Archive of Our Own ^beta

The nightclub was located in the Appalachian foothills, one of the clusters of civilization that fled the floods that wiped out the coast. The seas were high that evening, but not dangerously so – the water lashes harmlessly against the seawall, and it hasn’t stormed in four days now. 

The night was young, and so were most of the partygoers. A woman outside dangled a line of ampules around her neck, each of them promising a personality best suited to make the most of it.

“Hello, darlin’,” she said to Hijiyama, his nanomachines translation programs instantly told him she spoke in a very heavily accented English, with a bit of Cajun, marking her as either likely the survivor of the Great Louisiana Wave or someone who picked up the personality of a survivor. “You look like you might want to unwind. I’ve got a great player personality in here for you. Trust fund and amazing in bed.”

“No, thank you,” said Hijiyama, tersely. He managed to step back before she could really lean up on him. He could tell from the haze in her eyes this was not her first personality that evening and probably wouldn’t be her last – if the line of bruises along her inner arm was any indication.

People would do anything to outrun the end of the world.

Hijiyama flashed his forged membership card, and took a bit of solace in the moment of tension among the bouncers as they all realized collectively: ‘I don’t think I could take that guy.’

It was a very small comfort for Hijiyama. The moment he stepped past the beaded curtain, he was assaulted by a powerful smell cocktail of liquor, sex, and medical disinfectants. That’s how you celebrated the end of the world.

He tipped the doorman liberally, anyway. 

“I’m not questioning my orders,” he mutters, to the communication application tucked into the corner of his temporal implant, “but I can’t possibly be the best man for this job.”

Major Izumi, on the other end, gave an unsympathetic laugh.

“Cold feet already, Lieutenant?” He could hear the smirk, even with the visual interface off. “Relax. I’ve run the numbers. You’re our best shot.” 

It was true. Hijiyama was often the best man for most jobs. The trouble was, most of their jobs usually required either a heavy gun fight or utter domination in hand to hand combat. The throbbing baseline, drugged dancers, and row of confiscated weapons and scanners at the entrance told Hijiyama that none of his actual resume items were in the cards that night. 

“And if the target doesn’t show?” Hijiyama wondered how long he’d have to nurse one of those horribly suspicious looking glowing drinks at the bar.

“Oh, they’ll show.” 

Hijiyama ordered one of those awful concoctions. He ran a discreet scan while pretending to drink it. He found about five different types of malware nanomachines: one that was designed to give you a craving for a now defunct liquor company, two that wanted you to eat at the few chain restaurants that still existed, and two that would’ve just filled your visual interface with ads for rideshares. Hijiyama sighed, quietly EMP’d them with his watch, and settled in to scan the guests sway aimlessly with the AI generated music and lights. 

The Appalachian Trail had become a gathering point for the expatriates and exiles from numerous collapsing countries, non-aggression zones, and city states. Warm, coastal, and no longer under any government oversight stronger than the few regional energy companies that still clung to the illusion they’d have clients in ten years. 

It was a crowd where the only thing anyone had in common was a bevy of illegal implants, body modifications, and a strong desire to ignore the harsh reality of every news circuit of the day. People downloaded dance moves bought off of tech jockeys loitering at the tables. Hijiyama eyed a few of these with interest, but although some of them were sharply dressed and glowing with implant tattoos, none of them seemed to be offering anything more than the standard entertainment mods or the muscle memory of a career drunken bar brawler. Nothing that would match an international hacker wanted in at least ten regions with a seven figure bounty on their head. 

“Doesn’t really seem like their crowd.”

“METIS doesn’t have a crowd,” answered Izumi. “The place has a roof garden. Why don’t you get some air? Go do some stargazing.”

“Haven’t had enough of that yet?”

“Who knows how long that view’s going to last.” 

You could never be sure if Izumi was joking or in on something. With a labored sigh, Hijiyama made his way to the roof. The salt air was thick. There was a dance floor set up there, too, but the band at least was being streamed in. The night view wasn’t bad. Even with the chain of patchy lights from the refugee camps that dotted the foothills, you could still see some constellations. 

