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Mike pulled out his cigarette packet again, taking one.
 
The finger of flame from his lighter reflected off his eyes as he looked at Zacharies.
 
He blew the smoke at the ceiling.
 
“Do I look like your
chai wallah
?”

“It’s not that, Mike,” said Zacharies.
 
“Clearance, remember?
 
Your… assholes?
 
Yes, your assholes here won’t let me go to the toilet without a minder.
 
I can’t even get toilet paper from the dispenser without a code.
 
Which feels strange.”
 
He frowned.
 
“I didn’t know what toilet paper was until two days ago.”
 
He held out a hand for the coilgun.

“Fine, fine,” said Mike, and walked to the edge of the range, opening a door out into the firing zone.
 
Zacharies turned away, his back facing the range.
 
He hefted the coilgun, listening to the sound behind him of Mike shifting and moving mannequins into position.

“You got them setup yet?”

“I guess—” Mike stopped as Zacharies hefted the weapon over his shoulder, and —
each mannequin stood, the plaster of the bodies hewn from old stone, riverbeds washing the lime down from the mountains.
 
A man stood, the flesh of his body warm, surrounding the furnace of bright technology, the beat of his heart, the blood in his veins moving faster
— pulled the trigger five times, the coilgun’s whine followed by a crack of plaster.

“Jesus Christ!” said Mike.
 
“I’m gonna—”
 
He stopped speaking as Zacharies turned around, eyes still closed, and opened them.

“Five targets,” he said.
 
“Five targets, and one… friend.
 
I didn’t see you set them up.
 
I didn’t use my
eyes
.
 
Five hits, no misses.
 
I didn’t shoot you. And you were moving around there pretty fast.
 
Do you believe?”

“I believe I’m going to punch you in the face,” said Mike.
 
He walked around a broken target back to the edge of the range.
 
“I’m actually going to hurt you.”

Zacharies shrugged.
 
“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Yeah?” said Mike, his face close, eyes bright.

“Yes,” said Zacharies, holding out the coilgun.
 
Mike looked at it, then walked back out of the firing range to take it.
 
“Wait here.”

“Wait…
 
Wait here?
 
Where are you going?”
 
Mike looked down at the coilgun.
 
“You want me to shoot you in the face instead of punching you?”

A small smile tugged at Zacharies’ lips.
 
“I want you to believe.”
 
He walked past the gate to the range, stepping out into the fire zone.
 
“Turn around.”

“No,” said Mike.

“Turn around, Mike.
 
You don’t believe.
 
Not yet.”

He saw Mike swallow, then turn around.
 
Zacharies continued to walk around the range.
 
“Fire whenever you’re ready.”

“I…
 
I might hit you.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“You might.
 
Your technology, remember?
 
Place your faith in that.”

“I can’t
see
,” said Mike.
 
His back was to Zacharies, head tipped forward to look at the coilgun in his hands.
 
“I—”

“It’s ok,” said Zacharies.
 
“It’s going to be ok.”

“I don’t want to punch you in the face.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I can hear your footsteps, but the error margin—”

“I know.”
 
Zacharies continued to step around the range, placing his feet with care around the edges of broken plaster.
 
“I trust you.”
 
He walked until he stood directly between Mike and one of the targets.
 
He closed his eyes, breathing in, the smell of plaster dust and something sharp and acrid around him.

Fear
.
 
Mike was afraid.

“Ok,” said Mike, something scratching the edge of his voice.
 
“Ok.”
 
He pulled the trigger, five whines from the coilgun, and…

Four cracks.
 
A groan from Zacharies.

Mike spun around as Zacharies opened his eyes, hand out in front of him.
 
The coilgun round hung in the air, and there were lines tracked through the dust where Zacharies’ feet had been pushed back.

Zacharies smiled despite the strain.
 
“Do you believe now?”

“How did—”
 
Mike looked out over the range, the coilgun round still hanging in the air before it dropped with a plink to the floor.
 
“How did you—”

“I wasn’t sure I could,” said Zacharies.
 
“I don’t think I could do that more than once or twice.”

“You just stopped a fucking bullet.
 
In the air.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.

“You stood in the way—” Mike’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
 
“I could have shot you, kid.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“But you needed to
see
.”

“See?”

“When I came here, I didn’t believe in angels,” said Zacharies.
 
“But I believed in demons.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” said Mike.

Zacharies walked back out of the range.
 
He reached out a hand for the coilgun, Mike handing it over.
 
“No, I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No.”
 
Zacharies looked at the weapon, turning it over in his hands.
 
“Angels didn’t make this.”

“That’s right,” said Mike.
 
“A bunch of assholes in R&D came up with that one.”

Zacharies watched as Mike ran a hand through his hair, a slight shake in the movement.
 
“Are you ok?”

“Hit the overtime then,” said Mike.
 
“I’ll be fine.”

“Overtime?”

“It’s another non-angel magic trick,” said Mike.
 
“I’ll show you one day.
 
Just not today.”
 
He turned and looked down the range.
 
“I could have killed you, kid.
 
Don’t do that again.”

“Do you believe now?”
 
Zacharies looked at Mike’s back.

Mike stopped, head bowed, shoulders hunched.
 
“I don’t believe in angels, kid.
 
Or demons.
 
Or magic tricks.”

“What do you believe in?”

“I don’t know.”
 
Mike sighed.
 
