"Reporting for duty!"

    The young woman was beaming. Of course she was. Today was the first day she'd finally get to make a difference.

    The young man across the set up, fold-out table ahead of her chuckled at her enthusiasm.

    "You don't have to salute, Calli," he said with a smirk. Her lips suddenly quirked down on her caramel-colored face and she chuckled, yanking her hand down fast enough to swish the air.

    "Right." She gave an awkward sort of smile. "Sorry."

    The man chuckled again. He grabbed into a small plastic bin underneath the desk, and pulled out a large plastic bag. There was a uniform inside it; a dark muddy brown. It had gloves, and cargo pants, and a long sleeve button-up with a black cravat and an equally black gaiter scarf. He set the bag on the table. He reached behind him and grabbed a jacket from a series of hooks adhered to the wall. Each one had a jacket. They were meticulously organized by size; he grabbed the smallest one. He set the jacket alongside the bag, and slid both to the not-so-far other side of the table.

    "Welcome to the force, freak."

    She grinned. "Glad to be here."

    The man reached under again, and pulled out a muddy brown flat cap to go with her muddy brown everything else. He set it on the table and slid it across, and Calli snatched it up, smacking it on her head. The man couldn't help his grin. Her enthusiasm was a welcome change of pace compared to a lot of the others there. He thought: hopefully she didn't lose that anytime soon.

    Even though in the back of his mind, he knew one day, she would.

    "You know where the dressing rooms are?" he asked. She nodded, giving a quick, monosyllabic affirmation. He grinned. "Excellent. Then I won't have to show you. Get dressed, and then head toward the Courier's Office to fetch your loaded satchel."

    "Yes sir! Understood!" she chirped. The man across from her rolled his eyes.

    "Saluting, again."

    Calli's eyes darted toward her raised hand. She let it fall back at her side.

    "Right... Uh, sorry." She cleared her throat, turned, and left with a wave. The man looked after her and shook his head with a humored snort.

. . . .

    "Here's your load, Cal," the kind, older woman said to the young girl. She was grizzled, and grey, and had a bit of stubble on her face. But she was always happy when she saw Calli. She was so bright-eyed and eager; hopeful. "Treat it with care, yeah?" she urged.

    Calli held her satchel to her chest tightly. Almost reverently. "Promise." She gave a chuckle. "Like I wouldn't."

    The older woman smiled. Then she frowned.

    "Be careful out there, Bright-eyes."

    Calli flicked her head up to her. She smiled.

    "I will, Imogen. I promise. You trained me, remember?" she said with a chuckle. Imogen remained tight lipped, before finally sighing, and attempting a more positive look.

    "I did." She gave a slight nod. "But still... Be careful."

    Calli looked at her. And without a second thought, she pulled her into a tight hug.

    "I will, Imogen," she said, "I promise."

    Imogen froze, for a moment. Then, slowly, she brought her hands around her. She rubbed the top of her choppy, black hair with a thumb.

    "I know..."

    She let her go, and Calli beamed at her. She slipped her satchel over her shoulders. Then she turned and waved brightly.

    Then she was gone.

. . . .

    The hook shot straight up the side of the building, and she pulled to check it's tightness. Then, she climbed it. Calli pulled herself up and over the wall, lithe frame rolling across the flat top of the angular, dilapidated building, and back on her feet as she pulled the hook out and darted along the flat rooftop.

    She looked up at the sky. Not that there was anything to see. As to be expected. Brown, dark, and horrendously smogged. The air gripped her lungs tightly, as it always did. But she was used to it now.

    Her eyes traced down from the hazy sky to the tops of degraded structures; factories, corporate buildings, meat facilities: all means of production. Dotted around them sporadically were towering, flimsy, and defaced housing structures. The poor apartments that always seemed a second thought. Like whoever had built this place thought lastly of all about were the poor would sleep, and most importantly about what they would create.

    She'd always been told they were good; the businesses. The corporations. Making society function and providing work to people who needed it. But, she wasn't sure just how much good they could be doing, choking out her breath the way they did. Or choking out her wallet.

    She sighed. She adjusted her gaiter where it sat over her lips and nose, and darted toward the left edge of the building. She jumped off, landing on the similarily heighted rooftop beside the one she had just been on. Then she hopped to another building, before kneeling, pulling out a small map from her satchel and squinting to try and get some sort of look at it. Nothing she could gleam in htis sort of light. Grumbling, she snatched her flashlight from the same satchel in her other hand, and flicked it on to illuminate the page.

    Yep. This was the spot.

    She moved to the front edge of the roof, and she glanced down, seeing a shabby, metal, grated platform just below. About the height of two of her. She crawled over the side of the building until she was just dangling there, hands holding onto the edge of the roof, and body hanging off the edge.