Hijiyama was so busy mapping them out he almost didn’t see the young lady until another clubgoer practically bumped her into him. Her ankle turned, and her shoe buckled under it. Hijiyama’s hand shot out on instinct to steady her. All of her weight came down on his forearm, but she weighed practically nothing. He’d done harder catches in his career.

“Oh,” said the woman, blinking up at him with wide eyes. “Thanks. That’s… actually pretty dashing of you. Mind giving me a lift?” 

Hijiyama helped her perch on one of the garden boxes that guarded the roof’s edge while she scowled and fixed her shoe. She didn’t look particularly drunk or high. She did look oddly ethereal in the flashing club lights. Her hair and eyelashes colorless accentuating the startling darkness of her eyes. Her skin, in the brief moments when the alternating lights weren’t flooding everything, was startlingly pale, and there was a lot of it to see through her shimmery white and black cowl-neck cocktail dress. Her sandals were strappy and entirely twisted. She gave up and unstrapped it entirely. 

“All right?” he asked.

“If I said I wasn’t,” she said, tilting her head at him, “would you give me a foot rub?”

Despite the rabbit-like way she batted her eyes, Hijiyama had the distinct feeling of a wolf in her gaze. “Er.”

“Guess that’s a little much for hello,” allowed the woman. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though. This actually works out really well for me. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Ma’am?”

“I saw you across the room,” she said, kicking her foot idly. She rested back on one hand, twirling the broken shoe in the other. “And I thought, huh, this guy looks like he’s on his first personality. I absolutely have to talk to him.”

Hijiyama went tense. He put his drink down on the ledge. “What makes you think that?”

The woman brought her finger to her chin in thought. It emphasized the soft curve of her jaw line. 

“Let’s see. Neat haircut. That’s kind of odd in of itself, but it doesn’t look like you’ve shaved anything out for any neural implants. You’re missing some scars around your ear that would’ve meant some otonal injections, and you’re not wearing any studs to show off the back of your neck either, so that rules out any spinal implants, too. Your eyes look…” Here the woman leaned towards him a bit, nearly causing Hijiyama to start back – though his training kicked in and he stood his ground. “Nope. No sign of any ocular implants, either. That’s pretty rare these days. I can’t blame you. You have nice eyes, actually. You’re from Japan, right?” 

“So are you,” realized Hijiyama. This earned him a bit of a scowl.

“Technically,” she said, sighing, “but that’s not really important these days, is it? Everyone here’s from just about everywhere.”

“You’re a tech dealer,” said Hijiyama, cutting to the chase.

“Not really,” she said. “Not exactly here to sell anything, anyway. Consider me more of a freelance consultant. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to pitch you anything. Something tells me you don’t exactly need what anyone’s selling here.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because that’s a military grade implant they slipped under your jaw,” she said, with a light tweak of Hijiyama’s chin that felt a bit like an electric shock. “Aaand if nothing else is showing, I’m guessing they did the work directly in your spine and nervous system? Government likes it clean. At least on the surface.” 

Hijiyama wasn’t interested in sharing the particulars of proprietary medical procedures. “You’re knowledgeable,” he said. “You’ve probably guessed. I’m looking for someone.”

“And you don’t waste time, either.” She pulled back, stifling a laugh. “I figured. It’s okay, we can talk, but not in the open air like this. Dance with me?” 

“What?”

A text from Izumi popped up in the corner of his vision: DANCE WITH HER. 

Hijiyama stifled a sigh, but when the woman extended her hand, his own seemed to move automatically to take it. 

The dance floor was crowded, but somehow they found a spot in the press. No one stepped on them. The music seemed to hit a stride that was easy enough to work with. Hijiyama kept his arm tight around the woman’s waist, as though she might slip away like water if he wasn’t careful.

She laughed. “So forceful. You’ll keep me safe won’t you?”

“Mm.”

Still, it was easy enough to manage a few basic, disciplined steps, even among the drugged up swaying of the crowd around them. In the throb of the music, he had to lean in extra near to hear her. She didn’t mind. The lights reflected perfectly in her eyes. 

