JAMESON : N/A

HOUR -4 : 12:00, MONDAY, APRIL 20, 2122

NEW YORK 2 : ROOF 2 : JUMP!

Glancing down, I easily spotted the blonde dot yelling up at me. It already would’ve been impossible to make out her words at this distance. But especially with the wind practically screaming in my ears. Despite that, something about the back of her phone fully obscuring her face as she said it, gave me plenty of confidence that I didn’t need to hear whatever ‘it’ was. So, ignoring everything, ignoring everyone, I momentarily lost myself staring up into the cloudy sky. There was a particularly bright spot amongst the sea of gray. Not fully ‘sunlight’. Not nearly so intense. But it was beautiful all the same.

Staring transfixed, decision made, as though boarding an invisible elevator to somewhere better, I took a single, purposeful step. The light fell away. Then the buildings. Lastly went the world itself as I was overcome by pure, absolute tranquility. I felt as the wind rushed up my pant leg, through my shirt, only to escape out the arm and head holes. But not before puffing it out like some sort of woefully undersized parachute. I didn’t flail. Or struggle. I didn’t resist at all. Instead, as though joining with the wind itself, I felt closer to the heavens than ever before. That feeling only increased the further I plummeted, otherwise unmoving, straight and true as an arrow fired by a master archer.

“NOOO!!!” Like an icepick into glass, my tranquility was unceremoniously shattered by the now much closer voice. Finally, for the first time, I regretted jumping.

Moment entirely ruined, my gaze fell from the heavens, toward the source of the noise I was pretty sure wasn't a sign of any actual emergency. Even still, the smallest possibility that I was wrong obliged me to verify. I even made that rule myself after a few close calls where one of us thought the other was joking. So, entirely ready to be done with today, I turned my head away from my cascading, utter bliss, and towards the screaming woman. As maybe-wrong as I technically was, I still knew exactly what I’d see.

Adjusting to the wind so I could clearly make her out at this speed, my gaze finally landed on the source of my consternation. Yep. She sure was yelling… And, of course, she was in no danger whatsoever.

Gaping at me as I fell, the blonde woman was clearly horrified by what she saw. As if wishing for nothing more than to turn back time. As though mad at herself for not avoiding everything that led to what was before her. The instant proceeding my landing, I was at just the right angle to see the sunshine reflect off her wet, reddened face. Wait. Is she crying?

And then my feet hit sea level. Shutting my eyes tight, I slid under the surface like a sword into its scabbard, the water resistance getting to work on counteracting all that built-up inertia from the fall. As soon as I sank deep enough, I re-opened my eyes to a breathtaking view. A multiple-story-high tunnel of an ever deepening blue seemed to stretch forever down the long-flooded city street. At that moment, I wished I would’ve brought my camera. Or that it was waterproof. Even whatever Steph’s fit was about couldn’t keep the same tranquil feeling from flooding right back over me, along with the water.

Not that I really got to enjoy it. I was far too busy making sure not to die. That thought in mind, I bent my whole body back as much as I dared. Curving my position from being perpendicular to the street below, I transitioned to nearly parallel with it by the time I got to the bottom. I still hit the underwater concrete pretty hard and fast, even as I pinwheeled each arm and leg as much as my joints would allow, to shift my momentum more forward than down.

My effort paid off with a distinct lack of broken bones as I used as much as I could of every major muscle group to either cushion, or redirect the impact. The end result was that my fall only hurt about as much as getting hit by a slow car. As opposed to a fast train. So not nothing. But it shouldn’t leave me with any more than a couple bruises where I pushed off about a tenth of a second too soon with my legs, and extreme soreness everywhere else for the next few days.

Thanks to all that, I only bounced a little as I torpedoed down, and up, the vacant flooded street. The couple stories of water resistance had slowed me down enough that I only needed to strain not to pass out for the first few seconds of the experience. And the bruises were much-improved from the first dozen or so times I’d pulled this stunt. Overall, I felt pretty damned great about my total lack of serious injuries. Torpedoing feet-first down the street, I was finally able to spare a bit of thought for potential threats. But I couldn’t see anything. Not behind me, anyway. And once I finally slowed down enough to orient myself, one gasp for air later, I checked the street the other way. No evidence of company, mammal or otherwise. Thank god… So what the hell was her problem?

“Jason, that fucking sucked!”

My mood shifting straight from at-peace to indignant, I tried to be patient towards the very first thing I heard the instant I swam back into shouting range. There was no other greeting than that. Suppressing a sigh, I instead focused on catching my breath before getting back to her once I was good and ready. “…What?” That felt like a good question. So far, this was our smoothest, easiest, most profitable day in years. And now, my supposed ‘partner’ couldn’t help but find a problem with how I did all the work.

