Glitch

6

She knows. I don't know how, but she definitely knows. Fuck. The girl standing down the aisle from me has been staring at me for almost a minute now. If I had to guess, I'd say she was about my age, maybe a few years older. Her startlingly red hair sways every time she glances over in my direction. She thinks I haven't noticed, but that kind of stuff doesn't get by a trained assassin too easily. If she does know, I'll have to kill her. I frown. It almost seems unfair. It wouldn't be hard, even without my strength upgrade. I can already feel it wearing off. The expensive ones never last long. I look over to where my red headed target is standing, but she's gone. Shit. How could I be so careless? I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I whip around, body tense, one hand on the police issue Glock 22 on my belt. It's the redhead. My hand stays on my gun, but I don't make any move to attack her. Close up, I see that her eyes are a deep emerald color. I've never seen anything like them, yet they look familiar at all the same. I marvel at the red of her cheeks, compared to my own completely colorless skin.

"Need some help, officer?" I regain my composure when I hear her speak. I raise a bleach blond eyebrow. I move my hand off the Glock 22.

"Ah, no. Why do you ask?" I reply, putting on my nicest smile. I can tell by the look she gives me that I haven't been practicing it enough. She doesn't answer my question, instead leaning to the side and looking past me. Taking the hint, I turn around and flinch. On the store televisions, footage of me sprinting into the District Courthouse building in my Killer jumpsuit is playing, followed by the fifteen or so police officers. I look back at the redheaded girl. I suppose I might have to kill her after all.

"You have a sort of distinctive look," she says. I could say the same about her. She has the sort of face that you don't easily forget. "And also, your, ah, your uniform is on backwards." If my cheeks could turn red, they would have.

"I'm sorry about this, whoever you are-" I start.

"Byrnn."

"Okay, Brynn. I'm sorry but I can't let you go to the cops about me," I say with a sigh. I don't bother pulling out my gun, I doubt I'll need it.

"Don't worry, I won't," she says. "Promise." She seems pretty unconcerned with making a promise to a murderer. "You stay right here, and I'm gonna get you some normal clothes... and maybe some hair dye." I purse my lips. Maybe she didn't understand me.

"Look, Brynn, I'm not letting you leave," I speak slowly, avoiding mentioning the part where I'm going to kill her because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Brynn takes a step away from me.

"Why not? I'm trying to help you. Never screw over someone who's trying to help you. Trust me on this one, whoever you are," Before she even finishes speaking, Brynn is turning the corner of the aisle. I don't stop her. I probably should, considering she could be going to get the cops and I'd be trapped in here. But I want to trust her. I want someone to want to help me. For all I know, Byrnn is being totally sincere. I grimace.

Five minutes later, and I'm still standing in the home utensils aisle alone. The seconds are creeping by. I have no real trouble with boredom though, not after my killer training. During one mission, I had to stand upright in a closet for six hours to get a kill. I let my mind go blank, all while staying alert enough to pull my gun if necessary. Two more minutes pass before Byrnn comes walking down the aisle again, holding a brightly colored basket in her hand.

"Here you go. One hair dye kit, some clothes, shoes, and I also grabbed some glasses, just to really complete your disguise," she says cheerfully. She leads me hastily to the store's bathroom, and helps me use the dye kit. After drying my hair off with some paper towels, I take a look in the mirror. The thin strands on top of my head are now a light brown color. I hardly recognize myself.

"It looks good!" Brynn chimes in. I raise my newly brunette eyebrow at her. I step into the bathroom stall with the clothes that she gave me. In the bag, there's a pair of black joggers, some shoes, a white tee shirt, and a maroon hoodie. I put all of it on, and step out for Brynn to see. "Hardly recognizable," she murmurs, looking at something on her phone. She glances up. "Except for those eyes... they are something, aren't they? Maybe we can pick up some contacts."

"Uh yeah, thank you," I say to her, trying my best to sound sincere. I guess Brynn is the first person outside of Killtec that I've ever met. If everyone is like her, maybe the real world isn't so bad.

"Um-hm, uber's here," she replies. Uber's here? Surely this girl doesn't intent to take me with her wherever she's going. I don't need an accomplice, or some knock off version of a karetaker. I need to keep myself alive long enough to prove to Killtec that they should be after Kaz, not me.

"Look, Brynn, I appreciate your help and all..." I trail off. I guess I was half expecting her to interrupt me. "You know why the cops are after me, right? It's because I killed someone. Multiple someones, actually. I'm a murderer. I'm not coming with you." I try to pump some remorse into my voice, but I doubt it sounds sincere. Brynn rolls her eyes. What the hell is wrong with this girl?!

"You think I'm an idiot? I know it was you who killed that scumbag, Lachlan. But I don't think you're just a garden variety murderer. I think you've got a story behind those purple irises," Brynn says. Then she looks up at me, head slightly cocked to the side, and meets my indigo eyes with her emerald ones. "You aren't a bad person until you believe you are." I breathe in sharply at the last part. That's the sort of thing Kamryn always used to say to me. I barely keep my pale lips from curling into a smile. Barely. Don't dwell on the past, Kyree. Kamryn was terminated, end of story. What do you know about this girl, anyway? She could be plotting against you, or worse, somehow working with Kaz. Even so, as I stare into Brynn's eyes, I decide not to leave her behind.

"Well, let's get going then," I sigh. Her eyes light up at my words, and we walk out to meet a red toyota prius on the curb.

"Uber for Brynn?" A forty something guy wearing a The Walking Dead t-shirt asks us through the driver's side window. His porcine face is screwed up, trying to read the glowing phone screen in front of him.

"Yep," Brynn says, hopping into the back seat. I follow her lead. "Going to East Harrison and Thirty third." The driver flashes us a quick thumbs up in the rearview mirror, and we're on our way.