October Writing Prompts Day 3

It's a short, hot summer. Most summers here are hot. Not just hot, but a scorching kind of heat that kills the grass and burns the skin. Dead leaves drift down from the trees, dessicated from the heat and the lack of water. Everything crunches when she walks outside. Leaves, grass, cicada shells: all mix under the sharp heel of her shoe. Nothing really prepares her for the onslaught of heat every time she steps outside. In moments, her shirt is sticking to her torso, and her arms have a light sheen of sweat. It wasn't like this back home. Summers were milder there, mild, mild. She was milder there too. She doesn't really go back anymore. The place is dying, suffocated in mildness and stagnating. She's changed too much to feel comfortable there, to slink back into her own skin. No one is the same in this city. New Atlanta is a melting pot of neon and metal. Finally connected to the other cities with skycars and bullet trains, New Atlanta has a feeling of bigness that Anaxander can get lost in. (Lots of people get lost here. That's her job, the losing.) Being underestimated is the biggest advantage you can have, these days, she thinks. She tucks her head down slightly as she passes a security robot. She doesn't miss the human police force– really, really doesn't– but the androids make her feel uneasy. It's probably her guilty conscience, if she still has one. She's on her way to meet Gear. That's not his real name, but she'd never bothered to get to know anyone at the agency past their initial codename introduction. They didn't know her real name either. That suited her just fine. This was just a job. An incredibly dangerous and even better paying job, but a job nonetheless. She didn't need to be part of the team. She just needed the payout. She passed two more security robots as she turned the corner. The meet up was, as always, in a warehouse. It made her feel like she was in a cheesy spy novel, and she hated that. She'd petitioned many times to meet in more normal places, claiming that just because they were criminals didn't mean they had to look like it. Each appeal was denied. She was beginning to think the higher-ups just liked the intrigue. She snorted at the thought. This would be much less conspicuous at a bar. They could speak in code. Another security robot greeted her as the stepped onto a side street. It wasn't unusual, given the high amount of crime in this area of the city. (More of which she'd partaken in than she'd like to admit, if she was honest.) They were probably stamping out traders again. The black market had recently been absolutely flooded with stolen android parts. Anaxander hoped they caught the dealers. It was bad for business to have other criminals move in on your area. Her thighs were rubbing together painfully where the black spandex shorts didn't cover. She could feel the chafing, mostly where sweat was dripping onto the raw skin. She should've ordered a hovercar. Why was it so damn hot? She was nearing the row of warehouses. Most of them were still used, companies constantly shipping things in and out and stockpiling– she wasn't sure what they were stockpiling, actually. But she'd seen the thousands of boxes go in and never come back out. She was reckless, but she wasn't stupid. The empty warehouses were in a corner of the lot, grungy and unused. The doors always creaked and groaned when Anaxander pushed them open, making her shoulders tighten. She huffed out a breath. She couldn't get nervous now. She needed this mark, needed this money. The warehouse park was busy enough that her coming and going should be unnoticed, especially if she hurried. Gear was waiting for her on an empty crate, laptop across his lap and AI goggles across his eyes. "I could've been anyone," she says by way of greeting, pinning the teenager with a glare. He was so young. Too young to be in this business. He shrugs, unconcerned. "No, the glasses identified you." "New trick?" she asks, and this time, he smiles. "I can hack your pair, too, if you want." It's a tempting offer, and Anaxander tells him as much. He doesn't brush off the praise, but it doesn't flatter him, either. He's confident. "So what's the plan?" Anaxander asks after a beat of silence. "Impatient," Gear says, typing on the laptop. "It's a big one, this time." Anaxander grimaces. "I don't like the way you said that." Gear meets her gaze, uncharacteristically serious, before replying. "You shouldn't." Another silence as he pulls something up on the page, then– "I thought you didn't have a killer contract." Anaxander blinks. "I don't," she says. "You do now," Gear replies. "We're going to kill someone." "Who?" Anaxander asks, feeling slightly delirious. She's never been asked to do this before. Didn't think she ever would be. "A CEO. It's big money, you could retire." Gear pauses, considering. "Well, you won't. But you could. It's the head of Granada Corporation." "What? Who has it out for him? He's never made anyo–" Anaxander cuts herself off as she's hit with a sudden understanding. "Android rights." Gear nods. "People don't like that." Anaxander has never met the man. They're not friends, have no connection. She still has to squash a sudden urge of protectiveness she feels for him. It's not logical,so she ignores it. Guilt curls in her stomach. "I'll take it," she says anyway. Gear nods, solemn. "So, the deets–" When he freezes and looks toward the door, Anaxander knows something is wrong. That knowledge is confirmed immediately, when an android leg kicks the door open. Gear is up like a flash, laptop clutched under one arm and goggles slightly askew. Anaxander makes the decision instantly. "I'll cover for you," she says to Gear, "just go." He's halfway to a hidden back exit when Anaxander hears her name. "Anaxander?" It's a soft question, hesitant. So out of place in the current situation that it's almost funny. Her head snaps to Gear, but it wasn't him who spoke, and he's staring at her with his eyes wide as saucers. "Nax?" Gear squeaks, and she shakes her head and waves her hand at him as she turns to look at the other entrance. The entrance currently surrounded by five androids, laser rays trained at her chest. The one in the middle– no. It wasn't. Couldn't be. "Anaxander?" The voice came again, and yes. It was. She hears Gear shuffling behind her, torn between leaving her and getting the hell out of dodge. "Nax?" He says again, "what's going on?" Nax sighs, "that's my boyfriend." She hears clattering behind her. Gear must've dropped his laptop. "That's a fucking android, Nax." "No shit. I just realized that," she grits out between her teeth. "This is charming," Daire– no, the android– says, laser still trained on Anaxander, "but I'm here about a crime." There's no point in lying, so Anaxander shrugs. "So am I."