Authors: David Luna
Neil realizes he’s laughing to himself at his own joke when he slips inside the diner, surely an odd sight for someone with his title. He spots his usual booth next to the window taken by Bearded Bum, released from custody after Slayter tossed him to the curb days prior. Waiter, exhausted from a long double shift, makes eye contact with Neil before heading over to kick Bearded Bum out of Neil’s booth. Neil waves his hand to stop him and instead grabs an empty stool at the counter, just a short distance from the HELP WANTED sign still posted near the register.
Neil sips his water in silence, the mounted diner television powered off at this hour, leaving only the occasional sound of clanking forks, scooting chairs, and the squeaky ceiling fan. It’s not quite as mentally relaxing like the cliff overlooking the city, Neil’s favorite spot to escape to during the day, but he makes due.
Suddenly a voice speaks to him from his right. “You’ve changed,” the voice says, belonging to a Hooded Man now sitting next to Neil at the counter, discrete, never addressing him face-to-face and instead remaining forward, his features cast in shadow. “You’ve gotten…calmer.”
With five empty stools further down the counter, the Hooded Man purposely chose to sit next to Neil. Neil leans forward to glimpse who the man is and why he’s talking to him, shocked to learn it is Leon, the main leader of the Brigade. Sitting within arm’s reach, Neil could disable Leon with his shock baton, bind his hands, and end the threat of the Brigade in one swift movement. It would be easy, a little too easy, and that’s what makes it suspicious. Neil assumes there must be more to it. A trick. A trap. A setup. He glances around for anyone else who may have followed, but there’s nobody. Not even Bearded Bum takes notice of their interaction.
“You wouldn’t get into so many fights at reform school with how you are now,” Leon continues. “But even strays can be tamed with enough whippings.”
Leon alludes to their shared past – himself, Neil, and the other orphans together at reform school – all sharing a connection in ways that those who didn’t attend could never understand. It’s no secret Neil and Leon knew each other back in reform school before applying to the Academy, but it is also no secret of the different choices each of them ultimately made.
“I chose to stick with it,” Neil says. “You failed out.”
“Far from it,” Leon fires back, “but I guess I can’t blame you, living inside the machine of misinformation.”
“How long were you following me?”
“I didn’t follow you,” Leon responds. He nods out the side window towards the three prostitutes, specifically focusing on the young one.
“Eyes and ears everywhere,”
Neil thinks to himself. Frank from the slums was right.
“What happened to you?” Neil asks.
“Maybe if I would’ve gotten hit in the head more. Been unable to think and become a sheep, like you.”
“Is what you do for the people or to get back at the Agency?” Neil asks.
“What’s the difference? They’re killing our city.”
“Some of us need to die. Otherwise, we all do.”
“Don’t waste your breath on that propaganda,” Leon snaps, his voice rising more than intended. “If only you knew how deep it really goes, which side you’re on, you might consider me a friend.”
“Collectors don’t have friends.”
“What about partners?” Leon asks, purposely choosing to use that word.
Leon finally looks to Neil, his eyes burning a hole through Neil like lasers. Neil does his best not to react. No facial twitch. No body movement. Not even a squeeze of his sweaty palms. He remains oblivious on the outside when all he really wants to do is prod further. Does Leon know?
“No wonder you can pass evals. That stoic face. That monotone voice,” Leon says. “But you’re compromised. It’s only a matter of time before they find out.”
Neil narrows his eyes, still trying to figure out exactly how much Leon knows.
“Do I have to say it out loud?” Leon asks, seemingly reading Neil’s mind to confirm.
“What do you want?”
“The name of your Dispatcher.”
Neil knows what this means. Adrianne is the Brigade’s next target, most surely because of her insider knowledge of assignments – Collection Due Dates, locations, assigned Collectors. Citizens can volunteer up to three weeks in advance, so this information could help the Brigade plant traps and ambushes on hundreds, potentially over a thousand, assignments. It would be catastrophic. Just whispering Adrianne’s name would be her death sentence, along with a guaranteed demise for a handful of his colleagues.
“You think Mazer will believe the word of a traitor?” Neil challenges.
