Jack Thompson's Arc

Chapter 17 of 25

Jack limped two steps and stopped. Eight wasn't moving right. Blood pooled black under the shoulder he'd shot. The white eight on the helmet tipped sideways. Down the block, a patch of stone glowed dull red, cracked open with heat still bleeding from the seams. One had already walked this street. Eight lifted one gloved hand. Slow. They tapped the metal band locked tight around their own throat. A red light blinked steady against the dark collar. "Tracker," Eight said. "If I die here, the rest of them know exactly where you stood." Jack's grip tightened on Lady Luck. He couldn't tell if it was a warning or a trade. With their good hand, Eight pulled a second collar from inside their coat and set it on the pavement between them. Identical. Cold. "Dr. Owl wants you alive. Wants to make you one of us. Had a number picked. Twenty-one." Their helmet tilted toward the scorched stone glowing down the street. "One won't bother. He finds you, you're ash on the ground. Like that." Jack looked at the collar. He looked at the burn. He stepped past both, raised Lady Luck, and put one careful shot through the blinking red light at Eight's throat. The collar sparked dead. Eight exhaled, almost grateful, and went still. Jack kept walking. He had chosen the worse hunter on purpose.