Annie clutched her knife in her left hand, holding the weapon so close to her chest that she could feel the thundering of her heart as she pressed up against the alley wall, rain falling upon her visor. One minute. She would give herself one minute to catch her breath and then she would move. Her whole body tensed as a burst of gunfire cut through the pitter-patter of rain, answered by the spraying call of a submachine gun. It was a familiar sound, and one that she had never grown used to. She imagined few ever did. Her right hand grasped her shoulder where a stray bullet had winged her. Her fault. Stupid, careless. The stinging pain was already fading; she had been shot enough times to know that more damage had been done to her leather jacket than to her body. Still, the jacket had been an expensive, frivolous purchase. That’d teach her to buy anything besides second-hand. 
 
A stupid thought to have as gunfire sparked against the wall near her like miniature, murderous fireworks. 
 
The job was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill milk run. Pick up the package, deliver the package, payment on delivery. Sweet. Short. Simple. It didn’t pay much, but a little extra spending cash to pad her pocket with sounded good at the time. Normally she would squirrel away any earnings she had made, but after the week she had she felt it was necessary to treat herself. Maybe she would’ve gone to one of those bougie restaurants in District 10 that liked to pretend that they were an experience akin to fine Alpha dining or treat herself to a massage from a place where the masseuses didn’t and weren’t expected to proposition the clientele at the end. Now, she would just settle for making it home alive and soaking in the tub until this entire night washed off of her.
 
The sound of sirens in the distance was added to the continuous call-and-response of gunfire, doing little more than doubling Annie’s desire to escape from her current predicament. She’d take getting shot at any day over being question by the police. The alley to her right was out of question as another rattle of shots rang off of the walls; she’d have to cut left through the back markets. Stashing her knife, the carrier turned away from the alleyway, staying low and moving quickly in case any other stray shots found their mark on her, black boots crunching through wet, broken glass. All she had to do was get back to her bike. If she got on her bike, she would be fine. 
 
Annie had been hired by some small-time, two-bit crook who just went by Jay to receive a manila envelope to a even smaller-time, wannabe gangster that had broken off of the District 15 Deltas to form his own band of merry drug dealers and pimps out of his own greedy desire to take home a bigger cut. Whatever, she needed money too; it wasn’t her position to judge. She was to meet Mr. Hotshot in a strip joint that he was now the sole proprietor of ever since he pushed the Deltas out; a real classy place where the only thing sadder and more pathetic than the patrons were the dancers. No amount of makeup or glitter could hide the tell-tale dead eyes of a burnout; a bunch of walking corpses spasming and gyrating to a bad techno beat. Lovely place. 
 
The bouncer had given her little trouble at the door; Mr. Hotshot had been expecting her. She kept her helmet on. Anonymity wasn’t always necessary, it wasn’t as if she had aspirations for public office one day, but she preferred to keep her face hidden around recipients just in case they tried anything funny and came after her later. She was led to the VIP Room, which was nothing more than a slightly nicer booth in the corner of the place, and she made certain to note the exits as she made her way through the pulsating lights and smoke. Better to be cautious than to be dead. Mr. Hotshot was nursing a clear drink with a girl on either arm. Perhaps it would impress her if she were a guy, but to Annie it appeared as if he was trying just a little too hard. 
 
She should’ve realized something was fishy from the start. Too many eyes were on them instead of the dancers, and the guard detail was too lax for the head of a gang, even a newly formed one. Mr. Hotshot had hardly pulled the envelope out of his jacket before his brains were splattered across the table, the girls beside him screaming at the top of their lungs before they too got caught in the crossfire. Annie had dove out of the booth, but not before catching a glance across the shoulder. Fire filled her arm as the unmistakable blast of a shotgun echoed from behind the bar, peppering the shooter that had engaged on her table. Another blast and the bartender was taken out; seconds later, and Annie found herself in the middle of a gang war. 
 
And so now she was trying to escape said gang war, crouching behind emptied knick  knack stands on a street full of neon lights and canopy tents. A spray of bullets ventilated the tent next to her as Annie hit the ground, throwing out a son-of-a-bitch underneath her breath as she scraped against the asphalt. The sirens grew louder and louder, but the gangers seemingly did not hear them or did not care. Crawling on her stomach, Annie looked for an exit. This place was foreign to her, but any main street would help her gain her bearings. Another spray of bullets forced her head back down. Shit.
 
