With a fast reflex, I jumped over the car hood at the last minute, scaring the driver who stepped on the brakes, cursing at my back while I skated away, giving him the middle finger. Everyone was on edge; they knew Eoncity wouldn't let them get home so soon. On the corner of my view, I had the route and the loud music in my ears. I knew the train stations better than anywhere else—that included knowing paths that weren't exactly streets. Blending them together, my AI came up with a plan that would require a lot of energy but would get me there on time. If I didn't make it before the last train, I would be sleeping on a bench somewhere, and that meant waking with a cop boot to the stomach—and unfortunately, I could still feel the last one.
Running through the city made me think about my first pair of skates. The owner of a restaurant that I made deliveries for gave them to me. Even years later, I still remember the moment. He didn't mean it as a gift—still, it was the first time somebody gave me anything. It was an old model with the skates attached to the boots; you had to wear them like shoes and couldn't switch the wheels. My knees had open wounds for weeks before I learned how to effectively skate around without falling. Those wheels were stuck on my feet for a year. That's how long it took me to gather the money to buy a newer model with detachable skates that I could put on my sneakers and take off whenever I needed to enter a building to drop a package.
Doing deliveries saved me from starving and gave me a place to sleep. The restaurant was open 24 hours; I worked the night shifts, and the owner let me sleep in the small storage during the day. To think that such a simple thing changed my life—they got me so much and would get me home. There was only one thing standing in my way: stairs. Halfway through, there was a bridge that could save me time, but it came with a lifetime's worth of stairs that went over the highway I had to cross—and God, my lungs were already struggling.
As I reached it, I retracted the wheels and began my escalation. At first, I was proud of my pace—strong, two steps at a time, a real champion—but as I looked up and saw five more levels, I saved my breath and accepted defeat. While climbing the infinite steps to elderly life, I glanced over the GPS route. Almost there. At the top, I checked my screen—15 minutes to the last train. I rolled like lightning to the other side, ran down the stairs as if the cops were after me. Back on the ground, with wheels back on for the second time—one last check: 9 minutes to the train. I could do it.
Going as fast as I could with the last bit of energy I had, I watched the train arrive at the station. On my left, I had the highways that connect the four sides of the city; on my right, residential buildings. Popping ads for prosthetics illuminated my path along with the light posts lined up from the footbridge to the station, painting everything blue below. With all my strength, I was skating towards my goal when sparkling red lights parked at the refuge in front of me. I started to slow down the closer I got, already cursing the gods in silence.
"Hands up!"
Said an aggressive voice belonging to someone that had just gotten out of the police car. Popping, the siren's colors didn't let me see the person's face, but I didn't need that to know there was a gun pointed at me. So I did what I was told. With my hands up, I was about five meters away from the car.
"I'm just going home."
"Shut up! Walk towards me, slowly."
I knew that attitude. That cop was out for blood.
"Sir, I'm not armed. I was running to get the train, I'm sorry."
"I said shut the fuck up!"
As I got within his reach, his face was covered by shadows. Abruptly, he pushed me against the car door, pulling my bag roughly. I didn't resist. He was armed and I wasn't. If I wanted to get out unharmed, I had to be smart and play it cool.
"What drugs are you carrying, you dirty little punk?" With one hand, he punched my ribs, pretending to search me.
"You people are disgusting. We should just bomb that whole place."
As his hands looked for weapons with slaps and kicks to make me open my legs wider, deep inside, I was trying to hold back—to not say anything stupid. Analyzing the situation: if something happened to either of us, no one would know how. It was the middle of the highway, it was dark, and it was just me and him.
With the right movement, I could throw him off the road parapet. It would be a glorious, deadly fall into the concrete. As he found nothing on me, the pig pushed me against the car just to hurt me. He would have to look in my bag, and that would be my chance.
"Who runs like that in the middle of the night if they aren't hiding anything…"
I could hear him stepping back to get my bag. He was only one meter away from the parapet. That was it. Ready to move, I lifted myself from the car when another set of blinding lights interrupted my attack.
Fuck me.