringing up the holographic displays, then closing them. Everything was perfect.

  “That’s more like it,” she said and left Simon in the alley, disappearing into the night.