Taleste was running down the stairs of the project tower. From the window, she could see Big Brother flying away. It saved her life, but still she feared and hated it for all the death she saw it deal out. Now, she just wanted to leave the projects with her money, go back to Marcy District, and retire before she's 25. She'd had enough danger for a whole lifetime, and she could never forget how lucky she was to be alive. She could hear commotion on the lower floors. The people in the projects wouldn't be happy with this. Three men burst into the stairwell, and pointed guns at Taleste.

She froze. She had been so close to freedom, and now her life was in danger again. She wanted, nay, needed to scream and cry at the same time, but she had to put on a brave face in front of these guys.

"Give us the backpack, little girl."

She hesitated, so the closest one slapped her and then pulled the backpack from her back, tugging painfully at her left shoulder. Now tears were showing. She couldn't stop them. The man examined the backpack.

"I know the symbol on this backpack. Runners for the 38B syndicate wear these. You a runner?"

Taleste looked up at him. He had given her an opportunity to lie. He might not kill her if she told him she used to work for that bastard, but...he'd ask her to work for him.

"Yeah, but the 38B were all in that tower." She sniffed, and wiped her eyes. "There's money in the rucksack. It's yours if you let me go."

The men chuckled among each other. "I have money. I have more need for a runner, and you're not in a position to negotiate."

Taleste looked up. They were treating her like a slave, because they thought she was weak. Taleste Jot-Anne, the girl who steals jackets from bikers didn't spend her whole life living in the slums so she could spend the rest of it as somebody's glorified servant, not to mention most likely a whore as well. She turned round, stood up on the exposed ledge of the stairwell, and snarled. She was sick of it. Sick of being a victim to dangerous men with guns. She wanted to be the one holding the cards again, just like she did in Marcy.

"You need me? I'll wager you don't want me dead, then. Don't think I'm bluffing because I. Will. Jump. Now, here are my terms. One, I want at least 35 percent of all the money I steal, as well as profits from goods I steal. Two, You will let me take jobs from other people. There will probably be a high demand for runners now that 38B are gone. Finally, if you or any of your men touch me, I leave." She leans closer to the edge. "Deal?"