“He listens to you, doesn’t he?” Leon responds. “Besides, if he won’t take my call, we have other ways to notify him.” He powers on his own PDA. “Turn around.”
Neil hesitates. Leon motions with his hand, insisting. Finally, Neil rotates in his stool to face the rest of the diner. The only things noticeable are a set of dirty dishes at one table and Bearded Bum at the booth, until Neil’s search moves outside the diner window. He spots a bright digital display across the street at a SectorLink Bus Stop where the current ad – displaying a notice about water ration conservation – changes to a public service announcement to REPORT SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY. Neil furrows his brow.
“Was that a coincidence?”
he thinks, until he watches Leon type on his PDA and the digital ad changes again. This time it’s the Agency’s Anti-Breacher Campaign where the word BREACHER is covered with a red circle and diagonal slash, the universal symbol for prohibited. An anonymous contact number is listed in bold along the bottom.
“This is just a bus stop. How ‘bout the signs in main square? The really big ones. I hear Mazer has a great view from his balcony.” Leon begins typing on his PDA and reading aloud, “N…e…i…l...”
Neil brushes Leon’s hand away from the device and rotates back around, having seen enough to be convinced of Leon’s leverage. He sips his water, eyes glazed over as he considers his lack of options.
“You’ve already taken one life for hers. Can you do it again?” Leon asks. He pats Neil’s shoulder, pausing on the 3-stripe arm badge Slayter shredded in half yet still manages to hang on by a thread. He shakes his head at the tattered symbol before slipping away.
A creak in the floorboard causes Neil to bolt upright in bed, taking aim with a shock baton hidden beneath his pillow. It’s only Inna moving towards the bathroom.
“Go back to sleep,” she whispers.
Neil lowers the baton and rubs his eyes, unsure what time it is later that night. He grabs his sample device to take his own sample. Light from the PDA screen illuminates his face as he runs his blood against the database.
The screen locks onto Neil’s profile, nothing out of the ordinary. Leon hasn’t outed him just yet for what he’s done to deceive the Agency.
Neil remains hunched over as he dwells on the decision before him. He considers calling Leon’s bluff, but then reminds himself of what he witnessed on the bus stop digital display. Leon could literally write anything he wanted and post it for the entire city to see. It’s like the power and influence of Quado, but stronger and more malicious. Before he works himself up with anxiety, he considers the alternative to try to convince himself how this could play out in his favor. Mazer is too smart to fall for a ploy by the Brigade, and he would undoubtedly recognize the accusations as a blatant attack aimed to divide the Agency from within when now is the time the Agency needs to be unified the most. For all he knows Mazer might even get a laugh out of it. He might celebrate in the Brigade’s desperation as they are forced to stoop to outrageous slander, and he might use this desperation to motivate the other Collectors as proof that the Brigade is on the defensive and the Agency is close to victory. For the slightest moment, Neil actually convinces himself of this outcome. He starts to relax and his breathing regulates until the sight of the needle mark in his forearm whisks the dream away and reality takes hold. Because of Wade and the other turmoil within the Agency, Mazer would still assign a young office administrator to look into the matter because even if he recognized it as a slander tactic and didn’t himself believe it, Mazer still has to appease the Board of Directors and prove his due diligence. The last thing Neil needs is some young intern digging into the Collection Records and somehow discovering that a sixteen-year-old girl from the slums was submitted to the tunnels in place of Inna Klein, the same girl Mazer saw Neil dance with at the gala and the same girl previously partnered with the man who helped the Brigade blow up Neil’s truck. There are too many interconnected pieces at play. Neil knows he was careful, but he also knows one can never be too careful.
As his breathing begins to quicken again, Inna crawls across the sheets and places her chin to his shoulder. He turns to kiss her, his hand on her cheek. The softness of her lips takes him back to the first time they touched, the feeling of hope renewed. As she rubs her fingers through his hair, he concludes that in order to hold onto what he has with Inna, he needs to keep the focus off of him and on the Brigade while he continues to track them down and eliminate them. But to do that he needs time, and right now there is only one way he knows how to buy that time.
In that moment, under the moonlight piercing through the blinds, the same white orb surely washing over Adrianne’s face as she sleeps unsuspectingly, Neil knows what he must do.
