BANG!
A gunshot resonated across the square.
Another day, another martyr.
I found myself wondering what it was like up on that stage. Imagining myself in the rebels footsteps. Being tortured for days, weeks maybe. Starved to the brink of death and marched onto a public stage to stare down the barrel of a gun. I had seen them being dragged up there, so frail and thin I couldn’t believe they didn’t crumble to dust. The thought made me want to scream and beg for mercy. Yet, not once had a single Outlier ever begged for someone to save them-never shed a tear. They stared the executioner in the eye, smiling in the face of death.
I could never do it. Gamble on luck to escape the walls, to join an army no one has ever seen. But the rebels that came to me for favors daily wouldn’t hesitate. They were true Outliers. I was just the repair guy, a nobody compared to them.
I rested my eyes, hands tucked behind my head on the dirty mattress in the corner of the six foot by eight foot cell. I didn’t have to look out the window to know the mortified screams following the gun shot was the rebel’s mother. Kids of the Outskirts have always been desperate to break free from the N. S. The serum had little effect on undeveloped brains. Made kids uncontrollable and the N.S. hated what they couldn’t control.
I should know, I was one of them.
My fingers twitched with the need to fiddle with something. Usually, I had some kind of tool or project to keep me busy. Even at that very moment, I had an unfinished bike with a defective ignition system sitting in my shop, just waiting to be finished.
Subconsciously, my hand reached into the secret pocket of my jacket, fiddling with the metal bullet I kept hidden from the world. The smooth surface was ragged, hastily carved with six letters: B-U-L-L-E-T. My name.
Thumbing over the words I could almost picture my parents hunched over, carving this bullet when I was a baby. Not that I could remember them or had even a vague recollection of ever having parents. No, my oldest memories were with the old man. I was sure if I had parents, they would have been repulsed by me. After all, I was one of the few who chose to leave the Upper Quarter to live in the slums of the Outskirts. But I regretted nothing.
Hearing the click of the lock, I dropped the bullet back into my pocket. As the Fry-heads in charge of the jail entered the cell I mustered up the most coy smile I could to the sound of the mothers wailing outside. “Chow time yet?”
One of the robots who always accompanied the fryers stepped forward, undoing the chains around my ankles. With a swipe of it’s finger, the metal melted away, dissolving into air without a trace it had ever existed. Eighty-seven times I had seen that trick, and I still hadn’t managed to figure out how it was done.
“You are being released for good behavior, 332,” The Fryer spoke with warning. A threat to not mess up again. “I hope we don’t see you back here any time soon.”
“I won’t come back again,” I rose my hand to my brow, saluting the Fryer. “Man’s honor.”
He did not look like he believed me. I didn’t even believe me. I had been detained so many times they had a cell set aside just for me. I was gaining such a reputation even the droids were weary when they saw me walking the streets.
“Please refrain from further curfew violations, Citizen,” The droid spoke up, it’s voice a mockery of a humans.
The sun was starting to set as I finally breathed the cool fresh air. Three days in lock-up could really make you appreciate the little things in life, like the room to stretch. The air was cool and crisp-cleaner than my days in the Upper Quarter.
I circled around the courtyard, taking the back alley’s until I could no longer hear the mother’s horrified screams. As the world grew darker, the less people I passed until I was trudging through the sand alone. I turned the corner onto the alley my shop was in, and something charged into my gut.
I was a relatively big guy. Not ridiculously ripped, but still sturdy with enough muscle to lift a two-ton hunk of metal. The girl who ran into me fell to the ground from the impact, her golden locks bouncing around her oval face.
She was small, maybe still in her early teens. Her clothes made her stick out like a very illegal sore thumb, bright yellow and decorated with golden flowers. She was beaten and bruised, covered in suit and grime. A boy, with bright fiery red hair and shattered glasses dropped to the ground beside her, trying to pull the girl back to her feet.
Through the remains of the boys tattered, white hoodie, I could see specks of red blood. Much to my relief, it didn’t seem to be his own. “Felix?”
“Bullet!” Felix gasped. “You’ve gotta help us! The droids-Grandpa and Marco-they’re gone and we’re next!”
