Valiant

[Valiant #1: Anniversary]

Log Date: 8/24/12763

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Kibe: gridlocked intersection at 9th and Cramworth

11:48am SGT

“…it was quite a storm last night, and part of the city lost power for a couple hours there, but everything’s back online now, and we’re looking at highs in excess of a hundred degrees. And that’s the weather for today — back to you, Clarence.”

“Thanks, Hennessy. Now, next up in the news: today is the fifteenth anniversary of the Songbird Incident in the Grayspur System. Fifteen years ago today, the Challenger known as Nova was assassinated by a fellow Challenger, known as Songbird…”

I take a deep breath, checking the time on my dashboard, then the red light in front of me, and the backlog across the intersection. I’m gonna be late for work. My eyes flick to the giant holoscreen splayed across the corner building on the intersection, and the sober-eyed anchor on the screen.

“Go on, Clarence.” I murmur. “Tell me all about the Songbird Incident.”

“…the confrontation, caught on video, revealed Nova’s attempt to expose the growing corruption within the Challenger program, and the price she paid for working to uncover it. The video of the assassination, which was later distributed and aired across the galaxy, resulted in a series of internal and external investigations into the Challenger program. The program was subsequently shut down within the year, after a vast array of abuses and corruption charges were brought against the organization…”

My eyes flick to the traffic lights. Still red.

“…many Challengers retired outright, though others would continue to operate as vigilantes, and in defiance of the laws barring them from participating in conflicts. Others are known to have joined mercenary corps or started up organizations of their own; still others found work in the private secto—”

BWAAAAAAAAAAAANNNN

I take another deep breath at the blaring of a horn behind me. My eyes flick back to the traffic light; sure enough, it’s green now. Shifting my foot off the brake, I give the accelerator a tap, listening to the anchor as I drive past the screen.

“…tonight we will be airing a three-part special covering the legacy of the Challenger program, the rise of Citizens United, and interviewing a pair of former Challengers. However, for our upcoming segment we will be going live to our galaxynet audience, and asking them what the Challenger program meant to them…”

“It’s dead now.” I mutter, rolling up the windows as I crank the A/C to max. “What it means is no more heroes.”

The News

“Incepted in 12650, the Challenger program is said to be the brainchild of Hargrave Westing, a frontier sheriff who lived in a settlement on the border of Collective space. Originally created to defend and protect frontier worlds that were considered too small to defend against the Collective, the Challenger program grew over the years to become a well-funded and aspirational organization of unique and powerful individuals. Challengers became heroes and legends, elite operatives said to be capable of holding their own against scores of enemies either through natural ability, arcane talent, or technological advantage. The Challenger program became a touchstone of galactic culture, a beacon of the best qualities, and historians agree that over the past century, the Challenger program has redefined the galactic public’s conception of what a hero believes, what a hero looks like, and what a hero does.

“For a century, tales of the Challengers inspired generations, and their actions shaped and defined the galaxy as we know it. But it was not to last, as secrets kept by the organization started coming to light, and along with it, those who were determined to see the program shut down. As the organization neared the formal centennial of its founding, it was shut down and disbanded, with Challengers to be prosecuted as vigilantes if they interfered in the matters of sovereign systems. Some Challengers continued on as renegades, but for the most part, its operatives faded into obscurity as the program was mothballed and the organization’s property seized and sold off to cover its litigation fees.

“Still, fifteen years after the Songbird Incident that brought down the organization, the legacy of the Challenger program still lingers across the galaxy…”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Logistics: Kayward Call Center

12:09pm SGT

Standing in the elevator, I stare through the glass and across the city beyond. I wouldn’t call it a gleaming metropolis so much as I’d call it a glorified retirement community that achieved critical mass, attracting all the economic aspects of a city without any of the nightlife that usually came with it. The whole mess had sprung up in the middle of a desert, of all places, an environment where the old bones never had to worry about harsh winters.

I didn’t hate how hot it was, but I despised the lack of humidity. And water. And trees. In short, I pretty much hated that it was a desert. But it was where the job was, so here I was.

Ignoring the splay of the city for a moment, I take a look at the person to the left of me. A decently tall young man, tropical blue hair, birthday-pink hoodie, and across the back in jagged navy-blue graffiti print, the words GET REKT. There’s a green backpack slung across one shoulder. He’s not afraid to stare right back at me; looks me right in the eye, but doesn’t say a thing. That’s okay; I didn’t make a habit of carrying conversations with myself.

The elevator slows and dings, and I turn to step off onto my floor. My reflection turns and does the same.

Trekking through the break room, I push through onto the call floor. Hundreds of stations sit in rows, three or four screens for each call agent, nearly everyone talking. The whole place is filled with a low chatter; every now and then, I get a shout-out from an agent as I’m crossing the rim of the room. A little wave and a smile usually earns me a smile in response.

Coming up the stairs to my supervisor desk, I set my backpack down and grab my headset, pulling it on as I clock in. “How are things looking in the world of non-emergency interstellar medical transit, Oscar?” I call over my shoulder to my manager, who sits in the office behind me.

“Well, Interlinx crashed this morning, so we're running late on about two hundred trips, and another forty are still uncovered…” he says, looking at me with a grin.

“Ah, so it’s a shitstorm, then?” I chuckle as I start pulling up all my programs.

“Ehhhh, I suppose you could say that.” he says. “Reservations looks like they’re under control, but dispatch could use some help covering those open trips.”

“Perfect.” I say, cracking my knuckles and pulling up my keyboard. “I love a challenge.”

The News

“In our annual Challenger Checkin, we take stock of known Challengers, what happened to them after the Songbird Incident, and where they are now. Shina, who do we have for this year’s Checkin?”

“Thank you, Clarence. First up on this year’s list is Challenger 4803, codenamed ‘Jackrabbit’. Jackrabbit was one of the program’s highly visible Challengers, and for many, was the face of the last generation of Challengers. Jackrabbit stayed on with the Challenger program right up until the day it was formally shut down, disappearing the day after. In the years since, there have been reports of a mercenary by the name of Quicksilver striking at decision points within conflict zones, leaving combatants reeling in her wake — and some say this could be Jackrabbit, operating under anonymous auspices.”

“If it’s true — if this Quicksilver is really Jackrabbit — then this would fit the pattern of some rogue operatives continuing the mission of the Challenger program even after it was disbanded?”

“If it is — and we have no proof that Quicksilver is Jackrabbit, just speculation — then yes, this wouldn’t be surprising. For years, former Challengers have defied ordinances and laws passed to punish their involvement in local conflicts. Some of them have been arrested, others have been killed, but some of them keep a step ahead of authorities sent to detain and arrest them. And if this Quicksilver mercenary really is Jackrabbit, then ambitious lawmen are going to have their hands full trying to catch her.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Logistics: Kayward Call Center

9:22pm SGT

“So what’s it gonna take, son? I ain’ askin’ for much. Don’t you think we should bring it to a competent level here?”

“Sir, I have no ability to tell your system government to expedite a background check so you can receive your metro pass.” I say, leaning back in my chair as I massage my brow with one hand, and squeeze a rubber duck that I keep as a stress ball with the other hand. “We are a private company. We possess neither the authority nor the resources to bypass or change governmental regulations within your local system.”