Meanwhile, Steph glared imperiously down at me from on high. She was perched atop the three-story building roof she hadn’t left in the hour since I entered the one I’d just jumped from. “‘What’?” Looking at me like I was stupid, she promptly flipped me off. “‘WHAT’???” With a different finger, she pointed across the street, vaguely in the direction of where I’d been standing less than half a minute ago. “You just walked off the edge all casual and stoic like a jackass! That’s fucking ‘WHAT’!!!”

Obviously, I’d made a massive mistake. I should’ve stayed underwater longer. Much longer. Until I ran out of breath. At least… And now, instead of contented relaxation like I assumed I’d feel after a job well done, I was just tired. “I don’t know what you’re harping on about. I did that as well as I could and everything went great. In English, Steph. What, for the love of Christ, is your problem?”

Steph folded her arms from atop the sunken building, clearly disagreeing on which of us was the misbehaving child. “My problem? Jason. It was. The perfect chance. You Dumbass.” She was still pointing up to where I’d dropped from. “How often does a job naturally involve diving from that high? You had every right, opportunity, and obligation to show off. I mean okay sure, you could’ve belly-flopped or something. And that would’ve been bad.” Seeming to calm down a bit, she looked me straight in the eye. “But you’re better than that. I know you are.” She kicked a stray rock down at where I was floating.

I dodged it.

“I guess I wish more people did too.” Sitting down on the edge of the roof, Steph seemed to stare straight through me. “You really are amazing, Jason. You know that, right? Like, you could seriously be famous. And if you were famous, you wouldn’t even have to be out here at all. And if I set myself up as your manager, neither would I.” Now, she’s looking at me like I’d kicked her puppy. “All you had to do was try, Jason. I set it all up for you. I did all the work.” She’d plainly spotted the well-justified face I was making, judging by the mirrored one on hers. “Not on the job, dumbass. The shot. The angle was perfect. The lighting, the backdrop, the… Everything… Was perfect. And when the sun broke through the clouds like that? It was beautiful. Or didn’t you notice?” Having said that, she resumed glaring down at me.

So I glared back.

Apparently, a silent protest wasn’t the correct answer to her question. A fact demonstrated by her picking up right where she’d left off after what only turned out to be a momentary pause. “But instead, it was the most boring shit I’ve ever seen! Not only that, but I came off like the biggest BITCH ever! Holding the camera and telling a guy who looked like he was building up the courage to kill himself… To do a FUCKING FLIP!!! And then while he fell with a record-breaking lack of flair, he just STARED at the fucking camera! As though telling me that I was the reason he did it!”

Throughout her tirade, I never stopped meeting her indignant gaze with one of my own. It was a look I’d had many, many occasions to practice lately. The practice apparently paid off too, as the expression on her face changed to what I might’ve expected to see from her letting out a big wet fart at dinner. Well, good then. Maybe now I can finally respond… So, I indulged in a long, deep, calming breath beforehand. “Not here to impress you, Steph. Just delete the video if it’s so bad. I didn’t ask you to make me into a spectacle.”

Still floating in the water, I feigned a shrug. “Or post it. Whatever. I’m not your mom.” Then, I met her gaze once more. “But look, Steph. I know you mean well. And I know this can be a hard thing to remember. But you’re not my mom either.” Throwing her a final smirk, I then proceeded to flip her off with both hands, smoothly transitioning the upwards arm motion into a full backwards dive.

Sinking back under, the water felt nice and warm on my face. Oh, wait. That meant I must’ve been literally freezing for a minute there… I’d have to be careful about that. I couldn’t exactly afford to catch a cold this week. But first things first. Sinking down to retrieve the heavily reinforced bag I’d thrown off the building, my mind stayed on how I disappointed Little Miss Therapist-Agent-Coach up there. I really was pretty harsh, wasn’t I? She’d obviously put some real thought into setting up that picture.

I grabbed the bag. But was I going to apologize? I definitely didn’t want to. After all, I’d never said I’d do any needlessly-life-risking flips or whatever the hell she’d wanted. And regardless of her intentions, fame was the very last thing I needed right now. Gotta be firm on that… It would’ve gone against the whole point of being out here in the first place.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

All of a sudden, my train of thought was Interrupted by an urgent message from my body. Apparently, I needed to stop operating on autopilot and actually put some effort in. Damn, this was heavy. Even underwater. Come to think of it, I’d never actually picked it up before. I’d used that hover dolly to get it up to the roof, and then just pushed it right off. Shame we couldn’t salvage that old-rich-people-toy. But whatever. With what I recovered, I could buy as many of them as I could possibly want. I could even splurge on a model not covered in rust and permanently leaning to the left. Yeah… Same shitty neighborhood. Same dangerous job of questionable legality. And all the hover-dollies we can eat. Dream big, Jameson…

I gripped the waterproof bag tight with both hands. Bracing my abdomen for the underwater leap was an oddly relaxing sensation. As I got ready, a comforting warmth rushed to all four of my now-very-tender, now-very-cold limbs. I took a moment to feel out the condition of my major arm, abdomen, and leg muscles as I stood rooted.

