Saturday. 7am. Alarm rings. I’m quick to spring out of bed, but that’s only to snooze the alarm and return to the fleeting warmth trapped under the blankets. 9 minutes later again the alarm rings. A pernicious cycle of getting up only to return immediately continues until 7:55 am. Admitting defeat, I knew I couldn’t snooze again. I growled walking to my desk. A mere 20 feet from my bed to the chair where I would spend the next 9 hours of my life wishing I was dead. I never was a coffee person. I sometimes wonder if that’s why the mornings always felt extra rough, though I wasn’t a fan of the jitteriness alternative either. On my desk were 3 monitors, 1 large one in the center and two slightly smaller ones on each side. The center and right monitors were reserved for my main working activities while the left one was reserved for the disquieting purpose of displaying the call queue. I sat in the chair staring blankly ahead. What began was a session of leering at the impending doom of what waits for me. Those early morning minutes were ones I hated the most. Knowing that there was a fresh young day ahead of me, ripe with opportunity, an abundance of possibility. Yet I could only see it through what felt like the window of a jail cell, reminding me that today would not be that day. No, instead I would be handed a day filled with anxiety, frustration, and unfulfillment. It was 14 minutes past 8. I still hadn’t moved. My morning routine consisted of me getting to my desk, doing the absolute bare minimum to sign into the computer, then doing nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Sitting there staring off into the distance. Or more often than not, closing my eyes and placing my head on top of my arms on my desk. Sometimes staring at the carpet beneath me other times remaining in the darkness surrounded by the silence. I was trying to escape. Trying to seek shelter from the world, from what was about to happen. Trying to bring back peace to my own mind and body. Trying to forget, maybe even just for a second, that I wasn’t here. The attempts were futile, only delaying the inevitable, or on some occasions making it worse. Then of course there were the tics (motor-tics). Moments where my whole-body twitches in an uncontrolled involuntary movement as if I was flinching from a gunshot going off in the next room. These began a few months back and would happen every so often when I lied down to sleep. But as my stress continued to grow so did the frequency. Eventually they even followed me from my bed to my desk. Whenever I was to place my head down and try to close my eyes the tics would chase me, making me realize that I can’t even escape to my own mind without being chased. On one severe occasion while placing my head down the phone next to me rang, causing me to flinch so dramatically it was truly painful. The way my body reacted had frightened me. I remember the overwhelming feelings immediately after of sorrow and remorse that I had ever let it get this far. That I hadn’t stopped this sooner or gotten help. I looked up at call queue. 3 calls in queue. There was only one other employee working currently and he was already on a call for 8 minutes now. My second coworker wasn’t set to start working until 30 minutes later. But that was it. Just us three guys. Three soldiers in the trenches, set to stave off what felt like an unrelenting horde for the next 9 hours. I felt like I let the anticipation build up for long enough. I took the first call. It was a young gentleman that had a question that frankly had nothing to do with IT at all, but instead was suited more for HR. This was a common occurrence as no other department in the company had a support phone line other than IT. I explained to him in a detached tone that he would need to email the HR department with his inquiry and wait for a response from them. His tone changed from probing to one of irate with a hint of mistrust. As he explained to me that he had already done such thing and still received no such response his choice in words made it seem like he believed I knew the answer to his original question, yet I was withholding it for some reason. And that maybe he would be able to strongarm it out of me. But no, I did not. If I had I would have gladly told him it because I knew that would have been the quickest way to make him go away. I told him once more that only HR would be able to assist him and then ended the call. (2 min 11 sec) I waited for a bit before the next call. I always do now. When I had first started, I used to be able to churn out call after call. Seldom ever using the allotted 2 minutes of *after call wrap* (ACW — additional time after each call before the next to complete a ticket or paperwork). Though now I use every second I’ve got. I actually use more than I’ve got. A colleague early on taught me a trick to extend the ACW after a call for as long as I need to before going back into available or taking the next call from the queue. It was a handy trick but one to be used sparingly. If the use of it got too high it would prompt a conversation from my manager discouraging its use. But that only mattered back when I cared about my job. Let’s get one thing clear. I am not a good employee. I was. I might still be able to be. But currently I am not. I could care less if I am on time. I could care less if I am meeting metrics or standards. I could care less if I have 200 overdue tickets in my queue. Something has caused this apathy. Maybe its burnout, maybe it’s the fact that these are trying times the world is in currently, or maybe it’s because management doesn’t seem to care either. We have been severely understaffed since back in November when people began to leave our team. Help Desk is an entry position, so it’s not expected of you to stay there forever. Don’t get me wrong some do and end up stuck there for what feels like forever. But the idea is to move on at a certain point. The problem arose when all of these people left their positions, but the positions were never refilled. The size of our team continued to slowly decrease over the year all while we were entering the busiest period we had ever seen. Management doesn’t seem to care that we are understaffed and overworked. Or at least they don’t seem to be doing anything about it. I take the next call. It’s an older Hispanic man. He speaks in broken English. He’s having an issue with the time punch software and he can’t log his hours. He is one of our contractors down in the southern part of the state who works with the roofing teams. He is upset because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. *I am upset* because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. However, I empathize for this gentleman and the many like him at the company. He works in the field and fulfills a general contractor position. The most advanced piece of technology he uses is a 2010 Motorola Razr. Yet in order to do something as simple as clock in and clock out he has to navigate multiple sites and use two different usernames and passwords that he is expected to remember. This man never thought he would need a degree in computer science just to cash a paycheck as a roofer. I listen to him rant and afterwards I reset one of his passwords. He is able to log in now. He continues to spout about how he shouldn’t have to go through all of this and how all of this is a waste of time and that he shouldn’t have to remember two usernames and two passwords. I ignore him and ask him if there is anything else I can assist him with. He says no and hangs up the phone. (16 min 32 sec) The longer calls (anything over 6 minutes really) always seem to take the most damage on me. There’s something about taking 15 minutes to solve an issue that should have only taken 3 but couldn’t because you needed to over explain everything in the beginning and try to test every single aspect of it afterwards. All while you hold me hostage. Like a teller who you’ve made open the safe but you refuse to leave or let us go until you have counted every last bill inside. As if somehow there would be any different outcome based on the amount. You’ve got your money. Now leave me alone. I try to get up and walk away from my desk. But I’m not sure where to go. I know I’ll have to come right back, so why even leave in the first place? The chains only let you reach so far anyway. I try to cope the same way I do after every call, by either using my phone and scrolling for a distraction or placing my head down. I’m not sure what makes me put my head down on my desk the way I do. I guess I get a false comfort from it. I’m still a bit tired and with my head on the desk I start to doze. A tic hits me and I violently jerk. I can feel an increased pressure in my chest, but I can’t tell if its real or all in my head. I look at the clock. 9:00am. 8 more hours to go.


Grass and… “What was that other smell again?” She wondered. She knew, but could not remember precisely what it was… She felt herself rolling down over the wet grass. Isabella blinked, but she did not see it properly. Everything was a little blurry. Was She rolling down a hill, maybe? The sweet, delicious scent in the air. It smelled like green too, but a little sweeter than grass. She wanted to remember what it was. She took a long breath. It was delicious, a tender smell, delicate, smooth… Childhood… “Ohhh, yeah! That was it! Childhood” She remembered, something from her childhood. A flower? Something grandma used to have in her garden and, when she was a little girl, she loved it! Isabella remembered. But she also remembered that she only had sensed it at night… Ohh, yeah! Not exactly a flower, but a small tree, full of small little beautiful white flowers. Grandma called it Lady of the Night because the flowers only open at night and only at night we can feel their fragrance. A remarkable scent, it can be sensed in a distance.

Although… as far as she could remember, it should still be early in the morning yet and she was at her father’s lab. There was no Lady of the Night there. It was her birthday and she was talking to her father in his Lab… wait a minute, something was not right… Trying to understand what was happening, she recalled in her mind the last events before she felt herself rolling down in the humid grass: After breakfast, her father called her to his Lab, to ‘show her something’, he said. He always had all kinds of interesting inventions in the lab. As a never completely satisfied alchemist, he was always up to something new. What could it be now? She was very curious about it and she was excited! It was always something astonishing, even though most of the time it did not work as expected… Lab was a mess, as usual… he worked until after midnight last night. She knew it because she and her mother were still talking in the kitchen, eating coconut cake, around midnight and he had not come back yet from the lab when they went to bed. That morning, her father was very very happy and looked proud too. For sure he had a great new invention! Once in the lab, he gave her a small box. Yellow, with a white bow and some sparkling purple little little points. It was clumsy, but beautiful in its own way. “Your birthday present!”. He said smiling. “Ohhhh…” She smiled at him too. The box had a rough touch on her fingers. She opened it carefully and took from it a necklace. She held the cold blue rock, the necklace pendant, inside her hand. “It is gorgeous!” “I’m glad you liked it!” Gordon, her father, laughed to himself. He turned his back to Isabella and began to wash the alembic and the aludel in the sink, it was a mess there. Then he started blabbing: “And you know, your mother was not so sure about it for your 21st Birthday present”. He laughed again. “You know your mom; she always worried too much about nothing. You just have to be a little careful and I’m sure you are old enough for that now.” She tried on the necklace. It was a little bit heavy on her neck because of the rock, but she would get used to it. She looked at herself in the mirror close to the door. It was indeed a beautiful necklace. When she looked back at her father by the lab’s sink, he was fading away… All the utensils in the lab were fading away… the balconies, the sink, everything around her was fading away… But she still could see his eyes opened widely in the shocked expression on his face when he turned to look back at her since she was not responding to him. She also saw when he put both of his soaked-in-soap hands on the side of his head. When she did not see anything anymore, she still heard him screaming: “Isabella? Isabella? Ohh, my God… Isabella!!!” He exclaimed. Was she fading away to him too? “Your mother is going to kill me! That is for sure!” “Ohh, my God…” She heard something crashing. “Oh, my God… your mother is going to kill me, for sure. I didn’t even explain to her how to…” And then there was she. Rolling down in the wet grass, sensing the smell of the Lady of Night’s flowers. She finally stopped with a last bump of her head in the soil. “Uhuu…” She contracted her eyes. “That hurt.” She began to hear some crying in the new environment… several crying actually. A very sad crying. Why were they so sad? She wondered. Little by little those people began to appear in her view. Where was she? She sat on the grass; it was almost night already and there were several Lady of the Night around her. That explained the smell she was perceiving. It was a large field of grass. Who were those people and why were they all crying? Why were they dressed so differently from everything she knew? Ohhh… it was not a field of grass. It was… a cemetery. Someone had died. She decided just to stay there and wait. In respect for those who were in grief and in respect for the one who had just left this world, she waited. She waited while they did their prayers, while they cried some more, while they said their goodbyes, while they hugged and comforted each other. She waited until the day finished completely and became a full night. She just stayed there sat under a Lady of the Night tree, in silence, appreciating the sunset and the delicious aroma of wet grass with the sweetness of the Lady of the Night’s flowers. Someone was playing a peculiar musical instrument. She heard someone calling it ‘violin’ and Ravel’s bolero. It was a nice song for someone’s soul to be received in heaven. It was a spectacle just for her, apparently, since the others were too busy crying. Then, they all began to leave the place, still crying a little. Sobbing. She was thinking about what she should do next when the oldest lady in the group passed by her and called her: “Come on, dear. Let’s go. Let us all go together.” The old lady had a sad smile, a very sad one. Her invitation sounds like something that she should follow. So she got up and walked by the side of the old lady, who embraced her with one arm and said: “There is a hot soup for all of us. You should have dinner with us tonight.” Why did she feel as invited for that moment? As someone who should be there? The old lady gave Isabella a cozy sensation, a familiar one. She felt like at home embraced by her and the old lady had the aroma of vanilla with cinnamon, one of her favorite aromas.