“Well you lot cocked up my metro pass, so now you need to fix it!” I squinch one eye shut as the fellow on the other end of the line bellows into the phone. “Maybe if I went to my attorney and had a levy put on your business, y’all might start shaping up and taking things seriously—”

“We do take things seriously, sir. I’ve told you, the check will clear in five to ten business days, and you will receive your pass, at the latest, on the first Friday of next month. We have not messed anything up; this is the typical wait time for metro passes in your system.”

“That’s bullshit! I hope you’re brushing up your resume, because you and your other supervisors are about to be out of a job, since your boss will have to cut y’all loose to pay for his legal fees—”

“Mr. Shaw, you threatened legal action two months ago.” I say, flatly interrupting him. “Ten days, you told us, and then we would receive a court summons. Well, we’re two months in; your legal threats don’t mean anything because you don’t follow through on them and they frankly hold no weight because we have done everything we are required to do within the bounds of our contract with your insurance company. Your metro pass will arrive in five to ten business days; if it has not arrived by then, you are free to call us back and we will look into that for you. If I find that you continue calling back to harass my agents, threatening to send immigration and customs to our workplace to have them deported despite the fact that all of them are legal citizens of this system, I will pull all of your calls and report you to your insurance company. Is there anything else we can do for you tonight, sir?”

“Look here, you smug son of a bitch, I served in the Venusian Royal Guard—”

“For which we thank you for your service, though it does not excuse your behavior. You have a good night, Mr. Shaw.” Reaching up, I make a flicking motion at my largest screen, ending the call.

“Wow, that one sounded spicy.” I look around to see a humanoid cat with dyed fur standing off to the side of my desk, her purse over one shoulder. “You’re usually a lot more passive than that.”

“Hey Lily.” I smile, leaning forward in my chair to bring up my time punch. “Yeah, that was Mr. Shaw. He’s a real bucket of sunshine.”

“Ohhhh. Him.” Lily says, her ears flicking back. “Yeah, Jess got him the other day. He was telling her that Halfies were abominations and vermin and… y’know. All the classics. She hung up on him too.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda used to the subtle racism, but this guy, he just puts it all out there.” I say, clocking out and shaking my head. “Not gonna lie, he kinda ruined my day. I was supposed to be gone thirty minutes ago; instead I had to sit and listen to him rant and rave about how everyone that worked here was going to hell because the company’s CEO is Anayan, and then he switched over to telling us he was going to call the police on us and have them shut down the building…”

“Can’t we get him to stop calling? Blacklist him or something?” Lily asks as I stand up.

“I told him I’m going to pull his calls and put together a harassment report; I think I’m going to do exactly that tomorrow.” I say, pulling my hoodie on and grabbing my backpack. “But I’m off the clock. I’m just going to forget he exists right now.”

“Yeah. Good point.” Lily says, following as I head down the stairs. The call floor is a lot emptier now that it’s night; there’s fewer agents in the building. “Are you doing okay?”

I glance aside at her. “Yeah. Why, am I not supposed to be?”

Lily shrugs. “Well, you know, it’s the anniversary, I thought you’d take the day off or something…”

I take a sharp breath as I remember the news from this morning. “Oh yeah. Right.” Pushing through the doors to the break room, I rub the back of my neck. “I thought about it. Taking the day off, that is.”

“Nobody would’ve blamed you.” Lily says softly as we step into the elevator. “I mean, you haven’t missed a day of work in the last six months, and you racked up fifty hours last week. It’s okay to take a day off, Feroce.”

I shrug as the elevator starts gliding down the side of the tower. “I don’t know. Work keeps me from thinking about it, and I don’t like dwelling on it.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Lily agrees, turning to look at the spiderweb of city lights stretching for miles across the desert. “You doing anything tonight?”

“Gotta hit the pharmacy and grab my sacrament.” I say, watching the lights along with her. “Heading home after that.”

Lily gives me a sideways look. After a moment I notice she’s flicking her ears in the Halfie equivalent of eyebrow-waggling.

“Don’t even.” I laugh, rolling my eyes.

“Look, I’m just saying, I’ve heard rumors about how your kind get after they have the sacrament.” Lily grins.

“Rumors.” I repeat, as if that answers everything.

“C’mon, some of it’s gotta be true.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but you won’t find out from me.”

“Do you ever have any fun?” Lily asks as the elevator slows to a stop, and we get out on the ground floor. “I’ve never seen you go to the bar. You get along just great with everyone in the office, but once you step outside you’re a loner.”

I shrug as the hot desert air hits us. Even with the sun gone down, I can feel the triple-digit heat on the air. “It’s just who I am.”

Lily tucks her pawhands in the pockets of her dress as we turn to go our separate ways. “Well, if you ever want to hang out, you’ve got my number.”

“I’ll think about it.” I say with a rueful smile. But we both know that it’s never going to happen.

Turning about, we go our separate ways in the dry desert night.

The News

“We go now to Dan Splainsworthy, a renowned researcher of security organizations and other paramilitary groups, and the author of historical compendiums on organizations such as the Vaunted, the Challenger program, and most recently, Citizens United. Today, Professor Splainsworthy will walk us through some of the defining moments of the Challenger program. Professor, if you would — what are some of the historical moments that defined the Challenger program?”

“Oh my goodness, where do I begin, Clarence? I’m sure you and most of the audience are familiar with the most recent one, the Songbird Incident, but you’ve got wall to wall coverage on that one today, and there are hundreds of other events that defined the Challengers. There were the Mech Wars, the Starstruck Standoff, the overthrow of the Great Ghost Dragon, the sealing of Zackly the Demon Hamster, just to name a few. But let’s start with the one event that launched the Challenger program to galactic fame over a hundred years ago — an event still taught in many history classes: the Defense of the Shi Morlan.”

“But the defense of Shi Morlan was a loss for the Challenger program, correct? It’s well-known that everyone in the Shi Morlan system that refused to surrender was killed or assimilated.”

“It was loss on the galactic map, but in terms of tactics and inspiration, the Defense of Shi Morlan was an incredible victory for the Challenger program. The Challengers that volunteered to defend that fringe world knew they were probably going to die or be assimilated, but they went anyway to buy as much time as they could to evacuate the planet. Militias from the neighboring systems joined the fight, and this resistance group managed to hold off the Collective, despite being exponentially outnumbered. The defense dragged on for days, with the Challengers managing to evacuate the most of the planet before being overrun. Afterwards, the refugees of Shi Morlan told the stories as they resettled across the galaxy, and many of them volunteered to become part of the Challenger defense group. Many researchers have credited the Defense of Shi Morlan with setting the foundation for legend of the Challengers.”

“I know it’s also been noted by some that this event was what drew the first major donors to the Challenger program, Professor.”

“Well, naturally, Clarence. Up until that point, the Challenger program had been running on grit, pocket lint, and your eccentric uncle’s experimental tech that he loaned out to you so you could test-drive it for him…”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Kibe: night streets

9:51pm SGT

Some days, coming home from work is the hardest part. Other days, it’s going to work that’s hard. But whether it’s before or after, it’s hard for the same reason.

I drive those streets, and I see the same places I’ve always seen. Going to work, and leaving work, I know it’s going to be the same thing, day after day, month after month, year after year. Different voices, the same choices. The same thing, over and over and over again. And if it was making a difference, I wouldn’t mind the repetition.

But that was a big if.

It’s the long drive that always gets me. It gives me time to think, and that’s dangerous. You start thinking about your life, asking yourself questions about if this was really what you wanted to be. And the thing is, you know the answer, but you don’t want to say it out loud, or think too hard about it, because you’ll have face a truth you’ve avoided for a long time.

