The Collector

by Luna, David

  “Inna Klein,” the guard responds.

  “Inna! That’s how you say it!” Garrison interrupts, kicking himself.

  “She ours?” Raymond asks his partner. He glances at Inna’s profile on the kiosk screen, spotting his and Garrison’s names listed as her Collectors. “Neil, what are you doing with our assignment?” he shouts.

  Neil nearly drags Kerra towards the tunnel entrance as she repeatedly glances back.

  “Keep walking,” he demands.

  “That’s not my name,” she worries.

  Neil yanks her close, speaking in harsh whispers. “Keep quiet.”

  “But that’s not me,” Kerra protests. “Tell them to make sure it’s me. Otherwise my family won’t get paid.”

  “They’ve already been compensated,” Neil informs her, pulling on her arm harder.

  “Was this even official?” Kerra asks. She glances back at the group by the kiosk, then to Neil’s truck, catching a glimpse of Inna through the rear window. “This is for her,” she realizes. “You’re doing this all for her.”

  Neil remains stone-faced. Tears well up in Kerra’s eyes as they reach the tunnel entrance and Gate Guard slides open the iron bars.

  “I wish I was wanted that much,” Kerra says longingly.

  Neil places his hand on Kerra’s shoulder, mentally coping with the job the only way he knows how. “Thank you for your sacrif—” Suddenly Kerra lunges closer to interrupt, catching Neil off guard and practically hugging him if it weren’t for her bound hands.

  “Don’t let them take her from you,” she whispers. “Whatever you two have, hold onto it.” Gate Guard grabs Kerra and instantaneously she disappears into the dark tunnels.

  Neil takes a moment just to blink again. A volunteer’s words have never held so much weight. If asked, he actually wouldn’t be able to recall what anyone has ever said before slipping away into the darkness. He’s never listened. Never cared. He drags his feet back towards the kiosk where Raymond and Garrison still wait.

  “What’s the deal?” Raymond asks. “That was our assignment, yeah?”

  “You’re welcome,” Neil responds. With a two-fingered salute, he heads to his truck.

  “I wish you would’a gave me and Garrison a heads up,” Raymond shouts after him. “Didn’t have to drive all the way out to this dump.”

  “We still gonna get credit for this?” Garrison asks his partner.

  Raymond turns to Check-In Guard. “Yeah, put our names on that,” he says.

  “Sorry fellas,” Check-In Guard apologizes. They know the rules. He’s supposed to list the Collector who physically transported the volunteer, not the Collector or Collectors who were merely assigned.

  “Pull up who she was assigned to. You’ll see,” Raymond protests. “Neil’s just trying to get his next stripe quicker.”

  “That guy,” Garrison snickers as he smacks his thigh.

  “Promise to leave me alone the rest of the day?” Check-In Guard haggles.

  “If it was up to us, we wouldn’t come back for a week,” Raymond says.

  “Try a month,” Garrison jumps in.

  Check-In Guard relents and updates the information in the database. Under Inna’s profile he documents, SUBMITTED BY: RAYMOND ROSSIO AND GARRISON TREPP.

  Neil climbs inside his truck and exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for an hour. He fires up the engine and nods to Inna still beneath the dash. They did it. Inna fights back tears from witnessing the exchange.

  As Neil drives off, he tries his best not to think about what just happened. Kerra’s hug. Her whispers. Her longing just to feel wanted by another person. He rolls down the window to clear his mind, but as luck would have it, there is nothing to see on the drive except the processing facility across the bay. Looming. Growing larger. Dominating the landscape. It’s the only thing his eyes can focus on as the smoke spitting out of the three smokestacks seems to turn the sky blacker than ever.

  Neil sifts through the cabinet beneath the stove back at Inna’s antique shop where he finds a stashed bottle of alcohol, presumably hidden by Damian on reserve.

  “This is what you have to do every day?” Inna asks as her fingers tremble at the table.

  Neil gulps a drink to calm his own nerves, then pours Inna the rest. “Take a life to spare a life,” he says.

  Inna sniffs it before taking a sip. It burns.

  “It gets easier,” Neil consoles. “The first one’s always the worst.” It’s unclear whether he’s talking about the alcohol or transporting a volunteer to their death.

  Neil peers out the window, then runs a search on his PDA. COLLECTION COMPLETE is listed across the page of Inna’s profile. He exhales in silent relief, then grabs a satchel and begins to stuff it with Inna’s clothes. He spots the photo of her grandma’s wedding in front of the angel statue at the church and shoves it in the bag.

  “I thought I’d never leave here for someplace else,” Inna mourns.

  “You have to be invisible now,” Neil reminds her. He spots a box of matches used to light the stove and grabs a handful all at once, ready to burn the shop and truly make everything disappear.

