Fresh Start

“Listen”

actually you know. fuck this shit. 

so. that’s decided then. good job Kim. now where were you? focus your eyes. that’s it. shopfront. sidewalk. street. sidewalk. cigarette almost burnt out between my fingers. how long have I been standing like this? on the sidewalk. by myself. in the dark. staring across the asphalt lit moodily by a streetlight. streetliight peeeeple. oh shut up girl. ash cigarette. take a drag. drop butt. exhale. 

now where was I? oh yes, 

fuck this shit. 

“I quit”. 

take the earpiece out of my ear and drop it to the curb. ignore the faint squeaks of indignation. carefully crush it with a heel. step off the curb and smoothly drop the unremarkable black handgun through the grate into the sewer. stride purposefully across the street and into the dark alley. shed anxiety with every step. breathe deep for what feels like the first time. gain confidence the further I get away from my decision. let my eye be caught by the grimy light outside a dive bar. step through the doorway and up to the bar. meet the eyes of the bartender. stop. take in details. she is asian, Korean? mid 30s, cute. old man at the corner table eating fries and drinking gin and tonic. two women at the end of the bar drinking cocktails and spilling tea. 

bartender smiles at me. 

“get you something”? 

“bourbon. please”. I see the moment of hesitation before asking what brand, and the decision to choose for me. I sit. take a breath. okay. this is me now. sitting in a bar. having a drink. 

I can do this. 

bartender returns with the deep amber liquid in a tumbler and places a tumbler of ice next to it. I look into her eyes. 

“thanks. I’m Kim”. 

she doesn’t smile. “Sam”.

“thank you Sam”. she waits for me to take a sip. I take a sip. it’s good. smoky and harsh and delicious. she lifts an eyebrow. I nod. the corner of her mouth quirks. 

“Sam? what time do you close”? 

“two”. 

“and do you have plans after two”? 

“I do now”. 

I nod.

the thud of a full fumbler on the bar brings me back to the present. I down the rest of my glass and slide it across to Sam. pick up the new one and take a sip. 

where the fuck was I and how long was I out? I carefully cut my eyes to the tea party down the bar. they’re finishing up, still in full flow, and don’t seem to have noticed I’m here. grandpa is still immersed in his G&T. ok, I can’t have been out for long. just a normal person lost in thought for a few minutes right Kim. nothing more than that.

in the pros column is that it’s now 1:48am and Sam is gently ushering Grandpa out the door after the departing backs of the tea party two. the door clicks shut, cutting off the sounds of traffic from outside. Sam locks it. 

“I’ll just be a minute” she says as she gathers up empty glasses. she wipes tables quickly and efficiently, and the silence stretches. finally she steps up to my side and points a finger at my glass. 

“planning to finish that?”

“such impatience!” I down it and hand her the glass. she disappears into the back again and reemerges a moment later with a scarf draped around her neck, pulling a jacket on. 

“follow me”

I do.

it must have started snowing while I was inside, as the alley is freshly carpeted, and flakes the size of butterflies are falling in slow motion. everything is perfectly silent as Sam leads me out into the street and around the corner. as she steps up to a doorway I take her hand and turn her around. spinning to face me, she swings the hair out of her face as I step up against her and press my lips to hers. soft and dry, her lips part and her tongue slides between my lips, wet and warm in contrast to the flakes landing on our faces. one hand intertwined with hers and the other on her hip. it’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone it feels like my whole body is being condensed into my mouth. a singularity. the shivers I’m feeling are not from the cold. 

my eyes open and I see grey sky and I have no idea if it’s 6am or 6pm. Sam’s arm is holding me against her, her hand tucked between my breasts. I’d like this moment to last, but my internal clock catches up and is telling me the audit team they will have sent after me should be arriving in 30 minutes. and I’d prefer to meet them alone. 

the snow is falling at the same surreal pace as I step out of Sam’s building and into the gentle cushion of fresh powder on the street. ah, there we are. sniper positioned 150 metres up the street on top of a brownstone. if they’re smart they’ll know they can’t hit me undistracted, and this should be a great field test for their next generation mods. pack tactics against a rogue wolf, now sadly obsolete but something of an unknown quantity. 

all human eyes would register of first contact is two parallel blurs and a rope of blood whipping through the snowflakes staining the perfect white carpet of this impromptu battlefield. NextGen1 stumbles to his knees behind me like a kurosawa samurai, my tanto blade having saved him the trouble of disemboweling himself. I’m sure he was very skilled with his new standard-issue karambit, but he was expecting a longer fight, and his feint only left my right sleeve gently parted, a red line forming where the outer edge of his blade had traced a neat 1cm-deep line down my forearm. 

