10,000 Bones

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In the middle of a pursuit, it’s easy not to think about what I’m chasing. Remembering it, reminding myself how it all works and why, connecting all the dots that add up to a picture of a society that needs someone to do what I do—that’s the hard part. That comes later. Right now, I am focused. I need to be as inescapable as the harsh realities that put me here. I’ve followed the busboy since he left the restaurant, first from a distance on my quickbike, then another three blocks on foot, into this crumbling, stripped-bare tenement in the Dust Pit. He’s glanced back at me twice. He sees me, sees my blue-and-black Collections Agent uniform. I’m closing in on him as he enters the stairwell, and the tension is palpable in his stiff, quick pace, in the sweat stains on his white shirt, in how tightly he’s gripping the to-go bag he’s carrying. So far he’s been smart enough not to break into a run. I should have stopped him sooner, but I wanted to see where he was going. He’s gone far enough.

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