I watched with some small amount of concern, appropriate I thought for the situation, as New Guy froze in the doorway. He turned back to me, quipped that he'd be a little longer than he intended, giving a dishonest half-smile, and then left.

It wasn't my mess to stick my nose into in the first place, and I wasn't going to start now, but over the course of this morning, he'd gone from troubled but well-intentioned kid hard on his luck to whatever the mess he was now. If strangers were showing up at my shop, I was definitely having second thoughts about the new guy's employability.

Doubly-so if they were XPCA. I wanted nothing to do with Exhumans, and if it came to being caught up in some XPCA politics-stuff, or the kid's butt on the curb...well, I had a business to run.

I felt bad. I wanted him to do well. Pretty much any person who sees another person struggling wants to see that person succeed, right? But I hadn't asked for this, and these weren't troubles I could just look up on the 'net. This wasn't something I could fix, and if it was invading my life and not something I could avoid, I resented that.

I slid my headphones on and felt a tiny bit more at ease in their familiar embrace. They were custom, like most things I used myself, and one of the few projects who made it to the fully-finished stage, like my wrist-holo. Most of what I did was just finding an idea I liked and seeing if I could get it to work, but every once in a while I hit a success and went through the painful process of actually seeing it all the way through.

Painful mostly because it involved doing things I couldn't manage on my own. Every time I'd finished procrastinating for weeks on calling the machine shop, I fantasized what life would be like if I were a machine girl, if I could just plug myself into a mass-fab and produce whatever I wanted, no human interaction required.

Yeah, I was one of those people who whenever I called, actually liked it when I got shunted through a message tree. I wasn't crazy. People who wanted a human experience while talking on a phone were crazy. It was a phone. I wanted predictability and consistency, and human reps were anything but.

I flipped through the holo on Enforcer whom I'd let Athan make his calls on. The entire conversation was still cached, until the security purge which would run when idle. Or I could run it now.

Or, I thought, pressing a different button, I could listen to the whole thing and figure out what the hell was going on with him screaming at someone over the 'net.

Just a few lines into the call, I was already deeply upset and stopped the playback, hitting purge, and apologizing to Enforcer for all the screaming she'd had to put up with. People weren't very nice to each other. We had all this capacity for empathy and kindness that put us a step above machines, and then there were people like this girl who never took advantage of it. It hurt me on a personal level, way more than it should have.

Poor Enforcer. She was just a prototype, and the customer went in a sleeker, less-robust, less-secure direction, even though he'd told me he wanted top of the line security everything, he took one look at her and said ew, not that. I thought she might be happy having a use here today, but instead she just helped two people yell at each other through the 'net. She didn't deserve that.

I carried her into the back and bedded her down on a workbench, giving her another apology before I left.

Though, maybe if Athan were telling the truth, she'd just saved some lives. She could be happy with that, I thought. Anyone would be happy saving lives, right?

I had work to do, and a couple of projects I'd started on which were just getting into the stage where I needed to force myself to keep on them after the initial burst of momentum had faded, but I didn't want to do any of that. I wanted to know what the heck was going on with New Guy, and was very annoyed with how much my life had revolved around his the last few days.

I mean, he was my employee. He was supposed to be making my life easier. Instead I was supporting him emotionally because nobody else was gonna do it, and physically, because...he was just a kid, wandering the streets, eating dog food. And while I knew he was a new fascination, and whenever there was something new, it tended to dominate over routine, the fact was, I had routine for a reason. It worked, it got my work done and paid my bills. If I fell behind on my projects, there'd be hell to pay.

Well...in all likelihood, there wouldn't be. I had a small but dedicated customer base, and I didn't think they went to me because I was the fastest. But I wasn't about to push it, and especially not over some kid I was paying for the privilege.

Before I knew it, I was back at my bench, scrapping a port I needed from an old wall-holo and stitching it onto another board where it could live again. Like a happy zombie.

I'd synced my headset and music was flowing into me, keeping my hands moving even without my brain's involvement. I was happy here, I had everything I needed. Work I enjoyed, the company of a few good friends, one hugging my wrist, one singing with me over my ears, enough credits to pay the bills.

Had to give the new guy credit though, the walkways between all the stuff in my hoard had doubled in width in the time he'd been here. That was pretty choice.

I was in the groove, feeling it, and making good progress, when I heard something outside, sounded like behind the building. Something so loud and sudden I picked it up even over my music.

Brow furrowing, I used my wrist to shove my headphones up, hands full and all. And for a second, I thought, maybe I was just hearing things.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

My throat felt like it had my heart stuck halfway up it. It was right outside, it sounded like, and even if the suddenness of it all made my thoughts spin like they were stuck in mud, I had one thought that came through clear as anything.

New Guy was out there talking to his 'friend'.

I turned to the door, not sure if I was going to run through it or lock up my store, but I was shocked to find him standing there in it.

"What the fuck was that noise?" he asked with alarm.

"That wasn't me. I thought it was you," I told him.

"I don't go bang, bang."

"If it wasn't either of us...we can ignore it, right?" I asked, not sure which answer I'd rather hear. "Probably just...a racoon in some trash cans or something."

