Truancy Origins

by Isamu Fukui

  . . . and heard a gun being cocked behind him as fluorescent lights hummed to life, illuminating the drab basement. Instantly alert, Rothenberg froze, cursing himself for his carelessness. Several moments passed and nothing happened. Rothenberg began to relax. Whoever had ambushed him clearly didn’t mean to kill him just yet; that meant he had options. Rothenberg decided to wait and see what the person wanted.

  “Well, what have we here, an Enforcer with the guts to work alone? What an uncommon phenomenon.”

  Rothenberg was startled by the voice—it belonged to a child! And yet it was different, very different, from any he had heard before. There was an undercurrent of cruelty, an unspoken promise of brutality in every syllable. It was chilling, not only in and of itself but because, after years of viewing them all as the same, Rothenberg was only just beginning to understand how different children could be. Instinctively Rothenberg’s hand crept towards his gun.

  “Not another inch, Enforcer, unless you’d care to get shot.”

  Rothenberg scowled and stopped his hand. Behind him the boy’s footsteps began pacing back and forth. Rothenberg was being sized up. He found that that notion was alien to him. Being sized up by a child? What had become of the City?

  “Hm, come to think of it, I believe I know who you are.” The voice suddenly sounded delighted. “Yes . . . we’ve met before, haven’t we? But you’ve never seen the real me, have you, Rothenberg?”

  “What’re you babbling about, brat?”

  “Oh, so you don’t recognize me after all?” the boy said with mock hurt. “Well, that’s not surprising. You hardly seemed sober at the time. But I don’t mind—I’ve heard quite a bit about you. The great Enforcer Rothenberg, the terror of the vagrants, the brutal man that the Mayor sent to war against his own sons!”

  Rothenberg was surprised that the boy knew about his exploits, but he was shocked to find that the kid’s voice was not filled with fear, anger, or even malice. Instead the voice now dripped with scorn and mockery, as if it were discussing a bad joke. Rothenberg clenched his fists angrily. He would make sure that this child, no matter who he was, paid for not showing more respect.

  “Aside from your size, you certainly don’t look like much,” the voice continued, “so I suppose that I should commend you for getting this far.”

  “This is an abandoned district, boy,” Rothenberg growled. “Who said you could come here?”

  “Who said I could come here?” the voice repeated. “Why, I did.”

  “And do you think you can just do whatever you want?”

  “Of course. You’re not the brightest coin in the Mayor’s purse, are you?” the voice mused. “If I feel like visiting an abandoned district, who’s going to stop me? You? By all means, Enforcer, try it.”

  Rothenberg snarled incoherently, but did not move, silently acknowledging the boy’s point.

  “Do you really think you can get away with pointing a gun at an adult?” Rothenberg demanded, changing the subject.

  “Oh yes—as a matter of fact, I believe I can get away with much more than that,” the voice said. “I suppose that I should reintroduce myself. My name is Edward. Don’t forget it again, Enforcer. Within a few years you and the rest of your colleagues will serve me . . . provided that you survive that long, that is.”

  “So you’re not the Mayor’s son?” Rothenberg said.

  “That pacifistic fool?” Edward laughed. “Please. I have greater ambition than to rot in an abandoned district. I think you can identify with that. After all, the two of us are obviously kindred spirits.”

  “Oh yeah?” Rothenberg snorted derisively. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, but it’s true,” Edward insisted. “We have much in common, you and I. We both care nothing for others, we are determined to realize our own ambitions, and we are both clearly prepared to resort to brutality to do so. Really”—Edward chuckled—“the only significant differences between us are our ages . . . and your relative lack of intelligence.”

  Rothenberg stiffened in shock at the insult, and in that instant his patience snapped, and his hand darted for his gun with astounding speed. Despite his encounters with the Truancy, Rothenberg was sure that Edward would not pull the trigger in time. The possibility that a child would shoot him in the back without hesitation, in cold blood, still did not yet occur to Rothenberg.

  With most other children, he might have been right. With Edward, he couldn’t have been more mistaken.

