Nick looked around the deserted alley. His helper should be here... He winced as his shoulder throbbed.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't be out this late, and injured. But he'd gotten a good haul and didn't want to chance waiting.
Again, he cursed himself for being slow and wondered if his shoulder would ever heal. He'd been lucky to leave that fight alive.
Finally she slipped into view, a slim shadow in the dark street.
She nodded to him and hoisted a crate.
"Good, you're here," he said tersely.
Still she didn't speak. Nick nodded back and went to work.
For as long as anyone could remember, it had been a constant battle to survive. No one knew anything but slipping between buildings, taking what they could and getting away fast.
Nick had always been proud of his speed and efficiency. It had earned him the title "Nick the Flash."
His companion, Ruth, was well-known for a different reason. She took her time, assessed her target and struck where it hurt. Then she would vanish, leaving no trace.
"So," he asked, "life treating you well?"
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