The old lady continued to walk side by side with her. Isabella looked back. There were way more people there than she noticed at first. Most of the women there were wearing pants, like the men. She had never seen that before. There were a lot of things that she had never seen before that moment… Some of the women had their arms and their legs without being covered by any clothes. That would be a scandal as far as she could understand. But it looked pretty normal there. Suddenly she had a clue, that necklace… and she asked the old lady: “What day is today?” “You are not from here. I notice. But that is not a reason for not to have dinner with us. You are here for a reason.” Isabella was confused. If the lady knew she was not from there, why was she being so friendly with her?

“Today is June 23.” The old lady answered. What? Her birthday was in May…” The old lady smiled at her “from the year 2019.” Isabella opened her eyes in astonishment at the old lady and thought: yes, Dad, it is a big, huge, ‘Oh, my God!’ “By the way, my name is Clara.” The lady introduced herself. Isabella looked down, trying to organize her thoughts. The necklace must be a time-traveling dispositive. Clara gave her a clever smile: “Don’t you worry, honey. You must be hungry. Let’s eat first.” Isabella got the courage to ask Clara what she was wondering about: “Who died?” Clara sighed heavily: “Well… someone’s old friend, someone’s newer friend. Someone’s lover. Someone’s teacher. Someone’s inspiration. Someone’s buddy, someone’s last harbor, someone’s first door…Someone’s wife and someone’s best friend…” There was a tear in Clara's eye. “Someone loved, someone very very loved.” The old lady might be a little bit crazy, Isabella thought; that would explain a lot. Anyway, she was very hungry indeed. She would stay for soup… hopefully it would have some crackers, too. During soup, the crying had stopped, finally, but the sorrow was palpable. Everyone was in deep silence. Only she was there not sharing that sadness. She was confused, true. She did not know what would happen next in her life, which also was true. Nevertheless, despite that, she was pretty much okay: she watched an amazing spectacle, the soup was delicious, and there were crackers. Later worries were for later. The silence was a little bit embarrassing, but that was fine, too. Then Clara, who had been sitting in front of Isabella, asked everyone for attention, looked at the strange girl in front of her, and said: “Isabella, why don’t you tell us one of your stories to distract our minds?” What? What? Wait. Why? She questioned in her mind. But the old lady kept smiling at her. She was already a fan of Clara and she felt as if she should pay for the soup or something. “Well… hurm, hurm”. She cleaned her throat. She was taken by surprise. She heard some wings flapping outside and looked through the window. There was a beautiful white bird flying against the blue sky. It was a big bird and the sky was so blue, without any clouds on it. His white feathers got remarkable in the sky. His freedom, flying away to the infinite, melted her heart in tears. “Well… ahh… It all begins with Once upon a time, isn’t it?” Everyone stopped eating and turned their heads to her, listening. An old man, not too far from her, was smiling tenderly. His smile gave her comfort and the sense of a safe place. Warm and cozy, like a home. She instinctively smiled back at him. Then it all started to begin inside her and the story just flew as a river… “Once upon a time, there was a young woman called Alya. She had brown skin and dark hair that matched the deepness of the even more dark night of her eyes. She always wore very colorful clothes in the old India where she lived. She lived in a small village and she used to walk to the Ganges very often. In those times,  the path to the river was full of trees, flowers, and other natural beauties. She was happy that way. She had a lot of friends inside and outside her village. Her father was the leader of their village, but it was only to organize things since everyone worked for the well-being of all of them. Everyone had their own chores to keep things well balanced. People in that village were so peaceful that they were vegetarian, unable to kill anything. In her free time, she danced alone, keeping the silence of her mind. She walked alone in nature, sang, or spent time with her best friend. A boy who was born on the same day as her, but two years earlier. One day, though, the village was conquered by some foreign warriors. Since people in her village were too peaceful, they were left to surrender themselves. The chief of the warriors said that he was ‘taking care of them’ and obliged them to serve him. Her father tried to argue that they were doing pretty well until then and did not need any kind of protection, but that was.. in vain. The warriors’ chief became fascinated with Alya. He forced her always to dance, sing and make company to him. She was also forbidden to walk outside the village. She missed her lonely time and her walking to the river. In the beginning, Alya thought things would change in time. That the Chief would forget about her, that she would be in peace again and would have time for her own again. But that did not happen. Every day, she became sadder and sadder. She did not want to dance, sing, or even eat anymore. The warriors’ Chief got worried. Ayla’s father could only say “She got sad.” Then the Chief got her one gorgeous, beautiful white bird in a golden cage that sang so preciously that she could stay all the time just listening to him. She loved the bird, of course, she loved animals. And she loved to hear him singing. Over time, though, the bird too stopped singing and eating. She looked closely at him. Would he be ill? She looked at him and wondered what would be wrong… He always had fresh and clean water. He always had the best fruits to eat, and the best grains. And, also it was a very beautiful golden cage… She sighed… The bird sighed too, looking at the endless blue sky. It was a cage. She understood. Even though it was a golden one, it was still a cage, like her own. She looked at the bird, so sad he was… from time to time he looked to the freedom above him. Thus… she opened the cage and released the bird. He immediately flew away to the big blue. His wings were wide open, flapping and flapping away. As higher as he could go. She cried a lot in missing him… You know,  as we always do when we miss someone. But she knew that freedom meant everything to the bird. And she was happy for him.” People smiled at her at the end of the story. “But…” someone asked. “What about Ayla?” Isabella smiled as if she could hold everyone and their sorrow in her own arms and comfort all of them, one by one: “Well, some say that she ran away in the middle of the night. Others that her soul flew away from that body. Her father said once, ‘Every sorrow finds its ends, here or beyond, in the afterlife.’ Alya lived the time she had to live there, then, she left…” People smiled at Alya’s happy ending. Then Clara, the oldest lady in the room, concluded: “When the Soul ends its journey in its body cage, it is time to leave. It needs to fly away to the infinite blue sky. To where is its real-life… as the bird” Isabella smiled at Clara as if smiling at an old friend, although it felt like a fresh new friendship. The old man smiled at her again and then, everything began to fade away… she could still hear some of them whispering about the story, how their beloved one was flying happily in freedom. She could still sense the vanilla-cinnamon smell from Clara. Then she could smell recently baked honey cookies for breakfast in her house while hearing her father and mother arguing loudly about her in the kitchen. Her mother worried, calling her father crazy and threatening to kill him if he did not bring Isabella back before noon. He was trying to explain and justify himself. Although it was not working… At this point, she arrived on the couch. How convenient was that! A soft landing this time. She would eat again, that was great, she was hungry again! She quickly took off the necklace, she would need some explanation from her father before wearing it again. “Mom, mom!” she called, making herself to be noticed in order to finish that confusion in her house…