Mazer addresses a crowd of two dozen fresh recruits inside the legendary
Academy
with Neil beside him. While both Mazer and Neil have been aged by the weight of the job, the recruits are young and hungry – baby-faced outcasts longing for the chance to feel like they belong.
Most of the infrastructure in the city has deteriorated beyond recognition over the years. However, the Academy is newly renovated – an old three-story bread factory converted into a hands-on training center. A plethora of knobs, buttons, switches, and monitors line the panels surrounding the group inside of a control room. It’s quite similar to the engineer’s control panel over at the Public Access TV Station in Sector A.
Neil struggles to pay attention to Mazer as he’s distracted with his own thoughts, specifically recalling Leon’s blackmail threat. On the drive over, Neil casually suggested to Mazer about providing SEO protection to a handful of Agency employees. Not to everyone, but to those with important access levels. Mazer quickly rejected the notion, citing that the Brigade has no history of attacking Agency employees in non-authoritative roles and that they haven’t received any intelligence to suggest otherwise. Neil found himself suspiciously silent for the remainder of the ride as he did have the intelligence to suggest otherwise, but wasn’t willing to sacrifice himself in order to share it.
While Neil fails to focus on the presentation, one of the recruits is the complete opposite. It’s Zack, part of the newest batch, his face shaven, hair trimmed, and clothes ironed. Taking this opportunity very seriously, Zack stations himself front and center where he hangs on Mazer’s every word, barely glancing over to Neil off to the side.
“The choice to become a Collector should not be taken lightly,” Mazer states. “It’s a strict regimen of physical discipline, mental fortitude, and emotional solitude. To put it bluntly: you will be alone. Be honest with yourself. Can you handle that?” Mazer pauses to allow the question to sink in.
No one flinches – no doubt, no reservations – exactly as expected.
“Each of you has been selected for a reason. Your skills. Your talent. Your drive,” Mazer continues. “But look around you. Most here will fail. Few will earn the stripes needed from the Academy to graduate and become a Collector, and even then for those who do, not all will be able to rise to the challenge.”
Zack glances around and grins at his competition. There’s no doubt in his mind he will succeed, a combination of silent confidence and foolish cockiness.
“I want to invite one of our success stories to say a few words. Someone who I found in the same reform school many of you came from. Let’s all welcome Neil Vaughn,” he introduces.
Neil’s palms are uncomfortably sweaty. He’s usually asked to spring to action, not say words in public.
“Everything said so far is true,” he begins as he steps forward. “This is an elite team. Only the toughest, strongest, and brightest are selected. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. And why shouldn’t you? You have a direct choice in your success, in your happiness. We all have a choice in our happiness. That’s what I’ve come to learn during my tenure here. The things you will see. The things you will encounter. They will test you. Hold onto whatever it is that drives you to stand here today because if you forget that, you just might forget why you signed up in the first place.”
Many recruits furrow their brows, confused regarding Neil’s motivation tactics. Even Mazer cocks his head. Neil notices, self-conscious that his words were unintentionally revealing. He brings his speech around with stock material he’s heard numerous times by past speakers over the years.
“Truth. Honor. Service. That is what you represent. The future of this city. The Agency thanks you for your upcoming service,” Neil concludes.
Mazer shifts gears in the presentation. “If you turn around I’d like to demonstrate an example of the new types of courses currently in development.” He points behind a glass window leading to the
Virtual Training Simulator
, currently a vacant grey room with blue grid lines. With the press of a button, the room begins to digitally transform as a computer-generated setpiece washes over the grid. In mere seconds, the dull space morphs into a virtual tavern – wooden, aged, a dive – where stock photos line the walls and an Agency infomercial plays on a TV in the corner. Besides a burning cigarette in an ash tray at the bar top, the only thing of relevance is a lifelike figure sitting alone at a table with a half empty drink in front of him. The simulation technology is impressive.
“To set the scenario, this is a volunteer who reached his Collection Date and his Collector is now on his way for transport,” Mazer explains. “Throughout a career, a Collector will encounter a wide array of environments unique to each assignment. Can anyone properly assess this situation?”