  Edward didn’t hesitate, carefully aiming his gun lower as Rothenberg reached for his pistol. Before Rothenberg could even draw his pistol from its holster, a deafening bang burst throughout the room, followed a moment later by an earsplitting shriek. Edward’s lip slowly curled up into a satisfied smile as he circled around Rothenberg’s writhing body.

  “How careless of me—I think that I’ve shattered your kneecap,” Edward said with mock concern. “I can’t imagine how painful that must be. Not to mention that you might never walk on that leg again.”

  “You . . .” Rothenberg gritted in disbelief through his teeth, flopping about like an oversized fish. “You . . . you’re just a . . .”

  “Student? Child? Legal inferior?” Edward finished mildly. “True enough, I suppose—at least for now. But look at you, Enforcer, squirming about on the floor. To me, you’re nothing but a worm.”

  Rothenberg snarled, and in a fit of irrationality, seized his fallen pistol, shakily raising it again. The motion was too clumsy, too slow to have any chance of success, yet Rothenberg performed it anyway in the defense of his ego.

  Edward, of course, had no intention of allowing Rothenberg to pull the trigger.

  “How rude of me,” Edward said, “I forgot about your other leg.”

  Another deafening shot rang out, and once more Rothenberg screamed and thrashed about wildly on the floor. Both his knees now bled, staining his bullet-torn uniform dark red. Admiring his work, Edward chuckled to himself and kicked the gun backwards, out of Rothenberg’s reach.

  “That’s right, wriggle about on the ground like scum!” Edward laughed. “You are a proud man, Rothenberg. We are both proud men. But how do you feel now, reduced to crawling at my feet!”

  Rothenberg’s eyes bulged, his nostrils flared, his breaths came rapidly as if no amount of air could satisfy his lungs. His arms reached feebly for Edward’s legs, determined to do some kind of harm to the boy who had dared to so completely defy every expectation Rothenberg had of children . . . then he went limp, passing out from the pain and exertion.

  Edward frowned at the Enforcer’s loss of consciousness. He had expected the man to be able to put up with a little more than that. It was disappointing, really, that he wouldn’t be able to feel anything else that Edward did. After just a moment’s consideration Edward aimed his gun again anyway. He now wondered if Rothenberg might be awakened when shot, and there was no reason not to try.

  Before Edward could decide on which body part to shoot next, his train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a new voice—calm, yet furious.

  “What are you doing, Ed?”

  Edward spun around to see Umasi standing in the doorway, Rothenberg’s gun in his hand, pointed steadily at Edward. Edward was momentarily disconcerted by how completely Umasi had managed to sneak up on him, but the uneasy feeling soon passed. For all his strengths, Edward knew, this pacifist was no warrior.

  “Mr. Umasi,” Edward greeted, raising his own gun as he performed an ironic bow. “How kind of you to join us.”

  “How could you?”

  “Come on, are you really that blind? Did you truly have no idea about who I really am? Obviously not,” Edward observed, for Umasi was staring at him with a look of utmost horror. “Don’t tell me that I scare you. Is the real me that fearsome?”

  “Fear is the unknown, Edward,” Umasi said in a voice from the grave. “No, you aren’t frightening to me. On the contrary, I believe I truly know you now.”

  “You only think you do, Umasi.”
r />   “Do not think that you will get away with this.”

  “And who’s going to punish me? You? Haven’t I already proven that you’re weak and foolish?” Edward crowed. “Look how easily taken in you were! After all you claim you’ve been through you’re still naïve, eager to trust, emotional! Did you really think that my tears meant anything? I am not such a fool, Umasi! Not like you!”

  “No, you’re not like me at all,” Umasi agreed. “I have never been pathetic enough to disguise myself as a friend and then flee after profiting from goodwill.”

  “Flee? I have no intention of fleeing, Umasi. You are a liability that needs to be dealt with.” Edward smiled, finger tightening on his trigger. “You would weigh me down forever if you had the chance. But I won’t let you hang on to my ankles—if something harmful is attached to you, sever it I say!”

