It was late in the evening on December 20 when Dispatch threw me a bone.

  fourth_wall: I have an assignment for you, Somerville. That is, if you’re up for it.

  max: I’m fine. Send me the fare. Hoping this isn’t my last chance?

  There was a long pause before the fare came through. I didn’t love that fourth_wall hadn’t responded to my question, but then again, I hadn’t been entirely honest in my own response. I hoped that this fare wouldn’t require anything more from me than running someone over. I wasn’t sure I could handle a chase or dealing with shades in my current state.

  New Fare Assigned!

  Target: Abigail Hunter

  Profession: Unemployed

  Location: Cambridge, Massachusetts

  The destination was uncomfortably close to my barracks headquarters, over by the Museum of Science. Based on the map, Abigail was likely traveling along the back roads near the Charles River. If I were unemployed, I could think of worse things to do than spend my time meandering along one of the most beautiful parts of the city.

  I did, in fact, love that dirty water, and looking at it now, I found myself humming the Standells’ famous punk song, eventually opening my mouth to sing “Oh, Boston, you’re my home…” Sure, I was technically in Cambridge, but the view looking across was that of Boston from the Zakim Bridge to the Citgo sign looming above Fenway, where Cam and I had often tried–sometimes successfully, but more often not–to sneak in to catch our beloved Red Sox in action.

  I was doing my best to keep a low profile. I had selected the Level 15 Dodge Dakota as my ride, on the off chance that Axel was lurking nearby and watching for the Ranger. I hadn’t activated any of the more obvious weapons, out of fear of being spotted by the authorities, but I had equipped all the passive upgrades. I’d also armed myself with a VP9 and Beretta from the mindfuck of a storage compartment in the truck bed. From outside, you couldn’t even tell the bed had a secret compartment, but inside, the space was cavernous, seemingly unending. It was like the John Wick version of the Bag of Holding Cam used to go on and on about in our teenage D&D sessions. We were so young then, I thought.

  I cut through East Cambridge, breathing slowly. I’d been lightheaded all day, and my body shook with tremors as I drove. My abdomen throbbed, reminding me that without my extraordinary magical death powers, I was just another poor asshole dying of cancer. Other than my physical discomfort, though, I felt…numb. I felt zero compassion for the person I was about to run over. What had been her name again? Something with an A, I knew. Abigail, maybe?

  East Cambridge had changed so much. The toxic soil from ten years ago had been encapsulated in concrete as the biotech industry sprang up. At this point, they had probably reached the end of the toxicity window. Either way, the area now was full of office buildings and laboratories that reached into the sky.

  I flicked my eyes around, relieved when I saw no sign of Axel. My chat was quiet, so it was just me, my truck, and my music. I swiped to open my real phone, pulling up Godsmack in the music app. I’d been listening to it on the radio during my last successful transfer, so maybe it would bring me luck. “I Stand Alone,” a tribute to myself as a monument of independence and self-reliance, began blasting from the truck’s speakers. I needed the reminder that being alone made me strong, even as I hurt from Lanie’s rejection.

  The lights of the city swirled by me as I passed behind the CambridgeSide mall to turn onto Cambridge Parkway, a frontage road that ran parallel to the main boulevard. This one-way street next to the river was where I would find my fare.

  A few people were still out, despite the lateness. Some were running along the river in groups of twos or threes. The less lucky were wrapped up in blankets, sleeping on the benches that lined the Parkway.

  I knew my fare the moment I saw her. She stood at the railing overlooking the water, her lips moving. What was she doing? Was she talking to herself? On her phone with earbuds, I couldn’t see? I slowed the car to a crawl, watching and taking in details.

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  No part of the 20-something woman looked homeless. Then again, being unemployed wasn’t the same as being homeless, I realized. Plus, I had no idea why she was unemployed. And did it even matter, given what I was here to do?

  I cruised the Dakota closer, taking in details. Abigail wore a high-end coat, one of those puffy black ones that seemed to be everywhere this year, though it had an odd shape I wasn’t used to seeing. Her long blonde hair was smoothed back into a sleek ponytail. From a distance, I could see a carefully made-up, attractive face, further cementing my opinion that job or no job, this was a woman who cared about her appearance.

