Page 3 of Jump or Fall

Mara

N ot much light was coming through the window. How long was she out? It didn’t matter. The throbbing in her head was agonizing.

She forced herself upright, which triggered the dim evening lights. The change in position sent a wave of nausea through her.

Breathe.

She tried—then bolted to the bathroom, stumbling over her feet in the process.

Once the retching subsided, she rinsed her mouth, avoiding the mirror entirely. The ads would probably have a fucking field day if the screen caught a glimpse of her.

She grabbed the mending kit from a drawer and the bottle from the counter before making her way back to the living room.

She tossed the kit and bottle on the table with a dull thud. The bottle rattled as it rolled across the smooth surface.

Today should have been the day.

From the fridge, she retrieved a MealShake. Actual food crossed her mind, but just the thought made her stomach uneasy again.

She took a tentative sip of the shake.

Fuck it, she needed something stronger .

After two large gulps, she poured herself a glass of whiskey. The first swallow burned all the way down, making her cough, but the warmth that followed made that tension in her shoulders loosen ever so slightly.

She made her way back to the living room.

Her bag sat near the couch, with the small bottle of white pills resting at the top.

Skiff. The sedative’s effects made it feel as if you were drifting out at sea—not that many people in this city would even know what that felt like.

Dawson always slipped them into her bag after a stripe.

In the early days, she wouldn’t have hesitated to pop a few.

Now, they left her too muddled to do her job.

She emptied the small bottle into the larger one on the table. Then, she dug through her bag for her tablet.

Why not take them all now?

Refocusing.

No new messages. Good.

She entered the specs and measurements for Jasper the Dickhead’s suit. It was a standard enforcer build. Nothing special.

As she went through the motions, she took another drink.

The whiskey scorched her throat, but she welcomed the heat as it spread through her chest, up to her face, and even to her fingertips.

She rubbed them together, imagining how it would feel to have the implants—the ability to slash someone with just a thought, controlled by a chip in her head.

No wonder even the lowest-ranking Silver could go on a power trip if there was a remote chance he could have them someday.

Something wet touched her arm.

Oh, the bandage covering the new stripe had soaked through. Great. At least the shirt was dark so there wouldn’t be a stain. If she had bothered to eat today, maybe she wouldn’t have fainted and could’ve taken care of it earlier.

She shrugged off her button-down, revealing dried flakes of blood scattered across her scarred hips. How many shirts held invisible stains from how often she bled on them ?

She took an antiseptic wipe and cleaned herself off. The cuts weren’t deep—not like the new stripe carved into the back of her left arm.

“Easier for you to stitch, doll.”

So kind of him.

Mara shook the can of Rapiderm medi-spray and coated the jagged cuts. Dawson was a major shareholder for Ascleon Therapeutics, the company behind both Rapiderm and the SynThera healing infusion. Nothing like keeping up the demand for your own products.

The familiar sting spread across her skin as it worked, rapidly closing the wounds. Fresh scabs faded into dark new scars, stark against the older, silvery-white ones.

Would Jasper have stopped if he’d gotten far enough to see them? The long, pale threads of scar tissue tracing from her hips to her lower back marked her as the property of a high-ranking Silver.

As the Secretary’s nephew, he probably thought he was above their code. Idiot. Even Dawson played by his own fucked-up rules.

She pulled on a tank top she’d found on the couch. The saturated bandage fell off the new stripe with hardly any effort. She cleaned the wound with gauze then affixed the stitcher. Rapiderm was good for minor cuts, but stripes were usually deeper.

The device clamped down with a sharp pinch. She bit her lip, then pressed the button. With a quick swipe, the wound was closed.

She tossed the stitcher into the sanitizer and leaned back, closing her eyes for just a moment—

A creak came from the direction of her bedroom.

It almost sounded like a footstep.

Her eyes flew open.

“Who’s here?”

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows into the dimly lit living room. He was dressed in all-black motorbike gear, though he had no helmet. His wavy shoulder-length hair was wild and swept to one side.

The man’s voice was a low rumble. “I want to buy a suit. ”

Her pulse hammered erratically. “Then make an appointment like everyone else.”

He stepped forward slowly, hands open. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible.” He took a seat in the armchair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Mara shifted to the far edge of the couch. Now it was obvious why he couldn’t walk into Hyperion—he shouldn’t even be in Division Two. A jagged scar ran from the corner of his mouth nearly to his right ear.

She subtly searched around for a weapon, but the only things within reach were the glass and a small pair of scissors from the kit. Maybe she could run for the door and call for help.

But then Dawson would know another man had been in her apartment.

The stranger followed her wandering eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need a suit.”

“Who are you?”

“My name isn’t important. What matters is your discretion. Do you have a separate tablet from the one you use for work?”

Her stomach flipped. This had to be a trap.

She shot up to her feet and pointed at the door. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

He put his hands up. “Okay, I see I touched a nerve. I only ask because your tablet has spyware installed. I traced it to a tablet registered to a piece of shit named D. Knight.”

She still didn’t trust this man, even with the insults against Dawson.

“Why would I help you?”

His scarred cheek twitched. “Because I think we want the same thing—to root out the Silvers and destroy them.”

“Why would I want that?” Her eyes continued to dart around the room, searching for a way out of the situation .

He stood up from the chair and stepped closer. She almost backed away, but she was tired of being pushed around. Maybe he would kill her, and it would all be over.

Instead of hurting her, he stopped and pointed at her fresh wound. “I don’t believe you’ve accepted this as just part of life.”

