AI's POV

First rule of Outside survival is 'do not wander in the dark'.

For as long as I can remember; according to history known; for the last few hundred years; Outside has been a brutal place forgotten by the living. Night time here especially.

It's full of crazy people. Those who'd kill you and eat you in a heartbeat, or those who'd sell you, heart still beating, to the leechers.

Everybody knows this, beyond the Wall. It's the last thing they warn you about as you're leaving a major city, to risk travelling between the mets. It's written on all the doors and escape exits in every bar and brawler out here.

Yet, I'm about to break this rule, again.

The thought of it leaves me light-headed and dry mouthed, unable to sit still or sleep anymore. There's a flutter inside my chest like a trapped bird. I'm caught up in anticipation of going out after curfew to do something I shouldn't, and an all-consuming fear of being ripped to shreds.

From our window we're high enough to have a clear view in all directions. But with the dying light, it's difficult to make out even the streets below. I lean forward, pressing my forehead and nose tip to the cold, dirty glass - the only divide separating me from the terror - to take a closer look.

There's ground dust coating every surface and cracks run up sides making monstrous shapes in the twilight. Buildings close to ours have become imposing giants and alleyways are endless. It's tempting to stay inside and huddle closer to Cal for warmth, burning our last candle down to the stub, until I drift to sleep.

It will be safer at dawn. In daylight.

Snug at my wrist, my bio-stat beeps. I stand for a few more minutes, listening to it beep one too many times, before turning it off. I take a copy of the reading, as I do every day, and send it to Kaz our resident medic.

Then, against better judgment, I get dressed.

Sitting around and waiting for others to protect me isn't a preferred option.

The air is icy and painful, for a few moments, as I finish buttoning my shirt. With trembling hands, I grab my jacket and hoodie from the rear of the chair and shove my hair, what's left, under a baseball cap. As an afterthought, I slip the bio-stat monitor into a bottom drawer, out of sight.

My stats are lower than normal, which means I'm due a checkup, meds and special restrictions for the next few weeks.

Yeah, scratch that.

Cal sits up, watching me with sudden interest from the bed. His green eyes blurred. Copped, brown hair matted from sleep. He has another bank of late shifts so he's been sleeping during the day, a lot. Not that I mind, but there are times when I've missed him lately.

"You're going out? Isn't it getting late? It'll be dark soon." There's a hint of concern in his tone, but his expression is even, bored almost. What can I say; the boy has an immaculate poker face.

"Daemon wants to see me."

I don't glance up but carry on with what I'm doing, packing the essentials; flask of rainwater, neon yellow flint lighter, foils, flashlight, knives and firearms. The usual.

I'm not the best fighter but I'd rather have a weapon. The smallest thing could save your life.

Or stop you from dying too easily.

The pocket blade is a small flip one - with a carved-bone handle - I traded the length of my hair for last year. I slip this into my jacket pocket. And a taser as guns tend to be useless. I secure the zips - pickpockets are rife on the main strip - and sling the small pack over my shoulders, tightening the straps.

Cal, who hasn't yet moved, watches me closely. I avoid looking at the drawer where I stashed the monitor and move around the bed, closer, bracing myself for another lecture. It's become our favourite pastime, to debate the finer points of my safety.

"I'll be back before you know it." I exclaim, hoping it's true.

He says nothing, instead he opens an arm beckoning me over. I fuss with the straps of the backpack before conceding. He angles his body and draws me onto our bed in a one-armed hug.

I let myself lie there, enjoying the warmth of the blankets and heat of his body next to mine. Just as I'm getting comfy, he snakes his other arm under me and buries me deeper with him under the covers, kissing the front of my neck where my tattoo scar shows.

Not happening.

"Cal -" I sigh and struggle against him.

"What?" He laughs. "I'm trying to convince you to stay." He leans over and lays a kiss on each eye, making me close them. His lips move to my mouth, my neck, and his teeth bite me gently through my shirt onto my torso. One hand tries to take off my pack while the other explores.

I gently shake my head and push him away, falling out of the tangled sheets. My feet moving me out of reach before he changes my mind.

It takes a minute or two to straighten my pack, reclaim my cap, and hide my hair again. I give him a look, one that says 'if you try that again you'll be sorry'.

Ok, I'll admit I'm a little breathless.

Cal smirks and sits up. He rubs his stubbled chin, mischievous eyes narrowed at me, before looking away, fluffing his bed-head hair as he stretches awake.

The other resident of our abode, a freeloading calico feline of the scrawny persuasion, jumps from the windowsill to rub herself all over Cal.

She eyes me like I'm competition.

She's not wrong.

"Tell Daemon you'll see him in the morning." Cal says, idly stroking 'Dab'. "I doubt he wants you running around at this hour."

The small cat purrs under his touch; much like those custom-built bikes he's always tinkering with.

Jealous much?

I sigh. Not going until morning isn't an option. My brother never asks me to meet in person this late. Something is up. Something he can't tell me over the Public Broadcast Network for every casual hacker to see.