I glanced between him and the girl. Doc was careful, calculated. It was hard to believe he’d ever let Felix of all people roam around with an Outlier by himself unless he was dead. I swallowed hard. Doc was a good friend; he’d taught me everything I knew about engines. The old man was kind, too kind. And it had finally gotten him killed.
I nodded gruffly down the alley, back the way they’d come. “Follow me.”
We stuck to the shadows, passing several other small businesses until we reached my garage doors. It appeared I had forgotten to lock up before I was arrested and was beyond relieved that no one had robbed me. I lifted the heavy metal door, beckoning the kids into the comforting darkness of home. My shop was small, barely big enough to hold a single rover. But it made up for size with height. Out of all the buildings in my sector, mine was the tallest. Standing at a whopping four stories, I had more room than one person could ever possibly fill. Yet somehow, I had managed to collect so much scrap material and junk that it filled every box and shelf I could build.
I rushed to lift the drain hatch beneath my cluttered desk in the center of the Garage, locking them in the storeroom below me. No sooner had I managed to fall into my chair did I hear the bell on the front door ringing out. Several Robots tromped in, scattering in groups around my home as the Fry-head in charge approached me.
He was a pitiful looking man, somebody who probably didn’t need to be given the serum to work for the N.S. They were most likely the only people in existence who could provide an actual need for someone like him. He mumbled to himself as he stared at the holographic screen projecting from his watch. He was staring at my file, my most recent mugshot smiled smugly at his round glasses.
“The only name we have registered to this residence is Bullet, that is you, correct?” The Fryer glanced at me flittingly, scrolling through my long list of offenses.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I coughed in my hand. “What’s it to ya’?”
“We are doing a mandatory sweep of every residence in this sector in search for fugitives who may be hiding nearby,” His voice was serious. “You have one chance to proclaim any knowledge you may have of criminal activity.”
“How about ya’ piss off, does it look like anyone else has been here?” I said, placing my feet over the grate. I grit my teeth as something crashed to the floor upstairs. The urge to run up there and see what was going on rotted my very core, but I kept myself firmly planted. Materials could be replaced, the kids could not.
The Droids searched every inch of my shop, overturning boxes of metal and tools, raiding cupboards and bookshelves. Of course, they found nothing and regrouped around my desk. Miraculously, not a single one had even attempted to root through the junk in front of me.
“Finished?” I snapped, pulling a tough face under their shadows.
The fryer finally pointed to the grate at my feet. “What’s that?”
The hair on my arms stood on end. “An oil drain, this is a mechanic shop ya’ moron.”
“Where does it flow? Central or Local?”
“Dunno,” I shrugged. I honestly didn’t know. I had never bothered to ask Doc through the many years he’s used it to help Outliers in and out of the city. “Goes somewhere I s’pose. What’s it got to do with anything? Ya’ didn’t find nothing so get outta my house already.” My palms were drenched in a cold sweat as the Fryer fiddled with his watch some more before he signaled the droids to leave.
My shoulders seemed to loose a few hundred pounds of weight as the robot’s filed out the door, leaving only the Fryer and his screen. Pressing several buttons, a series of images pulled up for me to see. “These criminals are armed and considered very dangerous, should you come across them, report it to the nearest droid patrol.”
The word WANTED was printed in bold red at the top of the poster, followed by three different photos. One, I recognized, was Felix’s I.D. photo. His wild red hair and goofy grin was unmistakable. Below him, the other two blurry photos looked to have been taken from security cams. I could make out the girl in yellow as one, but the other was far more difficult to make sense of. One thing I was able to see was the bright purple-ish colored hair and leather jacket.
I waved him off. “Yeah, whatever you say. Just get out.”
“The Matriarch thanks you for your cooperation, citizen,” The Fryer stepped towards the door, ringing the bell as he left. “Have a blessed night!”
“Blessed my ass,” I snarled under my breath, making sure they had really left before locking up the shop. When I threw open the grate, Felix stared at me dewy-eyed, while the girl’s harsh brown eyes glared wearily. “Start explaining.”
ns 15.158.61.54da2
