The Partner And The Runner

The clock read 00:43. He would have gone to bed sooner, but he couldn't catch his sleep. Sometimes it happened, he'd pick up on her tension and it'd infect him, like a ghost in the night. To distract himself, he turned on the trid, hoping for a distraction. Then he saw it, a building aflame downtown after a suspected terrorist attack. He recognised the building, he'd seen the silhouette once when they were planning their job and she'd carelessly left one piece of paper lying around. He froze in fear.   The clock read 02:01. More news kept coming in, more hearsay, more propaganda. He'd gotten better over the years at picking out the coverups. The lies about an Alamos 20k cell just went in one ear and out the other. No credible news so far of anyone caught or killed. He could tell that the stooges being interviewed knew nothing either. Good. Otherwise he might have gone after them to figure out the truth.   The clock read 6:57. He had felt exhaustion come over him and taken Long Haul to stay awake. He couldn't afford to let his focus drop. Not when she might need him. Too much contradicting info on the trids and in the Matrix. He dared not search too deeply, afraid he'd leave a trace that he knew too much. He would be no good to her or her team if a corporate hitsquad came after him.   The clock read 10:31. He was looking at the stockpile in front of him. Go Bags filled with guns, ammo, fake IDs, credsticks and even corporate scrip. Medkits, combat drugs, stim patches, everything needed to take care of people while on the run. Then he heard the engine, a familiar one. He looked out the back and saw her, wounded but alive, two of her teammates supporting her as she stumbled towards the door.   The clock read 10:35. Her arms were around him, as she whispered encouraging apologies in his ears, words that never registered as he was too focused on drowning in her arms.