Arriving at the pharmacy gives me the distraction I’m looking for, though it’s not a pleasant one. I kind of hate coming here, which is why I usually go late at night, when there’s fewer people around. Parking and locking my car, I pocket the keys and head for the doors.

Once I’m inside, I head straight for the hemopharmacist’s counter at the back. There’s a small line when I get there, and I wait my turn quietly; for a few minutes, it feels like I might be lucky enough to be the last customer in line.

Then the pharmacy’s door jangles, and following through it is group of four, three guys and a girl, all of them dressed in brand-name clothes. Privilege and excess drips from every word as they chatter on their way to the counter.

“Corynorhinus brats.” mutters the person in line ahead of me, who turns back to the hemopharmacist. “Hurry it up, I want to be out of here before they arrive.”

The hemopharmacist gives the guy ahead of me a sharp look, and proceeds to take his sweet time filling the thermos before capping it and handing it back to him. Once he steps out of the way, I move to the counter, setting my thermos on it; the hemopharmacist, dressed in a red labcoat, looks at me. I know he recognizes me; you couldn’t not, with hair and a hoodie like mine. “Card.”

“You know I don’t have one.” I swear, we do this same routine every month. At this point I think he’s just out to make my life miserable.

“You know the drill. No card, no discount.” It’s flat, cold, judgmental. And he’s looking at me as if I was a tumbleweed that had blown into his store and would soon tumble back out, leaving dust and twigs in its wake.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we wander into a foster home? I didn’t know you served Orphans here.” says one of the posh punks behind me.

“More like a dumpster.” the girl mutters. “Didn’t know we’d be sharing space with trash.”

I take a deep breath, getting ready to swallow my spite and make my request, when there’s a quiet click on the counter. I look to the side to see a lank, dark-haired hybrid with ruffled hair, cargos, boots, and a military jacket on. While he’s largely human, there’s a tufted set of feline ears poking out of his ruffled hair, paired off with a sandy-furred tail idly curling back and forth behind him. To top it all off, he’s sliding a card across the counter to the hemopharmacist. “If you need a card, here’s one.”

The hemopharmacist narrows his eyes at the newcomer. “You’re not a member of the Families. You’re not eligible for the sacraments.”

“Correct. But I speak for someone who is a member of the Families, and she is vouching for this one.” the hybrid says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “So it’s going on her card. Fill his flask with pureblood. I’ll foot the bill.”

“You’re joking.” the hemopharmacist says.

“Did I stutter?” the hybrid asks lazily.

At this point I decide to put in my two cents. “Look, you don’t need to do this—”

“Dude, shut up. I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart.” the hybrid says without even looking at me.

The hemopharmacist looks between the two of us, then reaches down and takes the card, looking it over. “Molossus, hmm?” he says, swiping the card through the reader. “Looks like you just became someone’s hatchet man, cotton candy.”

I nod, pressing my lips together and looking away. “Yes, thank you for the snarky remark on my color palette.”

“You brought it on yourself, dressing like that.” the hemopharmacist says, returning the card to the hybrid and taking my thermos. “You said pureblood. How pure are we talking?”

The hybrid smirks, leaning forward to hiss his answer. “Virgin.”

“Oh c’mon!” explodes one of the Corynorhinus members behind us. “Are you shitting me right now? You’re buying virgin pureblood for an Orphan?!”

All the hybrid does is offer a smug look over his shoulder.

“You know what, I’m not really comfortable with this.” I say, starting to edge away from the counter. “Tell you what, you can just… keep that and I’ll come back another night.” With that, I start away from the counter at speed, angling back towards the door through one of the aisles.

“Fill it up anyway.” I hear the hybrid’s voice at the counter. “I’ll take it and make sure it gets to him.”

That sends a shiver down my spine, and I pick up the pace, pushing through the door and back out into the parking lot.

Unlocking my car, I slide in, starting it up as I try to get my thoughts in order. Someone showing up and trying to pay for my sacrament, and willing to shell out for the good stuff, was probably gearing up for a bribe. That they managed to find me, and were determined to do so even if I left, meant they probably worked for someone with considerable resources.

“I think you should’ve stayed to see the looks on their faces.”

The voice from the backseat of my car has me jumping in place so hard that my head hits the roof. I twist in my seat, fumbling for my stunner, to see the hybrid sitting in the backseat, thermos in his lap and hands laced behind his head.

“Relax, 5377. I’m not here to kill you.”

I catch my breath, then start laughing. “You? Kill me? Please.”

The hybrid shrugs. “You didn’t check the backseat before you got in. You’re rusty, even though you don’t look like you’ve aged a day since the program got shut down.”

“Well yes, that’s how my kind work.” I say, rolling my eyes before I charge my stunner pistol and point it at him. “Now, give me a good reason why I shouldn’t light you up and throw you out of my car.”

“Because you won’t hurt someone that hasn’t done anything to deserve it.” the hybrid says, picking up the thermos and holding it out to me. “I read your file, 5377. You weren’t like a lot of other Challengers.”

I stare at the offered thermos, then slowly lower the stunner, powering it off. Holstering it, I take the thermos, looking it over, then let out a long sigh.

“Get up in the front seat. I don’t want to be talking over my shoulder the whole ride home.”

The News

“We return now to our pre-recorded interview with Chi Nimick, a consultant for Citizens United who was once known as Challenger 5290, codenamed Gossamer. In this segment, we discuss some of the traditions of the Challenger program, including the mysterious numbering system.”

…

“So, Mrs. Nimick, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the purpose of the numbering system for Challengers? I understand there’s a certain practicality to it, but Challengers also have codenames, and the codenames — forgive me if I’m taking liberties here — are more memorable than a series of numbers. Yourself, for example — Gossamer is a more dynamic moniker than Challenger 5290.”

“You’re not wrong, Clarence, but what a lot of people don’t realize is that not every Challenger got a codename. Codenames had to be earned — and until you earned your marks, you were known by your number.”

“So in a manner of speaking, a Challenger isn’t really a Challenger until they’ve earned their codename?”

“I get why you would think that, but it’s not quite like that. There were plenty of capable and dedicated Challengers that had no codenames. Those that had earned their codenames are the ones that went above and beyond; you could say they were elite Challengers. Operatives that deserved a serious reckoning when they entered a conflict, individuals that could singlehandedly turn the tide.”

“We’re talking Challengers like Jackrabbit, Trickshot, Nova in that regard.”

“Those are a few of the better-known ones, yes. One thing you do have to keep in mind is that these codenames weren’t for the public’s benefit. Your codename wasn’t dependent on how many civvies saw you do the thing; it was dependent on the thing you did. A codename was for internal use; it showed your fellow Challengers that you had earned your marks. You could be relied on. You got the job done. You had something special, and you used it to make a difference.”

“What about your codename, if you don’t mind me asking? When did you earn yours?”

“Oh, my codename?… it was after a very hard mission, an encounter with a Lord Syntaritov that landed me in the hospital. By rights we should’ve died on that one, but I wasn’t going to watch my team die. It… cost me, but I earned my name on that one.”

“I think I heard a little hesitation there - do you regret what it cost you to earn your codename?”

“Y’know, Clarence… I look back on it, and I do wish it hadn’t gone the way it had. But I don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Kibe: night streets

10:12pm SGT

The first part of the ride is quiet; neither of us talk for a few minutes. I just drive, and he just stares out the window, watching all the city lights pass by. After a while to get my thoughts settled, I decide to break the ice.

