John Ridley: Those Who Walk in Darkness

He started with: "Hey, Bui—," stopping himself very quickly."Sorry about th—"

"It's all right." She didn't bother to look up from the delicate surgery she was performing on a slug.

The cop, nervous: "That was a hell of a job you did on that telepath. The telepath and the metal morpher."

"Thanks."

"Shame about losing a man and all, but still, one out of four isn't… that's a solid way to come out of things. One and a half, I guess, the way Vin got…"

Soledad nodded.

"You know, I'm hoping to make MTac. One day."

Soledad said nothing to that.

"Yeah, I'm sort of friends with Eddi Aoki. You know, just sort of. And I was talking to her about it and she said, yeah, I should think about putting in."

Soledad nodded some more, but that was all the cop got from her.

The cop craned his neck, tried to see what Soledad was working on.

He said: "Heard when Eddi gets done with rehab, they're thinking about making her SLO on Harbor. That true?"

"Why don't you ask her, you two being friends and all."

"Well, we're more like… you know…"

Yeah. Soledad knew. Eddi had probably never on purpose said two words to the uniform. But he claimed he knew her, pretended he did, so he could be BAMF by association. He wanted to play games, that was okeydoke with Soledad. The cop was harmless enough. But if he was going to come around telling tales, wasn't like she wouldn't give him a hard time about things.

"Too bad you two won't be on the same element," the cop said."You'd make a helluva team. And if Reese was still alive—"

"Guess you knew her too, huh?"

"Well, I…"

"You're like Mr. Get Around, aren't you? You just know everybody."

The cop stammered some.

Soledad was glad he'd come by. Could use the entertainment. She checked her watch. Another hour of work…

Work?

She wasn't even on the clock.

Not work, then. This, this was, assuredly now, her life.

Whatever. However you called it.

Another hour, then she would head to the hospital, visit with Vin for a while, see how he was doing. She'd gone every day for the last ten days since her abortive trip north. She was starting to like hanging with Vin. He didn't talk much—when he did, he wasn't as glib anymore—and didn't mind that Soledad never seemed to have a lot to say.

That was nice.

For both of them the arrangement worked quite well.

Getting himself together enough to explain things, the cop said: "I just meant the three of you on one element, you would've been like… like…"

"Like the Erinyes."

"The…?"

"You know how to use the Internet?"

The cop nodded, and Soledad caught him doing so from the corner of her eye.

She said: "Google it up."

The cop did more staring at Soledad, at the chores her hands performed."What are you doing?"

"Working on something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's a hobby of mine. A little something I spend all my free time cooking up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. A bullet."

"What kind of bullet?"

"A real special kind. It'll be the best bullet I ever made. It'll be a bullet that can do one job and one job only." For the first time since the cop had struck up the conversation Soledad looked at him. She smiled."It'll be a bullet that can kill an intangible."

I have a name.

I've had it for a long time, but for a long time I didn't want it. A name, a flashy nickname, made me feel like one of them; like everything I didn't want to be. I've seen them destroy, both physically and emotionally. They've wrecked our cities and our souls with equal ease. As a little girl they killed my dreams, showed me how wrong I was to dream in the first place. They killed a cop—a woman—I hardly knew but wholly respected. And as a final swipe at me, they—he—killed what little caring and compassion I had left. He gave it to me, then he killed it.

There's no name for that kind of slaughter.

I have a name now.

They gave it to me: the ones I hunt, the ones who fear me. And if that name can be used as a weapon, if it makes them run and hide and spaz with terror, if it makes the normals feel like we have a chance in this war against the freaks, then I gladly claim it.

Has it come to that? Each side grabbing up whatever tool they can in the armed conflict against the other no matter how small the advantage it brings, no matter how seemingly insignificant?

Jesus help us.

There's no name for the insanity we live in. There's no one way to describe what life has become. It is confusion and chaos. It is amazing in the darkest sense. It is the world I was born into, and all I want is to bring reason to where there is none, return order to where order no longer exists.

I have that now, order. Sort of. Sort of in my world, sort of in my life. I have order because I have a purpose.

I have a purpose. I have a name. My name is Bullet.