An Impossible Dream Dreams are scary things. People will sacrifice everything they have in pursuit of a dream. They can both drive people to achieve great things and imprison them in insanity. Some people have dreams that they can follow quietly. Other people have grand dreams that trample over the dreams of others, leaving nothing in their wake. Even after a dream has long since faded away and been tossed into the darkest depths of the mind, it still simmers. And if a dream has completely disappeared from a person’s mind, then they are no longer human, for they have no dreams. \ Ever since I can remember, my family has lived in poverty. I grew up in a small townhouse in the lower south side of Atlanta and was surrounded by gangs, drugs, and violence growing up. Many mornings I would sneak into my dad’s office cabinet and borrow his old Browning High-Power pistol because I was afraid that someone would jump me on my way to school. I never had to use it, thankfully. But I was still always scared. I would never stay out with friends past sunset. I refused to go to the west side of town. I only went out to shop or run errands when necessary. My friends all called me a coward, but a lot of them died before we graduated high school. I imagine that they would be just as careful as me if they had a second shot at life. I shared a dream with everyone who grew up in neighborhood back then. I wanted to leave this life of poverty. I wanted to grow up and become rich and make something of myself. That was my sincerest dream. I was nineteen years old when I found out about the organization. My father had been spending late nights outside of the house and our family was suddenly bringing in sums of money that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. I begged my father to let me go out and earn money as well, but he adamantly refused-- until the day he lost his job at the hardware store. That night, he packed his bags and departed our house at midnight, and when I begged him to let me come along, he finally obliged. I was inducted into the organization by his recommendation that night. The organization was made of faceless phone numbers. I was assigned an operator who would give me jobs to do every now and then. At first, the jobs were relatively simple. My operator would ask me to deliver a package of drugs to a certain location or help in a looting of some warehouse. They paid me well with each completed job. Eventually, the jobs started to get more dangerous. My father tried to convince me to abandon the job and go back to school, but I refused. I killed political figures, drug lords, rogue agents, and anyone else that troubled the organization. As the intensity of the jobs increased, so did the pay. The first person I ever killed was a young boy who had managed to learn some secrets behind the higher-ups of the organization. I remembered the look in his eyes right before he died—pleading desperately for life. It was the look of someone who knew that all their unfinished hopes, desires, and goals would remain just that—unfinished. He begged me for his life and cried, promising that he wouldn’t use the information against us. I closed my eyes, shot him once, and left him there to bleed to death as I couldn’t stomach to shoot him a second time. I vomited afterwards and I resolved that I would never get used to killing people. I started counting every time I took a life, and eventually it did get easier. I lost track past 100. After every mission I was awarded with thousands of dollars, expensive clothing and jewelry, exotic vacations, and so on. Slowly but surely, my dream was starting to come to fruition. One day my father took a job to kill some important underworld figure and managed to get himself killed in the process. His funeral had all the makings of a somber moment. My relatives gathered around his grave while my mom knelt next to his coffin, screaming at his corpse to wake up. There was not a dry eye during the procession that evening. The whole funeral, all I could think about was how much of an idiot my father was for taking that job. He should’ve known how risky it was. I really couldn’t feel sad over my father dying. I only felt disappointment. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was. But I knew that I was supposed to feel sad and cry during funerals, so I did. But I knew that regardless of whether my father was alive, my dream still was. My phone gently vibrated on the nightstand next to me, flashing a notification about an incoming text. I groggily awoke and read the message. It was from my operator. *Are you available for a job?* *There’s a rogue agent near you right now that is suspected of killing an agent named Edward Nuvelle.* I stared blankly at my screen for a while, contemplating if this job was worth the risk. I generally avoided jobs where my life was in jeopardy too. Another text message. *We can pay $50,000.* I immediately texted back to accept the job and got up to put my clothes on as a drop pin was sent to me of the location of the crime scene. I checked the time. It was 1AM, and I could be back before sunrise. I dawned my black coat and set out into the frigid night. My taxi pulled up to the pin location at around 1:30 AM. It was an extravagant mansion located about 20 minutes from the center of the city. A spiked metal gate loomed over me as I exited the taxi, as if warning me of imposing danger inside. The house itself was ostentatious. It had a large Victorian garden in front of it with immaculately trimmed bushes, well-kept flower gardens, several statues of Renaissance figures, and a giant Lotus fountain at its center, spouting off torrents of water. The grass itself was a bright green and clearly mowed recently. It was picturesque. As I walked through the steel gate, a concrete pathway was laid out for me that cut through the middle of the garden, around the fountain, and straight to the front door of the house. The house itself occupied the size of a football field and was made entirely of white bricks and stucco. It had countless windows and a steeply pitched roof that was sectioned off with different wings of the house. Waiting for me at the front door was a woman in her mid-20s. She was wearing a short red silk nightgown with black lacing around its edges. She had voluminous dirty blonde hair that fell around her pale shoulders and neck like curtains of gold. Her eyes were a shade of deep blue, but they were red and puffy from crying. “Are you the agent they sent?” She said shakily. “Yes,” I said. “And you are the spouse of Edward, Emilia Nuvelle?” She nodded and beckoned me inside the house through the two mahogany wooden doors. “Thank you,” I said, and paused before adding “and my sincerest condolences.” The inside of the house was barren. The floor was an ocean of polished marble tiles while a grand chandelier of diamond and gold loomed over the entrance hall, but there was barely any furniture or decorations. It didn’t feel like a home. “My husband is in the dining room. I left the body untouched.” She said. I nodded and made my way through the entrance hall and into the dining room, where Edward’s body was slumped in a corner of the room. His blood was spread out across the wall and there was a dark red bullet wound to his chest. His face was twisted in an expression of worry. Edward’s tracking badge was still with him, an instrument which documented every human encounter he had over the past 72 hours. I took out my phone and scanned the badge chip. My phone lit up with a list of names arranged from most to least recent encounters. The list of names had mainly documented encounters with his wife and another person by the name of “Charles Nuvelle,” which I presumed to be his son. The two names that stood out, however, were “Yuri LeBlanc” and “Elise Martritz.” I quickly passed along the information to my operator to locate the last known positions of these two names. As I sent off the request, I heard voices coming from the entrance hall. I ran over to see Emilia and a young boy. “Charles! Go back to your room. Don’t worry about Daddy, okay? He’s safe.” The boy was on the verge of tears and instantly turned to me as I entered the hallway. He ran up to me, with tears still in his eyes. “Mr. Agent, is my dad safe? He really is okay right?” he cried. I hugged him and shed tears, patting the back of his head before facing him with a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be okay. Don’t you worry. Now listen to your mother and go back upstairs.” The boy nodded and ran back up the house’s spiral staircase into his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, I wiped the tears from my face and asked Emilia, “What I said wasn’t insensitive, right?” She shook her head. “No. I’m sure he was very comforted by your words.” She hesitated, opening her mouth for a few seconds as if she had something to say. “How- how long have you been with the organization for?” “About ten years.” She laughed and said, “Do all agent of the organization have that look on their face?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You share the same expression that Edward always had. The look of someone who doesn’t care about anyone but themselves,” she said. “I could tell you were faking crying back there. Don’t you have the slightest bit of empathy?” “My father died when I was young. I-” I hesitated. “I cried at the funeral.” She scoffed. “None of you are human,” she said, as she walked away. Her words bit at me. After all, I had a dream, and to chase a dream is the most human thing that one can do. My phone vibrated in my pocket with a text message from my operator. *Yuri LeBlanc seems to be the agent who killed Edward.* *He’s been in the junkyard downtown for the past hour.* *Elise Martritz seems to be an agent who died a few days ago.* I looked up at the room that Emilia had retreated to, and decided against pursuing any further argument. The sky was dark and even the birds were silent at 2AM in the abandoned junkyard. The junkyard itself was just a large field of dirt and gravel with countless broken-down cars littering the area. The cars were arranged in disorder, with vehicles of all different shapes and sizes being scattered randomly about. Some were tipped over on their sides while others were slammed into each other. A couple of yellow school busses lay abandoned in the junkyard too, towering over the smaller cars like giants. The only signs of life were the weeds growing rampantly around some broken down cars that looked as if they had been sitting in the junkyard for centuries. Empty trash bags and lost toys sat still on the ground, waiting for someone to pick them up. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence. Several minutes passed by of listening to my heartbeat until I heard the faint sound of a piece of trash being knocked over. I twisted around to the source of the noise and caught a glimpse of a silhouette running past a group of cars. I immediately took off in pursuit. Once I had a clear view of the figure, I steadily aimed my pistol and shot once. Then twice. The figure shrieked and immediately collapsed to the ground. I ran up to see a young man lying on the ground with two bullet wounds to his abdomen. He was dressed in a dirty dress shirt and pants, clearly having had been in the junkyard for some time now. He looked up at me from behind the threads of his long black hair. “So, you found me,” he said dejectedly. “Yuri LeBlanc. You killed another agent of the organization.” I said. “I’ve been assigned to kill you.” I raised my gun to his head. “Before you kill me,” he interrupted, “I want to ask you why.” “Why?” I questioned. “Yes,” he said. “You don’t seem hesitant at all. I want to know what drives you.” “I do what I’m told,” I said. “I-” I paused. “I have a dream that I must see to fruition. A dream to stand above all others. To succeed in life. To escape poverty.” Yuri laughed. “A dream, huh? I had a dream very similar to yours, once. But… that dream changed. Your dream… it’s very empty.” I lowered my gun. In a raspy voice, he said, “I have a different dream now. And I killed Edward for taking that dream away from me.” “What was it?” \ My name is Yuri LeBlanc. I was born in a black box. I was raised by the uncaring hands of uncaring faces to become just that—Uncaring. As a child, I would waste my days away in a cramped, damp, pitch black room watching shows on an old TV set that just barely illuminated a corner with whatever program it was playing that day. Food was delivered to me 3 times a day, through a little doggie door in the far end of the room. I started the counting the amount of meals I got—1,2,3… I eventually lost track. The first time I was taken out of the room I was brought onto a surgical bed and had several operations done on me by strange men with uncaring faces. Something was implanted in my brain that day. I went back to the black box. A few weeks later I was called in for another surgery where something else was implanted in me. This cycle repeated for more surgeries than I could count—1,2,3… I eventually lost track. The day I was finally done with countless surgeries, I was taken out of the black box and greeted by a very enthusiastic man who told me that from that day forward I would be serving the organization. He smiled at me too, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Despite how much he wanted to put on a façade, he was just another uncaring face. The organization was filled with uncaring faces. Day in and day out I would get sent on missions to kill certain people and no one would ever care. I would find some person who had angered the organization in one way or another and I would kill them, and I never knew why. But a lesson had been ingrained in me from birth—I had to do what I was told, without question. So, I did. And I didn’t care. Maybe something they implanted in my brain stopped me from caring. Maybe I had just become desensitized to it after a lifetime. One day, the enthusiastic man told me about a wonderful thing called a dream. It was a desire that fueled men so deeply in their hearts that they would do anything to accomplish it. So, I imagined that instead of killing for no reason, I could kill for a dream. A dream of success. I was seventeen when I first met Elise. She had just joined the organization at the time. She had the most determined, blood-thirsty look I had ever seen when I first met her. Perhaps that’s what drew me to her at first. The first job we went on together, I saw that my evaluation of her was right. She knew how to sneak around, how to operate weapons, and how to do everything just as well as any other agent. Yet, she was unique from anyone I had ever worked with in that she always cried after completing a kill. Every time we got sent on a job together, she would always successfully kill our target. And every time we killed anyone she would always cry afterwards. One day I got tired of wondering why. “Why do you cry after we kill people that you don’t know?” I questioned one afternoon, after she had finished crying from a job. She looked down. “I can’t help it. I know I should be used to it by know, but I just-” she paused. “I just think about the children, siblings, and parents they’re leaving behind when we kill them. And it gets to me. It doesn’t get to you?” “No,” I answered. “I guess I can’t relate.” We walked in silence for a while longer. “Then… If you’re so remorseful for our target’s loved ones, why do you kill them at all?” She frowned. “Because I have a dream.” “I see,” I said. I took more jobs with Elise. We would always discuss each other’s lives after we were done. I learned little things about Elise every day. She loved chocolate. She was squirmy around mice. She wanted to go to South Africa one day. She loved drawing with charcoal. She had a best friend named Cece growing up. She was raised in a small apartment in a dangerous part of a city where she worked hard to support her parents. Her mother was a recovering drug addict while her father was a blue-collar worker. She ended up joining the organization because her parents died, and she resolved to work her way out of poverty. She hated school and her boss was strict. “Are you glad that you left that life?” I questioned her one day. “No,” Elise quickly answered. “My best memories were with my mom and dad.” “But they were-” I interrupted. “I know,” Elise said. “But it was great to have a home to go back to every day. I could come home from a long day of work and my dad would ask me how my day was. My mom would be in the kitchen cooking up something tasty. And we would sit down and have dinner together.” “That sounds exciting.” “It wasn’t,” Elise chuckled. “But…” her voice trailed off. “It was nice.” When she remembered that moment, I saw her smile for the first time. A smile that reached her eyes. Before I knew it, I wanted to spend every day with Elise. I spent every day thinking about her. When we weren’t together, I felt lonely. Whenever I was with her, I felt content, happy even. I started spending time with her outside of missions. Sometimes we would go to observatory and stare up at the stars together—she knew an awful lot about constellations from her time in school. Sometimes we would go to the junkyard and practice shooting bullets into old cars, just to see how accurate we could get our aim. We would rent movies and watch them together. She would always cry at the sad ones. She got scared easily. She would blush every time I called her by her full name. She had the cutest smug smile every time I would treat her to food. She became everything to me. My life was contained in our little moments. And among the thousands of agents I had worked with over the course of my life, she was the only one who had managed to change my dream. Elise was killed by Edward Nuvelle two days ago. The report from my operator read that Elise was working for another organization as a spy, and she had recently been commissioned to kill me. Agent Nuvelle took care of her for me. I didn’t know what to think after I read that report. I felt something break inside of me. I did understand that Elise may have been planning to kill me, but for some reason all I wanted at that moment was to see Elise. Why did I long for her like this? Why did I feel pain that someone who was out to harm me had died? Why did I desire the touch of someone who no longer exists? I collected my thoughts and figured that I may find some answers if I went to Agent Nuvelle’s home. Agent Nuvelle’s wife answered the door for me. She welcomed me inside their lavish home. She told me that she was cooking dinner while her son was fast asleep in his bedroom. They were getting ready to eat dinner together as a family. Agent Nuvelle was seated calmly in the dining room, reading a book. “Yuri,” Edward said. “So, you heard about Elise’s death?” I nodded. Edward’s face was a deadpan stare, showing no remorse over the fact that he had just taken a life. “It is… regrettable that such a promising young agent ended up being a traitor.” “Do you have a dream, Edward?” I said. “Excuse me?” “Everyone has a dream. I had a dream. Elise had a dream. You have a dream. Your wife has a dream. Your son has a dream. Even the biggest, scariest executives of the organization have a dream that’s precious to them, right?” I said. “I suppose,” Edward said, “I’ve achieved my dream of starting a family.” He smiled as he gestured to his wife in the other room. “You have achieved that dream by trampling over the dreams of others,” I said. “Does that leave a bitter taste in your mouth? After all, if someone were to take this dream away from you, you would be very upset, right?” Edward nodded. “You ruined my dream, Edward. So I’ll take away yours.” I then raised a gun to his head, and calmly pulled the trigger. As I left the house, I glanced back to see his wife cradling Agent Nuvelle’s dead body. Their son was still fast asleep in a bedroom upstairs. And I begun to shed tears. *Maybe*, I thought, *I’ve become like her.* \ Yuri coughed up blood onto the dirt beneath him. “You asked for my dream?” I nodded. He managed to whisper out his last words. “I wanted… to tell her that I l oved her. I wanted to text her that I missed her when she would leave me, and I wanted to say welcome back and hug her when we saw each other again. I wanted to watch movies together. I wanted to crack jokes with her. I wanted to argue. I wanted to make up. I wanted to start a family together and have a kid. And most of all, I wanted to leave the organization with her and get a normal house and a normal job.” He grinned and said, “And… It was a silly little dream, but… I thought that I could come home from a long day of work. And… she would say, ‘How was your day today?’… and I would say… ‘It was good.’” He died with a smile on his face. One that reached his eyes. I knelt next to Yuri’s body for a while. Tears finally flowed down my face, for my father who had died so many years ago. And they really wouldn’t stop.  \-- Hi guys I'm really new to writing and would appreciate any feedback on this story that I've been working on.