“So, I guess I should start with a name.” I say. “Assuming you’re allowed to give me that.”

“It’s no big secret. I’m Lucanthiline, but that’s a mouthful, so you can call me Luci for short.” he says, still staring out the window. “As the boss says, let’s get the cliché out of the way. No, I’m not working for CURSE, yes, I’m working for a former Challenger, and yes, she’s got a mission for you. No, you’re not allowed to ask who she is; yes, it’s probably going to be dangerous.” He looks at me. “Are you in?”

“Look, I’m not going to lie, it feels like you just slammed me in the face with a brick of information and I haven’t had enough time to process all of it.” I say, shaking my head. “The Challenger program is dead. We don’t do missions anymore.”

Luci stares at me for a long moment. “You used to be a galactic hero. Now you work in a call center. You’re telling me that you would rather keep working the night shift, having racist Venusian veterans chew you out over metro passes, instead of protecting and defending people that need help?”

I look away. “I think you’re leaving out the part where Challengers that tried to get back into the business of helping people got hunted down and arrested. Or killed.”

Luci stares for a moment, before his mouth curls in the smug smile. “But you aren’t afraid of dying, 5377. You never have been. Something else is holding you back.” He leans forward, as if he was trying to get a better view of my face, trying to read me. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, 5377. But you’re not going to find it grinding away your life in a call center.”

He’s telling me stuff I already knew, stuff I didn’t want to tell myself, because I didn’t want to face it. But now that it’s out there in the open, I can’t avoid it. “I’ve spent the last year working my way up into my current position.” I say. “I went to supervisor within four months of working there. Decent pay raise and good benefits. My agents like me, and so do my fellow supervisors. Hell, my manager likes me.”

“So people liking you is more important than saving lives?”

I glare at him.

He shrugs. “Just saying, you could get paid more than what you’re getting paid now, and save lives.”

“That’s what the military and the police are for. If civilians need protecting, they can look to their governments for that. That’s half the reason the Challenger program got shut down anyway; local governments didn’t like us mucking about in their affairs.” I retort.

“Actually, it’s not civilians that need protecting.” Luci says, rocking from side to side in his seat. “It’s other Challengers.”

That throws me for a loop. “…what?” I say, taking my eyes off the road for a moment to glance at him, trying to figure out if he’s being serious.

“Yeah.” he says, planting his hands on his seat and leaning forward against his seatbelt to stare out the front window. “CURSE is coming for the rest of the Challengers.”

Hearing that is like getting socked in the stomach. I don’t need to breathe, but for a minute I feel like I can’t; my chest gets tight and my hearing gets fuzzy. I have to put both hands on the wheel, grip it and focus my gaze on the road ahead, to get the words flowing to my mouth again. “There aren’t a lot of rogue Challengers left anyway. It shouldn’t take them too long to clean up the leftovers.”

“They’re not just going for the rogues, 5377.” Luci says quietly. “They’re coming for everyone.”

I give him a speechless stare.

He blinks languidly in return, returning the stare. “Shutting down the Challenger program didn’t kill what they represented, 5377. The stories live on. The legend persists. Challengers still wield power and influence because they’re part of the galaxy’s culture and history.” He pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “CURSE knows this, so they’re determined to erase it. Any survivors of the Challenger program will be killed or absorbed into CURSE’s ranks, so CURSE can properly fill the void that was left behind when the Challengers were shut down.”

We slow to a stop at a red light as I try to get my head around this. “…you have no proof.”

“I don’t need proof.” Luci answers coolly. “The Boss has a mission for you.”

I glance aside. “Your boss?”

“My Boss. Who’s also your Boss. She’s the former Challenger I was talking about.” Luci says, his sand-furred ears flicking forward. “Green light.”

My foot thumps to the accelerator, the car growling forward. “I don’t take missions. No one takes missions. The program was shut down, and even if it wasn’t, I was dishonorably discharged. I’m not a Challenger anymore.”

“You were dismissed under duress.” Reaching into his jacket, he digs out a pack of gum, ripping it open. “The program had to sacrifice someone, and the court of public opinion is notoriously indiscriminate with its self-righteous fury. The public needs someone to be punished so they can feel better about themselves; the nuances of the situation are generally irrelevant. What matters is that someone suffers.”

“What a remarkably depressing and honest assessment of the public stage.” I mutter.

“I learned a thing or two from a Syntaritov.” Luci says with a toothy smile. “But that’s all besides the point. You’re still a Challenger, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “I just told you I was dishonorably discharged.”

“You’re not hearing me, 5377.” Luci persists, unwrapping his stick of gum and popping it in his mouth. “Are you a Challenger because someone stuck your name on the roster, or are you a Challenger because of what you believe and fight for?”

Pulling in a deep breath, I fight the urge to floor the accelerator heading down the freeway. I’d left all this behind a long time ago; I might not have aged a day, but I wasn’t the same person as I was back then. A lot of the things I’d believed in back then were naïve or just plain unrealistic.

But I missed it.

I missed believing that I could change the galaxy and make it a better place.

And even if I’d buried that belief in the years since, it was still somewhere in there, deep down. A faint memory of what I’d wanted to be, an echo of what I believed in.

“How does CURSE plan to do it?” I ask after a moment. “The courts struck a resettlement program for Challengers when the organization was shut down. Challengers that agreed to retire to civilian life were granted new identities and a fresh start. Those records are sealed and there’s no way CURSE will convince the courts to grant them access to them.”

“Of course not. But the Challenger program kept their own records.” Luci says, reclining the passenger seat and lacing his fingers behind his head. “And what the organization kept was more comprehensive than the registry the courts have. Identities, assigned resettlement worlds, emergency contact lines, safehouses and rendezvous points in the event of being unmasked… everything CURSE would need to round up the surviving Challengers is contained within the backup archive they’re after.”

“So we need to keep the backup archive out of their hands.” I say, starting to follow. “Do we know where it is?”

“We don’t, and neither does CURSE. But someone found an encrypted data core that has the directions to the backup archive’s location.”

“Alright. Do we know where they are?” I ask.

“She’ll be at the Shinobe Kibe starport in…” Luci taps on the sleeve of his jacket, digital light zipping through the fibers to briefly form the time. “…two and a half hours.”

I give him another incredulous stare.

He just smiles back. “This is the mission I was talking about.”

“Alright, okay then…” I exhale, getting my thoughts together. After a second, I pull over into the right lane, so I can take the next offramp to get back across town. “Tell me what I’m up against.”

“Well, she’s got green hair.” Luci says, blowing a bubble.

I wait for him to say more, and when he doesn’t, I glance at him. “Really? That’s it? Green hair? Nothing about what she’s wearing, what she’s capable of?”

The bubble pops. He looks thoughtful for a moment.

“I heard she was cute.” he says eventually.

I’m speechless.

“Unbelievable.” I mutter, fixing my gaze on the road ahead. “Green hair and cute. I’ve been on blind dates with more information than that.”

Luci just smiles, blowing another bubble as we cruise along the neon streets on our way to the starport.

The News

“We turn now to Millican Crane, who was once known at Challenger 5238, codenamed Echo. Mr. Crane now works with advocacy and philanthropy groups to advance the interests of underserved communities across the galaxy, but agreed to sit for a segment for our anniversary coverage of the Songbird Incident. Mr. Crane, it’s good to have you here with us today.”

“It’s good to be here, Clarence.”

