Excerpt: The Flux Renaissance

A girl is sprinting down the main street. Weaving through crowds of shoppers, she throws apologies behind her for knocking old ladies, but she keeps running.

A fast, hard, all out run, they kind of run you only see when someone is being chased. She’s the athletic type, you can see, at least she doesn’t seem to be too out of breath yet, and she’s been running since at least the bottom of the street, which isn’t a short distance.
Dirty ash blonde hair is coming undone from under her black hat, unfolding as she runs, slipping around the black eye mask she's wearing. Her clothes are okay for running, thin leggings and a flexible soft fabric skirt and a secondskin vest but her bag is weighing her down. It clinks every so often, though its muffled. The straps that would have hugged her perfectly when new have started to stretch out a little, and it rides up and down on her back. But she keeps running.

Two cops are running after her, pushing through the human sea to try to get to her, unsettling girls on tottering heels, and knocking elbows with guys wearing headphones.

One of them is slower, heavier built slightly, and though she's athletic she's still a sprite in comparison to her pursuers.

But the other is faster than usual. He's younger this one, maybe just joined the force, and he's eager to catch this girl.

This girl is a golden goose, and he wants to be the one to shoot it down.

- - - - - - -- -

This bus broke down a week ago. Cusp remembers. He was there. The city got a replacement for the passengers, but somehow the reparations have slipped through the cracks. He knows that it’s because they’re putting so much effort into trying to clamp down on the writers that things are slipping.

The high ups are getting madder and madder as the writers pride evades them at every turn, and someone up at the top is sacrificing regular maintenance to get at them. Cusp likes that he is helping drive them mad.

He is sitting on the roof of the abandoned bus, his sturdy trainers scraping away the yellow paint when he readjusts his position, head bent down and concentrating on the screen of his DSI, mashing the buttons furiously to try and beat the last boss.

The gun he got from his brother lies next to him on the metal, with the automatic safety on. There are a couple of near empty cans sitting next to it, and some would call him crazy for being out in the open.

Cusp knows better. The writers are invincible. The cops can’t do a thing, they don’t even have weapons free clearance, and he is king of the world. He can’t be touched.

He hears a pair of people rounding the corner, but doesn’t look up. He really wants to get this boss. Its beaten him three times now, and Cusp doesn’t like being beaten. He will win this today.

“hey! You! Get down from there!” He looks now, annoyed that they’ve interrupted and now he’s being beaten by the evil tree. His character is being thrown from side to side, flashing red and the life bar is dropping. Bastard.

The passers by are two cops. The one that yelled is telling him to get down, and he’s laughing. He flips the DSI shut and shoves it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“So officers, what can I do you for?” he says, standing up. He towers above them, they crane their necks to get a good look at his face.

“Get off the bus. And hide your spray cans better next time, punk.”

Cusp picks up his gun, turning it over in his hands. “actually, I think you’re the one that should be getting away from the bus, don’t you?” he cocks it at them, and the safety senses his motion, switching itself off.

“Whoa! Hey,” says the second guy, weedier looking, ginger hair. “ We’re not gonna hurt you, okay? We gotta take you into custody though, we’re only doing our jobs.”

Cusp looks thoughtful for a moment, “And why do you do your jobs?”

“I’m only in the force because I want to try and make this city a better place. For you too.”

“And there's nothing more dangerous than someone who wants to make the world a better place," says Cusp lazily. And then he shoots them both in the head.