“That’s the thing about this city, no pets allowed under any circumstances,” explained Janice, the very peppy realtor.

“Are you serious? I have never heard of a town that didn’t allow pets in,” replied Harris as he looked over at his wife.

“I am unfortunately telling you the truth.” “Well, I wish you would have told us that before we bought the house,” mentioned Willa. “I am sorry, I didn’t think it was pertinent information. Most people who move into Garrison are aware of this stipulation.” Janice then handed the keys off to the new homeowners and went on her way back to her office. Leaving the couple slightly annoyed at the fact that they were just hearing about this moratorium on pets.

“Well, what are we supposed to do with Richard,” asked Harris? “I don’t know, maybe we could give him to your sister, she already has a couple of iguanas,” suggested Willa. “If she will even take Richard, plus we will have to drive two provinces over to drop him off if she does decide to take him.” On the way back to their apartment in Sasha, British Columbia Harris got on the phone with his sister.

“Hey Celeste, so we didn’t know that our new home in Hyacinth didn’t allow pets.” “They don’t allow pets? I’ve heard of that kind of stipulation in apartments but never at a house.” “True but it’s a city thing.” “What?” “I know we were shocked too but the house is so nice and we decided it is worth it.” “Well, what are you going to do about little Richard?” “Um, I was hoping you would take him.” “I guess I could take him off your hands, maybe he will be a good companion for Cornelius. He has been so lonely since Hamilton died.” “Thank you, sis! I was wondering if you could come out and get him, we could show you the new house.” “I suppose I am overdue for a little road trip. I can even bring my work with me, I’ll head out tomorrow. Just let me check and see if my neighbor will watch my pets.” “I really appreciate it, Celeste.” “Say no more, I can’t wait to see Richard.” He hung up the phone and told his wife, “She is going to do it.” “What a relief, and I have to say, asking Celeste if she could come out and get Harrison was a good idea.” “I thought of it last minute. I just thought with the move and everything that it would be easier on us if we didn’t have to drive out there.”

“I’m just glad she is going to take Richard but I’m sure going to miss him.” “Me too, I always wanted a lizard as a pet when I was a kid, and having Richard has been great.” Celeste made the journey the day after she spoke on the phone with her brother. Bringing along with her a nice enclosure for Richard. She also planned to have him roaming around with the others from time to time in the house. Harris had sent her a picture of what Harrison was residing in and Celeste figured that was not good enough. She knew that Harris loves lizards but she was often regarded as the crazy lizard lady, similar to her neighbor Dana who is considered a crazy cat lady.

After what seemed like forever, she pulled up to their small 70’s style apartment building that they were going to vacate soon. She lugged her enclosure and a small duffle bag up the thin stairs to the third floor, then rang the doorbell. Harris came to the door and answered it. “Celeste, hey, come in.” “Thanks, I can see you guys are all packed up for the most part.” Willa poured pink lemonade into some glasses and brought it over to the couch they planned to switch out for a more plush and comfortable one. Celeste took one and said in her high pitched voice, “Thank you, Willa. You are looking great, by the way, is that a new hairstyle?” Willa twisted her red-dyed curls and replied, “Yes, it is, I got so bored with the old look. So, is that for Harrison because he has an enclosure already?” “It is but I thought this would work better for him.” Willia just nodded her head and said, “Well, should we go on over to the new house?” “Sure, I want to see this new fancy house my big brother here has been talking about.” They decided to just take one car and made their way to their new house on Roberts Street.

“Well, it sure is charming.”

“You like it,” asked Harris? “I sure do but the porch could use a little pizzaz.” “I agree, that’s why I am trying to convince your brother here to let us have planters and little sculptures.” “Hey, I compromised on the windchimes you wanted, so don’t push it.” Celeste just rolled her eyes thinking about how he had always been annoyingly stubborn. They went inside and showed Celeste what the layout was like and what they were planning on doing with the extra space.