“Mr. Crane, prior to the Songbird Incident, you were one of the few that spoke unfavorably of the organization you were a part of. In some ways, this earned you points with the galactic public prior to the fall of the Challenger program — you were willing to speak up and speak out about what you saw as corruption and dysfunction in the organization. But you weren’t always so vocal. Can I ask when your disenchantment with the Challenger program began?”

“Well, first Clarence, I want to clarify that while I was disenchanted with what the program had become, I did — and still do believe — in what it stood for. And I want to be very clear that my disillusionment rests on most of the upper management, not the rank and file. The rot started at the top, and if it had stayed there, the Challenger program probably could’ve been salvaged. But when your leaders are corrupt, it starts bleeding down into the rank and file. When I saw that some of our newest recruits didn’t believe in the mission of the organization — when I saw that they were recruited purely on the merit of what they were capable of and not what they believed in — I realized we were no longer training Challengers. We were training war machines.”

“Yes, I do seem to recall that many of the last Challengers were unusually powerful individuals. You speak of corruption — would you mind providing some specific examples?”

“Oh, where do I start… y’know, to be honest, Clarence, people hear corruption and they think it’s going to be something big. It’s going to be something scandalous. But it doesn’t work like that. Corruption starts small and that’s how it started in the Challenger program. It’s little things that glom together over time into bigger things until you end up with something that is big and scandalous. Corruption starts in the culture, and it goes back to the leaders not believing in what the organization stood for. And out of that, you have little indiscretions, failures of character and morality over the course of years that are never addressed — and because they are never addressed, they’re assumed to be permissible. That moral slippage evolves into carelessness, which results in the consistent incidents of collateral damage that CURSE was so upset about. And then the entire system revolts against itself, and you get a defining moment like the Songbird Incident, where we are asked to choose between what we know is right and what we know is wrong.”

“So you wouldn’t point to any specific incidents that you would criticize, then?”

“I could point to certain instances, but I’d be addressing the symptoms, not the root. It’s not the newsbreaking incidents of carelessness and corruption that are the problem. It’s the underlying culture that produced them. And if we focused on that instead of the specific instances, I think we could’ve saved the Challenger program.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Shinobe Kibe Central Starport: Terminal G

12:10am SGT

“So I guess you’re a Calyri?”

Luci looks up from his box of sushi bites. We’re sitting in the waiting seats, two gates down from the one that our target is presumably arriving at for her connecting flight. After getting through security, we’ve spent the last hour checking the news, chewing on junk food and watching late-night arrivals come and go.

“Oh, right. The ears and the tail.” he says, one of those feline ears flicking. “Yeah no, I get why you’d think that. A lot of people mistake me for a werecat, but I’m not.”

“Ah. Okay.” I watch as a septuagenarian in business formal walks by, escorted by a Cyber that’s either his bodyguard or personal assistant. It’s hard to tell which. “Do you mind if I ask what you are?”

“You should be familiar with my kind. We usually work for the Families.” Luci says, popping another sushi bite in his mouth. “I’m a Schrödinger. One of the cheshire cats. Quantum kitties.”

“Oh wait, like Dagatrix!” I say, snapping my fingers. “Coffeeshop!”

“That’s one of my siblings, yes.” Luci says, licking a thumb. “Challenger 2369, codenamed Coffeeshop Cat.”

“Yeah…” I say slowly. “…he could be really obnoxious.”

“That describes most Schrödingers.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Seems like it runs in the family.”

Luci just gives me a toothy smile. “So, tell me a little more about yourself, cotton candy. What’s the story behind the hair and the hoodie?”

“I like having my hair blue. And my hoodie is awesome. Anyone that disagrees is in the grips of delusion.”

“Feisty. I like it.” Luci picks up his drink and takes a long sip from it. “The fashionista is going to have a fight on his hands when he gets ahold of you.”

“The who?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh no you don’t. Spill it.”

“She’s here.” he says, sitting up a little straighter, his eyes flicking to the side and at a fresh stream of passengers disembarking at one of the gates. I quiet down as they start filtering by, pulling out my phone to check my messages, and when I see a flicker of green out of the corner of my eye, I turn my head to look.

There among the stream of people is a young woman in a highcollared jacket and dark jeans, her green hair pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of her head, and a few bangs at the front left to stray over her face.

And she is, admittedly, a little cute.

“Eh?” Luci grins, elbowing me.

“Shut up.” I mutter as I stand. “You just gonna sit here and look pretty while I do the hard work?”

Luci shrugs. “I’m not a Challenger. I’m just a messenger.” Popping another bite of sushi in his mouth, he gives me a broad smile. “You got this, 5377. I believe in you.”

“You’d be the first in fifteen years.” I say as I step into the flow of people moving down the terminal hallway.

Following the woman is easy, given her choice of hair color. As I walk, the stream of people heading down the hall starts to thin out, a couple making for the bathrooms, another few peeling off to settle in at the gates for their connecting flights. It isn’t until we hit the hub connecting all the terminals that most of the crowd splits off, some heading for other terminals and others heading for the luggage area. Without as many people to walk behind, it’s harder to stay inconspicuous, but I keep following the green-haired girl at a distance.

As we head down the length of the next terminal, more and more people peel off to their gates. Though she never looks back, I get the feeling she knows she’s being tailed, considering how often she positions herself to walk near reflective surfaces, and looks at them as if using them as a makeshift rearview mirror. When we reach the seating area at the end of the terminal, I divert towards a directory to size it up, watching out of my peripherals as she keeps walking, taking the curving stairs up to the observation deck up above. I can see her smirk as she catches sight of me on her way up the stairs.

Yeah, she knows I’m tailing her.

I puff out a breath as I look down at myself. Pink hoodie, blue hair, only person on this end of the terminal a little past midnight.

I wouldn’t be winning any awards for spycraft anytime soon.

As she ascends out of sight, I leave the directory and start up the stairs, checking my stunner pistol as I go. I don’t want to use it, but I’m not stupid enough to not have it primed. Reaching the door of the observation deck, I take a deep breath, review a few lines in my head about politely asking for the data core, and peer through the darkened glass. After few seconds of squinting, I realize that I can’t see her inside.

Which probably meant that she had bolted. Or that she was lurking against the wall on either side of the door, ready to ambush me the moment I stepped inside.

I press a hand to my face and drag it down. “Walking right into an obvious trap. I didn’t miss this part of the job…” Putting a hand to the glass, I slowly push the door open, and step through.

True to form, the tip of something sharp gets pressed to my neck before I can get more than a foot past the threshold.

I stop in place, slowly lifting my hands up to show I don’t mean any harm. Glancing to the right, I follow the sensation of pressure at my neck to a length of green light, shaped like a traditional sword. A set of viridian runes are slowly rotating around the wrist of the hand that’s holding it, which is attached to the young woman leaning casually against the wall to my right.

“Oh, you must be a mage.” I remark affably.

“And you must be really bad at your job.” she says, tilting the sword and pressing it against my neck to guide me away from the door so it can close. “Seriously, blueberry. I could see you coming a mile away with a hair like that.”

I squint at her. “Are you insulting my hair?”

“Hair and a hoodie like that, you’ve earned every nickname you’ve got, blueberry.” she shrugs, the tip of that magical sword still pressing into my throat as she walks me further back into the observation deck.

“Yeah, well, two can play at that game, kiwi.” I say idly.

