Luck

Like before, the music shot through my bones like an array of machine guns–all firing point blank without a missed bullet in sight. Red spotlights circled the ceiling. I could barely breathe in the crowd, everyone packed together like a special edition can of sardines, yet for me these were background noise. I had one goal and a dream.

“Asta?” Harper called my name from near the back–face flushed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just needed a break.”
“But your brother… Oh girl, you don’t have to do this.”

“I'm fine! Caspian would have wanted me not to waste my time wallowing his death. That's not the kind of person he is, practical to a fault.”
“True true, you’re so smart Asta.” I gently held her shoulder as she stumbled forward. Thank you Harper, for being a drunken idiot. “Well if I can’t shoo you away let’s drink!

“Not just yet,” I glanced around the club, body after body all merging together in a soup of limbs and cloth. No dice.

“Come on! Live a little.” She tugged on my arm, forcing me to toss her aside. She plummeted on the ground. Whopse. I’d have to apologize for that one in the morning. “Girl what the–”

“Sorry.”

“Wait–” I left her behind, shoving bodies left and right. My memories from that night were a fuzzy mess–drunk me didn’t have much use for them–yet every aspect of that man still burned in my brain: His brown eyes, the black jacket he wore akin to mine, even the way he walked with that ever so slight limp.

There was no mistaking that.

I marched up to the back room, frowning. “This wasn’t here before…” A lock–nothing more than a slab of flimsy steel–now chained the doors together. In all my years partying here I’d never seen anything of the sort.

Sweat creased my palms as I grasped the lock, shattering it with my bare fist. The rules got thrown out long ago.

I gently creaked open the door. Inside the room was dark, the little light seeping in only showing a reflection of last week. My foot slowly passed through as the door closed behind me.

My flashlight only confirmed my suspicions. I couldn’t see a bit of change; hell, not even the floors had a footprint on the thin layer of grime that always seemed to soak every inch of this place. Yet, if this was so inconspicuous why lock the place down. Was a place to get out of the crowd that much of a sin?

A trickle of dust covered the boxes upon where we sat a week ago. I sighed, collapsing onto them. The main room was a bust, the upper floors seemingly empty from my glance, now this

“Fuckin hell.” I shot up at the voice–a set of keys jingling at the door. “Couldn't they pick a quieter spot to hide?”

Shit shit shit! I frantically crawled around the room for a place to hide. The barrels in the back were a no-go, everything else way to visible even to someone with Harper’s observation skills. That only left one place–right under me. Rickety crates were the last thing I wanted.

Yet they’d have to do.

My feet tumbled back into them just as he burst open the door. I couldn’t help but clench my teeth in anger as the light came on. That cocky expression, the limp in his step. There was only one man in all of Iero that fit those.

He leaned against one of silver beer barrels mere feet from my hiding place, summoning a neon gray screen. “Yeah, I spotted target fifty seven run in here after the funeral, no signs after but I wouldn’t worry your little head,” his gruff voice chuckled–a sound no human should be forced to hear. “Bitch had one minor inconvenience and chose to drown herself in alcohol! I told you she wasn’t a threat.”

“Minor inconvenience…” I whispered. This man was asking for a beating. I silently summoned a small screen, inputting my location. This could only end one of so many ways.

“Her brother should have known better than to look too far,” He shrugged. “I know that file on Project Prometheus escaped, but our scramble should have done the trick. Besides, fifty seven’s an astronomy student, not comp sci. The danger died with the knife we stabbed target twelve with. Anyway, I’ll collect tabs on her one more time before closing the case. Peace out.”

He grumbled something before shutting off his screen, and turning to the door.

He didn’t get far.

“What the–” His voice shut off as I leaped out from the crates, wrapping an arm around his neck and shoving my flashlight into his back with the other.

“Don’t say a word,” I said, voice stern, calm yet ridden with anger. “There's currently a gun pressed against your spine–old world glock. Don’t assume I’m afraid to fire.”

“Where the hell would a girl like you get one of those?” He muttered, scowling.

“Vista club. What did you think we studied? Computers, nicknacks? Guns are tech too asshole.”

His eyes scanned the room, hands fidgety yet not willing to put up a fight. Cowards, the lot of these guys. This was every newbie in full-dive fighting games the second they got a little success, just on a bigger scale. Surely a girl half his size couldn’t bluff this confidently.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

“Information, but first we're gonna take a little walk.” I shoved the flashlight into his spine, hearing the bones bend in agony. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” He scoffed, pushing open the door back towards the party. “Who do you think, girl? The government.”

“The Prime Chanselor? Fitting.” Damn, try as I might I couldn’t tell if his words were nothing but lies. These kinda guys always had their poker faces down. “What the hell is Project Prometheus?”

“Power,” He eyed the crowd, a grin growing on his bearded face. “Iero’s a massive fucking city, something has to power this place.”

“Fifty seven, that’s me–”
“That's enough!” He tossed an elbow back, knocking me off balance. I could feel my rib crack–the impact enough to send blood hurling from my mouth.

I dashed for the door, vaguely hearing him shout from behind. “Emergency! Suspect fifty seven is on the run, I repeat fifty seven is on the run. All units, full march!”

Sirens started to shout as I burst through the gates. I checked the screen I made earlier, then made a blind leap of faith into the street. Air passed through my jacket, hover cars honking at the disturbance. Yet when I landed I only felt the familiar petals of my bike–the one thing courageous enough to touch the ground.

“You wanna play this game? Go right ahead.” I muttered, shoving my foot on the gas.