“It looks great but no pets huh? I sure wouldn’t live here.” “Well, it’s too late sis, we already got the house. I think it is worth the sacrifice.” “If you say so.” They went back to the apartment and loaded Richard and his new enclosure into Celeste’s van and she was on her way. “Well, at least we know she will take care of him,” mentioned Willa. “Yes she will, I guess we will have to adapt to that no pets policy.” “Yep.” They finished doing the packing that night and the next day stocked the moving truck they rented. The plan was to move everything into the house and then replace certain things they want to as they go along with making it their own. A few days after they finished the big move, one of the neighbors came by bringing some delicious-looking cookies.

“Thank you, this is so thoughtful. I’m Willa.” “Oh yes, anytime, I’m Ren. Some of our fellow neighbors are going to have a little get-together Friday night, would you like to join?” “That would be great, when and where?” “At my house across the street and it will start at like seven.” “Great, thank you for the invitation.” With that, Ren went back to her house and Willa brought in the plate of cookies that had saran wrap around the bright blue plate. She set it down on the new oakwood table and unwrapped it to have a cookie. She discovered that a piece of paper had been placed underneath the cookies. Thinking that it would just be a nice little note, Willa grabbed it and read what was on it. It said in dark blue sprawling cursive, I am sure that you were told about the no pets law here in town. If you want to actually be able to keep one, join us at the Trell’s house on Wednesday at 4:00 pm. Just call me at 236-852-8769 to discuss this further if you’re interested.

 P.S. don’t breathe a word about this.

Willa inhaled deeply with surprise and then called out to Harris, “Honey, you should come to see this, one of the neighbors brought us cookies.” “I’ll be down in a minute.” Harris with his heavy footing came down the all-white stairs and came over to see what Willa was talking about. “Yum, these look good.” “Yeah but look at this note.” Harris read it and then looked at his wife with wide eyes saying, “This is kind of crazy but maybe we should give her a call.” “We already gave Richard to your sister.” “I know but we could get another lizard or ooh maybe even a cat. You’ve always wanted a cat.” “If we get caught though I don’t want to pay that ridiculous fine.” “We will be discrete just like this neighbor is, what is their name?” “Her name is Ren and she also invited us to go to her place on Friday for a little get-together.” “Look at us already making friends.” Willa rolled her big brown eyes at him and then took a bite out of the cookie she had in her hand. They decided that they would in fact call Ren about this and also find out more about the party that was going to go down on Friday. Willa made the phone call about an hour later and found out that there is this group in the neighborhood that gathers all of these pets so that everyone can still have one. They just don’t have them in individual houses to avoid being detected. Willa relayed what was talked about to Harris and they agreed that they should go on Wednesday.

On Wednesday, they went over to the Trell’s to see what this whole thing was really all about. When they arrived, they used the small golden knocker to announce they were at the door.

“Hello, you must be the new people in the neighborhood,” said a woman with warmth in her voice.

“Yes we are, I am Willa and this is Harris.” “Nice to meet you both, come on in.” “Thank you. You have a nice home.” “I know right, my husband and I moved in here five years ago and we have just adored this house and the city in general.” “It does seem great so far,” replied Harris.

“Oh, you will love it here as you get more acquainted with the area.” They followed the homeowner down the hall to their kitchen and saw that there was a small group gathered in front of the all-black table.

“Hey guys, this is Willa and Harris.” Everyone said hello and Willa and Harris did the same in response. They helped themselves to a few appetizers and took the deep red colored wine that was offered to them. It tasted to Willa like an expensive brand and it was absolutely delightful. It took some time for the conversation to move onto what Willa was informed of by Ren. The woman who had opened the door, Sammy said, “How about you guys follow us down to the basement and we will explain more.” Downstairs there was a cacophony of animal sounds inside.

“We have very well insulated walls so that you can’t hear them elsewhere.” Harris thought for a moment that this environment was not all that suitable for pets but Sammy reassured him by explaining, “We sneak them out every morning just before dawn to a farm outside of the city to let them walk around and get fresh air.” “You haven’t been caught? I would think it would be hard to transport all these animals without being detected,” postulated Willa.

“We were worried about that initially but it has been successful so far.” “How long have you guys been doing this?” “We started it up about four years ago.” Sammy then gestured for them to come in closer to see the variety of pets and explain more about how they could have their pet housed here. She explained that everyone comes over when they want to in order to spend time with them.

“You can even join us when we take every pet here out to the farm.” “Well, we had a lizard before we came here but we gave him away to my sister when we found out we can’t have pets here,” mentioned Harris. “Well, if you want to get another pet you certainly can.” Willa then turned to Harris and said, “We could get another lizard and maybe a cat or something.” “I would like to have another lizard but if you also want a cat we can do that.” “We have a friend that lives in the neighboring city that helps us get pets and even gives us a discount. I’ll give you both the number and you can call him up. I am not sure if they have lizards there but you could find out. As you can see we mainly have cats and dogs, some rodents too.” They followed Sammy back up to the main floor with the rest of the small group. Then they were on their way to go home and discuss this plan.

“I say we call this guy tomorrow,” suggested Willa. “I would say let's not be rash and be cautious but I really want to get those pets we want and this may be our only chance to have some while we live here.” “Well then let’s do it.”

The next day they were able to get a hold of Ralph; Sammy’s friend, and were instructed to come that afternoon to peruse the selection of pets. They drove out to see what they could find. The shop had quite a variety of pets to choose from, even lizards. Willa thought about how she would love to own all kinds of animals but that would be unrealistic. In the end, they had decided to get an orange tabby cat and an amazing-looking bearded dragon. They named them Orange Blossom and Seaweed respectively. Back in their own city, they went to drop off their new pets at Sammy’s place. Although both Willa and Harris really just wanted to bring them back to their own house. It was not an option though, so they went to her house and didn’t even get caught on the way there. They knocked on the door again and when Sammy opened the door she ushered them in hastily with their pets.

“I see you were able to get a lizard. A bearded dragon no less, what a cool-looking animal. You have everything this creature needs right? Also, this cat is darling. Have you given them names?” “Yes we have everything for the lizard right here in the bag,” replied Harris. “We named the bearded dragon Seaweed and the cat Orange Blossom,” explained Willa.

“I just love those names.” Sammy helped them take their new pets downstairs and they set up the enclosure for Seaweed. There were already cat kennels there and for the most part, they were just allowed to roam around.

“Well, I think you are all set, let me know if you want to come with us to let the animals roam sometime.” “Thanks, we will,” said Harris. With that Harris and Willa had found a way to skirt the ridiculous mandate about there being no pets in the city. It wasn’t exactly ideal but it was better than not having animal companions. They enjoyed the party that was thrown on that Friday, allowing them to make new friends and share in the joy of having secret pets.


There are a lot of stories posted here daily, but barely any feedback. Stories can be voted down or not voted at all, but that is no help to a writer. The only way that a writer can improve their writing is through feedback. A story may suffer from many things: too much description or not enough description; too many dialogues or not enough dialogues; bad formatting or bad grammar; too long or too short; not enough depth to the characters or the story; lack of plot development; too much telling and not enough showing. The list goes on. No writer is, or should be frightened of negative feedback. And no one should feel that they might offend a writer if they give negative feedback. All feedback is helpful and should be welcomed. You do not need to be a literary critic to give your opinion on a story. The stories that are not voted at all or voted down without any feedback can leave a writer bewildered as to what they did wrong and they might draw a wrong conclusion about what was wrong with their story. So please leave a comment, particularly regarding those stories that you didn’t like.


“Why don’t you let me take you home dad? It’s too cold to wait for the bus,” Police officer Arrin Krieger asked Arik, who was wrapping up his IT work on the Captain’s computer. “Thanks, Arrin, I would love that,” he said, peeking out from under the desk. “Tony said it was supposed to snow like 25 inches today!” “Got to love a January blizzard. I'll get some hot chocolate for the road while you finish up here. Met you at my desk." "See you there," he said, getting back to replugging everything. When that was finished, he cleaned up his workstation, a breakfast nook-like area in the corner of the Captain's office. He packed up his laptop, mouse, and cassette player with headphones in his computer bag. The last things to do were to clean the coffee mug tea rings off the table and bundle up in his coat, scarf, and gloves. He waited a few minutes before ignoring Arrin's instructions and met him in the officer lounge. The screaming of the kettle hid the sound of the door but the screen attaching the hanging cabinets to the peninsula below blocked Arrin’s view from the first third of the room. Even if the screen was gone, Arrin had his head deep in a lower cupboard trying to find Arik’s reusable coffee cups. As he raised and turned his head, a cacophony of cups and lips bounced on the floor. “Dad!” His heavy breath switched to a scowl. “Dad!”

“Let me help you.” He smiled, taking the kettle off the heat. “I’m an adult, dad, I can make two cups of hot chocolate on my own.” Arik extended to the top of the cabinets, pulling down a red and white Tupperware dish. “But it always tastes better when you do it with someone else," he said opening the dish. "You hide marshmallows up there." "Yeah, or Tony would eat them all." "Paranoid much." "I have video," he said, opening the drawer to the left of the oven. "I want to get home sometime tonight." "That's not happening tonight, boys," a voice behind them said. "Captain?" Arrin asked. Captain Mitchell Adams flopped down his hood. "The snow's past my knees in the parking lot and no amount of shoveling is going to fix that until the plows come in the morning." "Want a cup, Mitchell?" Arik asked, picking up an "I'm holding a cup of coffee, so yeah I'm busy" coffee mug from the counter. "Please. No marshmallows." "Killjoy," Arik whispered under his breath. Arrin slapped Arik's arm. "I have to fill out some forms for this. Did you fix my computer?" "Hope so," he said, handing Mitchell his mug. Mitchell started for the door before a spark ignited.