She narrows her scarlet eyes at me. “Do you usually make fun of a girl’s hair while she’s got a runeblade to your throat?”

“Do you usually make fun of strangers while holding a sword to their neck?” I ask in return. “Seriously though, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Most people say that when you’ve got a sword to their throat.” she says, keeping the pressure on. I keep backing up until my legs hit the back of one of the couches in the observation lounge. “You followed me all the way from my gate in the other terminal, so either you’re a candy-colored stalker, or someone told you I’d be here. Either way, you’re a threat to me.”

“Trust me, I don’t get out enough to stalk cute girls on the rando.” I say, moving one of my raised hands to pinch the tip of the blade leveled at my throat. The surface sparks and fizzes like soda beneath my fingers, but it doesn’t burn as I gently guide it away from my neck. “Someone told me you’d be here, and you have something I need. A lot of lives are at stake.”

Her mouth quirks at the corner. “I know what you’re after. Problem is, there are a lot of lives at stake for me as well. I’m not giving it to you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wait, really? You’re trying to protect the Challengers too?”

“What? No.” she says, her green eyebrows furrowing. “The location of one of my people’s lost arkships is hidden in the Challenger archives.”

“One of your people’s…?” I repeat, confused. I lean forward a little, searching her face for small details, but all I’m finding is a faint sprinkling of pale freckles under her eyes, and those wildfire-red irises, straying towards a bright orange near her pupils. “You look human to me. What are yo—” Then my eyes go down to the viridian runes slowly circling around her sword wrist. “Wait, are you—”

She raises her other hand before I can finish, runes flaring around that wrist. A green glow builds in front of her hand before discharging in a displacement ripple that slams me over the couch, sending me flying into the coffee table behind it. I grit my teeth as the imitation wood cracks and sags beneath the impact.

“Shit.” I grunt. My elbows brace against the table’s halves as I wince past the pain of taking the edge of a coffee table to the spine. “You’re a Maskling.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. Not a lot of people can spot a Maskling so quickly.” she says, coming around the couch and resting the tip of her sword against my chest again. “Seems like the rune circles tipped you off. You must’ve fought one of my kind before, Challenger.”

“Former Challenger, actually, I was dishonorably discharged.” I say, reaching up to pinch the tip of the blade and move it away from me again. “Would you stop pointing that thing at me? I already told you I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Oh really.” she says, puffing a lock of stray hair out of her eyes. “And if I don’t give you the data core?”

My eyes flick up to her, but I don’t have an easy answer for that one.

“That’s what I thought.” With that, she yanks the sword away from my pinching fingers.

“Oh no you don’t!” I grunt, kicking a foot out to catch her leg before she can bring that sword down on me. She staggers and goes down to one knee, bracing herself against the floor. Yanking that foot back, I kick it forward and catch her square in the face, which throws her back against the couch. As she’s reeling, I roll backwards and back onto my feet.

“What the hell?” she hisses, wiping some blood from a split lip as she pushes herself up off the couch. “You just kicked me in the face!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to!” I say quickly, feeling heat rise to my face. “It was a reflex!”

“You kick people in the face on reflex?!”

“Look, I’m a Challenger, it was just an instinctive response to danger!”

“I’ll show you an instinctive response to danger!” she snaps. The runes around her free hand start to spin up again, another green glow building around it; I know what’s coming and roll over the couch behind me, taking cover behind it.

A second later, another displacement ripple tears through the lounge, picking up the couch and throwing it against one of the glass walls, with me behind it. There’s a crash as it shatters, and I land on the wraparound balcony outside, with the couch pinning me down amid a mess of glass shards.

“Ow.” I groan, putting my hands to the couch and starting to push it off me.

A foot descends on the couch, pinning it back down on me. The girl leans over it, glaring down at me, sword in hand. “Stay down, Blueberry.”

I offer up a weak smile. “I’m sorry I kicked you in the face, Kiwi. Can we like. Talk this out. Maybe we can work together? I really need that data core, though; I have to protect the other Challengers.”

She sighs. “You seem like a nice person. Got your heart in the right place. But you’re a Challenger; I can’t have you following me. You’re too dangerous.” Lifting her sword, she stabs it down at me. “Sorry.”

My hands come off the couch as the sword goes into my chest and shears through the metal paneling beneath me. I can’t help gasping in pain, scrabbling at the ground. “Ghhhagh!”

She takes her foot off the couch, walking around it to crouch down next to me. “Nothing personal.” she apologizes, reaching down to tap a finger against my nose. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like killing cute guys like you.” Standing up, she grips the railing of the balcony and swings over it. “Gotta run. I’ve got a flight to catch, and this isn’t my terminal.”

With that, she drops out of view, and I can hear the thud as she lands on the roof of the terminal below the observation deck. After a moment of stunned silence, I look back to the green sword through my chest; it dissolves into a flurry of sparks after a few seconds, leaving a gaping hole. Reaching up, I place a hand over the bloody wound, and only one thing comes to mind:

She ruined my favorite hoodie.

Gritting my teeth, I put a hand to the couch and shove it off me, then roll over, my chest screaming with the motion. Turning around, I slap my hand down in the pool of blood from my wound; it’s smaller than I expected. I take a breath and focus, watching the crimson liquid start to regress back into my skin, a burning feeling filling my chest around where she put the sword through me. It isn’t long before it’s all soaked up; pulling at the slash in my shirt, I can see that the hole in my chest has mostly closed, but not all the way.

I’m going to have to burn some more blood to finish healing that.

“Alright.” I grumble to myself, reaching out to grab the railing as I feel the blood start to drain from other parts of my body to flow towards my chest. “Let’s give this another try.”

Pulling myself upright as I feel the rest of the hole in my chest knit itself together, I swing over the railing, then let go, dropping to the roof below. I bend my knees when I land, trying to make my landing quieter; once the shock finishes rippling through my legs, I lock onto the young woman’s retreating back, then take off in a full-tilt sprint.

A moment before I reach her, she starts to turn around, probably hearing my shoes pounding across the roof. She can’t hide the shock on her face when she sees me, and that moment of hesitation gives me what I need to catch her in a flying tackle that sends both of us rolling across the roof. I end up on top, pinning her down by the shoulders, jerking my head back out of the way of the punches she’s throwing at me.

“How are you still alive?!” she demands as I catch one of her hands and yank it across her neck, pinning it down.

“I’m a Challenger. We’re a little stubborn.” I say, using my other hand to start searching the pockets of her jacket. “You ruined my favorite hoodie, so the gloves are coming off now. If I find your wallet, I’m taking it to pay for the replacement.”

“That’s impossible! There should be a hole in your chest!” she says, staring at the rip in my shirt.

“There was a hole in my chest.” I agree, flipping open her jacket to search the inner pockets. “Would you mind making this a little easier and telling me what pocket you put the data core in?”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “I didn’t put it in a pocket.”

I stop searching the jacket. “…look, you just ruined my hoodie. If you don’t cough up this thing, we’re gonna have problems. Where is it?”

She smirks. “It’s sewn into the lining of my bra.”

I open my mouth, then close it, then close my free hand into a fist and point a finger at her as I feel my face heat up. “You’re lying.”

That smirk doesn’t go away. “You’re not going to find it in any of my pockets.”

“I am not going to reach into your shirt and feel you up to get that data core!” I fume at her. “Where did you hide it?!”

She lets out a laugh. “Oh man. You’re such a good boy! I thought the last Challengers were all rotten, that’s why they shut them down.” She grins at me. “You’re right, it’s not in my bra. It’s sewn into the lining of my panties.”