“You’re not a bad dancer, either,” she remarked, ceding to his lead with surprising ease. She curled her hand around the back of his neck. It should’ve read like a threat, but she stroked it almost comfortingly. “That’s pretty rare. You didn’t even download an app for it, did you? Where did you learn?”

“School.”

“What kind of school teaches soldiers to dance?”

“Who said I was a soldier?”

“You do, with everything you do. Those implants. That stance. You came in and people watched you, but they don’t know just what to do with you yet. That shell program you have running in your nanomachines is really throwing off the scanners. Even I couldn’t get your ID.”

“You could ask nicely.”

“That’s old fashioned, but I like it. Would you tell me?”

“Depends on what you can tell me.”

“Still on that.” The music shifted to something slower. The bass seemed to get louder. She leaned into him. “The person you’re looking for must be pretty high powered. You get a lot of those around here. The problem is, they get a lot of prospective job offers around here, too. Freelancers should be choosy about their jobs. Not like we owe our employers our lives, now, do we? Unless we’re government shills to begin with. They do grow people in gardens these days. Who sent you?” 

“A third party,” admitted Hijiyama. Izumi had lapsed into what he suspected was a distinctly amused silence. He could probably read Hijiyama’s vitals spiking. Damn him. “That wishes to remain anonymous until we can better discuss terms.” 

A drunk clubgoer jostled close. Hijiyama held the woman’s waist and turned, placing his back between them and giving the man a warning shove on his way. The woman whistled, impressed.

“Now you’re talking like I’m the one you’re looking for.”

“I think you are,” said Hijiyama. “Think you’re the one I’ve been searching for from the start.”

He reached down to cup her face. 

“I’m that special?” 

He rested his thumb under her chin. He leaned in so that their foreheads were nearly touching.

“Think your implants are military grade, too,” murmured Hijiyama, softly. “And I think you’ve been controlling the lights and music since we stepped out. Considering the owner is a well-known software developer in employ of a local druglord, you’d have to be pretty high grade to do that.” 

The woman’s eyes went wide, but her smile never faltered.

“My,” she said breathlessly. “You did notice.” 

“And did you notice that the man who just tried to cut in has a syringe?”

“He’s been trying to mindjack me all night,” the woman breathed back. “And you’ve been blocking him. What a gentleman.”

“Does your GPS hookup have a fast route to the docks?” 

“Would you walk me home?”

“If you’ll talk to us.”

“Get rid of my tail for me and I’ll let you do way more than that.”

“Got it.” 

Hijiyama hauled around and punched the offending dancer in the face. 

The man wasn’t alone, but Hijiyama hadn’t expected him to be. All around them, clubbers eyes and implants flashed as their obstruction applications took over. The music cut out. The stairs were out of the question. His dance partner was still barefoot. He picked her up and rushed back for the open space by the edge of the roof.

“Ah,” she gasped. 

“Best route?” he murmured.

“North,” she said. “But–”

“Hold on,” said Hijiyama, as he leapt for the neighboring building’s fire escape. It was about a six foot difference, but he made it with only some exertion. He banged his knee up a little, but it didn’t pop. Good. A few of their pursuers swarmed the rooftop they left behind, some stun fire hit the ledge above them, but they were well undercover as he set her down and led her down the iron slats.

“...Missed those physical augmentations when I scanned you,” she said, in wonder.

“Who says I had any?”  

“Wow.”

They finally lost them out on the river. Hijiyama shamelessly strong-armed a boat from the dock while his charge forged the ownership codes. They launched in under a minute, Hijiyama at the helm. He steered them up the river.  

“That’s the opposite way from the coast.”

“It is,” agreed Hijiyama, “but there’s a dead zone up in the old park.” 

“Need some time alone?” asked Izumi, in his ear.

Hijiyama didn’t dignify that with a direct response. “Can you send out a drone for a lure?”

His superior laughed. “Already deployed. I’m rooting for you.” 

