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Andi glanced to her right at the array of blades, then to her left at the bloodied remains of what she could only assume had once been a person. Isaiah’s—no, not Isaiah anymore—Krash’s warning blared in her head.
“If you don’t recognise something, do not touch it.”
Sparky had taken her and Frankie to an underground bunker, where he supposedly had the proper tools to fix the Gwendroid. But looking at what they had available, she’d be lucky to string two bolts together, let alone reprogram its system. When she’d told Sparky as much, he’d threatened her with the “chop shop”, where she’d likely end up just as unlucky as the poor soul whose remains she’d found in the medical bin.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was in over her head. The Gwendroid needed serious repairs, practically a full code overhaul, but without a Repair Halo, she’d need a miracle.
As she hovered over the tools at her disposal, Andi felt a pair of eyes boring into her back, unblinking in their intensity. Since Frankie was busy connecting the Gwendroid to diagnostics, that only left—
“Krash,” she said, turning to face the schoolboy-turned-man she’d once known. “You’re gonna burn a hole in the back of my head. What is it?”
Krash leaned against his desk, peering over his dual-coloured red-and-blue glasses with a wary expression. He glanced at Frankie, who was too busy to notice his scorn, then gestured to his left, where his desk chair sat unused.
So, he wanted to talk, huh?
Andi hadn’t spoken to him since she graduated. She’d often wondered what had become of the boy, as she did with most of her classmates, but the answers were often more upsetting than the lies she told herself.
There were no happy endings. Not for them.
She stood beside the offered chair, not quite ready to trust Krash just yet. It’d been years since school. Years since she’d spoken to any of her childhood friends (apart from Frankie, of course). That much time changed a person, especially when that person now worked for Sparky, the bastard.
“What’re you doing?” Krash asked, forgoing pleasantries.
Andi frowned. She knew he wasn’t pleased they’d intruded on his space, but they both had a job to do.
“Digging for tools,” she said plainly. Then, in a quieter voice, she added, “Not my fault you didn’t clean up.”
“That’s not what I—” Krash rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses back into place. “I meant, what are you doing here? Working for Sparky? I thought…” He hesitated, his cheeks reddening. “I thought you’d left this place behind.”
There it was again.
Crownie.
The black stain followed her everywhere. Well, she wasn’t one anymore, was she? The sting of her termination bubbled in her chest, spitting venom like a viper. It wasn’t fair. She’d only wanted—
Andi swallowed her vitriol and glared up at Krash. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I no longer work for Park Planet. Happy?”
Krash was silent for a moment.
Then, more softly than she’d expected, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Whatever insult Andi had planned died on her tongue.
Oh.
He was being sincere.
Memories of Isaiah from their school days flooded back, and Andi remembered why she’d liked sitting next to the soft-spoken boy. He’d enjoyed learning as much as she did—though, judging by his profession now, their interests had clearly taken different directions—and hadn’t bothered her with the barrage of annoying questions her other classmates did.
“Listen,” Krash started. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but you shouldn’t be here. Sparky’s not the kind of guy who takes no for an answer. Once you’re indebted to him, you’ll be paying him back for the rest of your life.”
“I can take care of myself,” she retorted.
“It’s not as simple as that. You think I wanted to end up—”
Before Krash could finish, a loud, booming voice interrupted them.
“Andi!” Frankie yelled. “Could use some assistance here!”
Frankie must’ve finished hooking up the Gwendroid. She glanced over her shoulder. The monitors displayed diagnostic results, filling the screens with line after line of code.
“I’ve gotta go,” Andi said, already turning away from Krash. She felt his gaze lingering on her back.
“Just… be careful.”
Andi left him at his desk, refusing to acknowledge the genuine concern she’d heard in his voice. Krash was only worried about his bunker. They weren’t schoolkids anymore. Those days were well and truly behind them.
For better or for worse.