Page 13 of Jump or Fall

Gordon - Four Years Earlier

S having had once been such an innocuous thing.

But now, every sound was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. His heart was beating so erratically it moved his arm with every thump.

The razor scraped across his skin—so much like the long blade that had sliced his cheek apart.

Just do it, you fucking coward.

His hand shook as he neared the long, puckered scar and he nicked himself.

“Fuck!”

He threw the razor down and sank to the floor.

Of all the days to have a fucking half-beard, it was one where he’d be meeting with Kimmie again.

The young enforcer was puzzling. One minute she was interrogating him, and the next, she was giving him scar salve and setting him up in a studio apartment.

The apartment was far better than the hostel he’d been crashing in before.

The furniture wasn’t falling apart and the air didn’t reek of mildew and cigarettes.

Everything was relatively clean compared to the view outside.

He’d spotted a couple cockroaches, but after laying out some repellent strips, they vanished. It felt like a small victory .

His new neighbors had seemed skeptical when he first showed up, but they immediately came out once Kimmie appeared. It was clear that she was well-liked and respected in Eight.

With a grunt, Gordon heaved himself up, using the bathroom counter for balance.

The sight of the blood on his cheek almost sent him back to the floor, but he steadied himself on his elbows and rinsed his face with water.

He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the blood washing down the drain and fumbled through a drawer for the knock-off Rapiderm.

Once the cut was healed, he glared at his reflection.

He looked like an idiot with only half his face shaved. An ugly idiot with the scar. His first day in the apartment he’d disabled the display in the mirror. He didn’t need ads reminding him of what he already knew.

Gordon grabbed at his hair, pulling it down as far as it would go. Useless. It barely reached the tops of his ears. It would take a while to grow out.

There was no choice but to use the hair removal gel he’d found in the drawer. It wasn't expired and still had the safety seal.

He shook the bottle, another Masaru Beauty product, and followed the instructions on the side. It smelled awful, but within minutes, his face was smooth.

Why was it effeminate to use this stuff? It was so much more convenient.

Stupid gender shit.

He left the bathroom feeling slightly better about getting rid of the itchy beard. The smell of the gel still clung to his skin, but it was better than the razor.

He chugged a glass of water and downed a few crackers to settle his stomach. The food sat heavy in his gut, but after a few minutes he felt less lightheaded.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t fall over, he headed outside .

The air hit him like a wet blanket—heavy, humid, and full of the scent of rust and trash. He was getting the hang of his small area of the Division and could navigate a few of the levels without getting lost now.

It all looked the same at first: concrete walls and narrow fetid paths. But the details were starting to stand out, like a rusted pipe overhead with faded stickers, or a nest of wires in the corner.

The wires bothered him the most. They were everywhere—dangling, coiled, sometimes frayed and sparking. How people weren’t electrocuted daily was a mystery.

Trash piled wherever people felt like dumping it, but one area of the Division had turned into a semi-official pit. You didn’t need a map to find it—just follow the smell. A rot that burned the back of your throat.

After a couple wrong turns, he finally found the station.

Kimmie was sitting under the tree out front, reading something on the tablet in her lap. She glanced up as he approached and her stern expression softened.

She wore a light gray tank top and dark plum tactical pants, her wiry tan arms on full display.

“What information can you give me on the guy you’re looking for?” he asked.

“Not much.” She shrugged. “Asshole calls the stuff ‘Revive’ and preys on people trying to get rid of their scars.”

“How do they contact him?”

“He infiltrates the mirror ads and gives them a code to scan. It pulls up a site for them to purchase it, he sends a drop point, and then he’s gone.

The code grabs their bank info and pulls the credits when they pick it up.

” She narrowed her eyes. “And yes, we’ve tried to do a sting, but he always knows it’s us. ”

“Have you tried to track the account?”

“Yep. Untrackable. Same with the ads. The money gets filtered out to a bunch of fake names that buy credit keys. ”

“Do you know anyone who can participate in a new sting? Someone who’s used the serum already would be ideal.”

She swallowed hard. “Why not you?”

“A repeat customer is less suspicious.”

Reluctantly, she said, “My mom.”

This problem was personal, apparently. “When can we meet with her?”

“Now. Just wait here for a minute so I can call her.”

Kimmie tapped her tablet and wandered around the grassy park while she spoke. When she tapped her ear to hang up, she gestured for him to follow her.

They walked down a rickety corridor and up and down sets of stairs. The smell was more pleasant than some of the other areas. She must live far from the pit.

“Anything I should know before meeting your mom?”

“She’s dying,” she replied matter-of-factly.

He glanced in her direction, but she kept her eyes forward. “The serum?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s her own fault.” She waved a hand. “I told her it was fake, but she wouldn’t listen.”

They reached a set of apartments tucked under an awning with vines growing up and around the rusted railings.

Please have air conditioning.

Kimmie unlocked the door with her thumb. As it swung open he was hit by a small wave of cool air.

Oh, thank God.

They removed their shoes and he took in the modest, yet meticulously clean interior. There was hardly an item out of place or a speck of dust to be seen.

“Ma? ”

Kimmie treaded slowly. He followed her, careful not to bump anything. They found her lying on a couch in the living room with an arm draped over her face. Long, pale blonde hair cascaded over the edge, and her skin was the same light brown as Kimmie’s.

Kimmie knelt at the side of the couch and gently nudged her arm. “Ma?”