best not to give their superior technology time to shine - I’ve always preferred hard, fast and brutal. before the sniper has a chance to put a bead on me or NextGen2 can engage me I launch left, spraying snow in a satisfying wave as I parkour off the brick wall and grab the fire escape above me, swinging up into a crouch. NextGen3 doesn’t waste any time, landing in front of me mid-swing of what looks like a fucking woodaxe. not exactly standard issue but you do you bro. I jerk to the right, pivoting off my bottom hand to plant both feet against the wall of the building, my legs coiled tight so it looks for a moment like I could be sitting on the vertical surface of the wall. probably at exactly the same time as his axe hits the floor of the fire escape I launch myself at him like some over-sized tree frog. hit him in the side with my shoulder feeling those floating ribs crack, and carry us both over the rail and down towards the street. I’ve stabbed him three times before we land and thanks to the cushioning of the fallen snow I can roll away immediately, leaving him leaking his overpriced blood© onto the asphalt. and it’s right now that NextGen2 catches up with me. my fast roll saves me from fatal damage but a blade bites deep into my right shoulder as a second grazes my ear. I end my roll in a crouch looking back at them, my jacket half off, breathing deep and feeling the warmth coursing down my back from my shoulder. I don’t have long before that starts causing me real problems. 

they’re dual-wielding pangas. great. I wind the jacket around my left forearm, tanto in my right and whatfeelslikeabuilding crashes into my shoulder and knocks me onto my back. fuck. rifle bullet courtesy of NextGenSniper. I should have seen that coming - gettin sloppy old timer. 

well shit. throw my tanto like a dirk at the rapidly approaching NextGen2 and stagger up to standing as gracefully as I can, pivoting to the left to give me time to parry their attacks, buffeting one with my hastily padded left arm and weaving out of the way of the next. it is somewhat gratifying to see the hilt of my tanto sticking out of their chest just below the left clavicle. not bad under the circumstances. 

this has gone better than I expected, but the situation is declining rapidly. fuck it. anticipating their next strike I whip the jacket at their face, at the same time kicking out at their off hand. sacrificing my footing to take down my opponent - Raz al Ghul would be so disappointed. my real trainer would also be less than impressed with the accuracy of my kick, but it is sufficiently effective despite the blade cutting through my shoe and into my toes before the impact jars it out of their hand. the whipped jacket has the desired effect, and taking advantage of their momentary blindness I catch the other end in my right hand, already wrapping it around the wrist connected to their remaining weapon, snapping it down and across as I slide in behind them and pull them down on top of me, their own right arm jammed up across their throat. 

I stick to them like a particularly affectionate barnacle as I feel the sniper’s next shot thud into the head jammed against mine. thank you NextGen2. rolling, hoisting, and I’ve got a billion-dollar meat shield covering my dash to safety. 

no time to breathe. around the other side of the building and straight across the street at full speed, NextGen2’s sidearm gripped tightly in my right hand. two puffs of snow indicate missed shots and then I’m across, on the sniper’s side of the street. protocol dictates that they drop everything and retreat back to the staging area. instead of mounting the building they’ve been using I take my first left and launch myself at the fire escape of a building behind and a little away from theirs, swing myself up and sprint up the stairs to the roof where I drop down behind a water tower like a puppet with its strings cut. thank fuck for the still-falling snow or I’m sure they could see the steam of my breath rising from behind my cover. 

I wait, enhanced senses straining over my labored breathing to catch any sign of the retreating lone survivor. the side I’d picked was a guess, but at least I can cover 2 avenues of retreat. 

a dog steps out from behind a wall 2 blocks down, followed swiftly by its owner, bundled up against the cold. doggo snuffles to the middle of the street on the trail of a long-abandoned snack. a scruffy ear swivels up and away from my position. I FUCKING LOVE DOGS! all those little muscles in their ears evolved over hundreds of millions of years to be able to point me, little old genetically engineered me, in the direction of my genetically superiorly-engineered adversary. all dogs go to heaven, even if no mods do. 

after a 2 step run-up I Trinity across the street onto the next building, roll to my feet continuing my momentum and leap the next void, arms windmilling and trying desperately to ignore the blooper-reel of stunt injuries playing helpfully in my memory. I almost stick the landing. but forgetting about the panga-cut partially severing two of the toes on my right foot was bound to catch up with me eventually, and I end up on my right side, flattened breathlessly into the roof of my target building. I’m not going to be taking Sam dancing anytime soon, but let’s focus on one problem at a time. triangulating using doggo’s ear twitch puts NextGenSniper in the alley alongside this building. if they are still moving they should have reached the rear corner. 

in pathetically heroic fashion I drag myself arm over arm to said corner. careful not to dislodge any snow I peek over the edge - no wait, that’s not the word, the parapet? No, the little wall around the roof goddammit I’m losing focus. looking over the lip(?) of the roof I see them cautiously checking right and left at the alley t-junction below and I act before I have the chance to think-and-therefore-fuck-up. gun up. fire. sniper drops. immediately mirrored by me 3 stories up. 

quiet.

I don’t know what I had against this lip/edge/parapet/thing. it’s actually extremely convenient shelter. and nice. comfortable. fuck you toes! I think in a generously benign fashion as everything whites out. 

eyes open. 

confusion. 

followed by returning memory. 

more confusion. 

alarm. 

Sam’s eyes take in my ripped and bloody clothes. The cardboard tray in my hands. My blood-red right shoe. my near-collapse exhaustion. 

“what the fuck”? 

“uh. I got us coffee and bagels”.