It was ten minutes ahead of schedule when we began to move.

  Under the dense carpet of dark clouds that remain visible even after dusk, Component City glows like an effervescent candle in the night. Colors of neon lights coat everything, different vibrant hues dancing along the towers and SpaceScrapers in erratic lines that one would only find in recorded audio.

  The neon finds it’s way down to the lower levels too, lining the damp and decrepit streets, whose unkept grounds reek of iron and fresh polymer. It casts webs over housing and smaller facilities, who all are dormant at this late hour. It crawls up skyscrapers, reaches out toward the visible clouds, even gives the very air a constant and erratic hue.

  But there are places where even the neon can’t reach in this city; our black shadows that slink through the understreets are devoid of it.

  We move swiftly, earnestly. Our racing silhouettes trailblaze the lower grid in single file, with no sound between us aside from nearly uniform footsteps. I lead the calculated charge, keeping tabs on the other two squads, Echo Two and Echo Three, that move in parallel tandem with mine. Their bio signs blink faintly in the bottom right corner of my HUD, which displays over a sooth glass screen that covers my face. The screen reflects the sounds of my own breaths back into my ears, constantly reminds my nose what my mouth had for dinner. The glass isn’t just for show either; it scans our route ahead, informing me which path to take.

  One can get easily lost down here; the city was built in such a manner that… well… there was no plan. Nothing about this place is uniform, no two buildings are the same. Plots of land and building space were tugged around by bureaucrats and citizens alike, making even the road we tread on abruptly swerve and turn at a moment’s notice.

  Despite it, my squad moves in a decrepit form of elegance and grace, like passing shadows that one might think of as a trick of the mind. We’re trained, we’re professionals, but we’re also locals. I, and the others like me, were born on streets like these, amongst the torrent of clashing cultures and economic disparity. I have lived in Component City my entire life; I’m familiar with that neon that stales the aging eyes.

  I was taken off the streets to become a mercenary, a gun for hire. A profession that is only one government interference away from being a soldier or a convicted criminal. Maybe even a terrorist. I’ve killed, destroyed, and maimed. I’ve stolen, extorted, and captured. Countless and unspeakable acts over the past 13 years, all in the shallow name of earning a quick buck. Such is my life; this place doesn’t provide much else for my kind. I hate it, but I’m good at it. I feel like I’m a monster, but it fits me. Such is my life, and I’m in no mood to change. Ever.

  My squad takes a sharp right, which eventually evens back out to a straight shot. With each twist and turn, the view of the city changes, but it’s not hard to spot our destination. An unmarked SpaceScraper, dead ahead. One of five monoliths that dominate Component City’s skies, standing feats of engineering that stretch entire kilometers above our heads. One can never see their top, the constant smog prevents it. One can never stand on top, you either need a privileged suit or a loaded gun to get there. They say you can see stars up top, reach out and feel space itself. Tonight, we’re going to the top.

  My HUD blinks rapidly, detecting something approaching from above. I quickly signal, and my squad disperses, disappearing from the neon lined street like shadows fleeing approaching light. We’ve got company. With the sound of gurgling plasma, a medium sized craft stalks by overhead, surveying the night streets with an infrared camera. It flies on two round wings, belching violet flames from exhausts near its aft. It’s a drone. It’s a familiar design; I’ve studied its structure many times while planning for this operation. Our target designs and manufacturers those models.

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  I’ve hidden within a door frame in an alleyway, keeping my rifle close to my soul. Deep breaths, steady breaths. Don’t give yourself away. It’s equipped with disruptor cannons, resting just beneath the camera. If it spots me, it’ll read my face, discover my identity, and atomize me within a split second. Disrupter cannons are a rather painful and gruesome way to go; I’d rather shoot myself in the head.

  The drone creeps by, at a level where it skims the uneven rooftops. It finds nothing and takes its meticulous scanning elsewhere. It’s exhausts billow heat my way as it turns, the putrid scent of chlorine fills my nose.

  I quickly press in a button on the side of my helmet as my squad regroups; the drone nothing more than a distant echo now. Its presence means our target might be onto us. I speak, my voice scrambling and translating to evade counter-satellites. “Be advised, bogie has airborne eyes. I repeat: airborne eyes. Echo Two, Echo Three, call in.” We resume our fleeting march, a new sense of urgency in our steps. “Echo Three. Likewise. He’s searching.” A man’s monotone voice drones on in my ears, underlined with a static buzz. He answers me immediately. As for Echo Two… “Echo Two.” I repeat, fighting to keep any disdain from contaminating my voice. “Echo Two, call in.”

  Almost like it was reluctant, Echo Two finally answers. “Echo Two here. Sorry I couldn’t call you honey; I was birdwatching.” I round a corner; the SpaceScraper is dead ahead. “Did it see you?” “Not a chance. It took its swimming pool stench elsewhere.”

  This woman.

  I take a deep breath. “Resume the op’ Echo Two. Your squad is falling behind. Three minutes until breach.” The lady’s almost mocking voice reverberates in my ears, pulling my heart all around. “Roooooger that boss.”

  It begins to lightly rain once we reach the colossal tower, with only thirty seconds left to spare. The sound of droplets crashing into metal sounds out all around us, distant thunder rolls through the winding streets. My squad bunches up against the walls of the SpaceScraper, immediately performing a plethora of complex tasks assigned to them. They make it look easy. Soon, a network of penetrating charges and front-facing explosives line an area against the steel that would comfortably fit a man. If everything’s going to plan, Echo Two and Three have similar setups at other points around the building. We’re targeting areas near elevator shafts; our rappelling gear already hangs around our waists.

  We back away, taking cover. “Echo Two, Echo Three, status.” Echo Three answers immediately. “Charges placed.” My hear thunders in my chest, I fight to keep my breaths even. This is it, the calm before the storm. Despite how much I plan, how long I spend staring at blueprints and simulating scenarios; I always get nervous at this point. I hide it, bury it deep enough that not even a bead of sweat will form on my face. I keep a cool composure, following everything by the book. I take my job professionally. “Echo Two.” I wait, fighting and failing to keep my rampaging heart in check. “Echo Two.”

  I really do try to do everything by the book, keep a straight face and level voice. Nobody in my field knows how truly frightened I am. “Echo Two! Call in!” Yes, nobody. Except one. She is the only one who knows me, knows how frightened I am. She sets off her charges early.

  A violent blast erupts somewhere near the eastern side of the tower, a curling fireball illuminating the smog, buildings, and sky in crimson light. The shockwave hits; I nearly scream profanities into the comms. “Echo Two, breaching.” A satisfied chuckle berates my ears. “Race you to the top.”

  Sometimes, I wonder why I married her.

  I shake my thoughts away. Chewing her out can wait, we have a job to do first. 984 floors to scale, eight different elevator shafts to breach. It’s going to be a long night. “We’ll talk about this later.” I growl into my comms. Echo two answers; I can hear gunfire already peppering beneath her voice. “Looking forward to it. I’ll bring a pig with a silver spoon to sweeten the deal.” I let out a labored sigh; an irritated smile cracks across my face. She knows me too well, knows how to press my buttons just right.

  I married a lunatic.

  I signal my squad, my level voice echoing in each of their helmets. If she wants to make this a game, then I’ll play.

  No, I won’t play. I’ll win.

  “Breach.”