In as smooth a transition as I could manage, I compensated for my more bruised muscles, working the others hard to smoothly accelerate from a low underwater crouch. All at once, I uncoiled everything I’d just braced, working them together to launch myself upwards, along with the relatively small bag that I could swear weighed more than I did. Careful, now… I didn’t need to pull any muscles or dislocate any shoulders.

Although I was running out of breath. Alright, maybe going a little faster wasn’t out of the question. I had to get this thing up to Jess-no, Steph. Steph was the one up there. Was I really that woozy? Between the pressure and the physical strain, I was starting to actually feel tested by this. How long had it been since I’d felt like that on a job? Well, in that case, it was a test I’d pass.

Pushing my legs to the limit, I accelerated upwards. Faster. I dug deep. Faster. But still only halfway to the water’s surface. And I wasn’t exactly less lightheaded than I had been, either. It was then I knew I wouldn’t make it. Not at this rate. I could feel my consciousness fading. But my legs made no such capitulation. I went further. I felt like I was gonna pass out. Further. My head was pounding. Further. A migraine? Oh… I needed to breathe. If I didn’t, I’d pass out down here. But the bag… The treasure…

No. I’d rather have died than left it behind. But then, in a woozy moment of clarity, I realized the truth. This was stupid. Stupider than Steph’s obsession with going viral. I mentally slapped myself. “Jameson George Simmons, What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” Oxygen-deprived as my brain was, I tried to actually say that out loud. The only result was that now, along with all my remaining energy, the breath I’d been holding was also gone. Letting go of the bag, it unceremoniously plopped back down onto the sea floor, about a foot from where it started. Directly above, I finally resurfaced. I inhaled so hard that I choked a bit.

“WHAT HAPPENED???” Greeting my breach of the water’s surface with an even louder scream than last time, Steph sounded like she was about to have a heart attack. But then she stilled. Looking confused, she seemed to have noticed the lack of anything red. Either on me, or in the water. And she’d clearly realized she’d never seen me this worn out before. Steph just stared at me like that for a bit while I caught my breath. Seeming to intuit the truth of the matter, she braced one hand on her knee, pointed the other at my face, and burst into laughter. “Oh my fucking god! Did you just almost sacrifice your life to pull that shit up?” Steph ironically struggled to stay on her feet as she nearly ran out of breath from laughing so hard.

Finally catching enough of my breath to respond, I neglected to do so. I just watched indignantly as she made fun of me. And for what? Trying? Over about the same amount of time she took just now, I reviewed the situation objectively. Then, feelings of indignant offense cast aside, I started laughing too. “Oh my god! Yeah. Yeah, I actually did! Lord above, I think that might’ve been the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” I really thought about it. That only made me laugh harder. I kept on laughing. We both did. Eventually, all that was left on either of our faces was a wide, Jason-effacing grin.

Eventually, Steph calmed down. “Alright, dumbass…” My plight seemed to have put her in a better mood. “Let’s go.” Signaling with a thumb that I should come up already, she pivoted around and walked away from the building’s edge.

Repeating what I’d basically been doing all day, I climbed the roughly two feet between water and roof. Once I was up, I methodically dried off, and made my way to where Steph just went. And so, about a minute after her, I stepped back onto my boat. Almost immediately, I heard and felt the engine start up. Wanting nothing more than to curl up in the cot and sleep, I put my clothes back on and dried my hair a bit more as we gradually accelerated.

Steph had been careful in threading the mid-sized boat through all these buildings to get here. At that comfy pace, it’d be a few minutes before we’d get around to where I dropped the bag. Taking the first of two turns needed to reach it, the boat started pivoting around the building we’d been standing on.

But just then, there was some kind of grinding metal-on-metal noise coming from behind the boat. What in the hell is that?

Steph interrupted my already short train of thought in a vaguely jokey tone I could barely catch from the other side of the still-moving boat. “Jason…”

Craning my head in that direction, I cupped my hands to either side of my mouth to yell out my response over the sound of the engine. “WHAT???”