"It was gunfire," he confirmed. "Someone might be in trouble, I'm going to go check it out."

"Wait, by yourself? Unarmed? What if they shoot you next?" Who the heck runs toward gunfire?

"I'll be fine," he said, with such confidence I almost believed him.

He turned to leave. "Wait, stop," I told him. "There's a guy with a gun out there, and he's not afraid to use it. Doesn't that mean anything to you? I know we just talked about you being a doormat, so stop and think--killing yourself won't help anybody, you know?"

He stopped long enough to give me a morbid grin. "Sometimes, people need help."

My own words, my own reasoning for taking him in to begin with. Such a simple truth, such a simple little altruism, such a simple thing that put humans on a level so far beyond machines.

It was words for taking a guy in off the streets, not running towards a shooting. It was just a simple epithet of how I felt, not some...dogma. It was a throwaway line I said once, that's all.

It wasn't fair.

"Okay give me...thirty seconds," I told him, and bolted into the back, faster than I'd moved in years. I pinned Eagle Eye to my front, had her recording everything, and with a few seconds of my fingers flying over the holo, had her configured to automatically send everything to the police if I didn't cancel it in an hour. I grabbed Sparker from near the door where I always kept her, and looked up at the arm on the wall, never finished, never named.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

It couldn't be that bad out there, could it? But a gun, that was serious business. Still, maybe keeping a low profile might be better. No matter who it was out there, if they saw me coming towards them with a big honkin' exosuit arm hanging off of me, they'd shoot.

"Let's go," he said, poking his head in, and I nodded, jogging behind him.

He peeked inside the black sedan parked right out front but there was nobody in there. His friend's car I assumed. "Everything go okay with him?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not even a little bit. He wanted me to turn myself in, said he came alone this time because he thought a personal appeal would be more effective than last time."

"Last time?"

"He showed up at my...my family's house with an army. Fucking held them at gunpoint while I ran like a bitch."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how to. Whatever I thought of him, he'd been through some stuff.

We didn't linger long, turning to the back alley behind my and the others' shops. Most of them had a freight entrance back here, not mine since the whole back area had been converted to a workshop...there was still an emergency exit back there somewhere behind some junk which probably violated all kinds of laws…the cleaners next door was getting trucks through at all hours, and I wondered if they had any cleaning facilities on-grounds or were just a front for...

I stopped and forced myself to focus. My mind was all over the place. Just being out here, with Sparkler white-knuckled in my hands was uncharacteristic of me, and I wasn't exactly sure what to do about it all.

I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself it was just an alley. I'd been here dozens of times. I looked at him, and saw a pained, focused stare frozen on his face. He wasn't moving, didn't even seem to be breathing. It took me way too long to follow his gaze.

Once I did, I wondered how I'd missed it. Right under my back window, red streaks visible even on the faded brick, a man, propped against the wall of my shop, back facing us, knees pinned under him.

He was motionless, and there was so much blood under him and seeped into his black uniform I couldn't even wonder if he was alive.

I felt like I should scream. Or...or something. I didn't know. There was a dead guy there. A literal dead guy. I'd heard gunshots...and saw a dead body. He was shot dead, shot against my own shop.

New Guy started to move towards it, and I thought I should stop him but couldn't. I wanted, more than anything to be back on the other side of that wall, to have never stepped outside and seen this. He didn't need help, I wasn't helping by being here, I was just seeing dead bodies and...and…

And that was it.

"He's dead," I said. "He's dead?"

"He sure looks it," New Guy said. He advanced within a couple feet of the body and leaned in towards it.

I suddenly had an irrational urge to go smell the body. It was like my brain, unable to process what I was seeing here and churn productively even the slightest bit decided to act out in the worst way possible. Like, yes, I liked to smell things. But not a dead body.

"Shot in the back. Four times. Fuck," he said. "One right through the base of the brain, execution-stye. Made absolutely sure he wasn't going to live. Others in a tight cluster at center mass. Give or take a few bullets, matches standard XPCA fire practice."

He walked a few paces, sweeping the ground back and forth with his eyes, and then starting towards a spot maybe five feet behind the body. He scanned the ground carefully, and then looked behind him, then at the soles of his feet, and then pressed a palm to the ground and inspected both.

"It's super dusty back here," he said. "I'm leaving not exactly footprints but definite indicators. So did Micaiah here…" He bent down and picked up what I thought might be a big gold capacitor. "Spent bullet casings, the shooter stood right here, didn't leave a footprint at all. Was probably using inertial dampeners...also explains how they got so close without him turning around. And the same caliber firearm as last time too."

He dropped the casing on the ground where it bounced with a little metallic pinging that sounded too happy for the scene.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he shouted. "Dragon was right fucking here!"

"I'm sorry about your friend," I said. Even as I said it, it felt empty and pointless to say, but it came out almost as reflex. He was upset, and I wanted to help.

"He wasn't my friend," he said, coming towards me. With gentle hands, though I could feel the heat of his anger in them, he steered us out of the alley. "In fact, it's probably better for me that he died. He said if I didn't turn myself in today, he would be seeking authorization to send shadow ops after me. I told him to fuck himself...but I would have to run again. I couldn't have anyone else get involved if shadow ops and hunters started showing up."

