The three of us had gone bolt upright.
What the hell was that?
The thud was followed by a metallic skittering across the roof and down the side of the truck. We could hear a yelling and gunshots, but I couldn’t see anything out the window. The van swerved wildly as they tried to shake whatever it was off.
And then the truck rolled over. I bounced off the wall (floor?) and something rammed into the back of my head. My vision went blurry and I felt something break inside my left arm. Probably something expensive. I could feel a heaviness on my legs, pinning them down.
Not enough for Torrent. Pitch?
My vision was clearing. The doors were wrecked, broken off their hinges but lammed into position. I couldn’t see anything going on outside. The windows were out of my line of sight and I didn’t feel up to moving yet. I couldn’t feel much and what I could just hurt. Not agony, but a dull ache matching the surges of white noise in my head. One of my horns dangled in front of my face, snapped halfway up it’s length.
The weight shifted on my legs and the doors cracked with a slamming noise, but remained in their frame. I heard a profanity filled mutter and Pitch kicked the doors again. This time they shifted, a little. A third kick had them out, top door hanging by a hinge. I could see outside the van now.
It was a warzone.
Dogs, who I assumed were the ones who rolled the van, had fallen on the operatives. The noise I’d heard in my head matched the barks and shouts from outside. I watched two Dogs tear an operatives limbs off, sparks and fluid shooting from his shoulders. The operatives were falling back, dragging the wounded and damaged off. The Dogs were often hiding, harassing and trying to pick off stragglers before they could regroup.
Pitch rolled off my legs and out the doors, hauling herself to her feet. She swayed a little, and then ripped the top door off and dropped it aside. She stuck a hand out and pulled me to my feet. I looked back in the van, trying to see Torrent.
He was up the back, contorted into a position that looked very, very uncomfortable. He groaned, so he was alive and probably awake, but he didn’t look like he’d be moving soon.
Which was a problem, because we needed to get out of there. The operatives were regrouping further down the road and the Dogs’ harassing tactics were having less and less of an effect. They were slinking back down the road, eyes on the operatives’ positions.
I moved around the van. It had landed on a Dog, crushing it, but the tires on once side were shredded.
Sacrificial Dog, huh?
It looked like a Dog had landed on the top, before crawling down the side and ripping the tires to shreds. Combined with the off-center weight the Dog had added… well, it made sense we’d tipped. The internals of the cabin were wrecked. There was a operative in there, not moving. Something, probably a Dog has hauled her half-out through the shattered windscreen. I couldn’t see Yeong anywhere. He was probably fine, wherever he was.
There was a rumble and a squeal, and Torrent unfolded himself from the back of the van, joining us.
“What’s going on?”
I tried to send a message, but something was broken and it didn’t work. Might have been intentional damage from the Matshushima operatives, might have been the crash. I coughed and started to speak
“The operatives found out where the Dogs went.”
“Ah.” Torrent rolled his shoulders, crouching behind the van with the rest of us. “Do we have a plan?”
“How about we fucking leave?” Pitch, of course.
“Stay where you are.” The officer with the shark grin stood over us, gun pointed halfway between the ground and us. Glass limped up behind him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Pitch.
Glass leaned on the side of the wrecked van, two halves of what I recognised as Yeong’s spiderbot in her hands.
I guess that answers that question.
She was messing with the wires and as I watched, it sparked back to life. She flicked a couple of settings on the screen, and then dropped in on her damaged leg. It crawled off, investigating. The officer with the shark grin helmet was standing at the base of the van, gun up and scanning.
“Can’t trust Matsushima gear.” She said.
“For what?” I asked, wary of Mr. Sharkface.
“Finding corporate bugs. Matsushima would’ve been really, really stupid to not set up my gear with some way of tracking me and you don’t get rich by making mistakes.” Glass waved her arms, taking in the warehouse, the gunfire, growls, the wrecked van and laughed. “This, in a roundabout way, is my resignation notice. I’m a criminal at heart.”
“What.” Pitch said flatly.
“I’m Primrose Kay, Pitch.”
Primrose Kay was a thief. More than that, she was in many senses the thief. She’d embraced all the media tropes, the ridiculous phantom thief pastiche. And she’d pulled it off. She’d left calling cards, signed with a grin, had deliberately gone after difficult and high-profile targets, only to leave the prize on the doorstep of the police days later. She’d sent tapes to the media, detailing her crimes. It had been a frenetic, shocking three months.
Lots of people thought it was a gang, a group masquerading as an individual. This was disproved when she was caught. She’d slipped and fractured her spine during the robbery of an art gallery, it had partially paralysed her, leaving thousands of fans in tears and bringing a short, but eventful period to an end.
She’d been taken into custody, but escaped on the way to trial. No-one was quite sure how.
And now she was standing in front of us, fully functional limbs and all. Or so she said, anyway.
I gestured at Mr. Sharkface. “Not working alone?”
“Stuff’s happened, Queenie.” Glass said. I wasn’t sure if I could mentally label her Primrose yet. “Stuff that means the old game has changed.”
She sighed. “I’m going to miss it. Now, listen. I’m not with Matsushima now. I’m also not ‘with’ the Runners. So don’t come for help.” She grinned and it reflected in the helmet.
“This city is going to have some issues soon. That’s my apology for this whole… thing. Series of events. Stuff is going to happen. Be careful.” She waved. “See you around, Queenie.”
End Part One
Running Silver 