  My foot hovered over the gas, watching as she closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sky, her lips still moving. Was she singing? I wasn’t sure what was happening, but a bad feeling had begun to creep over me. She took a step up onto the railing. Her hands had moved to the top of the barrier, and I realized my suspicions were right…Abigail was about to throw herself over the railing and into the Charles.

  I looked again at her coat, realizing what was strange about it. The hem hung low on her body, pulling at the pockets. I suspected that if she was successful in her suicide attempt, her body would be recovered with the weights still settled where she’d placed them to make sure she’d sink below the waterline before anyone could come to her rescue.

  It was strange, given my nocturnal profession, but the parts of me that had made me want to be a State Trooper kicked in. I desperately wanted to rescue her from the finality of suicide, to at least give her a fighting chance. So I did the only thing I could think of…What I had come there to do in the first place. I pressed my foot on the gas.

  As the truck barreled toward Abigail, our eyes locked. Hers widened in surprise, then in fear, and finally in regret and acceptance. The truck slammed into her at an angle, sending her body bouncing up and over the roof to land in a heap behind me.

  I slammed on the brakes, breathing hard as I jerked to a stop on the sidewalk next to the riverside parkway. In the rearview, I saw a bundled bench sleeper bolting upright. I pressed my foot back on the gas, winding my way back onto the parkway and upriver to where I could meet Memorial Drive and get off this one-way street. My plan was to head deeper into Cambridge and put some distance between myself and my barracks.

  That was the plan, at least. It went to shit the moment a dark figure shot out from below the front of my truck. Another shade! Even as I groaned, I felt my body flooding with new energy. Simply completing the assigned fare had obviously returned me to the pink of health. That is, if undead Uber drivers could be in the pink of health. Was I undead, I wondered? Not a question I found myself wanting to dwell on.

  When the shade flew from under my ride and over the river, toward Beacon Hill, I abandoned my plan to head north, choosing instead to follow the shade over the Longfellow Bridge. I may have broken a dozen or so traffic laws to do so, but traffic was light at the moment, and I wasn’t too worried about being pulled over.

  My Elysium Pro buzzed with notifications that I could also see from the corner of my mind. I was pretty sure it was a level notification. Level 20 would supposedly give me access to the last vehicle available within the “Basic Pickups & Sedans” category. I chased the shade, mostly ignoring the notifications rolling by. Only one caught my attention, an upgrade called Drone Scout. Sweet!

  I hadn’t realized the notifications were distracting me until I was almost on top of a jaywalking pedestrian. I swerved, narrowly missing the side mirror of a parked car. I glanced in the rearview to see the man standing near the edge of the street, his hand raised in a middle-fingered salute. Even as I careened away at an insane 65 mph on the normally sleepy Charles St, I could see his mouth moving in what I guessed was a profanity-filled tirade.

  Damn it! I was losing the shade in the buildings up on the hill. There was no way I could keep up on the narrow one-way streets.

  I pulled up the mental link to my Endr system and opened the map, toggling on the Termina Signature so I could see exactly where the shade was heading. My only chance was to try to get to the other side of Beacon Hill, where Charles turned into a one-way, before the shade could. It would be close.

  Another blip appeared on the map. I glanced at it, confused. A third blip appeared, then a fourth. Still more appeared, all headed toward Government Center.

  “Holy shit, I muttered. “What are you bastards up to?” I turned the wheel, preparing for the race across Beacon Hill. My foot eased up on the gas when a chat notification popped up.

  songbird: Max, I need help. I may have gotten myself into some trouble. Please come. Sending you my location.

  I skidded to a halt at Beacon Street, torn. The shades were congregating in the Government Center area, to my left. But Lanie’s location in the Theater District was just over a mile away in the South End…the opposite direction. I hesitated. I desperately wanted to find out where the shades were going. But this was Lanie. She could take care of herself, so if she was asking for my help…I didn’t know what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into, but it had to be bad.

  Whether or not she returned my interest, I cared about her. I yanked the wheel and set my sights on one of the hippest parts of the city, one where I’d spent very little time. Maybe tonight would bring me a little more culture, and maybe, just maybe, I would also get the girl in the end.

  - - -

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