My boots were rooted, my heart rate climbing into the stratosphere. Fuck. Garrett was dead wrong about the tracking device.

We could squeeze between the dumpster and the fence behind us, escape to the street at the far end of the alley, maybe fifty feet away. The rear of the pizza place was closer but probably locked. And running from cops could … end badly.

I turned to Garrett. “Can you protect us from your tail?”

The engine cut out and the driver’s door hinged open. The blond cop Garrett had shot in the face, no worse for wear, stepped from the police car amid a buzz of radio chatter. His human partner, the older cop with a severe look about him, emerged from the far side.

An icy pit coalesced in my stomach. Shit, had I kneed an actual cop in the balls? Coming back here was a mistake, even with Garrett’s bot to protect us.

“That’s not my tail,” Garrett intoned. “Get behind the dumpster.”

We scrambled for cover on the narrow side furthest from the cops. The street at the far end of the alley was closer now, maybe only a couple car lengths. Still too far to run. This time, I knew better than to try the intersecting dead-end alley on the way.

Matt’s eyes shone in the dark, his shoulders drawn halfway to his ears. From our vantage, flattened here against the dumpster, Garrett’s profile danced in the colored lights. He stepped toward the cops with arms raised.

“So they’re, like … actually cops?” I whispered.

Matt nodded, fiddling with his phone, hopefully looking up something to help.

The robot cop, obscured from our side of the dumpster, spoke first. “I need you to identify yourself.” His drawling voice dripped with irritation. “What’s your name, son? Who’s piloting the bot?”

“I’d … rather not say.”

“This here is Officer Laramee,” Buzz Cut Bot said. “And I’m Officer Stanton. Who is it you work for?”

After our encounter at the coffee shop, they were scared of what Garrett might do.

He shuffled his feet. “I might inquire as to who you work for.”

“LYPD,” Human Cop—Officer Laramee—said. “Care to explain why you shot my partner in the face?”

Sweat gathered on my brow. How long until they figured out Garrett wasn’t armed?

“It was perhaps a misunderstanding.” Garrett smiled, his palms upturned. “How did you track me here?”

A pause. “We need to know where you got the game console,” Officer Laramee said.

“As luck would have it, in this very dumpster.”

I peered around the corner before whipping back. Buzz Cut Bot—Officer Stanton—stood nearest us, a casual hand perched atop his holstered gun. Officer Laramee braced against the hood on the far side of the cruiser, his neck tensed, a wedding band gleaming on his hand. I didn’t like our chances.

“Who’s your pint-sized friend?” Officer Laramee asked.

“Who’re you calling pint-sized?” I yelled without thinking. Heat spread through my cheeks.

But before the cops could respond, Garrett whirled 180 toward shadows at the far end of the alley—right across from me and Matt.

A dark SUV, lights off, lumbered in from the street. A middle-aged woman and three well-muscled men ducked from the vehicle to squat behind open doors not thirty feet from us. The woman’s craggy face was the color of sun-baked clay, framed by a cropped mullet and dangly cross earrings. She wore a fixed frown, head-to-toe denim, and sensible flats caked with mud.

A whole-body shudder swept through me as I tried to breathe. Matt and I were completely exposed here. We never should’ve come back to this godforsaken alley.

“That’s my tail,” Garrett shouted. “Take cover!”

Fuck. We were sandwiched between the cops and the SUV with nowhere to run, nothing but a mid-sized dumpster to hide behind. I exchanged a wild look with Matt, a kettle drum booming in my chest, and spun to squeeze along the space between the fence and the dumpster.

Wood scraped my cheek as I slid along the fence. Matt huffed behind me. We stumbled out near the star flowers back where we’d started, plastering ourselves against cold steel facing the cops. The flashing police cruiser was steps away now, just trash and rusting metal between us and the SUV.

Officer Stanton took a few swift strides, joining us against the dumpster without a word. His jaw was tight, the sunglasses behind his head shimmering in the police lights, a pistol in his hands and a fire in his eyes.

I gulped, sliding away from the robot cop toward Matt and the heat sheeting off his skin. Was this cop teaming up with us, a lion waltzing in to help a couple zebras? I guess we weren’t in a position to object. Things must’ve been real bad though if he wasn’t arresting us.

Officer Laramee was crouched on the far side of the police cruiser, glowering over the hood and speaking urgently into his radio—hopefully with a better view of the SUV than us. Making a break for the police car was looking pretty unwise.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Garrett stepped back into our field of view maybe ten feet away, staring down the SUV. “And who might you be?”

“We represent Otokotronics,” the woman shouted, low and throaty, an Eastern European accent I couldn’t place. “Drop your weapons, darlings.”

The robot gaming company? She made it sound like that was sufficient reason for us to surrender. I believed her.

The two cops stirred subtly as if the center of gravity in the alley had just shifted. “LYPD,” Officer Stanton bellowed beside me, his brow furrowed. “You drop your weapons.”

“Tell us where the device is and nobody gets very hurt,” the woman said.

I clutched Matt’s arm, my chin quivering. Were they talking about this Talisman thing?

“What device?” Garrett called out, his face in shadow, the shimmering police lights behind him.

