"Take the helmet."
Jett looked at him in surprise. "I have to get you to a hospital. The building fell right on top of you. The injuries…"
"Injuries don't matter." Vigil grimaced again, glaring at Jett with shimmering eyes. "It's my heart."
"Your heart?"
"Yeah. Been coming a long time. Take the helmet. Gauntlets, too."
"I can't just—"
"Do it, kid." Vigil's hand shot forward, grabbing Jett by the collar. "I just saved your ass, so you owe me." He snatched the headgear off. The gauntlets compressed with a flick of his wrists, sliding into metallic bands. He yanked off his trench coat, wrapped the equipment in it, and shoved the bundle into Jett's chest.
"Don't have my body armor. Wouldn't be in this predicament if I'd worn it. Didn't expect to be fighting tonight. Or ever again." He chuckled painfully. "Old habits are hard to break, I guess. Saw what you did. Standing up for the girl. Anyone else would have kept walking. You didn't. Maybe there's hope for this city, after all."
Jett glanced around. "Listen, paramedics should be here any minute. Try to hold on until they—"
Vigil barked a laugh. "In this part of the city? Don't be stupid. I'm a goner. Just don't want anyone to connect the dots. That's why you're taking the gear."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Sell it. Throw it away. Or use it."
"Use it for what?"
"To fight." Vigil's lids drooped, his voice trailed to a whisper. "I made a choice… long time ago. No more… compromise. No more turning a blind eye. You see something wrong… you do something about it. No matter what the cost. You do something."
His head snapped up; his arm gripped Jett's shoulder with surprising strength.
"You do something."
The statement seemed to drain the last of his energy. His eyes closed, his head lolled forward. Jett had seen it many times before. A soldier finally at peace. The faces of his fallen team flashed across his memory. So many dead. So many ghosts. And now another. A stranger who didn't hesitate to give his life to protect others.
Jett carefully leaned Vigil against the wall, feeling a surprising swell of grief for a person he had only known for a few moments. He stood, ignoring the jolts of pain from his injured limbs. For a long stretch he closed his eyes in silence, giving the man a respectful moment. The words came to him before he knew it.
"Raise hell, die well."
He clutched Vigil's gear under his arm and left the alley just as the RCE units approached. Limping and trembling with pain, he made his way back home. The city continued its concert of depression and debauchery around him, but for once Jett didn't feel it. The load on his shoulders had lifted.
He was alive.
Chapter 3
Agent Ronnie Banks walked onto the grounds of another disaster, taking in the damage with a critical eye. The alley was partially obstructed by the collapse of one of the abandoned tenements. Bodies were trapped under the rubble and littered across the ground. And as usual, not a single witness in sight, nor a drone in range that captured anything but the aftermath. She sighed.
Just another night in the Warrens.
"Looks like someone shot off some good ol' contraband." Isaac ran his metallic fingers along the damaged area of the building. "I'll run a scan, but I'm pretty sure this is from a biogun. 358 model, black market version. They're always a bit more unstable."
Ronnie nodded. "If you say it's a biogun, then that's what it is."
"Won't be certain until the scans verify it."
"Don't be shy, Isaac. You haven't made a wrong call yet."
"First time for everything."
Ronnie grinned. Isaac was a simdroid, which meant his calculations were never wrong. Although he wore the same uniform, his gleaming, alloyed shell marked him for anything but a regular officer. When Ronnie made Agent, the promotion came with an upgrade: a partner that wouldn't die near as easily as many of her previous ones.
She lifted the wrist of a prone gang member, where a crown dripping with blood was tattooed. "Crimson Kings. Up to no good as usual." She glanced at the toughs she had cuffed and lined up against the wall. They were a diverse group, but shared a common look with multiple ear and face piercings, shaved and partially shaved heads, and so much ink that skin was barely visible. Every one of them sported injuries ranging from cuts and bruises to broken bones.
"Looks like someone ran through you boys pretty good. Lost about six soldiers. Wanna talk about what happened?"
The usual chorus of streetspeak greeted her.
"You think we rats? No snitch, jade."
"No squeal, no deal. Call a SAUL, pig."
"Not scared of bar duty. Love it. Fam reunion."
"You fab, pig. Sit on my face; I tell what you want."
"Really?" She smiled. "That's a nice proposition. After all, you're already tied up." She pulled a black baton from the holster at her side. A twist of the handle made green lights glimmer on the surface. "Know what this is, big boy?"
The tough swallowed, fighting to maintain his tough veneer. "Vibrator?"
She tapped him on the neck with the baton. His face turned a sickly color, and he doubled over, vomiting everything in his stomach. Ronnie took a few steps back to avoid the disgusting bile. The sickly smell was nearly overwhelming. The tough's knees buckled, and he fell into the pile of puke, dry heaving as if trying to spit out his esophagus.
Ronnie eyed the remaining toughs, who whose faces paled with revulsion and unease. "Anyone else wanna to play?"
"Wait, cop. Put up sick-stick. We talk."
"Yeah, we spill, pig. Love bacon."
She slid the baton back in its holster. "Good. So… ?"
"Vigil."
Her mouth twisted. "What? Don't try to play me. You'll get what he got."
"Not playing, pig. Vigil. Shiny helmet. Laser gloves."
"Yeah. He jump us."
"Come from nowhere."
"Minding business, then boom."
"Beating, breaking bones…"
"We shivers."
"Yeah, need protection. Safer behind bars."
Ronnie massaged her forehead. "Shut up. Just shut the hell up. Isaac, round these idiots up and get them processed."
One of the thugs screwed up his face. "What we do, cop?"
"Scanner's not tagging any of your holobands. Means you cloned them. That's a felony. Maybe you'll feel like talking after a few nights in the slammer."
She continued to scan the area. "Got another body over here, Isaac."
"Be there in a minute." Isaac continued to herd the gang into an armored van, ignoring their threats and curses.
Ronnie knelt, examining the corpse. "What were you doing out here, old man?" She scanned his holoband. "Wayne Thomas. Sixty-eight years old. No immediate family. Retired cop." She shook her head. "Damn it. You deserved better than this."
"A former shield soldier?" Isaac walked over, metallic skin glinting in the dim light. "What a shame."
"Yeah. Maybe he saw something, tried to intervene. Or maybe just a case of wrong place, wrong time." She glared at the van. "Don't think those toughs are gonna be good for info. They know the game. System will kick them out in a day or two."
Isaac pulled a screen of data up on his tablet. "Well, at least one other person knows something."
"You got a ping on a legal band? Wonders never cease."
"Even we catch a break sometimes. Playback from signal transponders places someone else at the scene. Easy to trace and track. Want to ask him some questions?"
Ronnie slid the screen from the tablet to her holoband and glanced at the picture. "Who is this guy?"
Jett woke up under the blush of newborn sun. The light brightened the linen sheets, brightened the face of the beautiful woman whose face was just inches away from his own.