No response came. But then one did. “Okay…” She started laughing. “Quit it.” More of a giggle, actually. “That’s enough!” Then the giggling stopped. “Alright, the bit is done.”

I didn’t hear anything after that. “Oooh-kaaayyy-”

Steph’s sudden insistence pierced straight through my sarcasm. “CUT IT OUT, ASSHOLE!!!”

Alright, I was clearly missing something. “STEPH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE???” I wasn’t even angry. Just confused as I yelled up at her, over the hull and in the general direction of the cockpit that I couldn’t see from this angle.

“JAMESON SIMMONS, I DID NOT SIGN ON WITH YOU… To be fucked with… Like this…” By the end of that Steph sounded more confused than angry. A second passed in engine-revving, metal-grinding silence. “But then who’s pulling-OH… FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-”

Eyes widening at the sudden clatter, I rushed over to the back of the boat, arriving roughly around the sixth ‘Fuck’. I was just in time to see Steph get pulled overboard.

“Ah, god damn fucking shit ba-” Her voice cut out just as I made it to where she fell.

I froze for a moment while I just stared into the depths. But there’d been too much recent splashing to see anything beneath. Except that now there definitely was, in fact, red in the water. Oh no. Oh god no… I knew today was going too well. With a practiced effort of will, I broke through my momentary panic with the same calming technique I’d spent so much time teaching the girl recently.

Okay Jameson, one thing at a time…

Was she in danger?

Yes. Almost definitely yes. So she was in danger.

Did she want help?

Too risky to make sure. Either the answer would be ‘no’, or she could die in the meantime. No waiting then.

Should I jump in to save her?

Yes. I didn’t even need to think about that one. Okay, so I’m jumping in…

Should I take my clothes back off first?

No. That’d take too long. No time for prep, then.

But… Bare-handed? What if it’s a shark?

Hesitation gone, I dashed over, scooped my AK-238 out of the duffel bag next to the cockpit, turned, and less than three seconds after Steph fell off the boat, I dove in after.

Just then, Steph surfaced. She looked pissed. And pained. In roughly equal measure.

So she didn’t need saving? Well great… Just one problem, though. Depending on how I hit her, which I undoubtedly now would, I could seriously hurt one or both of us. Gotta be quick about this, then.

First, I tossed the assault rifle back over my shoulder. Second, I moved my hand forward, poising it to brace her forehead. Third, I braced my other forearm against her from shoulder to opposite elbow like a particularly ineffective seatbelt. But it was the best I could do with the time I had.

“WHAT THE FUGLB-” Steph surfaced, and nearly even got out an expletive before her head and upper body were immediately, firmly, albeit with minimal injury, shoved back underwater.

A few miserable minutes later, we made it back on the boat. Somehow, Steph had managed to wrap her safety line around a sewage pipe hanging off the roof we’d just vacated. And, as the boat accelerated, the cord grew more and more taut. In the proceeding battle of wills, Steph had dislodged the drainage pipe, unhooking it from most of the sunken building. So she’d won that battle. But the pipe won the war as it pulled her inexorably off the boat. And thanks to its admittedly-not-as-smooth-as-I’d-prefer hull, she’d badly scraped her knee on the way down.

Her giggling had been based on an assumption that I’d been jokingly tugging on her safety line. “I don’t know… To fuck with me, I guess?”

That would’ve been quite dangerous and unprofessional of me. But, on the other hand, I had done exactly that on a different job last week… Except instead of fostering a closer friendship like I’d wanted, it had apparently set an entirely different sort of precedent.

And to make matters worse, we both quickly realized something neither of us had planned for. There wasn’t a single dry item of clothing left on the boat. Combined with our being hundreds of miles away from the nearest known location of non-wet apparel, the general mood took a sudden and significant downturn.

Not only that, but now my custom-built scavenging boat had its first major dent in all the years I’d owned it. All thanks to a low-speed collision with the side of a building while we were busy in the water. At least the gun made it back on the boat after I’d tossed it up. Thank God for small miracles… We’d be dead if we ran into someone with only Steph’s pistol to defend ourselves. Unless, of course, they fancied waiting for me to disassemble, dry, and reassemble the thing before they attacked.

Wordlessly, albeit with much angry incoherent muttering, Steph deftly finished maneuvering the boat into place. She stopped it right above where I was laughing in the water not ten minutes ago.

Muttering in an incoherent manner to rival her own, I unhooked the boat’s side-mounted crane.

Then, both stubbornly refusing to get wet again, and with precisely the teamwork and coordination of a dysfunctional couple fighting over a claw machine, we operated the crane. We pulled up today’s haul. And all it took was far more mistakes, frustration, and genuinely hurt feelings, than the rest of the job combined.