  “So you intend to decide this with bullets?” Umasi said, grip tightening on his own gun. “Afraid of meeting me in personal combat, are you? I don’t blame you. You have never seen me fight. It is only natural to be scared.”

  “Scared? Me? You really think you’d stand a chance against me?” Edward gaped for a moment, and then burst into laughter as he tossed his gun aside. “Bring it then, Umasi. We both know you’re not going to shoot me down in cold blood.”

  Umasi said nothing, but raised his gun to point at the ceiling. He fired, and with a shattering of glass and shower of sparks, one of the room’s lights went dark. With a few more well-aimed shots, the room was plunged into total darkness, and Edward felt a moment’s unease as he stood there squinting into the shadows. Brushing the feeling aside, Edward confidently braced himself for an attack, certain of his victory.

  “Do you think that this is going to help you, Umasi?” Edward challenged. “Or are you going to run?”

  “I have nothing more to say to you, Edward.”

  Edward heard Umasi’s gun clatter to the ground, then there was a swoosh as something darted at him. Edward lashed out with his fist and felt a surge of triumph as it made contact. Then his wrist was seized and he was sent crashing to the ground. Scrambling back to his feet, Edward felt a bit of his confidence erode. A moment later, a foot connected firmly with his back, sending him stumbling forward in the blackness. Spinning around to face his unseen attacker, Edward seethed in frustration. The dark was more annoying than he had thought it would be. How could Umasi move so well when he was practically blind? What had he said before? Something about listening?

  His heart pounding in his ears, Edward shut his eyes and struggled to hear something, anything. For a moment there was nothing, and then . . . There, to the left, noise! Edward pounced, outstretched arms swiping at thin air just as he realized that what he had heard was a clanking noise, and not the sound of a human. At that moment someone again zipped through the dark, and before Edward could react he was slammed to the side. Rebounding off a wall, Edward swung his fists randomly, breathing heavily, not knowing if he was even striking in the right direction. Then he stepped on something round, slipped, and crashed to the ground again.

  Swearing, Edward scrabbled on the floor, searching for whatever it was that he had slipped on. Seizing upon what felt like some metal tubes, Edward realized that these were not only what he had tripped on, but also the same things that he had heard clanking earlier. Edward rose again, this time brandishing one of the tubes, and Umasi either let him get up or was too apprehensive to stop him. As he stood there, alone in the dark, Edward suddenly thought he heard a soft breathing behind him. Spinning around, Edward frantically swung his makeshift club, only to realize that he was lashing out at nothing, that his mind had been playing tricks on him.

  Edward struck the ground with his pipe in frustration. Dammit! If only he could see! He would be winning, he should be winning! Cursing Umasi for his underhanded tactics, Edward strained his ears again, still hearing nothing but his own heaving breaths. Edward gave up and attacked the floor again in disgust. Useless! He was better than this pathetic creeping around in the shadows, ears twitching like some timid mouse. He was cunning, powerful, more formidable than anyone ever suspected, he was—

  A fist slammed into Edward’s chest, derailing his train of thought. Edward instinctively made a swipe with his free hand, and felt it snatch Umasi’s sunglasses from his face. In retaliation a blow to the face sent Edward stumbling backwards. He feebly tried lashing out with his pipe. An unseen hand caught the weapon in midair, and Edward felt it deftly twisted from his grasp and sent clattering off. Edward hastily backed away, desperate to put some distance between him and his assailant. Reaching a corner, he hastily stuffed the stolen sunglasses into his back pocket and paused. All was silent again.

  For the first time in his life Edward felt small and helpless as he stared blindly into the dark. Minutes ago he had been almost delirious with joy, an Enforcer at his feet, and seemingly the entire City his for the taking. Now his ambitions, confidence, and abilities had all abandoned him. He was frightened. Something creaked. Edward’s heart pounded so hard that he could hear nothing else.

  “Coward!” Edward shouted. “You were scared to fight me fair!”