"Hunters…? Like, on the holo? Real, pro hunters after you?"

"Yeah. Some are really decent people. But a few are just after anything with a paycheck."

My mind was reeling like an off-balance gyroscope and it seemed to spin even faster the more he spoke. Not only had he just examined a dead body, he'd clinically determined cause of death, followed the killer's actions, found and evaluated evidence, and determined not only who, and how, it happened, but also with what, it sounded like. And now he was going on about professional hunters like he knew all about them.

And he was nineteen he'd said? Who the hell was this kid?

At first I'd just thought he was immature. We all had problems, and he wanted to run from his. I couldn't blame him, I'd done the same plenty of times. I wanted to right now, just go back inside and put on my headphones and stab these visions with music until I could pretend it was all a dream.

He'd been so unafraid of coming out here. So adamant that someone might need help and he would do it. Naive, I thought, maybe. Or stupid.

But now, he was almost carrying me away from it all, and he was none of those things. He was the real deal, and I couldn't believe I ever tried to tell him what to do. He, or any of the people chasing him could probably kill me a thousand different ways with an ordinary spoon.

But he wouldn't. He'd use a gun. Shoot for center mass and then a clean shot through the base of the brain, right? That's how they trained him to do it.

I suddenly felt sick at the thought of touching him, and pulled myself off of him. He gave me a concerned look, and I realized I was being stupid. Even if he was a killer, he was obviously outraged at this death, he was staying by me, he said if hunters came, he'd run again, to keep others from getting caught up in it.

There weren't any others, just me, I realized. This little kid with all his firearms training and all the blood on his hands and best friends in the XPCA and hunters...would shelve the sliver of life he'd made and go back to dog food and sleeping on the street again. For me.

I felt flattered and just...I didn't know. My emotions couldn't handle this kind of workout. I craved peace and quiet and order again. It'd been a normal Valentine's day. I had been productive. I had like, three real bangers coming up next on my playlist. I wasn't prepared for...all that blood. Or all this...military stuff. I was just trying to help out some kid.

"I need to sit down," I said, walking back inside, where it suddenly felt much darker and smaller than it ever had before.

"Are you feeling lightheaded? Let me know if you might faint, there's not a lot of...uh...good places to fall over in here."

"No, I just...I just need to plug into VR for awhile, I think. There's too much reality out here."

He looked at me a little puzzled but nodded slowly. "Whatever you need to do. Mental health is important too. One of my friends cracked and had to quit being a hunter because she couldn't deal with what she was facing. It's a good thing that you can walk away when you're feeling overwhelmed."

So he really was friends with hunters. Insane.

"Before that...and I'm sorry if this is asking too much...but I'd appreciate it if you could call the police and report what you saw. Tem and I--uh, I mean, I can't do it for obvious reasons."

"Yeah," I said. "That's a good idea. Sorry, I should have thought of that a long time ago."

He shook his head and smiled reassuringly. "Everyone deals with stress differently. I'm just pretty good at dealing with it in the moment. Just hang in there, and if you need to talk, I'm here."

I nodded and took a few breaths before booting up Viewfinder, my girl for VR.

"Um, that call?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry," I said, wondering where I'd left Thaumaturge, which was completely unlike me to misplace anyone, but then I realized it was just because I still had Sparker strapped to my side, and Thaumaturge was under her in my pocket like always. I fished her out and brought up the phone function.

And then I froze there with my fingers unable to move. Before I made a call, I always tried to anticipate everything they might say so I could get through it painlessly, but here, I couldn't. I couldn't revisit all of those details without locking up.

"Did you forget the number?" he laughed. "It's only three digits."

I thrust her to him, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of heat in my cheeks. "Call them," I said.

"Um...no. As I said, I can't do it for obvious reasons. I kind of need to be not locked-up to find the Defiant."

"I meant...you dial them."

"Me? Why? Did you seriously forget 911?"

"No," I said, feeling ever stupider and immature as this exchange continued. I took another deep breath and tried to find the words to express exactly where I was and what my problem was.

I found them surprisingly easy to find, though a bit embarrassing to say.

"I'm scared."

Something crossed behind his face instantly, a new depth behind his eyes and the smallest waver in his lips. He took Thaumaturge out of my hands and put her on the bench, and then put both of my hands in his.

"That's okay," he said. "It's okay to be afraid."

I felt a surge of gratitude towards him, for taking the time to be so nice to me when I was sure he'd rather be out there, rappelling off the side of a VTOL with machine guns akimbo, but here he was, holding my hands and just telling me what I needed to hear.

I didn't know much, or anything really about this whole situation he was in, or who he was, or who he was fighting, or why.

But looking into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his hands, I knew without a doubt who was right in that conflict. If the XPCA wanted to stop this guy from doing what he was doing, they were wrong, and that was it.

I indulged in his gesture for another minute before breaking it off, realizing that was the first physical contact I'd had with another person in years, and feeling stupid all over again. He picked up Thaumaturge and dialed the number for me, holding his thumb above the 'OK' button.

"Are you ready to do this?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes," I lied. "I'm ready."