    She let herself drop. She winced. The resounding shudder of her boots on metal was more noise than she'd hoped to make. Quickly, but light-footedly, she darted around to the edge of the steel balcony she had landed on. She let herself hang off the edge, hands gripping the precipice of the metal tightly. Her knuckles whitned behind her gloves.

    She was right taking the action she did. She heard a door open, some disproving, worried muttering, and then, as her grip was growing very straining, she heard the door click back shut. She pulled herself back up, panting lightly, and moved fleetingly to her target. She took the door handle. Unlocked: good. They had remembered their delivery time. She slowly pushed the door open, wincing at its creak: luckily, she was confident that sound, at least, wasn't loud enough to elicit another door to open. She was quickly greeted by a young man there, standing in the dimly lit room, biting his thumbnail. She smiled.

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    She shot a hushed, 'pst.' The man's head snapped up, and he briefly stumble back. She quickly put a finger to her lip as she grinned. She took another step further into the house and shut the door behind her, slowly. She moved with purpose to the young man, but also with care. When she was close enough, she said, "Don't worry. I'm your new courier." Fumbling, shoving her map she'd still been holding back into her pack, she finally pulled up her cravat out the kneck of her button up to show the embroidered symbol there: a single, feathered, pink wing with a small halo over it. "See?" she said. The young man seemed to finally loosen a bit.

    "Oh, thank God..." He chuckled. "I figured as much. But you can't be too careful these days..." He gave an uncomfortable nod, and frowned. "They're cracking down, you know.

    Calli gave an understanding, more weak and somber smile. Then she reached into her satchel, fumbled around in it again, before finding a little packet with the text, 'Arin Berkeley: 29045, South Phoenix Street, Apt no. 103. Testosterone; oral,' in chicken-scratchy handwriting. Glancing at it briefly, she handed it to Arin with another, sun-like beam.

    "Tee-pills," she said, "The dosage should be upped. If there's any issues, please let me know on my next run."

    The man took the package with only brief hesitance. Then he smiled.

    "Thanks, new-girl."

    "Of course." She winked. She then turned on her heel and, with a single, silent wave, she left. In as quick a motion as she could, her hook-gun was shot, and she was atop the roof before anyone had even a slim chance of being the wiser.

. . . .

    That was the way most her nights went. She would cook for her little brother—by cook, of course, boiling water and mixing nutritional packets into it. Then, Imogen would take over, watching him while she was away. She would go to deliver her parcels to all her clients, before returning back to base and falling asleep well until mid day. Then, eat, wash, and a variable combination of shooting the shit with the other couriers and Underground members, playing with her little brother, or sitting on a rooftop and people watching. Sometimes, she would even sneak out to see the ocean. The water was soothing, and the breeze was nice. Then it was back to the office, load up, and shove off. But she liked it.

    She loved it.

    She'd always wanted to be a courier. Just like her mother. She'd been shadowing for about a year up until now. This first week, finally, was her forte on her own route. And she was so eager. So hopeful to make a difference.

    The stakes were high: if she slipped up—made one small mistake or was spotted by the wrong people—she could put everything into jeopardy. Including herself. And regardless of where it went—what they decided would be suitable punishment for her—she would die. And she didn't want to do that to her little brother. But, this was all she could do; the only work she had any qualification for. She had no experience or training. She was too weak for a factory and too much of a woman for much else. So she followed in her mother's footsteps. Though, one could also say she was forced into it. She never knew her father. Her mother was dead. Imogen was her aunt. She was the only person she could go to.

    Every night of the week, she had a different set of clients; a different route. It was hard to keep track of, but she'd been trained to do such. And, for the most part, the job was be sneaky, be quick, and don't get caught. Everything she excelled at.

    On her fourth night of deliveries, she was delivering to the Brighton District. One of the wealthier ones; not rich, by any means, but one of the few that didn't look like it was on the utmost verge of collapse from the few times she had been there. Even the gunshots were muted. As if there was a decreased propensity for violence. Or, the people out to shoot someone were deliberately trying to mask their noise as to not further affect the property values.

    She got to the small, admirable, white-walled apartment structure. Even it, however, wasn't immune to being stained by the filth in the air. But it was cleaner than most.

    Her stop was on the first floor. She knew that, for certain. She tried the door. Unlocked, as she'd expect. She entered.

    The living area the door opened up into was lit by a single standing lamp with a cream-colored shade. The room was decently furnished; the furniture seemed loved, but not ruined. And the whole place seemed up to code; something she definitely wasn't used to. Not a single exposed wire, nor a single leak in the ceiling She didn't even know The Underground had any meaningful reach in this district. It was barely in their radius: just on the edge of the ran-down, mostly non-white Shore District the bulk of there operations occurred in.