“We know the girl gave it to you, darling,” the woman crooned, “We saw the video on the Fediverse. We are not leaving with empty hands. The bosses deserve better than empty hands. The girl is here, is she not?”

My skin prickled beneath my hoodie. Not only did they know about Ko Prime, they thought I was her.

“I have no idea what device you’re referring to.” Garrett motioned wildly. “She gave me a flower. I would be happy to let you see, but it’s in my other pants.”

A beat of silence hung over us.

“We are growing impatient,” the woman said, almost purring. “We are on a timeline. Very tight. You give us the device or we take the device. Are you wanting to be very hurt?”

Garrett was piloting a robot. How could they hurt him?

“I’m telling you the truth.” He stepped back. “Perhaps you could explain exactly what you’re looking for.”

My stomach roiled. They didn’t believe him.

Stillness blanketed the alley. Even the dog was quiet.

“Garrett,” I hissed, “get back here.”

He took another step, his body tensing—and turned to sprint toward us.

A crackling spray of machine gun fire painted him thigh to face, jagged metal in its wake.

Garrett crashed to the ground like a plane without landing gear, skidding to a halt steps away. One lens of his aviators was shattered, his mouth gaping as if startled.

Crap crap crap. I scrambled back, my fingers to my mouth, blinking back the sting in my eyes. Matt was a statue.

Stanton peered around the dumpster before whipping back beside us, his knuckles pale, his mouth the barest line. “They’ve got a crate.” He shot a look across the police cruiser at Laramee huddled beside the hood, hopefully shielded by the engine block.

Sweat dripped from my jaw. What the hell was a crate?

Automatic gunfire from the SUV peppered the concrete and bit into the police car with sharp thwaps. Falling glass tinkled in my periphery as the dumpster rang with bullets. The strip of happy little flowers, almost within arm’s reach now, had been trampled into the ground.

Stanton gripped his head, rocking and muttering, “Charlie Foxtrot. Charlie Foxtrot.”

My limbs pulsed, my eyes on fire. That overwhelmed feeling from the diner swelled in my chest. I cast about for something, anything to do. My gaze fell to a squat metal cylinder affixed to Stanton’s belt—a flash-bang like in that protest documentary Mom made me watch.

This was my chance. So while Stanton had his freak-out, I watched myself pluck the cylinder from his belt. Pull the pin. Wind up like I was chucking a rock into the flood canal.

“Here goes something,” I said, my stomach turning to stone as I lobbed the cylinder toward the SUV in a lazy arc clear over the dumpster.

My gaze snapped to movement on the roof of the pizza place. A tall figure, ball cap and neat black beard, tracked my cylinder’s flight with binoculars.

Beard Dude. The asshole who’d chased us through this very alley after we’d found Ko Prime. Was he a spotter for the SUV guys—or their sniper?

Stanton spun toward me, his wild gaze bouncing to his belt. His mouth fell open, horror twisting his face. “What have you done?”

The world stood still. My heart caught in my throat, a breeze lifting the hair on the nape of my neck. I had to do something; we were going to die. But for the second time this week, I squeezed my arms around my head, bracing for an explosion that didn’t come.

Instead, a sharp snap rang out, followed by a resounding whump echoing all along the alley, overcoming the rumble of traffic and the pounding in my chest.

Then every street light winked out.

As did the glow of the houses, the pulsing lights of the police sedan—and any hope I had of getting out alive. The metallic scent of ozone filled the air as Stanton collapsed, his silhouette crunching to one side and narrowly missing me.

I drew back, my arms to my chest in the darkness, shuddering from a bone-deep chill. What just happened?

Laramee rounded the hood of the police sedan, firing a blazing volley toward the SUV before closing to the dumpster with a practiced ease that screamed ex-military. He was breathing hard, his darkened face a mask of determination. “Not smart, kid. That was an EMP—we don’t have much time until the SUV bots wake up.”

“They’re … bots? The shooting’s over?”

“Not if we hang around. One of them is human. Where’s your friend?”

I spun toward the fence. “Matt!” I hissed. Shit, where was he? God, he better not be hurt.

“Time to go,” Laramee said.

My arms tightened. “What, because your partner is an oversized appliance? Go if you want. I’m not leaving without Matt.” I stomped toward the fence, my fists so tight they hurt.

“No.” Laramee sunk his fingers into my bicep. “You’re coming with me.”

I set my jaw, my heart thudding in my ears. “You’re a slow learner,” I said, pivoting to deliver a vicious kick between his legs.

He let out a multisyllabic grunt, releasing me as he slid down the dumpster.

Oh my God. What an absolute asshole. I whirled back, my hair in my face. “Matt!”

“Here.” His voice was a whisper, coming from between the dumpster and the fence.

What was he doing? “Time to go!”

His dark shape emerged from his hiding place. “I-I saw something … in the dumpster. Through a hole. Y-You won’t believe it.”

“Not now.” Adrenaline pulsed in my veins. I dashed past the police cruiser, nearly smashing into it. “We’re leaving Garrett.” I spun back when I didn’t hear footsteps. “Matt!”

“S-Sorry, got a rock in my sandal. Coming now.”

We fled through the shadows.