Friday, August 6, 2010


Mission - 195

Ben Azevedo

Miles resumed pacing his apartment. The TV resumed its silent display. The storm continued raging outside.

How am I supposed to get out of here? Miles thought, it’s over ten miles to the office, and God only knows how much further after that…

Miles had a vehicle, but driving out into a storm on Element was suicide. Only certain high-end EMG ships and governmental vehicles had the tech to maybe travel in the Windy City’s tempest. And no one had that kind of ship here except…

Miles froze in his tracks, pivoted, and ran to his room. He scooped up his gear, swung it onto a pack on his back and careened out the door. Down the hall, left, past the vending machine, and he arrived at room 1037. He knocked.

The door opened a crack and a young man looked out.

“Hey Miles,” he said.

“Jonesy! Lemme in.”

Jonesy didn’t have much of a choice as Miles barged in.

“What’s the deal Miles?” Jonesy noticed the pack. “Oh no…you’re not…”

“Jonesy,” Miles paused for dramatic effect (and to catch his breath) “I need to get downtown.”

“Fuck that shit, man. Why?”

“He called.”


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