"He says it's urgent so I'm going."

And that's that.

I park myself on the edge of the bed, facing away from him and his other love interest. Cal is quiet again - knowing when not to push the issue - while I lace my boots.

Finally, he gets up, the loss of weight making the bed bounce as he walks past me into our small, makeshift kitchen.

There isn't much to cook on; most of the time we take our meals with others in the complex; but there's a sink and we've installed a table and side unit.

The whole place is crammed ledge-to-ledge with pots and containers full of plants - from homegrown, sprawling vegetables to leafy, fragrant herbs and long stems dropping with flowers - my attempt at a private garden. We're not allowed to grow personal produce outdoors. Every speck of space the settlement needs for shared crops and solar power.

But this, this space is ours.

Cal sets a saucer of water for Dab, from the cans of collected rainwater, and pours himself a glass. Next, he'll check his messages, shave and grab a shirt from the line hanging over the bathtub. Never shirking his morning (or should I say evening) routine.

In this way, he reminds me of my brother Daemon—always and forever following an unspoken set of rules. Like the metronome, you can set your watch by him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was military trained - like us - only Cal was born out here so that's impossible. No one leaves the Establishment Military without paying huge sums of money to their Security Council.

I should know.

I stand, ready to go, as Cal picks up his com and fiddles with it, frowning as he reads the latest slew of messages. I have an urge to walk and peer over his shoulder. There's business I'm privy to (farming matters, energy supplies, local gossip), and business I'm not.

I can tell the way he's holding his com that if I go over there, he'll close the screen so I can't see. A good guess is its hybrid business.

Instead, I bend down to pet Dab as her second best human, as he taps a succinct reply and slips the com onto his wrist, forever lost in troubled thought. Cal's silent mood is getting heavy in the enclosed room. Better to leave now and argue later. Before he decides he wants to escort me there himself.

"I'll come with you. To the Gate." He says eventually, bringing my immediate concern to life. Like my brother, he can also read minds - not in the viper sense, more the uncanny one. I glance up to see him throwing on a shirt, fussing with the creased cuffs, skipping the shave entirely.

"That's not a good idea." I huff a little. "You know Dae doesn't like you."

Cal raises a brow. "Like I care what your brother thinks of me?"

My brother likes to blame Cal for my growing enmity towards our capital, New Eden; one of many technologically advanced cities founded by our ancestors, built during the darkest days of the Hybrid War. With defense walls of inter-lacing ionised airfields, generated by a myriad of plasma towers surrounding the centre - it's supposed to be the safest place on earth.

For those privileged enough to live there, or within other walled cities, it is.

But those born Outside, banished - without a sponsor or scholarship to pay for right of residency - are left to fend for themselves, along with the vamps.

"You can't travel through the Gate. Where will you go while I'm meeting Daemon?"

The Gate, near end of an old suspension bridge, is the main border control point to New Eden. It's usually where I meet Daemon. Inside, not out.

Those of us choosing to live out here can come and go as we please, as long as we stay in the quarantined sectors.

Cal, unfortunately, doesn't have the same luxury. His crappy birth right allows only for one non-permanent visa application every ten years. He'd also have to pass a strict set of approvals prior to entry. Even with the necessary paperwork, a native Outsider could never afford it.

Even if we sold every quart of blood we had to spare, at an inflated price, it still wouldn't be enough.

"I'll hang just shy of the port. Wait for you there."

I feel the tip of my nose wrinkling. The port is where all the blood-suckers hang out when the sun dies. I'd be worried if I left him there, waiting alone. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Don't you have to work?" I remind him.

Cal looks at his com strapped to his wrist. His face darkens. That's not something he can argue with. Cal has a part-time job for the infamous hybrid twins—two vamps you do not want to cross. I've never met them, and never want to, but out here they control most trade. Either you work with them or for them, but never against.

"Fine, fine, but ride straight there and back. No deviations. And you'll keep your com tracker on this time?"

I nod.

"If you're not back in half an hour, before sunset, I'm coming for you."

I nod again as he closes the gap between us, bending down to kiss me softly, pulling me into his arms as though he never wants to let me go.

"Be careful out there please. No heroics, no crazy ideas. Promise me?"

"I promise." I half lie. All my ideas are crazy.

I remove myself from the closeness of him. He has a way of getting under my skin and I prefer an unclouded head for the road.

We're not the most conventional couple. Cal found me when I needed him, after Eden. When I knew nothing of surviving out here. I still don't know how we transitioned from friends to something more. I didn't question it the first night when he kissed me, after months of expecting him to. After that, we sort of fell into being together.

He was there when others weren't. That's all that really matters.

"You'll bolt the metal shutters after I'm through?" I head towards the window and open it as much as it will go, then scramble onto the ledge swinging my legs over the side.

"The key will be under the tile."

I offer him our 'it'll all be ok'  smile. It melts his frost just a little, taking the sight of me.

Only then do I slip away.