“Arrin, I might need you to sign something. Come to my office when you’re done here.” “Right away, Captain,” He said as Mitchell left. “You probably call him Mitchell,” he said, pouring the kettle. “He’s a chill guy.” “He’s my boss.” “So?” he asked, stirring the cup. “Can you start adding marshmallows?” Arrin grabbing the dish and keep plopping down marshmallows as he said, “Normal people don’t call their bosses by their first name “Normal people want marshmallows with their hot chocolate not hot chocolate with their marshmallows.” He shook some drink from his hand. “Sorry, dad.” He put the dish away. “We already figured out I’m not normal.” He took the larger mound of marshmallows and tried to shove the lid on with the least amount of casualties. “You clean this up and I’ll put what’s left of my marshmallows away.” With the easier job, Arik was the first back to the Captain’s office with the time to de-winterize. He got lost in his computer screen as Arrin knocked on the door. “Come in, Arrin!”

Mitchell yelled from the printer. He peeked his head in. “Do you need me?” “Just your John Hancock,” he said, placing a paper and a pen on the table near Arik's laptop. Arrin slipped forward as if entering the principal's office. Mitchell glided away as nothing happened. He went to his desk digging into his bottom right-hand drawer. "I need to see how many people are stuck here tonight. Here's a radio if the lines go out," he said, setting down a walkie talkie for Arik. "Do you want help?" Arrin asked. "No, I have a bigger job for you." Mitchell leaned in, and whispered, "make sure he doesn't hack anything he's not supposed to." "I try, Captain," he whispered back. "All I ask," he whispered. "Man the fort, Officer Krieger!" he announced, closing the door. Arrin finished his paperwork and sat in silence. His eyes bobbed like buoys. But right as they shut, a loud noise sent them up like a broken projector screen. "Holy Cow!" ranged through the room. "What! What? What are you watching?" "Tony's police car almost ran into Al's bus. Glad you didn't let me on that." "Why don't we do something-" he inched down the laptop lid - "other than watching traffic cams." "What do you suggest?" "What do you do when you're not working." "Watch traffic cams. Monitor police search history. Try to hack into Love Computer Security servers." He took a sip of his drink. "Don't look at me like that, Arrin Daniel! They want hackers to try. Troubleshoot if you will." "How about something we can do together." "Have you ever been upstairs?" "It's just storage and stuff." "No then. Come on, let's take a field trip," he exclaimed, putting his laptop away. "Is the Cap… Mitchell okay with this?" "Would I have keys-." "Grandma taught you how to pickpocket." "She also taught me lying to love one's is the worst thing you could do." "Did Cap give his okay?" "Ask him yourself," he said, handing him the radio. "Mom sure gave you her lawyer genes." "Yes. Yes, she did." he lifted the walkie to his face. "Hey, Captain-?" "Can you imagine the arson squad being a whole floor? It's barely four officers now." "They caught the most notorious arsonist and threw the book at him. They scared the firebugs to Philadelphia." "What makes you say that?" he laughed. "Their arson statistic. Uncle Caleb always complained about that when we went to go see Steven and Beverly." A loud pop took over the space. As it left, it took the light with it. Arrin took the flashlight from his duty belt. “The darn blizzard must have blown the breaker. Dad?” He shone his light around. “Dad?! Da~” the last was muffled by a leather-gloved hand. “Where’s your gun, boyo ?” the hushed voice asked, taking his hand from Arrin’s mouth but pressing his forearm into his windpipe. “Belt.” He could only muster a whisper. “Any others?” “No.” “Move!” he ordered, releasing his arm. “Not too fast now.” When Arrin didn’t move, the man shoved the confiscated gun into his ribs and cocked it. “Now!” Wobbling in the dark, they made it down three flights of stairs to the Captain’s office. Once in the door, the man gave Arrin one last push. Arrin landed hard hands and knees. Eyes squinting due to the bright light coming from the Captain’s desk. “Look Mikey, I brought you a wee friend to play with.” Arrin looked up to see his boss tied to a chair.

“Tie him up!” he ordered his man in the shadows. “Come on, Patrick, he has nothing to do with this,” he said, pulling on his ropes as Arrin twisted and turned in the arms of the mega-monster. “ Feck that, Mikey. He’s one of your lads and he’s not arsewaying with mine.” “What would you want here?” “What would you have that I would want, Eejit !” He spat in his face. “It’s not what, it’s who!” Mitchell closed his eyes. “Arik.” “ Aye ,” he said, taking the knob of the still opened door. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find him and this wean’s father.”

He closed the door with an intimidating bang. The jiggle of the lock sent shockwaves through Arrin's once concrete expression. "How do you know this guy, Captain?" Arrin stuttered. "He was a friend." "Him?" "Yeah, before I joined the force as my father had and he joined the Irish mob as his had." "He couldn't be working for them now. They wouldn't risk breaking the truce." "No, they wouldn't. They didn't when they cut him loose 15 years ago." "That explains why he doesn't know Arik's-." "Quiet Arrin!" He drew the attention of their monster of a babysitter. "Don't show all of our cards yet. He evaded us for four years: he'll be fine." When the breaker was pulled, Arik tripped over his own two feet. When he tried to catch himself, he fell even more through a door he had locked but hadn’t gotten all the way shut.

His head was spinning when Arrin called out the first two times. And he was seconds away from responding to the third when another voice rang out.

He scrambled to his feet, shaky like a baby’s first walk. At the door, he saw Arrin’s light flailing around. For a brief second, he saw a pair of police issued boots maintained in military form - Arrin’s shoes - and a pair of dress shoes, tattered and soles dwindling into paper sheets. For another, a glint and shiny off the man’s waist from a holster and a gun of his own. When the man released Arrin, the light bounced once more, getting dangerously close to Arik’s hiding place. He closed his door as fast as he dared to remain hidden and unheard. One man plus two guns doesn’t equal a good outcome for two without. The Princeton graduate in him saw the logic in it: retreat and live to fight another day. The father in him would rather have the pain of a gunshot than the pain of watching a madman that broke into a police station and who now possesses two guns cart his son away.

Arik kicked the nearest piece of furniture when Arrin’s light vanished. It was an old but hard pedestal desk. The shockwaves of his kick sent the top right drawer rolling on its glides with a metallic clang at the end.

He ran his hand along the bottom until his fingers touched something smooth and cold. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it until they flipped open the lid and spun the flint wheel. Arik could see his hand and a bit of the room around him but what gave him a smirk was on the lighter. The stick on it was a campaign logo from the 1960s for Ken Kremer, his great grandfather. He didn’t win, in fact, he was arrested three days before the election for bribing poll workers. With the light of the past, he looked back out the hall. No lights insight. He needed a quick light inside to fix this problem. Backstairs First. He oozed out of the room. The light shimmied in his hand. He stayed along the left wall as he headed towards the back of the building. His fingers graced the lever knob when he heard voices on the other side.

He closed the lighter. He couldn’t move until he saw the flashlights turned towards the door. Door hinges on the right. He lurched to the right of the door where the door would fly. As the door opened, one of the men said, “We’re looking for two men, one mid-twenties, other forties, both caucasian, first alive, the other no preference.”  “I have a preference,” the other man said, brandishing his weapon.

“Careful where you point that.” With them a safe distance away, Arik sneaked into the stairwell. He went down a few steps and looked over the side, making sure no lights were below or above him. Okay now, what?

“First floor cleared, O'Connell.” After getting confirmation, Arrin gave Arik the walkie since he already had one on his belt. “Take your post at the West Stairwell, Bishop,” said O'Connell, who Arik could only presume could be the boss. Arik spun the lighter in his hand, with a smile growing. He galloped down the stairs only stopping at the bottom. Two shadows lined the frosted-glass window of the door. It was only a momentary pause, he wasn’t planning on going through the door anyway. He closed the lighter and reached up for the vent that he keeps loosened so he doesn’t have to interact with anyone. He had to step on the railing to get all the way up. As he laid on his belly barely able to lift his head fully, he thought I should have taken the stupid bus! Now, which way? He army-crawled a ways. He knew he was on the right track when he came to a vent looking into the men’s restroom. Only two more lefts. He pushed on until he came to the captain’s office.

When he looked inside, he saw Mitchell and Arrin tied to chairs on the opposite side of Mitchell’s desk.

Something moved in the shadows in the far corner, along the wall with his bench. Everything was quiet until a man barged in.

“My lads have searched this building top to bottom. How can they hide?” “You should ask them, Patrick,” Mitchell smirked.  He gave him a nob and a grin before pistol-whipping him. “I’ll ask again-,” he cocked it in his face - “where can they hide?!” Mitchell just stared into the windows of Patrick’s soul.

“Fine.” He stepped to the right, facing Arrin. He tapped his badge and said, “Maybe you can help me, Officer-.” He stopped as he read Arrin’s last name. He ripped the badge from Arrin’s uniform. “There’s not two.” He threw the badge down. “There’s not two!” He ran out of the room. He pulled his walkie out. “Lads your night just got easier. You’re looking for one man. He’s just a computer lackey.”

All of his teams responded with some form of “copy that’. His face was red and his teeth gritted as he tried to get his walkie back on his belt. “Patrick O’Connell. Come in Patrick O’Connell,” Arik said. “Who is this?” “I’ve heard you’ve been looking for me.” “Arik Krieger!” “Yeah and I’m not too happy with that lackey remark. Why don’t you come to the officer lounge and we can talk it over.” Patrick’s expression perked up. “I would love that.” This time the walkie went on on the first try. He marched down the hall, in a flash. He wretched the doorknob like a dog with his ball.

No one was in sight.