She stirred and pulled her arm away, revealing a deep scar between the left side of her nose and cheek. The skin looked off, like it had been burned. Her eyes, the same green as Kimmie’s, were heavy with the burden of staying open.

The tired eyes wandered to Kimmie’s bare arm. “Kim, where did this happen?”

Gordon looked over and saw a small scratch.

“I bumped into a vine.”

Her mother’s pale brows came together. “Well, you need to fix it. I’ve been telling you that your job is too dangerous. You need to stop playing around and get a safer one.”

Kimmie sighed before standing back up. “Mom, this is Gordon. He’s helping the enforcers track down the Revive guy.”

Her head snapped to where Gordon was standing before she flung herself off the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me we’re having company?”

She stormed out of the room, and a door slammed down the hall.

Kimmie crossed her arms. “The serum is ruining her memory.”

She reappeared moments later, her hair combed and a thick layer of makeup applied over the scar. Plastering on a smile, she said graciously, “I’m Layela Alphito.” She gestured for him to have a seat, and he carefully sank down onto the cushions that were still warm.

She turned to Kimmie and pursed her lips. “Kim, I taught you better than this. Bring our guest something to drink.”

“Really, there’s no need,” Gordon interjected. “I’m sorry to impose on you.”

She waved him off. “It’s rude to leave even an uninvited guest thirsty. ”

Her accent and striking appearance made him curious about where they came from. Immigration was rare since the city closed. The few natural blondes in Teichus usually had fair skin. He had assumed that Kimmie’s hair was dyed, but Layela’s was the same silvery golden color.

Kimmie huffed and left the room while Layela looked Gordon over. “Now, why is it that you’re here again?”

Kimmie returned, setting down a pitcher of lemon water and pouring three glasses. Gordon inclined his head in thanks and replied, “I wanted to ask if you would order Revive for me. I’m new to Eight and can’t get the code to work. I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

Layela’s perfectly manicured eyebrows rose. “Of course.” She smiled. “Good for you, taking the initiative to improve such a horrific eyesore.”

Kimmie’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Gordon held up a finger to stop her.

He forced a smile, though he could feel it was lopsided—probably not as amiable as he’d hoped.

“Thank you. My scar is fresh, and I’ve heard it’s best used early on.

Would you be able to place the order now? ”

Layela’s expression was pleased as she retrieved her tablet from an end table. She was about to sit back down when Gordon asked, “Would you mind showing me the process? That way, I won’t have to bother you again.”

The corners of her mouth hitched up. “Yes, but I’m shocked that someone your age isn’t more savvy with these things.”

“I thought we were the same age.”

She rolled her eyes, but the satisfaction underneath was plain as day.

Layela took the seat next to him, maintaining a respectable distance. He watched as she opened an application and placed the order, which would deduct twenty-five credits from her account upon pick up. Then she navigated to a separate page showing the drop location on an attached map.

He held out a hand. “May I? ”

She handed him the tablet, and he discreetly plugged in a key. Pretending to not understand, he swiped through the map while the hidden key copied the data. Once it was loaded, he pulled the key and handed the tablet back.

“Thank you for your time, Layela.” He passed her a key containing fifty credits. “Your next order will be on me.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “You are too sweet. I’m sure the serum will bring back your looks. I can tell you were a handsome one before your incident.”

Gordon stood and said his farewells before leaving the apartment with Kimmie in tow.

Once outside, he leaned against a wall and pulled up the map on his tablet.

Kimmie’s cheeks were slightly pink. “Sorry about the stuff my mom said. She’s always been obsessed with looks, but she’s getting more… mean.”

Gordon exhaled sharply. “A man I knew for almost a decade stuck a knife in my mouth and left me for dead on the side of the road. A few comments from a dying woman are nothing.” Nothing Layela had said came close to the things he muttered at the mirror.

Kimmie bit her lip and nodded.

“I take it she wasn’t too happy when you became an enforcer?”

She laughed dryly. “I don’t know if she was more pissed about the danger or having to cut my hair.”

“Probably the danger, if that’s how she reacted to a scratch.”

Kimmie wrinkled her nose. “I hate the smell of Rapiderm after practically swimming in it for years. My mom was hit by a piece of glass when someone shattered a window next to her and my sister. She hid in our apartment until someone found out and the landlord kicked her out. Then, she tried to convince our dad to keep us in Six, but the asshole took off, and we had to move too. Ever since dad left, she loses it over the tiniest imperfection. ”

“Becoming an enforcer is an interesting way to rebel.”

She rolled her eyes. “I joined so I could make enough money to take care of my mom and sister.” Crossing her arms, she added, “And because I care about these people. It’s bullshit that something like a scar on your face means you have to live here.”

“You’ll find no argument from me.”

After a pause, she said, “Well, good job flirting with my mom. I’m sure she’ll want to invite you back over.”

“People are usually more cooperative when they’re happy.”

Kimmie’s eyes lingered on him, as if assessing.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She looked away. “When will the serum be at the drop?”

“Noon tomorrow. I think you should stay clear of the area. I’ll show up early to start the sweep.”

“Want me to show you the way back home?”

He flipped his tablet around, showing her the screen—a maze of pathways with a winding line tracing his steps.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” He couldn’t find a map of the place, so he started making his own, tracking his routes each time he left the apartment and labeling key locations.

He pushed away from the wall and followed the path. “See you tomorrow.”

Fixed to the spot with her arms still crossed, she muttered, “Yeah. See ya.”