  “Wait,” Inna stops him. “Let the slums have it. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  Neil smiles to himself. Even when she is set to lose all of her possessions she still considers others first. He complies and grabs her bag. “We need to go.”

  She downs the drink.

  Neil leads Inna inside his sterile apartment. She moves to the window and takes in the view, barely able to spot the pedestrians down below.

  “How high are we?” she asks.

  Neil closes the blinds. “Not high enough.”

  The virtual fish tank catches her attention. She touches her finger to the screen, smiling that it is interactive.

  “What’s their names?”

  Neil shrugs.

  “You didn’t name them?”

  “Why?” Neil asks.

  “I’m going to call this one Neil,” she points to one of the fish, “and this here, next to Neil. Guess who it is?” She giggles. Even Neil slips a smile at the sight of the Neil fish and Inna fish swimming side by side. But something’s wrong.

  “It won’t let me feed them,” Inna says as she attempts to drag virtual food into the tank. The touchscreen is unresponsive.

  “I’ll put in for a new one,” Neil offers.

  “Did you already forget who I am?” Inna reminds him. “I’ll fix it.” She hugs Neil, a tight embrace, followed by a kiss. “Thank you,” she says.

  Neil points to a third fish on the screen. “Look at this one. That’s Kerra.”

  His comment brings a deep sadness to Inna’s eyes, knowing what they had to do just to be together now at this moment. Like the people of the city, they are on borrowed time. They kiss again, and this time it quickly escalates as Neil backs her to the couch. His hands caress her hips, her breasts. Their forbidden passion is hot and lustful until Neil’s PDA interrupts with a text message. He sits up to read it.

  “I have to go.”

  Inna gets it. Her stomach sinks.

  “I can’t raise suspicions,” Neil defends.

  “This job’s not natural. How long can you keep it up?”

  “Have you ever seen a retired Collector?” Neil asks rhetorically. He knows there is no retirement for him, only death. “I have no choice.”

  “That’s one of the things you taught me, Neil. You taught me to believe we always have a choice.” Inna stares at him with those innocent youthful eyes, still with a gleam of naivety, but Neil doesn’t want to hear it.

  “Don’t answer for no one,” he demands. He adjusts his black combat uniform and heads out the door, leaving Inna alone on the twenty-second floor of the skytower, her new prison.

  ******

  Hacked

  Grrrr, some tech guru reprogrammed the digital water counter in the public restroom. It registered much more water tha
n what was really left. You can probably guess what happened...What a mean prank!

  -Quado

  17

  Slayter drives the utility truck, his face stern, while Neil rides shotgun and studies his PDA. The seed of paranoia slowly starts to grow as he again verifies COLLECTION COMPLETE is listed across the page of Inna’s profile in the identity database.

  He notices Slayter’s scowl, which is usual for the big man during a long commute, but to Neil his demeanor seems angrier than normal.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “I hate traitors, Neil,” Slayter fires back.

  Neil quickly exits out from Inna’s profile as his body tenses. “Does Slayter know?” He tries to avoid the conversation. “This guy will lead us to the next,” he says. “We’ll track them all down soon enough.”

  No reaction from Slayter, still breathing heavy through his teeth. Neil turns towards the window as silence reclaims the air.

  The next thirty minutes are some of the longest of Neil’s life as he rides alone with Slayter, his deception placing his senses on heightened awareness. Every exhale, every crack of the knuckle, every squeak of the brake as traffic slows the utility truck – Neil grows completely on edge, shifting repeatedly in his seat just to break up the harsh silence.

  They finally arrive outside a rust-covered aluminum warehouse as Slayter brings the truck to a halt and bails out the door. Neil quickly follows, for once looking forward to going out on assignment. The mission should not only distract Slayter and cure his anger, but it will hopefully help clear Neil’s own mind from his recent transgressions.

  The aluminum structure turns out to be a cover for a makeshift gambling house. Brock revealed this location to the Agency in an effort to protect his wife and son, but now that he is dead after Slayter pushed the interrogation too far, Neil is unsure what the Agency will do to them. However, he doesn’t have time to dwell on this as he and Slayter burst down the door and storm the illegal establishment, their mere presence dispersing the crowd.

  They target Jace, thirty, the second Brigade Leader who is about to go all-in in a game of poker. The cards scatter in the air just before he can reveal his hand as Neil and Slayter flip the table and ambush Jace with their shock batons. Neil ensures to toss Jace’s deadly ten-inch knives out of reach, having already encountered them once before as he helps Slayter bind Jace’s hands.

  “Where’s the rest of your friends?” Slayter taunts, pressing his knee into Jace’s back.

  “You scared them all away,” Jace quips through groans of pain.