I give her a flat look. “I am this close to hitting you with a couple of stun pulses and dragging you through one of the scanners in the starport’s security screenings.”

“Creative thinking. You really are a Challenger, aren’t you?” she says, flicking her eyes down. “You’re still a little rusty, though.”

I follow the track of her eyes to see that she’s placed her free hand against my chest, runes flaring around the wrist as a green glow wells up.

“Ah shit—” I say right before she unleashes the displacement pulse right into my chest, hurling me fifteen feet straight up into the air. As I start to come down, she rolls out of the way, and I throw my hands out to brace myself as I slam back down on the roof. The breath’s knocked out of me, but I can hear her getting back to her feet, so I roll over. Another blade of green light is forming in her hand, and she swings it up over her head and down at me in a mighty cleave.

Reaching down, I grab a short hilt off my belt and yank it up, triggering the ignition.

A prismatic surge of light rushes out of the hilt, crystallizing into a straight, single-edge blade that ripples and swirls with color. I use my other hand to brace the back of the blade when her sword slams down on it, sparks flying everywhere as the green light glows through the translucence of my blade. Her eyes widen at the light show.

“Is that a starglass ninjato?” she asks, locking the crossguard of her sword against my blade. “You’ve got to be either the coolest or nerdiest Challenger I’ve ever met.”

“Why can’t I be both?” I ask, swinging an arm to hit her shin and knock her leg out from beneath her. As she loses her footing, I push her sword off to the side, then kick my legs up, planting my hands against the roof and jumping back to my feet, blade at the ready. It’s just as well, because the first thing she does once she gets up is sling a wild uppercut at me, sparks flying into the night as the two blades glance off each other.

“You better know to use that thing.” she says, taking her sword in both hands as she levels it at me. “I was taking it easy on you before, but if you can walk off a sword to the chest, I’m going to crank it up a notch.”

I hold up my hands. “Look, I am totally okay with talking this out. I said I didn’t want to hurt you before, and I meant that.”

“Guess that gives me an advantage, then.” she says, twisting her hands around the hilt of her sword. The entire thing bursts into green flame. Alarm bells go off in my head as I realize that getting hit with that thing is probably going to hurt. Well, more than it would’ve hurt before.

“I said that I didn’t want to hurt you.” I answer, flipping my sword around to hold it reversehand and crouching slightly. “Not that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Reversehand? Really, Blueberry?” she scoffs. “Alright, it’s decided. You’re a nerd.”

“I’m a cool nerd, though.” I say, raising my free hand and gesturing her forward.

She goes all in, leading with wide, calculated swings meant to rattle me. Sparks fly every time I bat away her flaming sword, and I keep backing up across the roof, letting her push me. If it was day out, we’d probably have attracted the starport security by now, but with it being just past midnight, it’ll probably be a while before anyone notices us.

“You’re just waiting for me to run out of steam, aren’t you?” she asks as I bat away her sword once again. “I got news for you; I’m not getting tired any time soon.”

“You don’t get don’t get tired of swinging that big ol’ thing?” I ask, twisting to the side and ducking under an arc of green fire she’s slung at me.

“It’s a runeblade; it barely has any mass.” she says, tapping it against her palm. “All the cutting power, none of the weight.”

“Pity.” I say as I feel the wall of the starport’s hub against my back. “Guess I’ll just have to take the lead.”

Planting a foot back against the wall, I launch off it at an angle, charging low and fast for her legs. Seeing me coming, she slings her sword down; I twist and roll in the other direction, sliding past her. By the time she’s yanked her sword out of the roof and turned around, I’m back on my feet and right on her, my blade sending up sparks as it hammers against her sword again and again. From one side, then the other, then a stab just to keep her on her toes — never giving her enough space to properly swing her sword, forcing her to play defense.

Pushing her back against the wall I’d just been backed up against, I lock my blade against hers, pushing the burning edge of her own sword back towards her. The smugness has evaporated from her face, replaced by focus; when it becomes clear she doesn’t have the leverage to win, she folds and spins to the left, swinging her sword around in the process. I duck it, letting it bury itself in the wall, then straighten up, folding one arm behind my back as I flip my ninjato around, sharply rapping her wrist with the flat of the blade.

She lets out a hiss as the hit forces her to let go of her sword, jerking her hand back and holding her wrist. I tilt my blade up under her chin, applying light pressure as I start walking her backwards, towards the flight of stairs leading up the side of the hub’s wall. “So, tell me. Did you think that you lighting your sword on fire and swinging like a maniac would get you anywhere with a former Challenger?”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d be dazzled by my flashy moves.” she snarks back at me, taking steps backwards onto the stairs. “Works on everyone else.”

“The shit I’ve been through, you’re going to have try a little harder than that to impress me.” I say, starting up the stairs myself. “Let’s rewind a bit. You admitted to being a Maskling. Said something about an arkship. Are your people aboard that ship?”

She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t let up the pressure, continue to walk her up the stairs with the tip of my blade at her throat. But with how her eyes flash, the way her lip draws up at one side in something of a snarl, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.

“Don’t play coy with me, Kiwi.” I say as our steps echo on the metal stairs. “I’m not a jerk. Give me the data core, and once I make sure that the surviving Challengers are safe, I’ll see if I can dig up the location of your lost arkship in the archives. I’ve got people I want to protect, and so do you, so I get it. I know why it’s important to you.”

“Maybe if you stopped trying to give me the galaxy’s slowest tracheotomy.” she growls as we crest the top of the stairs.

I don’t respond right away, walking her across the roof of the hub with the bladetip to her neck. Once we reach the section of the roof that’s over admission and arrivals, though, I slow to a stop, and after a moment, turn off the power to my ninjato. The prismatic blade unevenly regresses back into in the hilt, and I let that hand drop to my side while I tuck the other in my pocket. “Let me help you.”

She blinks as the blade disappears before her eyes, leaving just the two of us standing on the roof of the hub. One hand goes up to touch at her neck, and as she does so, she smiles, shaking her head.

“So you’re one of those.”

“One of what?” I ask.

“You’re a good guy.” she says, brushing back the edges of her jacket so she can rest her hands on her hips. “One of those idiots that’s too kind for his own good.” Her hair dances in the desert wind as she looks away, towards the parking lot in front of the starport’s main entrance. “This takes the fun out of it. I thought I’d be doing the galaxy a favor by killing a Challenger, taking out the trash of a past generation, but then I actually meet one and I find out he believes in all that Saturday morning cartoon bullshit about giving people second chances and trying to find the good in everyone. I can’t kill you; it’d be like killing a puppy.”

I reach up, scratching at my forehead with a thumb. “…I can’t tell if I’m being insulted or complimented.”

“It’s a little of both.” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Blueberry, but I can’t give you the data core. Please, just walk away from this one. Like you said — I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

“I get the faint feeling you’re talking down to me.” I say, playing with the hilt of my ninjato. “If the last few minutes is any indication, I don’t think you’re in the position to be making ultimatums when you’re outmatched.”

“Flaming sword cliche isn’t the only thing I’ve got up my sleeve.” she says wrily, bringing her hands up and pressing her knuckles against the palm of her other hand. Triple rings of viridian runes wrap around one of her wrists. “If you’re not going to back down, it’s time for me to get serious.”

