The Collector

by Luna, David

  “He’s watching us,” Inna says, subtly directing Neil towards Mazer. “Does he know?”

  Unlike Inna, Neil’s shield is still up. “There’s nothing to know,” he says, his tone cold and harsh. “You made that perfectly clear.”

  Inna scoffs, her mouth agape. She turns to storm away just as the music fades and Mazer steps up to the podium. Neil reaches for her, but lets her go as the crowd shuffles closer to hear Mazer speak.

  “This music is a good reminder why we have codes,” Mazer says. “It’s too easy to allow our emotions to get the best of us.” It’s difficult to tell if Mazer is singling out Neil and Inna, or merely addressing the crowd in general. Regardless, many seem to agree, while others struggle to wrap their heads around the logic. Yet what Mazer said is quite clear. The penal codes regulating what is or isn’t allowed are there not only for the best interests of the city, but also to protect us from ourselves. If given the chance, people tend to make rash decisions with their emotions than with their brains, which can go against our best interests, and therefore the codes are aimed to remove all emotions from the equation.

  Mazer transitions to his prepared speech. “As we all know, statistics don’t lie. And statistically half of everyone here lost a loved one when the Strasburg Dam collapsed ten years ago.” The mood briefly turns somber until Mazer spins it around. “I want to stress that this is not a charity event held for victims of some accident. That’s because you are not a victim. You may have suffered loss, yes, but those that died didn’t die in vain. Just like those that choose to sell themselves today, your loved ones were the first to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Because of them and what we experienced that day, we have the Agency.” Mazer pauses to allow his words to sink in. “I’d like to propose a toast to continuing life in our wonderful city, for everything within the Wall is all that we have. To each of you coming out tonight…,” Mazer turns to the Board of Directors seated at a table adjacent to the podium, “and to the Board who graciously funds our mission—”

  Just then an Obnoxious Attendee pushes his way to the front of the crowd. “Murderers!” he shouts as he hurls his water glass towards Mazer and the Board, but misses wide. Mazer doesn’t even flinch – not the first time he’s encountered an upset citizen. “Blood money!” the Obnoxious Attendee continues. “Pay for a cure, not for death!”

  Neil readies to blow his cover and spring into action, but two Servers grab Obnoxious Attendee and drag him away.

  Mazer motions for the murmurs in the crowd to subside. “Calm down. It’s okay for not everyone to agree with what we do,” he says. “There are those that disagree, then there are those that resort to violence to oppose us. Ruthless, heartless, terrorists, such as that man.” Mazer singles out the riled up attendee. “But as I began with, statistics don’t lie, and statistically the Agency has helped reduce our footprint and better enable us to provide the basic necessities for life. In essence, because of you and your partners’ sacrifice, we can live.”

  One couple slyly holds hands, compatible together, while another woman exchanges glances with her reassigned partner, an obvious distance between them.

  “With all our efforts, however, there is one resource we can’t control: Time.” Mazer segues into the heart of his message, adding in his usual style of dramatic flair to help invigorate the audience. “No matter what we do, no matter what protocols we put in place, there is no conserving time, purifying time, or extending time. All we can do is try to maximize the time we do have.” Neil’s eyes pause from scanning the ballroom as his ears latch onto Mazer’s message. “So tonight we indulge ourselves, while tomorrow we will continue our work and the Agency will continue its mission. Spare Lives By Selling Yours is not just a motto, but an ideology – birthed when the dam first fell and now living on within all of us.” Mazer thrusts his glass into the air, truly believing in his own words as he raises a final toast for the attendees to follow suit.

  The lights dim as an Agency promotional video projects on the wall – moons, sunrises, sunsets, animals, and nature, all accompanied by a soothing voice. The images highlight things lost to time that the Agency aims to restore by reducing the population. Neil watches only a few moments as Mazer’s message replays in his mind. There is no conserving, purifying, or extending time. All we can do is maximize what we have left. The words resonate with him, so much so that in the middle of the video presentation he slips away.

