Jet stood next to her only true friend, looking down over the New York skyline. She closed her eyes as the wind lifted her honey blonde hair and tossed it over her shoulders, enjoying the cold night air. Skye waited patiently for her to speak. Her hair was a few shades darker, longer, and wavier. She was also a little shorter, but not by much.
“It’s him,” Jet said softly, “He’s on our kill list.”
“Calox?” Skye questioned.
Jet contemplated this for a moment: “I assume so.”
The two girls stopped speaking, continuing to stare out at the city that never sleeps. The roaring sounds of traffic and crowds could barely be heard from the building roof, leaving the pair stood in something close to silence. Jet rubbed the small strip of paper she was holding between her fingertips, making a gentle sound that distracted Skye from her thoughts.
“What are we going to do?” She demanded restlessly.
“I don’t know,” Jet said honestly, “Keep calm.”
Skye looked like she was about to protest, opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish until she regained her composure. Eventually she went to turn away but Jet struck out, wrapping her long fingers around her wrist.
“Don’t do anything rash, Skye,” Jet said, “We’ll deal with Calox in time.”
“We better do,” Skye replied, pulling her wrist free.
Jet watched her friend stalk to the door positioned in a shadowy arch, open it, and vanish down the steps. Then she glanced down over the edge of the building, wondering if the thrill of the descent would be a good enough reason to jump. Deciding against it, she walked along the thin concrete ledge, following the shape of the building. On the other side of the city, she could see a tall office-like building, illuminated by modern blue lights. It was the perfect replica of the one she was stood on.
“What have you got yourself into?” She whispered, “What did you do?”
She closed her eyes again for a second, holding back the emotions threatening to break through her mental floodgates like a tsunami. Then she held up the piece of paper in her hand, looking at the computerised font spelling out the name: James Harrison. She scrunched it into a tiny ball and threw it as far as she could, her anger finally getting the better of her.
“What did you do, James?” She screamed, as if the young boy sat in the other building could hear her. Somewhere, deep in her heart, she wished he could.