14th Floor Cortez Hotel

Holden and Douglass crept through the darkness silently, barely able to see anything in front of them. The electricity to the hotel had been cut off long ago and now it was almost pitch-black, save for the lights of adjacent buildings shining through the windows. Douglass was tempted to use his flashlight but decided against it, best not risk alerting the replicants.

Both men stopped outside Room 5 and checked their guns. They gave each other nods to affirm they were ready and then got on with the job. Douglass stood by the hinges of the door, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. Holden stepped back to the wall opposite the door then lunged forwards, lashing out with his foot.

The kick flung the door open, splinters flying from the damaged lock. Holden raced in, quickly followed by Douglass, both men sweeping their flashlights from side to side, scanning the area for a hostile element. "Spread out," whispered Holden, moving towards the kitchen.

Douglass walked slowly towards the bedrooms. These apartments were massive; the Cortez Hotel had been a very expensive place until the second Wall Street Crash had put it out of business. He kept his sidearm straight out in front of him, ready to squeeze the trigger and end an artificial life.

He moved the flashlight beam over one of the beds. It had been used recently; sheets looked clean and free of dust. Photographs strewn across the floor depicted all sorts of things, children playing, tropical holidays. He'd heard that many skin-jobs were fixated on photographs, probably a yearning to have a past like those the pictures held.

He whirled round, thought he caught movement in the beam of his light, a shadow across the wall. He left the bedroom and went back the way he came. A rat squealed as he walked back into the apartment's main hall.

Holden ducked beneath pots and pans that hung from the kitchen ceiling. He glanced around the room, saw plates lying in the sink, leftovers that were still fresh on top of them. He opened one of the cupboards and saw that it was fully stocked with tinned foods and bottles of water. The reps sure had set up home quickly.

A hand grabbed the scruff of his overcoat and shoved him forward. His head banged against the open cupboard door and his vision swam for a moment. He tried to turn but a blow fell on the back of his neck and he fell to the ground.

Plates and cutlery fell around him as he twisted to see who his attacker was. One of the plates smashed on his head and he rolled over, feeling blood trickling from his scalp and soaking his hair. He looked up and caught a glimpse of a young, plain-looking woman grabbing a knife from the sink. He frantically scanned the room for his gun, which had been lost in the scuffle.

The woman stood above him, grasped the knife in both hands and raised it above her head. Holden closed his eyes, knowing that his time had come. A gunshot roared in the tiny confines of the room and he snapped his eyes back open. The woman dropped the knife, blood running from a wound in her arm. As the knife clattered to the floor she began running.

Douglass stood in the doorway of the kitchen, gun held out and smoking. He watched as the woman began to run to the far end of the kitchen, towards the window. Realising that she intended to escape he raised his gun and aimed.

Holden's assailant was almost at the window when two further shots drilled their way through her body. Blood erupted from her shoulder and chest and she stumbled onwards, straight into the window. Her momentum carried her through the thin glass, shattering it as she fell through into thin air.

Douglass ran up to the window and looked out, only to see her falling, turning in the air with shards of glass glistening around her. She plummeted downwards, her eyes to the heavens, alive right up to the moment her body met with the pavement.

Douglass turned away in time to see third person in the room. Holden was lying on the floor, in a daze and possibly concussed. By the door, however, Douglass briefly saw another person turn and leave the room. He jumped over Holden and gave chase, hearing the apartment door swing on its broken hinges.

He ran into the hall and smashed through the door, knocking it straight off the hinges and onto the corridor floor. He shone his flashlight done the corridor in time to catch a shadow headed for the stairs. He sprinted down the corridor, dropped the flashlight and vaulted straight over the stairway rails, right onto the second flight of stairs.

He landed badly and fell in front of the person he had been chasing. Feet collided with his body and he felt a body fall beside his. He rolled over, grasped the gun in both hands and pressed it right into his quarry's face. He heard a feminine gasp and his finger paused, just about to squeeze the trigger.

In front of him, with the muzzle of his gun pressed in her face was young girl, maybe eighteen to twenty years old. She let out a whimper, her tear filled eyes looking straight into his own. He squeezed the trigger, putting a little more pressure on it.

God but she was beautiful. An angelic face with deep red lips, framed with long blonde hair. Pleasure model, had to be. He squeezed the trigger a little more.

Her body was curled up, shying away from where it had touched his in the fall. Her breath quickened, her eyebrows arching with anticipation. He squeezed...

... and released the trigger.

"I can't do it," he murmured.

The girl looked at him, obviously not having expected to be alive at this point. "You killed Anne," she whispered.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "It's my job"

"But..."

"Just run. And run fast"

She moved into a crouch, still unsure of what to do in this rather unpredicted occurrence. Douglass gave her a little incentive.

"Run. Because I'm going to kill you if you don't," he said as he pointed the gun at her again.

She jumped to her feet and ran down the stairs. Douglass got to his feet and went back up to the top floor to help Holden.