  The museum lobby is adjacent to the grand ballroom on the third floor. Pentagon in shape, it has five distinct zones splitting off from each side – Visions of the Future, History of the City, Observatory, etc. On display in the center of the pentagon is a large chunk of rubble salvaged from the Strasburg Dam, preserved in a glass case under a spotlight, the Agency’s birth linked to this one moment in time.

  Neil finds Inna with her arms crossed staring at the stone fragment. She avoids eye contact when she notices him approaching. “Hard to imagine what it used to look like,” he says, making his best attempt at small talk.

  “I heard it was sabotage.” She keeps her focus on the gold information plaque under the large fragment.

  “I’m not going down that route,” Neil responds.

  “What route are we going?” Inna cryptically asks. Silence, as Neil’s eyes ask her the same question. She’s the one who pushed him away. She’s the one who first pretended nothing ever happened between them. She turns back as they both stare at the piece of rubble under the spotlight. The sharp ends of reinforcement rebar penetrate outwards from the stone. “It’s all just complicated,” she admits.

  “If it’s Damian—”

  “No,” she interrupts. “I’ll take care of Damian.”

  “Well let’s uncomplicated it then,” Neil suggests. “I was given an assignment, and a Collector always finishes out his assignment.” He extends his hand as he begins to quote Mazer, “We don’t have a lot of time left tonight, but we can maximize it. Nothing more. Nothing less.” Inna pauses, hesitating until she takes it. They smile, both choosing to maximize the rest of their night together.

  As the gala continues in full swing on the third floor, simultaneously the two Lobby SEOs down on the first floor entrance finally get a rest break. One sits with his feet propped up on the baggage check table while his partner rapidly fires a round of texts on his phone.

  “She ever leave you alone?” the first Lobby SEO asks.

  “I’d be worried if she did,” Lobby SEO #2 jokes.

  Just then four Delivery Caterers arrive with a fresh supply of water rations, each with two jugs propped over their shoulders. They file in wearing blue coveralls and company issued hats.

  “This is a private event,” Lobby SEO #1 says.

  “Emergency order,” the Lead Caterer explains as he motions towards their supplies. “Apparently you have important guests.”

  Lobby SEO #1 and #2 exchange glances. They shrug, neither one of them hearing about the emergency order, but agreeing that the gala most likely needs more rations. Lobby SEO #2 pockets his phone and rises to help inspect the Caterers, patting them down and scanning them with magnetic wands.

  If the SEOs paid closer attention – to the news, to the billboards, to their assignment to limit entry into the gala to only invited individuals – they would see that these are no ordinary Caterers and that the faces under the brim of the hats are the faces of Leon, Chelsea, Jace, and Brock. Quado was right. The Brigade is here.

  The SEOs run the magnetic wands over each jug of water to finish up their not-so-thorough inspection, then step aside. “Third floor,” Lobby SEO #1 says. “But use the service stairs,” he orders.

  The Brigade Leaders ascend the service stairs in single file, only making it up one flight before exiting to the second floor.

  Leon immediately moves to a door locked via keypad, while Brock and Jace keep lookout. Leon references a four-digit code written under the bill of his hat to open it.

  The door leads
to a janitor’s closet. Chelsea scours the shelves lined with bottles of cleaning chemicals while Leon unwraps the seal around one of the water jugs. Each slips on a disposable respirator as Chelsea pours in an assortment of liquids inside the jug, eyeballing the volume with masterful precision. The liquid combination turns cloudy for a moment until Chelsea mixes it in.

  A shadow approaches from around a bend out in the corridor – an Agency Headquarters SEO performing his hourly patrol. Just as he turns the corner, Brock leaps from the shadows and snaps the SEO’s neck in one swift movement, brutishly eliminating the threat.

  Chelsea finishes the concoction just as Brock drags the dead SEO inside the janitor’s closet. He dumps the body near the back and covers him with a pile of brooms and mops.

  Leon reseals the jug before the four team members remove their blue coveralls to reveal suit jackets hidden underneath – the same cream color jackets matching the servers working the gala upstairs.

  As Brock carelessly hoists the altered container onto his shoulder, Chelsea smacks and scowls at him to be careful. Whatever is inside is fragile. He nods as the others grab the untainted jugs. The team returns to the service stairs to continue upwards in their mission. The group is silent, well-trained, and with deadly intent.