Glaring at nothing, HIjiyama gunned the ignition until the Major’s laughter cut out. All the floating screens began to project ‘SIGNAL LOST.’ The woman beside him flinched, her lips moving quietly.

“Ah… that’s… not something I feel too often,” she admitted. “We’re actually alone out here.” 

They passed under another overhang. The trees abruptly fell away as the river widened, revealing the half-flooded recreational zone. It’d once been log cabins and pine, done up for the cold. The temperatures here hadn’t been under fifteen degrees celsius in decades, now. Most people would’ve considered that cold. Now, the balmy waters soaked most of the old lodges. Their rooftops were thick with moss and rot. Hijiyama steered carefully between them until he cut the engine to check for pursuit. 

“...Most of the signal towers got wiped by the snowmelt,” explained Hijiyama. “No point in fixing them.”

“No satellite coverage?”

“Old GPS,” said Hijiyama. “That’s about it. Look up.”

“Is there a drone on us?”

“No. It’s just a nice night.” 

They were far enough from the town that the light didn’t quite drown out the stars. The woman squinted, and then her eyes widened very slightly, as though this were the first time seeing them in a very long awhile.

“...Pretty clear,” she admitted, impressed. “That one’s not a star though. Neither is that one. But still. How clean is this water, do you think?”

“Wouldn’t drink it,” said Hijiyama. “Better than the coast.”

She walked to the edge of the boat and sat down on the rail, dipping a toe in. Her legs were especially pale without the club lights splashing everywhere. Hijiyama did his best to keep his eyes ahead. 

“You were planning to lay low for a little bit, weren’t you?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder. “Sit with me for a little, at least.”

Hijiyama docked the boat behind an old hunting lodge and leaned onto the railing next to her, checking absently for his gun. He scanned the area, but the only splashes were from the bottom of the boat and the occasional animal fumbling along the river banks. Assured it was clear for at least the time being, he knelt next to her. 

“You are a professional,” she said. 

“So are you.” 

“Different kind,” she said. “To be honest, I don’t normally like being this far from a reliable connection. Makes it a little harder for me to get myself out of compromising situations.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“To be the compromising situation?”

Hijiyama coughed. “To walk you home .” 

The woman steepled her fingers over the rail and leaned into them a little. “You’ve taken me on one heck of a ride. You’ve earned the right to compromise me a little.” 

“With all due respect, miss,” he said, “that would be ungentlemanly.”

“And if I said it’s cold and I could use some warming up?”

He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Despite her lack of internet connection, it turned out she was plenty resourceful, because she hooked her fingers into his gunbelt and levered herself up to press an upside down kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

She moved faster than he expected, twisting to face him. The next kiss landed on his cheek, then his chin, when she caught his bottom lip, he put a hand on her shoulder. The boat rocked suspiciously, and he remembered why he’d come out here in the first place. 

“I’m looking METIS,” he said, thickly. 

Her dark eyes brightened, reflecting the stars in the sky. 

“That’s fine,” she said. “I thought you might be.”

He set his jaw. He thought he heard another boat. He said as much.

She slipped a hand under his collar.

“You’ll have to work to keep me quiet, then,” she said, and tugged. 

This time, she caught him full on, and the noise she made was so loud and approving of her aim, he grabbed the back of her head to keep her near – it was, after all, a fine noise dampener. The only sounds after that were the faint rustle of fabric and the bob of the boat. 

Lights raked the water, but they successfully navigated their way to the boat’s floor. He wasn’t sure who took the lead, just that he found her under him, pressed against him, laughing silently against his mouth and jaw as his hand found the hem of her dress seemingly by accident, laying along her surprisingly narrow hip.

“Wow, you’re cute,” she breathed. “You’re really, really cute.”

He kissed her to keep the noise off the scanners – then, remembering that scanners wouldn’t really work this far out, he kissed her again out of sheer professional negligence, and felt an approving ankle rake up the back of his leg. 

When she reached for his fly he remembered himself. By then, the lights were long gone, as was any sign of another motor. He pulled away, leaving her sprawled out and frowning under him. 

