“She’s in the building. She should be on the roof in 5 minutes.”
“Yes, Tripwire.”

They’re all the same, thinking that just because they’re special they can use that to get away. Each time, they try to run away, and each time, Howitzer gets them.

Snow begins to fall in the dark city, fluttering white over the cold black and blue in the night. I look up at the tower, expecting an orange bloom to warm the streets below.

Maybe I should have worn a trench coat. Or at least pants instead of a skirt and tights.

… It should be about time.

“Howitzer, report.”
“Still no sign of her.”

… That’s strange.

The automatic doors open as I pull out my semiautomatic.

What a silly girl. She’s still in the atrium. Praying to who, I wonder?

“What did you pray for?”
“I prayed that I might live a little bit longer.”

…

“Your prayers came true, didn’t they.”

She turns, a puzzled, pensive smile on her face. Her brown hair cascades onto a gray trench coat. She’ll always be warmer than I am.

“… Yes.”

A cold shot resounds across the atrium, and a warm color spreads from her chest onto the floor.

“This is Trip/Wire. We’re done here.”

It’s all…

predestined.

—

Afterword from continue:

Interesting. I wrote this in under half an hour. It’s a very short incident in the lives of Trip/Wire and Howitzer, two characters I have yet to introduce anywhere, really. Some points of comparison between this style and the old one will be the separation of thoughts and perceptions formed into thoughts. It has more of a style similarity to the Sixth Provincial District story that I’ve been “working on” since last year. Working on being code for having been conceived *laughs*.