  “You should really learn which hand to bet on,” Slayter says as he lifts Jace to his feet and holds him steady. “Get it out of him,” he shouts to Neil.

  “You should do it,” Neil suggests, still not a fan of Slayter’s violent tactics. “He’s a traitor,” Neil reminds him.

  “No, Neil. You are.”

  Neil freezes, his eyes wide like a thief caught stealing rations from a distribution truck.

  “I know what you did,” Slayter continues. “Now get it out of him.”

  Neil attempts his best poker face. “What are you talking about?” he asks, fumbling over his words, but managing to keep his composure. With his eyes still on Slayter, Neil bashes Jace in the stomach, then leans in close, “Do me a favor and don’t make this difficult.”

  Jace winces, but keeps quiet.

  “I know you asked for a new partner,” Slayter reveals. He nods towards Jace. “Again.”

  “Is this really the best time?”

  “If we have a problem, we’ll settle it now,” Slayter states. His eyes demand for Neil to comply. WHACK! Neil knocks the wind out of Jace. Slayter motions for him to continue. “Come on.”

  THWACK!

  “All I said is I think we should be training new Collectors,” Neil defends.

  CRACK!

  Neil splits his attention back to Jace. “Where are your partners?” he asks.

  Jace flashes his bloodstained teeth with a smile, “And interrupt marriage counseling?”

  WHAM! Neil shatters Jace’s knee with a nasty blow, losing patience and ramping up his tactics.

  “Think?” Slayter mocks as he allows Jace’s body to fall, stepping up to Neil’s face. “Three stripes, Neil. Not five.” Slayter derides him as he rips off Neil’s arm badge. “That means you don’t get to think. You follow my orders.”

  Jace slithers away on his stomach towards his knives, arms still bound behind his back, but Slayter crushes his spine with the heel of his boot. A loud SNAP reverberates throughout the warehouse as something is sure to be broken.

  “If you ever go behind my back again I’ll dig something up on you and Collect you myself. Got it?” Slayter threatens.

  Neil looks to his torn badge, the one Inna repaired yet keeps getting destroyed, before Slayter yanks him to attention.

  “The Agency needs you to be as good as me. We’re saviors to this city,” Slayter explains. “Do you understand the importance of that?”

  Neil finally nods. He understands. Satisfied, Slayter drags Jace’s broken body away.

  Neil tears down the photo of Jace from the wall of Brigade Leaders. Two remain.

  Glancing to the one-sided observation window, Slayter zaps Jace to interrogate him further. Even if Jace wanted to talk, the constant bombardment of pain won’t allow it.

  Neil steps out from the gothic skytower and passes in front of the cracked fountain decorating Agency Headquarters. He drags his feet throughout the three block walk back towards his apartment within the heart of the Downtown Sector, in no particular rush since his assignment with Slayter ran late and Inna is surely asleep by now. He wonders what she’s been doing to keep herself occupied in her first night alone in the skytower. His apartment doesn’t have much, especially when compared to her old antique shop and its endless supply of half-working gadgets, but his place does have a television with thousands of channels, something the majority of people in the slums have never had the luxury of experiencing. She must be ecstatic, for once in a place that is clean, ventilated, and with heated running water – though still limited – and not housed in a structure at risk of collapsing under a sudden harsh wind. He just hopes there weren’t too many Agency sponsored ads on the television given their recent actions. He’s starting to realize how sensitive Inna can be, and he wouldn’t want those commercials spoiling her mood as she enjoys her new lifestyle.

  Halfway through the trek home, Neil passes Dani’s Diner, its windows still lit at this hour but with minimal patrons inside. While nightfall has sent the majority of citizens to wherever it is they stay, the city doesn’t have an official curfew and this diner is one of the few places in the area that is open late while the neighboring shops retreat into the shadows behind reinforced roll-up doors to protect from looters.

  Neil spots a trio of women loitering off to the side of the diner. Two of them quickly turn away and pretend to be merely passing through, while the third, the newest and youngest to the street, locks eyes with Neil. Neil pegs them all as prostitutes, something he is all too familiar with, albeit with Agency authorized call girls and not illegal girls from the streets. The young woman’s friends, upon noticing her still staring at Neil, tug her by the elbow and drag her away. Unauthorized prostitution is against penal code due to the high risk of unwanted pregnancies, something the city cannot afford and attempts to regulate, so Neil is certain that the girls’ harsh whispers are to inform their friend that Neil is a Collector and that she needs to be more careful who she targets. To their luck, Neil has no intention of investigating the girls further. Perhaps he would if he was fresh out of the Academy and still a rookie, but there are plenty of SEOs patrolling the streets and he finds it much better to leave those types of common enforcement issues to them. It is in their name after all: Security Enforcement Officers.

  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.