1. Tisha

“This is bullshit. You know that, right? You know this is bullshit.”

Tisha’s heel bounced beneath her chair, worn Converse squeaking against the aged linoleum.

The cop standing in front of her, hands in his black uniform pockets, sniffed. His jaw clenched rhythmically as he smacked his stupid fucking gum like a horse chewing hay.

Tisha had seen a horse once. Chewing hay. That’s how she knew.

She pressed the ice pack more firmly to the side of her head, wincing with the sting, and glanced at the wall where the window should be. Its polyphasic pane had been set to replace the view of the city with a plain gray wall matching the rest of the room. Like they wanted whoever was in there to feel caged in.

Smith glanced at the holoclock on the wall and gave the gum another horsey clench as he extracted a packet of napkins from his pocket. He yanked one out of the crinkled plastic and handed it to her, tapping his temple for illustrative purposes.

“Gee, thanks,” Tisha quipped, dabbing the tissue at the spot with a flinch. It came away red.

“Look,” she said, eyes darting between Smith and his partner… what’s his name… Purdue something. They weren’t gonna like what she had to say, but she wasn’t about to die for this shit. These people were supposed to protect her. That was her one condition. “I’m out. This isn’t working for me.”

Smith just kept chewing, shrewd eyes flicking to the foot tapping under the chair.

The silence pressured her into elaboration. “I know you’re probably doing your best…”

They aren’t.

“But it’s not good enough. This is the third time he’s sent his goons after me.”

“We got you into a safehouse, Tisha,” Purdue piped up from the back of the room.

“Yeah, and I was in your safehouse when one of his men broke in and slashed me up,” she snapped. “You said you were gonna assign me a protective detail. Someone was supposed to be out there.”

“This will all be over once you get him behind bars.”

Tisha gaped up at Smith, his flinty eyes doing that scanning thing he did.

“At this rate I won’t be alive to get him behind bars. No.” Tisha smacked both feet flat on the ground and pushed herself out of the plastic chair. “I’m done. Out.”

“You made a deal, Tisha.” Smith tracked her ascent. He was short, almost as short as she was, and she was only five-three. His general roundness only made him look stubbier, all things considered. Tisha didn’t miss the way he looped a thumb into the holster of his gun.

“What are you gonna do?” She raised a brow, even though it hurt. “Shoot me?”

Smack smack smackwent his wideset jaw as he considered her.

Smith wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t sure about Purdue, but she’d had enough interactions with her primary “handler” to know he only looked like an idiot. Really he was just an asshole—and a smart asshole was the worst kind.

Smith’s nostrils flared in a sharp sniff, and he turned to Purdue behind him, jerking his head. “Bring it in then.”

Tisha’s gaze darted between them, then to the door as Purdue opened it. “Bring what in?”

“Your…” he smirked at her sideways, “protection.”

“I said I’m out,” Tisha clenched the ice pack in her hand, her skin having long gone numb. “Three near-death experiences are enough for me.”

“Don’t worry.” Smith strolled to the trash can near Tisha’s abandoned chair and spit-wadded his gum into it as the door opened. “There won’t be another.”

“What do you mean there won—Holy shit what the—” Tisha jumped out of her chair, tripping over it and sending it crashing. She stumbled backward until her back slapped against the wall.

He filled up the entire doorway, barely fitting through with all the pitch-black armor padding his chest and shoulders. The rest of him was black too, some sort of high-tech suit shaped to bulging muscle. He towered over Smith, only that wasn’t a surprise. Towered over Purdue too, though… Tisha was pretty sure he towered over everything. Massive armored thighs flexed against square kneecaps as he stepped inside.

So there was all that. Plus he had no face.

The black full-face visor was an opaque abyss atop his head. It pointed straight ahead as he stood there, still as a statue. But there was this subtle shift of illumination under the smooth plate where eyes would be, and though she couldn’t tell for sure, Tisha could’ve sworn they were slanted in her direction.

It took her way too long to realize what she might actually be looking at. And still she was unconvinced. She’d seen vids and news pieces, but who had time to keep up with all that these days? Last she heard, they were still only preparing to roll them out.

“Is that…” She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if she was about to ask a dumb question. Maybe it was just a really big guy standing really fucking still.

“ANSL-5.2,” Smith said. Tisha noted both he and Purdue stood well away from the… the…

“It’s a robot,” Tisha came out and said it. Somebody had to.

“Second autonomous agent issued to a precinct in the country,” Smith grunted. “Lucky you.”

“Me? What’s that thing gotta do with me? I just told you I’m out.” Tisha threw Smith an irritated glare before focusing her attention back to the massive machine idling in the doorway.

“You made a deal, Tisha. You don’t get to just back out.”

“Send me to prison then. I don’t give a shit anymore,” Tisha blurted.

“We would, but now we can do one better. ANSL-5.2 here will be your personal… Well, you can think of him as security detail until the trial, even if security ain’t exactly the primary job.” The robot’s head angled toward Smith so suddenly that both he and Tisha recoiled a little.

Smith cleared his throat. “Right. It’s here to make sure your ass is in that courthouse in three weeks. And lucky for you, you need to be alive for that.”

“You can’t do that…”

“Try to run and see if we can’t,” he grinned. “For the next three weeks, this thing and you are attached at the hip. You’re gonna give your testimony, and then?—”

“And then you dump me instead of giving me the protection you promised, the same way you’ve blown me off this entire time, and Drakov sends his fucking lackeys for me, even if from prison,” Tisha finished for him. She realized her nails were digging crescents into her palms, but she didn’t feel them. She felt only a chill prickling down her limbs and her heart pounding with an escalating urge to bolt somewhere—anywhere. Except the only exit was blocked by a killing machine apparently tasked with preventing just that.

Think. Tisha forced her fists to unfurl, blood rushing back into her palms as she flexed her fingers. This makes no sense.

“That thing’s gotta be costing you more than locking me up or just assigning a proper protective detail would’ve in the first place,” she rounded on Smith. “Feeling guilty about this gash on my head, or just that certain I’m gonna make a run for it?”

I am.

Smith extracted another piece of gum from the dilapidated wrapper in his pocket and popped it into his mouth, sending his horse jaw back into action.

And then the asshole fucking shrugged.

“See you in three weeks, Ms. Varda,” he gestured to the door. “Keep that pack on for another hour. You wouldn’t want a bruise.”