  In response strong arms seized Edward by the shoulders, and Edward cringed as he was hurled from his corner and onto the ground. Before he could rise, a foot stomped down on his back, pressing him against the floor, and Edward knew it was over.

  “I would never have lost to you if there was light!” Edward raged at the unfeeling shadows.

  “No, Ed.” Umasi’s voice was unfamiliar; cold and emotionless. “You were blinded by pride, not darkness. Someday you may learn humility, but until then . . .”

  Something struck Edward on the back of the head, and his breathing eased as he was knocked unconscious.

  “ . . . you will always be easily broken.”

  31

  SIDES OF A COIN

  Man, this building’s got a fireplace and everything, why don’t we heat up a proper meal for once?”

  “Something’s got Zyid worried. That alert he sent out wasn’t for nothing.”

  “Zyid can worry about whatever he wants; there haven’t been any Enforcers in the abandoned districts since Rothenberg got the boot.”

  “Maybe there’s something worse than Enforcers out there.”

  “What, you saying we should believe those stories about Zyid’s evil twin? Please.”

  “I’m saying that we shouldn’t be careless. Cold soup won’t kill you, now sit down and eat it or Davis can have it when he gets back.”

  The discontented Truant reluctantly sat down and sniffed at the bowl of cold canned soup. His companion was already breaking off pieces of stale bread and dipping them into his own bowl, showing every sign of enjoyment as he ate. Listening to them both from the safety of a hallway, Umasi smiled faintly as he drew his ear away from the door. So, they were calling him the evil twin, were they? That was interesting, Umasi mused as he adjusted his sunglasses. The pair that he now wore had originally belonged to the albino. Edward had managed to swipe the other pair, and Umasi had not thought to recover it until it was too late.

  The Truants inside the room began bickering with each other again, drawing Umasi’s attention again. Umasi had judged that the one who wasn’t being picky about his food was probably a former vagrant, and a sharp one at that. The other was no weakling, but he was careless, and Umasi wasn’t particularly worried about him. Unbeknownst to either of them, the third Truant, the one they had called Davis, had snuck outside on the pretense of standing watch and had instead built a private bonfire to heat up his own meal. Davis was now unconscious, bound, and gagged in an alley outside, his weapons confiscated.

  It had been several days since his fight with Edward, and the deadline that Umasi had given his brother had come and gone. After dragging the injured and unconscious Enforcer to the edge of the district, then carrying the equally unconscious Edward back to District 18, Umasi had set about preparing for his inevitable crusade against the Truancy. He did not fo
r a moment expect Zen to yield to his demands, and so the night the deadline expired he had begun visiting the City’s abandoned districts. Since then he had located and scattered three Truancy hideouts, and apparently he had Zen worried enough to put the rest of the Truants on high alert.

  Not that it was doing them much good, Umasi thought to himself as the wary Truant finished his meal and announced that he was going to go check on Davis. Umasi brought himself into a crouch as the doorknob turned. The door opened, and Umasi pounced, relishing the startled scream as he slammed the Truant to the ground. He punched the boy between the eyes, knocking him out, and then smoothly leapt back to his feet. The other Truant was staring wide-eyed as his hands scrabbled across the floor for his gun. Umasi was on him in a flash, delivering a powerful kick to the temple that rendered him limp. Umasi paused briefly to make sure that his victims were indeed unconscious and had strong pulses, and then he went to work.

  The guns were stripped of ammunition and thrown into a backpack along with knives and anything else that could serve as a weapon. The Truants’ radios and cell phones were smashed beyond repair. The hideout’s store of supplies and explosives was carried outside, into the middle of the abandoned street, where Umasi blew all of it up at once, sending an enormous tongue of flame lancing upwards. Only then, when the Truancy’s work had been wholly undone, was Umasi’s work finished. Satisfied, Umasi turned around and returned home to District 19, backpack slung over his shoulder. Umasi smiled as he went. Finally following the example he had long admired, he was fighting without restraint . . . but at the same time, at least for now, not fighting to kill.