I power on my hilt again, the starglass blade crystallizing as I lift it slightly. “Whatever you’re about to do—”

“I’m not a good guy like you, Blueberry. I fight dirty.” With that, she kneels, slamming her hand down against the roof of the starport. The runes sink down, and concentric rings of light ripple outwards, slicing through the roof at measured intervals until it terminates at about fifty feet out. She kicks away from the epicenter as it starts collapsing into the starport below, and I start scrambling backwards as ring after ring of roof material starts to disappear beneath my feet. Over the sound of rafters, insulation, and wiring crashing into the lobby below, I can hear scattered shouts and screams from what few people are arriving to the starport this time of night. As much as I want to get down there and help them, there’s nothing I can do but hope they get out of the way in time. I can’t pull the sort of magic tricks she can.

So I turn and run as fast as I can, keeping ahead of the widening hole in the roof. As more of the rings collapse in, the roof itself starts buckling in places, tilting inwards towards the hole as the support structure gives. I stumble as one of those buckles appears near me, slanting the roof’s surface; scrambling past it, I spot the green-haired girl starting to lose her footing as a section of roof folds steeply beneath her, threatening to slide her into a forty-foot drop into tiled lobby below.

She probably deserves it, but that’s not how Challengers do things.

“Hope you’re watching this, Ratchet.” I mutter, changing my angle so I’m sprinting towards the girl instead. Vaulting buckles and gaps in the roof as I come across them, I take a flying leap, hitting the section of roof just below her, and digging my ninjato into the paneling to anchor myself. Throwing my other arm out, I catch the back of her jacket just as she goes sliding past me, gritting my teeth at the effort of trying to arrest all her weight and momentum with one arm.

“What the— what are you—” she stutters as she struggles to find a handhold on the roof paneling.

“I’m risking my life doing stupid shit for dangerously naïve reasons.” I grunt, eying up the edge of the panel we’re on and measuring how far away it is. “If you could validate that by not falling to your death, that would be great.”

“I would’ve been just fine!” she snaps, maneuvering around so she grab my arm and then my shoulder, and cling to it. “Leave it to a Challenger to try and be a hero…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll just let you fall forty feet into the twisted wreckage of your own poorly-executed plan.” I grumble back at her, fumbling around at my waist so I can grab my second ninjato hilt and turn it on. “Get on my back, I’m going to need both arms for this.”

“Y’know, I could just die to spite you.” she says as she carefully eases her way onto my back, arms wrapped around my neck.

“That would be the pettiest thing anyone’s done to me in a long time.” I retort, stabbing the second ninjato into the slanted paneling, then using the leverage to get my feet against the slanted roof. Yanking one blade out at a time and stabbing it back in a little higher, I work my way back up the buckled portion of roof until we’ve reached the ledge overlooking the starport’s main entrance. The girl scrambles off my back as soon as we’re on stable footing; I yank myself up in a single swift motion, bringing my left ninjato up to tuck it under her chin before she has a chance to get up to something else.

“Data core.” I say quietly.

Her eyes flick down to the prismatic blade against her neck, then up to me. “You’re persistent.”

“Very. It came with the job. Challengers don’t give up.” I explain, almost apologetically.

“So even if I got away, you’d be after me.” she guesses.

“More or less.”

She takes a deep breath in, her eyes flicking to the parking lot and the sidewalk below the ledge. I follow her gaze; I can see that there are a few people standing in the parking lot, pointing up at us and shouting to each other, taking pictures and video. One of them is a flight attendant standing near the doors below, phone to her ear and probably talking to security or emergency services as she stares up at us.

“Well, guess there’s really only one thing for me to do, then.” the green-haired girl sighs. Looking back to her, I see that she’s reaching up to pull down the neck of her shirt and fishing around in her bra. After a moment, she comes up with a little blue chip, about the size of a fingernail, and holds it up with a smile.

I’m speechless, and when I finally find my voice, I can only say one thing. “Really?”

“With how shy you are, you would’ve never gotten your hands on it, Blueberry.” she says, taking it between two fingers. “And you never will.”

With that, she flicks it to the side. I can’t get my other ninjato put away quick enough to reach out and try to catch it, so I can only watch helplessly as it falls through the air, silently dropping towards the pavement below. When I feel my left ninjato jostle, my head snaps back to see that the girl’s grabbed the starglass blade and pulled it down to rest the tip against her chest. Then reaching forward, she grabs the hand I’ve got wrapped around the hilt, and uses it to yank herself forward, shoving the blade clear through her chest.

That blows so many fuses in my brain that my mind goes blank, and I freeze up, staring at her in stunned silence.

Her breathing is sharp and ragged as she pulls herself all the way up to the hilt of the ninjato, her blood dripping onto our hands and splattering on the ledge. When she looks up at me, her teeth are gritted in pain, but also in a grin, triumphant and exuberant.

“What are you doing?!” I explode after a moment, the panic fighting its way to the surface all at once.

“Told you… I’m not a good guy.” she coughs, blood splattering my front. “I fight… dirty. Smile… for the cameras, Blueberry.”

With that, her hands tighten around mine, and twist the hilt, producing a spurt of blood and a grisly, gut-wrenching sound from where the blade’s buried in her chest. She lets out a shout of agony, and her hands loosen from the hilt as she teeters to the side, sliding off the blade and toppling off the ledge. I twist on my feet, as if I could catch her, but she’s already falling, and a few seconds later, there’s a thud as she hits the ground.

And all I can do is stand there, mind blank, as I watch the flight attendant rush over to the green-haired girl’s body.

In all my years as a Challenger, I’d never had someone use me to kill themselves.

I stagger in place as my surroundings come rushing back to me. The feeling of blood soaking into my clothes, dripping down my face; the scent of it, the urge to lick it off my hands. I end up gasping a sharp breath, bracing myself on my knees as I try to get control of myself and process what just happened. Her last words are still filtering through my mind.

Smile… for the cameras, Blueberry.

With a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling, I glance askance to the starport’s parking lot to see those few scattered individuals still holding up their phones and recording.

“Shit.” I exhale. She knew what she was doing, having this play out in full view of witnesses and amateur video recordings.

Looking back over the ledge, I can see that the flight attendant is still kneeling beside the body. Something looks a little off, though, and as I look closer, I notice that the hair on the body is brown; the proportions are all off. That isn’t the same person that fell off the roof.

Then the flight attendant looks up, and I can see the green hair beneath the cap, the faint sprinkling of freckles beneath the eyes, and how she seems a little shorter, the uniform ill-fitting like it’s for someone taller and bustier.

And she smirks up at me.

“Maskling.” I breathe. In the rush of what just happened, I forgot that their Masks survive if they get killed. And if someone puts it on…

The wail of sirens echoing in the distance draws my attention, and I jerk my head back up. I can see the flashing lights from here, and it’s a full response team. A full fleet of fire, medic, and police drones heading to the starport, followed by a ground team of the same. A shout to the side draws my attention; one of the starport’s resident security teams is scaling the ladder up to the roof, fanning out across it as they move towards me with their stunner pistols drawn.

I puff out a breath, turning off both of my ninjato and holding up my hands. As they move in to apprehend me, I look over the ledge one more time, seeing the Maskling walking off in the flight attendant’s uniform, pausing briefly to kneel down and pick up what looks like a little blue pinprick on the pavement. She gives me one last look over her shoulder, winking at me as the guards grab me and take my blade hilts, yanking my arms behind my back and cuffing them.

“Well played.” I mutter as they yank me away from the ledge. “Well played.”