“You still hiding, boy?!” “No.” The lights in the room shuddered on. “I’m right here.” He stood far back in the room. “There’s another breaker in here?”  “Yeah, but don’t be mad. They didn’t include it in the public plans for occasions like this. Come here, we can have that talk.” He disappeared behind the cooking area. “Don’t get me wrong,-” he started forward - “I meant no harm with that statement. I’m doing all of this because of your computer skills. I can promise you if you come with me now I won’t hurt anyone. What do you say?”

He rounded the corner. Arik was standing there with a bucket. “I think not.” He hurled the contents at Patrick and started the flame on the lighter. “What do you think you’re doing? I can smell it’s not petrol.” “No. But it’s cleaning supplies. Just as flammable.” “Let’s talk about.” He raised his hand. “I ain’t going with you and you’re not hurting my family. What is there to talk about?” “You haven’t heard what I want you to do.” “Nothing good can come from this. If you wanted something good, you would have asked. Not this.” “True.” he lowered his hand partially. “What else is true is you won’t drop that.” He lowered them more heading towards his belt. “You couldn’t hurt the man who killed your wife. You won’t hurt me.” “You think so.” He pretended to drop, getting Patrick’s hand back up. “I won’t make the same mistake with my son.” He dropped it for real. Patrick lurched back, tripping, hiding his head. The substance Arik threw didn’t catch on fire like he said. “Too bad you can’t call a bluff,” he said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He scrooched down next to the unconscious Patrick. He pulled up one of Patrick's arms, cuffed it, pulled the chain around an exposed pipe across from the counter, and cuffed the other wrist. With one down, Arik got up to deal with the next one on his list. He walked down to the Captain’s Office, stopping a bit short of the door. He reached in his other rear pocket, pulling out his phone. He clicked the screen and all the lights on this floor turned on. Cries of pain rang out from the office.

Arik ran in. Arrin and Mitchel were fine as they were sitting closer to the lantern on Mitchell’s desk. On the other hand, the man in the corner was bent over like he got hit between the legs. Arik quickly took him the rest of the way down and handcuffed him to the old radiator. “You two, slacking off at a time like this,” he laughed.  “Just untie us, dad.” “Fine.” He started on Arrin’s ropes. “Where’s Patrick?” Mitchell asked, his voice tough but eyes filled with a glint of care.

“Cuffed in the lounge. That was the guy you were going to marry, wasn’t?" he asked, untying Mitchell, getting a wide-eyed expression from Arrin. "Only a fleeting whim." "You and Lindsey are a much better match anyway. Your Law and he's order."


Madeline’s day started like any other. She rolled out of bed and into the kitchen, practically sleepwalking through her morning routine. Work passed in the usual blur of meetings, emails, and calls – spending so much time satisfying the clients that the project was on track that there was hardly any time left to actually spend working on it. Before she knew it, lunchtime had arrived. Not wishing to spend any longer in the office than necessary, Madeline made the familiar journey to a nearby cafe with her book tucked under her arm. Coffee and sandwich acquired, she huddled up in a quiet corner to eat, drink and read. The stress of the day melted away as she immersed herself in the words on the page. Until a chorus of chimes, buzzes and beeps drew her back to the real world. Looking around, she noticed everyone staring down at their phones, confusion and fear plastered across their faces. She fumbled in her pocket to draw out her own, palms prickling in apprehension. The notification light was flashing. She tapped the side, bringing it to life. Blazoned across the screen was an emergency message from the government. `Several large masses approaching the planet at speed. Find shelter where possible. Await further announcements.` Silenced reigned in the cafe, the usual sounds of steaming and grinding swallowed by the tension in the room. A clattering cut through it all, setting Madeline’s heart pounding. Every head whipped around to find the source – a teaspoon fallen to the ground, rocking gently as it settled. Finally, somebody spoke. The man at the table next to her. “Th-this has to be a hoax, right?” “I don’t think so,” a woman by the window replied, gesturing outside. “Look.” Everyone did just that, shuffling over to peer at the people on the street. Some were frozen in terror, staring at their phones or up into the sky. Others were running, tripping and falling or colliding with each other in their blind panic. But the sight that sent Madeline’s heart plummeting into her stomach was the uniforms. Police. Firefighters. A strange mish-mash of officials hurrying to take control of the situation. If this was a hoax, it was certainly a convincing one. “What do we do?” another customer asked. Gradually, all eyes turned to the barista behind the counter, as if his authority in the cafe made the young man – barely out of childhood – the natural leader. “Err… I suppose this building has a basement,” he murmured. “We could shelter there?” Madeline watched on from the sideline as the customers glanced around at one another, seeking approval. All it took was for one of them to start nodding and soon they all were. Together, they filed down the stairs into the storage room underneath. The walls were lined with metal wire shelf stacks, full of cups and bags and bottles. The only sections empty of stock were the gaps there to make the stairs and doors accessible. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the stains that littered the floor, more vibrant than the faded paint. It was a far cry from the cosy cafe above. They huddled there for what felt like hours, though the clock disagreed. Its tick filled the room, accompanied by a slow dripping in an unknown location. Now and then a low muttering between neighbours broke the monotony, but Madeline couldn’t make out any of the words through the blood rushing in her ears. A *thump* from above prompted a collective intake of breath. A series of small, quick steps clacked across the floor above them. Almost like something was scuttling through the cafe. Her eyes tracked across the ceiling, following the sound until it reached the entrance to the basement. Heart hammering against her ribs, it felt like the world was rushing around her as she tried to focus on the door at the top of the stairs. For a second, everything was silent, only to be broken by the creak and crash of splintering wood as a strange pincer-like claw burst through. The crowd erupted into chaos. Some clung to each other, frozen to the spot. Others backed up to the furthest edges of the room, Madeline amongst them. A brave few charged the stairs in an attempt to get past the horrific creature. It knocked them back with a swing of its claw, eliciting gasps and cries of pain. Casting about frantically, Madeline spotted a door to her left. She dived for it, just as others around her did the same. It opened into a small cupboard, stocked with cleaning supplies. Before she could decide what to do, Madeline found herself pushed into it by the crowd. A few people piled in behind her before someone pulled the door shut and started barricading it. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “I don’t want to be crushed by people piling in here,” he replied. “And I *definitely* don’t want that thing getting in here.” She opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. As the thumps and screams and squelches started drifting through the door, Madeline did the only thing she could think of to shut it all out. She read. She dived into the world of Mary Shelley’s *Frankenstein*, trying to force her focus to remain on the words on the page instead of the world around her. Because of that, she hardly noticed the strange buzzing pressure encroaching on the edge of her senses. She only glanced up when the people around her started unbarricading the door to leave. “Hey,” she whispered, grabbing a woman’s arm. “Where are you going?” The woman didn’t respond, simply pulling free of Madeline’s grip to keep moving. No longer absorbed by the fictional world of her book, the strange sensation engulfing her mind grew. It felt as if it was smothering her thoughts, her feelings, her very self – wrestling control of her body from her. Before it could take hold fully, she plunged herself back into the story, immersing herself in the conversation between creature and creator that was transpiring. Gradually, the buzzing pressure receded, though she could still just about feel it on the edges of her senses. Glancing up, she realised the cupboard was now empty apart from her, the door gaping open. The only sight she registered outside of it was a flash of red before she yanked it shut and barricaded it once more. Huddling in the far corner, she buried herself in her book again, losing all sense of everything else. Eventually, she reached the last page. She stared at the final word for what seemed like an eternity, reluctant to return to the real world – whatever that meant anymore. Soon, she could put it off no longer. Closing the novel, she tucked it under her arm and pressed her ear up against the door. But no matter how much she strained, she could hear nothing. Everything outside seemed calm and quiet. With trembling hands, she lifted the various mops, buckets and bags that blocked the entrance. Then she reached towards the handle. She struggled to get a proper grip, sweaty palm sliding over the cold metal. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she steadied herself before tightening her fingers and pulling. The door swung open onto the basement. It was empty now, save for the two bodies that stared up at her with lifeless eyes. Scarlett splattered the shelves and floor, but the source of the blood seemed to be long gone. Madeline tried to tell herself that they had escaped – overpowered the strange creature, or run away. But she couldn’t forget that strange feeling – as if she was losing control of her body – and the way those people had walked out into the carnage willingly. And what had that *thing* been? Why was it here? And how? As the questions spiralled around her head she felt the world rushing in around her once more. The sensation made her dizzy and she had to steady herself against the wall to avoid sagging to the ground. She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts as she breathed deeply. When she felt stable enough, she pushed herself up and started taking slow, shaky steps across the room. Her feet squelched in the sticky, red liquid that littered the ground. She shuddered, trying to hold back the rising bile. When she reached the bottom o the stairs, she peered up into the world above. Through the doorway, all she could see was the cafe above. Tables and chairs lay scattered and broken, but otherwise, the place was empty. She began her careful ascent, wincing at every creak of the steps. As she neared the top, a buzz in her pocket made her flinch. She fumbled for her phone, pulling it out to look down at the screen. Notification after notification flashed across it: official government messages, news articles, and messages from friends and family. Standing on the stairs of the cafe’s basement, Madeline stared down at her mobile. She flicked through the notifications: alerts about unknown objects, alien ships, strange creatures. None of it felt real. Then came the messages from her parents. Text after text pleading with her to let them know she was okay, abruptly stopping around two hours ago. There were similar messages from other friends and family, some continuing longer, but none in the last half hour. Struggling to keep hold of the phone in her trembling hands, she opened her contacts and started trying to ring everyone she could think of. First her mum – no answer. Then her dad – no answer. Ella – no answer. Michael, Becky, James – all no answer. As she went through to voicemail after voicemail she felt tears prick at her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her sleeve, trying to keep her vision clear as she called number after number. Soon, she gave up the battle, letting the tears stream down her face as she heaved in shaky lungfuls of air tinged with copper. A buzzing in her hands sent a jolt of hope to her heart. She pressed the button to answer the call and held it up to her ear. “Hello?” “Mads?” Ella’s voice cried from the other end of the line. “You’re okay?” “Yes! Well…not really…” “Okay, but you’re alive? And not hurt?” “Yeah. Just about. Are y-you?” “Just about,” Ella replied. Despite everything, Madeline could swear she could hear a smile in her friend’s voice. “Where are you?” Madeline asked. “I’m at the university library. I was working when it all… well, you know. What about you?” “At a cafe in town. Near my office. We got a text – me and the other customers – and we hid. Then there was this thing. And they all just… I don’t even know what happened. But everyone else is gone.” “You mean you actually saw one?” Ella gasped. “And you survived? God Mads, that must have been–” “Yeah.” “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. You should probably try and get out of the city. Apparently, they targeted the most densely populated areas first. Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe any of this is even happening.” “I know the feeling,” Madeline replied with a sigh. “So where should I go? Or where should we go? I’d feel better being with you than by myself. Or with some strangers.” “I don’t know. The library isn’t exactly central, but it isn’t quiet here either. Perhaps my house would be best? It isn’t too far to get to but is a bit more out of the way. And maybe some of my family will be there too… I haven’t been able to contact them so far.” “Me neither – with mine I mean.” “So what do you say? Meet at my house and go from there?” “Sounds good. Though to be honest, I’m glad to just have someone tell me what to do. Thank you, Ella. Really. If you hadn’t called I don’t know what I’d–” “Thank me in person. Now get moving. I won’t be able to relax until I see you,” Ella said. “And *please* be careful.” Madeline hung up the phone and tucked it away in her pocket before climbing up the last few steps back into the cafe. From here, she could peer through the shattered windows into the world outside. On the street, other shop fronts were similarly damaged. Broken glass littered the pavement, glinting in the light from flames that danced amongst the carnage. Her heart leapt at the sight of people running this way and that. She open her mouth to call out to them, but the cry caught in her throat as she looked closer. The people weren’t running from the strange creature she had seen before. They were running from each other. Some had bats and bags, breaking their way into buildings and carrying away what they could. Some grabbed at each other, taking out their fear and frustrations on whoever was unlucky enough to be close by. Some simply ran, trying to escape the chaos. Madeline shrunk away from the window, reluctant to go out into a world such as this. But what choice did she have? The longer she stayed here the more chance she’d be found – by the looting crowds or the strange creature. And Ella was waiting for her. Clutching her book tightly under her arm, she stepped outside, glass crunching underfoot. She tried to move with confidence and certainty while sticking to the edge of the street in an attempt to draw as little attention as possible. Her eyes flicked back and forth, movement in her peripheries sending jolts of panic through her body. A hand darted out of an opening, grabbing at her arm. She yanked it back with a yelp and ran, feet pounding the pavement the sole focus of her mind. When she finally slowed back down, she struggled to get her bearings. Everything looked so different – so desolate. Her eyes fell on a sign, frazzled brain trying to make sense of the letters. Eventually, they coalesced into a word – a street name she recognised – and she set off at a brisk pace. Until a scuttling sound sent a sweep of cold terror through her. She dived for the nearest doorway, only to be pushed back by a group already huddled there. Her skin prickled and her lungs burned as she sprinted for the next entrance. But once there, she was met with the same sight. The scuttling was getting closer now, along with the *rap rap* of human feet on concrete. Madeline turned to see a man reaching toward her. Scarlett flecked his clothes and a fire raged in his face. In a blind panic, Madeline grabbed at the book tucked under her arm and brought it round to meet the stranger’s head as hard as she could. The following *crack* seemed deafening. The man sagged to the floor. Her stomach churned, like something was writhing inside of her, but she tried to push down the feeling. As she turned away, she caught a glimpse of a blackish-purple creature, slightly larger than a person, rounding the corner on more legs than looked right. She fled, praying the scuttling sound wouldn’t follow. That the *thing* would find something else – *someone* else – to distract it. As she got further out of the city centre, things seemed to calm down slightly. There were more people huddled together instead of fighting and fleeing. Less damage. Less destruction. Eventually, she was nearing her destination. She slowed her pace along the residential street, taking in the sights around her. Families were hurrying out their doors, loading their cars with everything they could carry. Others hid inside, peeking out from behind the curtains with fear in their eyes. Ella’s house was devoid of activity – door shut but curtains open, revealing no one inside. At least not near the windows. Madeline hammered on the door but no answer came. Pulling out her phone, she tried calling Ella over and over, but to no avail. She looked around, wondering what to do. Waiting outside felt exposed – dangerous. Going back into town was out of the question. She thought back to late-night visits, stumbling back to Ella’s place after drinks in the city. Hadn’t there been a key hidden somewhere? Bending down, she fumbled under everything she could think of but found nothing. Then her eyes settled on the key safe mounted on the wall. She fumbled at the small dials on the side, setting them to every combination she could think of, praying the family hadn’t just chosen a random number. As they turned to `0000` a click sounded. She silently thanked their poor security as she retrieved the key inside and let herself into the house. “Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone home? It’s Madeline – Ella’s friend.” No reply came. Closing the door behind her, she made her way toward the living room, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she may not be alone. It was only after a thorough search of the house that she finally felt secure enough to settle on the sofa. While she waited, she tried flicking through the channels on the TV, but all showed the same message in plain text: `Emergency Broadcasting: Shelter in Place and Await Further Broadcasts.` With nothing else to do, Madeline selected a book from the coffee table and started reading, determined not to let herself think too closely about anything. She woke up the next day, slumped on the sofa with a crick in her neck. Cold sweat pricked at her skin as the events of the day before came rushing back. Her head whipped around frantically, searching for signs of danger. Until she realised she was still alone. She grabbed her phone off the sofa next to her. There were no new messages – no signal at all. No way to contact Ella. \ “What happened next?” Liam asked with wide eyes. “Did you find Ella? Or anyone else?” Madeline stared down at the table, tracing the patterns in the wood with her finger. “No. I didn’t.” “Oh… I’m sorry.” Forcing a smile onto her face, she looked up at him. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago now. I’ve had time to process it all.” “So how did you end up here?” “I waited at the house for a while, hiding inside while everything went to shit. Or trying to hide. I learnt to defend myself and what I had pretty quickly.” Madeline paused, trying not to dwell on the things she’d done – things she’d had to do – to survive. “When things died down a little and I was starting to run out of food I packed up everything useful and went looking for people. This was the last place I knew Ella had been but… when I got here it was deserted.” “So you stayed?” “Eventually, yeah.” “What does that mean?” “It means, that’s enough dwelling on the past for one day. Come on, you must be tired. Let’s both get some rest.