The sirens were practically upon her now.  She heard the sound of a man screaming uncontrollably as thousands of volts went through his body moment after a loudspeaker announced the presence of the police. Shit. Shit shit. She did not need this kind of headache. Making a break for a building, Annie lifted her foot and gave one, two, three mighty kicks near the door’s handle before it gave. Alarms sounded throughout the building. She paid them little attention as she quickly made her way through, unlatching the front door before slipping out into the main street. The road was more or less barren. Good. A few seconds to breath.
 
Yet the seconds lasted one too short as blue and red lights rounded the corner, the high beams of a squad car falling on Annie. She knew they wouldn’t give chase for long and didn’t care enough to actually get an arrest, but the cops were no better than the gangs out here: if they had a moment to participate in a little game of smear the carrier they certainly weren’t going to pass it up. Her bike was two blocks away in the direction of the cop car. A game of chicken, then. She bolted towards the high beams as the car’s tires spun up to gain traction on the slick road and peeled towards her, narrowly avoiding a hit as the car jumped the curb in an attempt to swipe her and instead bashed into a trash can, sending garbage spilling everywhere. Snapping her head back, she could see red taillights come to life as the car was put into reverse, the driver intent on ending her’s. 
 
Annie rounded the corner just in time for the car to blow by where she would’ve been if she had kept going straight. One more block. A hundred meter dash. Easy enough. She kept running, pumping her arms like a sprinter as the flashing red-and-blues corrected their course and filled up the street, reflecting off of the barred windows of closed pawn shops. A wall of parked cars served as a buffer between her and the police; she took the momentary respite to hit the remote start for her bike on her smartwatch. If anybody tried to jack it before she got there they would be in for a nasty surprise from the anti-theft system. She could see where she had parked her bike. Now there would be no delay in her escape. Just one problem: she had to cross the street. 
 
The squad car had been staying neck-and-neck with her, but it pulled ahead for a second to let the officer riding shotgun out so that he could try and cut Annie off. There was nothing her stun gun could do against his hand-me-down armor, but she was running fast enough that she was within striking distance by the time he had leveled his gun. She smacked his wrist away as the weapon fired, a deafening ring echoing throughout her helmet as the bullet flew harmlessly by her head. He fired more shots into the air as Annie grabbed onto his wrists, twisted her body, and flipped him over her shoulder so that he would hit the concrete hard. 
 
She kicked away his dropped gun and kept moving, the squad car keeping pace with her still. After getting back up to her full speed, she angled herself slightly and leapt up onto the hood of a parked car. With little loss of momentum, Annie pounded over the hood, up the windshield, and onto the roof of the vehicle. Without even a second of hesitation Annie leapt from the roof of the car and tucked her legs, the squad car speeding past underneath her. She landed with a roll and kept moving as the car screeched to a stop, but by the time it had turned around she had already jumped on her sportbike, kicked up the stand, and rolled on the throttle. She zipped off down the road, water spraying behind her as she weaved in and out of side streets to lose the cops. The sirens grew fainter and fainter and then completely vanished. She let out a sigh of relief and jumped on the freeway, heading towards the inner Districts. 
 
She tapped a button on her bike. A small screen asking for a voice command appeared in the corner of her helmet. “Call Jay.”
 
“Calling: Jay,” replied the synthetic voice in her helm
 
“I expected your call thirty minutes ago,” said Jay.
 
“There were complications. Your friend was murdered by the Deltas.” Annie paused, and then added, “I’m sorry.”
 
“Oh, fuck him, he was no friend of mine. Did you receive the package?”
 
“Of course.”
 
“Good. I’ll be waiting for you at our agreed upon spot. Don’t make me wait.”
 
Click.
 
Annie groaned. Some milk run. Still, at least she was getting paid. Shifting gears, she tore down the freeway towards District 13, the world melting into a neon bleed of lights as her speedometer ticked higher and higher.