“We’d better get back,” he said. “Don’t want to give them time to build an embargo.” 

She scowled. Her lips were rosy red. It had nothing to do with her make-up. That had rubbed off ages ago. “Fine,” she said. She made sure to wrap her arm around his waist as he resumed his place at the helm, woke the engine, and steered the boat back down river towards the dock. 

The town was alight with a thousand colors. Fireworks bursting everywhere, and smoke in the air. The town was alive with people running, shouting, cheering, adding their own fireworks to the ray – plenty of them thought it was a show. The world was ending and they didn’t even care.

“Oh, my,” said the woman. Something went off in a shack next to the nearest jetty, she used it as an excuse to press just a little bit closer to him. 

“Your doing?” muttered Hijiyama, as the sensor soundlessly reminded him Izumi was back in range. 

“Drone found a fireworks cache,” answered Izumi, the laughter suppressed but still strongly implied. “Seemed a little chaos would be useful.”

Like chaos wasn’t a bit of Izumi’s business. The smoke was thickest near the shore. The rendezvous point helpfully appeared in the corner of Hijiyama’s HUD. 

“Guess it’s time for business,” she sighed.

“Just a few questions.”

“Just that?” Her fingers walked up his arm. “You’ve put a lot of resources into this little chase. That third party must be really interested.”

“If METIS is interested in negotiating with us, we’ll be happy to talk,” said Hijiyama, “but I don’t plan on detaining anyone illegally.”

“You actually mean that.”

“We have no confirmed warrants for you.”

“Putting a lot of faith in me.”

“Not particularly. Last I checked, I still don’t know your name.”

“I still don’t know yours.”

“Hijiyama Takatoshi.” 

She turned to face him, her face bright again from the lights in the harbor. He could tell she was running a quick search, a quick browsing of what records were public, maybe a few that weren’t. There wouldn’t be much. Izumi was good at scrubbing the juicy bits – not that there were many to begin with.

“That’s… actually it,” she said, blinking. 

Somewhere, a boat horn blared. Something in the corner of her eyes went very soft. 

“Mm. Well, Takatoshi-senpai, keep up those manners,” she said, “and maybe someday I’ll tell you mine.”

And, before he could think to switch the boat back to autopilot, she dragged at his collar and gave him one more long, deep kiss. Her lips were chapped from the wind, and she tasted like old make-up. It took him a second longer than he meant to disengage – which, unfortunately, gave her enough time to cup his face, stroke his jaw, and then with great purpose, grab the boat’s wheel and give it a very firm and purposely yank to the side.

The boat swerved in the channel. An AI-controlled speed-boat came blaring down from the opposite direction. The splash was considerable, the water shockingly cold. It gave her just enough time to step backwards over the edge. 

He got nothing else from her but a silver flash as the speed-boat carried her away. 

He arrived at the dock half soaked and scowling. He remembered too late she still had his jacket. Izumi had the grace not to laugh at him, at least.

“Wasn’t a complete bust,” his superior assured him. “Least you got a bit of action.”

Coloring around the collar, Hijiyama ignored this particular comment.

“Target lost,” he said. His scowl only got deeper as Izumi withheld the towel. 

“Hold on there,” said Izumi, offering a gene scanner instead. He swabbed it along the corner of Hijiyama’s mouth with a damning click. Hijiyama remembered then, with far too much clarity, that said target had been wearing lipstick – at the start of the evening, anyway.

“That–” Hijiyama began.

“No need to excuse yourself, Lieutenant,” said Izumi, with an entirely too approving smirk. “We got our lead. DNA trace should have a match by the time we’re back at HQ. Not bad.” 

He winked when he finally handed over that towel. Hijiyama remained in insulted silence for the rest of the long walk back to the helipad. He almost would have preferred a reprimand. 

When they were contacted a week later on an unknown line by a young man by the name of Okino Tsukasa, who was seventeen, legally male, a DNA match, and very interested in a second date with that ‘handsome soldier you sent last time,’ Hijiyama decided he absolutely deserved that reprimand. But sure as anything ever was in this business, it never came.