Chapter 2
chapter two
The cold bit down hard, sharp and unrelenting, burrowing beneath Christine’s jacket. The city smelled like damp pavement and exhaust, the distant hum of machinery filling the silence where voices used to be.
A freight unit rumbled past, cutting through half-frozen puddles, sending dirty slush spraying onto the curb. The roads weren’t empty, just quieter. The freights didn’t need people anymore. Silent, self-driving husks ferried cargo through the streets, sleek and unthinking.
Progress, they called it.
Christine tugged her sleeves down over her fingers, shoving her hands into her pockets. Maybe it was progress. Accidents were down. Streets were more efficient. Crime, supposedly, was at an all-time low.
And yet, the city felt more dangerous than ever.
She turned down an alley, not because she meant to, but because her feet knew the shortcuts better than her brain.
Then she saw them.
Two men in gray tactical jackets, faces half-covered with scarves. One was tearing down a rainbow poster, its edges curling where the adhesive fought to hold. The other was slapping up something new in its place.
Christine rolled her eyes when she saw the slogan:
TATE THE GREAT
Underneath, a stylized portrait of Governor Garrison Tate loomed, calm and polished as ever. His pale skin, sleek blond hair, and soft features made him look harmless, which was the whole point.
But it was the eye that made the image unsettling.
One was dark, warm, and human. The other? A cold, unnatural blue. Bright. Icy.
The design was deliberate, meant to send one message:
They’re watching.
Christine exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to stay steady. She should have walked away. But her mouth got ahead of her. “Nice work, boys. Really shaking up the system.”
The man with the glue roller flinched, whipping around to face her. His shorter, broader friend stilled, scanning her like he was already deciding if this would be a problem. “Keep walking,” Broad Guy said, voice low.
Christine didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, staring at the poster like she admired it. “This is a lot of effort,” she mused. “Did Daddy Tate send you out here personally, or are you just really passionate bootlickers?”
The glue guy stepped forward. “You think you’re funny?” he sneered.
Christine grinned. “No, I think you’re slow. The funny part’s obvious.”
He took another step forward. Too close, just close enough.
Gruit growled.
It wasn’t loud, but it was the kind of sound that cut straight through your instincts. The kind of warning that said don’t.
Glue Guy’s whole body jerked. He looked at Gruit properly now, surveying whether a threat existed.
“The fuck is that?”
Christine patted Gruit’s head, feeling the tension in his muscles. “This? This is my best friend. He’s also a huge fan of freedom of expression.” She flashed a wide, sharp smile. “You know. Like the kind where people don’t get their faces caved in for liking the wrong person.”
Broad Guy grabbed his friend’s sleeve. “Not worth it, dude.”
Glue Guy hesitated, glaring at her for a second longer. Then he spat at the torn rainbow poster, grabbed his roller, and turned away.
Christine almost let it go.
Almost.
But then she pulled a small, round sticker from her pocket, bright and obnoxiously rainbow, colors so vivid they practically glowed in the dim alley.
And, with the ease of someone waiting for this exact opportunity, she peeled off the backing and smacked it right over Tate’s cold blue eye.
Christine stepped back to admire her work. She barely contained her laugh as she muttered, “Fixed it.”
And then, the garbage freight came.
Glue Guy took one step too far, right into the road, and the truck nearly clipped his ass.
The self-driving unit didn’t even slow down. It just kept moving, indifferent to his very existence.
He flung back, stumbling into Broad Guy, who caught him at the last second.
Christine burst out laughing. “Guess Tate’s new world order doesn’t include looking both ways.”
Glue Guy whipped around, furious. “Shut the fuck up!”
But Christine was already grinning, already backing away, already grabbing Gruit’s leash.
“C’mon, buddy,” she said, voice light, casual. “Before we get arrested.”
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