  Neil and Inna return down a corridor from the museum lobby. Neil glances through the doorway leading into the ballroom where Mazer presents an attendee with a raffle prize. The attendee beams with delight. The harsh wrinkles on Neil’s brow relax as the event continues to move along with everything in order. Maybe Mazer was right, how can they trust the credibility of Quado when Quado is just a kid? Neil convinces himself that it would be too risky for the Brigade to stage an attack at an event such as this. Satisfied with his reasoning, he clears his mind of these thoughts and follows Inna towards a row of tables with various objects on display – water purifiers, ration credits, cases of water – all prizes up for grabs in the ongoing raffle.

  As they move along the table of prizes, a Rushed Server bumps shoulders with Neil as he makes his way out the same way Neil and Inna came in. Neil pauses. Something about the server seems familiar, but before he can follow up, Inna interrupts.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, pointing to one of the water purifiers. “The Agency came to my shop?”

  “This is yours?” Neil asks. He glances over the refurbished equipment.

  Inna’s brow furrows as she examines the purifier more closely. “This isn’t how I pieced it back together,” she says. “It’s hooked up wrong.”

  Neil hovers over her shoulder as she tinkers with it until the Prize Coordinator interrupts. “Hope you put your names in. Time’s up on this beauty.”

  The Prize Coordinator loads the purifier onto a cart and wheels it towards the ballroom, leaving Inna still scrunching her brow. She turns to a similar water purifier further down the prize table. “Look at these hoses and wiring,” she says. “It’s supposed to heat the water to a boil. That one…,” she trails off, motioning towards the purifier on the moving cart and scratching her head, “it’s almost as if it was rigged. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Rigged to what?” Neil asks.

  “Spark.”

  Neil’s eyes grow wide as he peers back inside the ballroom where the Prize Coordinator parks the cart in front of the table seating the Board of Directors, then extends the raffle jar to Mazer at the podium. “Life in a bottle,” Mazer announces as he reaches into the jar. “What lucky winner shall win this?”

  The Board of Directors…Mazer…the rigged purifier…and all within close proximity. Just then Neil scans back towards the rear corridor where he bumped shoulders with the Rushed Server, spotting the man peeking in from the doorway. This time he sees the man’s face and immediately recognizes that it’s Brock. In that sudden instant, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place as Neil realizes the Brigade doesn’t intend to attack the survivors of the dam collapse, they intend to target the Board of Directors. It makes perfect sense. If they can cut off the money supply they can cut off the Agency, and tonight is the one night the Brigade knew the Board would be together in the same space.

  Neil leaps to action and sprints towards the podium. “Get back. Everybody back!”

  His shouts interrupt Mazer mid-sentence while drawing murmurs from the unsuspecting crowd. Mazer covers the microphone. “This is what you call blending in?” he chides.

  Neil snatches the cart with the rigged purifier and dashes towards a set of double doors leading to an outside balcony, narrowly turning to shield himself from the device when – BOOOOM! – the purifier explodes. As the blast whips Neil back through the double doors and flips him onto his face, screams cry out from the street below where pedestrians flee from falling rubble as a giant fireball eats through the stone balcony and brings it crashing down.

  Neil pushes himself to his feet as chaos ensues inside the ballroom. He rushes through the frenzied crowd over to Mazer, whose frazzled movements replace all words. “How did they do this?”

  “Take the Board and get outta here,” Neil commands. His eyes pierce through the hysteria and lock onto Brock in the shadows of the rear corridor. With their plot thwarted, Brock flees towards the stairwell. Neil brushes past Inna as he bolts after him.

  “Neil, be careful!” she shouts.

  Brock descends the stairs two at a time, three at a time, then glances back as the door bursts open to see Neil hot on his tail. He slips out to the second floor.

  Neil keeps pace as he chases Brock past the janitor’s closet when suddenly, SWOOSH, a sharp flailing knife nearly decapitates him. It’s Jace, who swings again, a curved ten-inch knife in each hand, large enough to skin an unauthorized stray let alone inflict lethal damage to Neil, who is without his usual protective black combat uniform. Neil ducks the attack, but before he can fully draw his gun, Brock ambushes him from behind, knocking Neil’s weapon away and nailing him with a flurry of punches straight to the kidneys.