“Something else now, more or less.”

“But not angels.”
 
Zacharies frowned.
 
“The Reed drug.”

“Yeah?”
 
Mike turned around to him, leaning back against the rail.
 
“What about it?”

“It’s made by demons,” said Zacharies.
 
“Don’t drink it.”

“All this was so you could tell me that?”
 
Mike looked at his shoes, the black leather buffed to a mirror finish.
 
“You could have just said.”

“I tried that,” said Zacharies.
 
“You didn’t believe.”

“Fair play,” said Mike.
 
“Fair play.”

“Promise me, Mike,” said Zacharies.
 
“Promise me you won’t drink it.
 
Or touch anyone who has.”

“Why not?
 
Why’s it so important to you?”

“Because the demon lives in water,” said Zacharies.
 
“I thought you would have worked it out by now.”

“It lives in…”
 
Mike trailed off.
 
“The rain.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.

“We can fix that,” said Mike.
 
“We spin out your blood.”

“Spin out…”
 
Zacharies stopped.
 
“What does that mean?”

“We take the blood out of you, put it in a centrifuge, and—”

“What’s a centrifuge?”

Mike looked at him.
 
“You really were born in a barn, weren’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Never mind.”
 
Mike sighed.
 
“Ok.
 
We shake your blood really hard, and all the crap that’s not blood comes out of it.”

“Oh,” said Zacharies.
 
“Laia can do that.”

Mike blinked at him.
 
“You can’t?”

“No.”
 
Zacharies looked at his feet, covered by shoes, comfortable and soft.
 
He’d never had something so fine before.
 
“She’s stronger than I am.”

Mike looked back down the range.
 
“I’d like to see that.”

Zacharies grabbed his arm.
 
“Promise me.”

“The drug.”

“Yes.”

Mike nodded.
 
“Ok, kid.
 
I promise.
 
I’ll get an order out.
 
No one in the syndicate will take it.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

“No,” said Mike.
 
“Sorry.”

Zacharies gripped Mike’s arm harder.
 
“Then we must be vigilant.”

Mike grabbed Zacharies hand, pulling it away, gentle but firm.
 
“Kid?
 
It’s going to be ok.”

“No,” said Zacharies.
 
“No, it’s not.
 
The Master is here, and he has his demon.
 
Laia and I aren’t strong enough to stop him.
 
Heaven will
fall
.”

Mike laughed.
 
“I doubt that,” he said.

“Why?
 
What’s going to stop him?”

“It’s simple,” said Mike.
 
“The syndicates will.
 
The world falling over?
 
There’s no margin in it.”

“It’s not often a suit drinks like this for breakfast,” said Sadie, leaning back into her chair.
 
Mason could see a smudge of oil or grease on her chin.
 
He wanted to lean forward to wipe it clean.

Instead, he swirled his drink.
 
“You know many suits?”

“I know the type.”
 
She jerked her head back inside.
 
“Is she okay?”

Mason frowned, looking towards the new day sun, low in the sky.
 
“No.”

“She’s not?”
 
Sadie looked at her glass.
 
“She got hungover for nothing.”

“She’s not hungover.”
 
Mason threw back the rest of his drink, then stood up.
 
“That comes later.”

“You not staying, company man?”
 
Sadie wasn’t looking at him.
 
She had her head resting on a hand, looking towards the same dawn.

“Oh, I’m staying,” said Mason.
 
“We need more scotch.”

“Don’t take long,” said Sadie to his back as he walked inside.
 
He liked that she didn’t say anything about him walking in the wrong direction.

The inside of their little base was dark, and his optics adjusted for the light.
 
Haraway wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
 
Laia was curled up in a corner on the floor, dead to the world.
 
Mason snared the worn blanket she’d kicked off, pulling it up around the girl’s chin as he covered her.

It was a heavy thing, killing someone.
 
Mason’t didn’t much think it mattered at all if you knew them.
 
When the light went out in their eyes, you collected another ghost to follow you around until the end of your days.
 
He figured it was important that —

The taste of the liquor was still sharp in his mouth, but the effects were muted.
 
He remembered one time when a rival agent tried to use a neurotoxin on him.
 
The lab had said it was derived from box jellyfish, and the burn had been like having molten metal poured through his veins.
 
Seconds after the dart had hit, he’d bounced back to his feet and shot the agent.
 
Bullets weren’t fancy, but they got the job done in a more predictable way.
 
The bionics let a little alcohol through — the techs knew they needed some release — but it took real effort to get drunk.

If you can take an intravenous neurotoxin, alcohol’s not going to do the heavy lifting you need, Floyd
.
 
Still, he could try.

What was important was that Laia not have to carry that ghost around for him.
 
He pushed a strand of hair away from the girl’s face, then got back to his feet.

⚔ ⚛ ⚔

Mason set down a couple new bottles on the rickety table in front of Sadie.
 
She raised an eyebrow at him.
 
“Just two?”

He shrugged, then sat down in the chair next to her again.
 
The sun was a little higher in the sky.
 
“I didn’t want to overload you.”

Sadie snagged one of the bottles, sloshing a generous pour into their glasses.
 
“Where’s the doctor?”

“Not here,” he said, picking up his glass.
 
“Not in there, either.”

“Good,” she said.
 
“I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

“What’s a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?”

He saw the smile she tried to hide quirk at her mouth.
 
“Why’d you do it?”