Mara locked eyes with him, searching for the truth. He was tall and intimidating at first glance, but something about him was disarming. His dark brown irises held intensity, but also an unexpected softness.

She shook her head. “I can’t help you. If you’re telling the truth, then you know what he does to people.”

“I’m aware.” His brows lifted. “That’s why he needs to be eliminated. We need your help.”

She laughed bitterly. “Thank you, strange man, who broke into my home. I’m convinced.

I’ll risk facial mutilation and whatever else the head of fucking state security can think of to help a man who won’t even tell me his name.

” She pointed at her arm. “You know why I got this one today? I hit his disgusting nephew who’s about to become an enforcer.

That’s what I got for defending myself. Do you know how much worse it would’ve been if I hadn't fought back?”

The stranger studied her with a flat expression.

Finally, in a gentle voice he said, “Gordon Rusu.”

“Okay, Gordon. Now tell me—who are you, and how do you intend to ‘eliminate’ them?”

He paused, thinking about how to answer. “I know the system inside and out—including how to exploit the flaws. We plan to disentangle the web of control by exposing their spies and taking them out. While doing so, we cripple their ability to retaliate.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“I can’t share that unless you become involved beyond selling me a suit.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, weighing her options .

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” he added, “but we’re on the same side. I’m only asking for a suit. Nothing more.”

She sank back onto the couch, finishing her whiskey and chasing it with the shake. The combination was vile, but she needed the energy. Something about yelling at this man made her feel a little lighter—or maybe it was drinking on an empty stomach.

If Gordon had wanted to hurt her, he would have done so by now. She’d been unconscious when he came in. Getting involved in his scheme, though—that would be dangerous. Even if it was something as small as a suit.

She turned his words over in her mind. Why did she even care? She’d been teetering on the edge, wishing it all would end, but too afraid to actually jump.

Perhaps the jump didn’t have to mean swallowing the collection of pills on the table. Maybe she could do something worth more after years of complacency.

Mara peered up at the scarred man observing her. His face might as well have been carved from stone for all it conveyed. “Gordon, do you drink whiskey?”

If he was taken aback, it didn’t show. He wordlessly retrieved the bottle and a second glass from the kitchen.

He set the glass down beside hers, along with a box of crackers, and filled both glasses before retreating to the armchair.

Why’d he bring food out? Oh, he was here when she was throwing up.

Heat crept up her neck.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, keeping her eyes lowered.

“I came in sometime after you started your… rest on the floor. I made sure you were still breathing, then did a bug sweep while I waited for you to come around.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. All this effort to maintain the image of someone put together, and now a total stranger had seen under her mask. Had he been watching when she took her shirt off ?

Shame burned through her skin. It was like she’d been stripped bare.

Maybe he didn’t see anything.

“How did you get past the cameras?” she asked, desperate to change focus. “How’d you even get in?”

“The cameras aren’t real and I have an override key.”

“What does that mean, the cameras aren’t real?”

“High-ranking Silvers like Knight keep their schedules unpredictable and avoid being on camera too often. It makes them harder to track. The false cameras give you the illusion of being watched—and the other tenants, the illusion of safety.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Expertise from a previous life.” He must have sensed her sudden apprehension because he added, “No, I have never been a Silver.”

Even if he had been, he couldn’t be anymore with that scar.

She grabbed a cracker and nibbled on the end. The whiskey was making her queasy.

“I don’t know how you know about me,” she muttered, “but I’m sure none of this is what you expected.”

“Information circulates about the Silvers’ dealings with Hyperion.

But ultimately, you’re the Master Tailor, and your suits have been integral to their success.

That’s known beyond the city walls.” He drained his glass, tilting his head slightly to the side as he swallowed.

“As for what I expected, I had no real idea in mind.”

She rested her head in her hands, pressing her palms against her eyes. “Not trying to sound arrogant, but why not kill me to slow their advancement? I could be classified as a Silver spy. Taking out his propped-up whore would send quite the message.”

Silence.

She looked up, half hoping this was all some delirium and that the chair would be empty.

Instead, he was staring intently at her.

“You aren’t his anything. ”

She stifled the urge to roll her eyes and sighed. “What’s this suit you need so badly?”

Clearing his throat, he pulled a tablet from his coat, swiped a few times, then set it on the coffee table.

She picked it up and skimmed through the specifications. A modified enforcer suit with additional panels on the gauntlets. The diagrams were filled with detailed notes on integration.

The mock-up was too accurate.

“Where did you get an enforcer suit?”

“Uh, there was an unfortunate accident last month. The opportunity arose to take one for research.”

Mara mentally sorted through recent reports involving enforcers.

If one died or a suit was damaged beyond repair, Hyperion salvaged the materials.

They were too costly to discard. An arson near the Outskirts had killed two enforcers and damaged the suit of a third.

Only two suits had been recovered with the report stating the third was beyond salvageability.

Well, he proved his ability to exploit a flaw.

“What are these panels you’re trying to install?”

“Remote detonators and a screen I can program for various purposes.”

She set the tablet in her lap. “Remote detonators?”

“For explosives.”

“Aren’t you worried about hurting innocent people in all this?”

He shrugged. “We try to minimize the risk to the public, but sometimes it can’t be helped.”

She scratched her head and bit into another cracker. “One last thing—at least for now.”

“Payment?”

“I have a suit that I use for testing. I want you to install the panels in my gauntlets as well.”

His face broke into a crooked smile. “Welcome to the resistance.”