  It’s two-on-one as Neil is weaponless against a knife expert and a physical brute. He blocks, evades, and counters Jace’s knife attacks while absorbing Brock’s meaty fists with his body and firing back. THWACK. THUMP. WHISH. WHOOSH. He relies on years of combat training at the Academy and out in the field, holding his own, even drawing from all his fights at reform school, each former brawl helping him survive another second. In a desperate counter maneuver, Neil pins Jace to the wall with Jace’s own blade to level the battlefield. Brock immediately wrenches Neil’s neck from behind to snap it in two, but Neil plows them both backwards straight through a floor-to-ceiling glass entryway, shattering the window into tiny pieces of ice and sacrificing his own body just to get Brock to release his grip.

  The footsteps from multiple oncoming SEOs echo from the stairwell just as Jace unpins himself from the wall. He glances to Brock, interlocked with Neil inside a set of offices, then towards the shadows of the advancing SEOs. He purposely gains their attention and draws them away in the opposite direction to allow Brock a fighting chance to escape.

  Neil brushes shards of glass from his face, then sprints after Brock through what appears to be the Agency’s Marketing Department. A full-sized cardboard display of a family of three with the text, BE A HERO TO YOUR FAMILY, VOLUNTEER TODAY collapses on impact as Neil tackles Brock straight into it. A transparent glass board scribbled with marketing ideas doesn’t survive Brock’s thick skull, nor does a poster-sized commercial printer once Brock counters and body slams Neil onto it. Stacks of flyers, stickers, buttons, pens, and window decals – items usually given away at promotional events with the slogan SPARE LIVES BY SELLING YOURS – are also obliterated as the brawl demolishes everything in its path. It’s as if another one of the Brigade’s IEDs detonated inside given the pure environmental destruction to the marketing offices.

  Brock continues to scramble for a way out, the detour with Neil not in the Brigade’s exit strategy. He makes it to a window and leaps from the second floor
without hesitation, but snaps his ankle upon impact as he tumbles to a stop in the alley at the rear of Agency Headquarters. Neil considers making the jump, but thinks better of it and instead sprints to an emergency stairwell.

  A white van screeches to a stop on a side street near the end of the alley. Leon drives, gun in hand, while the van’s side door slides open to reveal Chelsea and Jace. Jace prepares a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

  Brock limps on his broken ankle towards the getaway vehicle when Neil suddenly leaps out from the building’s rear emergency door and plows him over, his ruthless dedication unmatched.

  Leon fires a burst of rounds from the driver’s seat to try to give Brock one last window of opportunity. One of the bullets grazes Neil in the shoulder, but luckily tears through more of his 3-stripe arm badge than flesh. Neil shields Brock from the potential friendly fire as he drags him towards a nearby dumpster, following Agency protocol that requires top priority enemies to be taken alive.

  As another burst of gunfire flashes from the van, a squad of SEOs funnels out from Agency Headquarters, weapons aimed and vastly outnumbering the Brigade in sheer firepower. Leon shifts the van into drive and readies to burn off.

  “Don’t let them take me alive,” Brock shouts.

  Just then Jace finishes prepping the RPG launcher and looks to Leon. “Orders?” he asks.

  “Do it for the cause!” Brock begs as he spots the massive weapon is ready. “Kill them! Kill us all!”

  Faced with a lose-lose decision, Leon nods to proceed.

  The SEOs unload a surge of rounds into the side of the white van while Neil wrestles Brock’s heavy body down behind the dumpster. It’s a symphony of metal piercing metal playing out in the alley, until one of the SEOs notices Jace squatting on one knee and lifting the RPG launcher to his shoulder. “Grenade!” the SEO shouts.

  The entire squad dives for cover when, BOOM! The blast incinerates the alley, and Chelsea follows it up with a handmade Molotov Cocktail to set the littered debris ablaze. Leon pounds the gas to send the white van screeching away, leaving their fallen man behind.