    Another thing she wasn't used to was the type of woman she saw perched casually on the couch. Well, she had been, at least. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Calli, her head shot up along with her body. She stood, and stared, and Calli was astounded by the sight of her.

    She was beautiful. Her hair was a near-white platinum blonde and her eyes were large and blue and her pale-skin was dotted on almost every inch of it that was exposed with a seeming millions of tiny, dusty freckles. She was in a nightgown; sheer, and lacey. Just flirting the edge with lingerie. It was short, too. Revealing thick, soft thighs going down to her feet. She wasn't all that tall. But she was plump; somewhat chubby. Unlike almost anyone Calli was used to. Most people she knew were borderline emaciated, herself included, with a concave stomach and ribs that her skin taughtly clung to. She was assuredly a lot to look at. Brighton might have been better off than other labor-class districts. But no one who lived here should be so clean, so well put-together, or so healthy as the woman before her appeared.

    She was confusing. Enigmatic, but assuredly beautiful. She looked like drawings she had seen. Not like a real person at all. She was well enough to be royalty.

    She hadn't realized how long it had been that she'd just been gawking in silence. The girl before her had taken a few steps forward. A cheeky smirk teased up her lips.

    "You're staring," she spoke. That voice. It made her hushed tone sound like the lyrics of a song. It was astounding. Ethereal, even. Not quite real. But also carrying along with it a hint of mischief.

    Calli chirped. "O-oh!" she stuttered out, "S-sorry!" She scrambled for her satchel and shuffled about in it. She clumsily pulled a small, cardboard box out of it.

    She double-checked the address and it checked out. But, her eyes couldn't stop from lingering on two, very specific words. Her name. "Jasmine March."

    'Jasmine.' It wasn't the most peculiar, nor shocking name. But it fit her in a way Calli couldn't quite find the words to explain. Or maybe she could. It was as if she picked it herself. And she likely had. But that didn't diminish its perfection.

    Silently, awkwardly, and avoiding any kind of eye contact, Calli handed the package to the girl. "H-here," she rasped. Jasmine chuckled, and took the box, and Calli's hand fell limply to her side.

    "Thanks."

    "... Yeah."

    "... You're new, aren't you? I don't feel like I've seen you before."

    "...I am."

    "I take it you'll be taking over my deliveries now?"

    "I will be, y-yes, ma'am..."

    "Jasmine."

    Calli swallowed sharply. She was very grateful for the cover that was over her face that instant. She had no idea how dark her cheeks must have flushed, but the visceral heat she felt wasn't promising

    "I will be... Jasmine." The name felt uncomfortable on her tongue. Foreign. She couldn't pin why.

    "You should probably be going, Miss Courier," Jasmine suggested. She still had that teasing look on her face. The one that made Calli jerk her head away.

    Calli gave a stiff nod. Then with a sudden burst of courage and other reasons quite beside her, she pulled her gaiter down. And she looked right into the other woman's eyes.

    "Calliope," was all she said, and she quickly realized how idiotic that sounded shooting out her mouth. She swallowed and stumbled after clumsily, "Calliope. That's my name: Calliope. Uh... Nobody calls me that though. Just... Calli. Also, d–don't call me miss; makes me feel old."

    'Good job, idiot,' she thought, 'Fucking flawless.'

    "I'll take a note of that," Jasmine answered. Then she hummed. "Calliope." She annunciated the word as if trying to understand it more. "Calliope... That's gorgeous."

    And, 'Calliope,' was surprised to hear her giggle. She hadn't thought she could get any more musical.

    "And you—" Jasmine continued, with a smooth, liquid annunciation. Sly. Almost suggestive of something. Like her words had a hidden meaning or connotation Calli couldn't grasp. "—can make a note not to call me, 'ma'am,' either." She hummed, and smirked. "Makes me feel old, too."

    Calli could feel the flush blooming again, tugging her scarf back over her face. She'd hoped the girl across her, now startlingly close—hardly a foot away—hadn't spotted the stupid grin cracking across her cheek.

    "Right," Calli breathed, "Y-yeah. I... I will." She cleared her throat. "... Do that..." An awkward second of silence, and Calli checked her digital watch.

    "O-oh! Shit!" she yipped, already stumbling backwards, "I have to go!" She grabbed the door handle, before flicking her head over her shoulder and giving a final, "Thanks!"

    Jasmine couldn't help a sputter of a laugh as she managed to squeeze out, "For what!?"

    "Not a damn clue!" Calli followed frantically. The door was promptly closed and shut, and Calli was already a rooftop away when Jasmine finally moved to lock the door behind her, chuckling all to herself.