"So what's the catch?" "No catch. Just you, me, and KC going to a bank." "Sawyer." "In ski masks." "Sawyer!" "Okay. Okay, man! God, you're so pushy. Ya, ya we're gonna rob it." "Sawyer!" "Come on, dude. I need the money, bad. You know who this business goes, sometimes you're down and sometimes you're-" "High?" Jack finished, grabbing the spliff from Sawyer and stomping it under his foot. "Dude!" "That's what happened at your last job isn't it? You got high and screwed up?" "Jack-" "So you need me to come in and take charge for you so you don't screw this one up?" "Well, when you say in charge, what exactly are you imagining?" "You want me to be you're fucking sponsor? What? I just follow you around and take lighters from you?" "You're my oldest friend." "No, Sawyer! I'm the only one that could put up with your shit!" "Chill out, dude." "God, I should have seen this coming! I got out of this stuff, man! I started over. I promised Angie I would leave this behind." "And you wouldn't be breaking any promises." "What are you talking about?" "Getaway car." "No." "You want a piece of all the action? Fine, fine. But your cut ain't getting any bigger-" "I'm out." "Jack, please! I-I'm in serious trouble. It’s The Gaters." "You went to loan sharks before me?" "You just said you put it all behind you! You made a promise to your girl!" "No. No. I'm out. Don't you get it? You go to me first! You ALWAYS go to me first. Fucking shit, man! I-I promised-" "Angie." "I promised you first." "You're in?" "One ride. Getaway car." “You got the J-Man back in, dope.” “Just shut the door, KC.” “Ouch, J-Man.” “And throw that out.” “It’s just a little beer, it ain’t gonna hurt anything. You know I can’t do these things sober.” “Try.” “Cool it, guys. We need to plan this one out.” “What? Not cool, Soy.” “Jack’s involved this time, KC. We got to be professional.” “I always am.” “Let’s go over it one more time,” Jack started, tracing the map with his finger. “4:55 pm: KC and Sawyer go in and tip the contact. At 5:10 KC makes a distraction while Sawyer slips in the back using the door that the contact opens. 5:20: KC will get a message from Sawyer when he has the money. KC will go through the front, and Sawyer will find me in the back. I drop Sawyer at his apartment, and I never see you to again.” “Harsh. dude,” KC said. “Get that thing out of your mouth.” “Seriously, Soy?” “Listen to him. We go sober for this one. Jack’s the law.” “Damn right I am.” “All right everyone, get out.” “That’s cold, J-Man.” “Just relax, KC.” “No, Soy. What’s got this guy acting like frosty the fucking snowman? That guy was warmer than you and he was made out of fucking snow.” “Sorry, K.C. I just want to get this over with.” “Huh. Bye,bye J-Man! Try not to get us arrested!” “He’s just a kid, Jack,” Sawyer commented once KC had gotten out of the car. “A kid shouldn’t be in this business. He won’t be a kid for much long- if he doesn’t get himself killed first.” “Hey man! He chose this. Kid came to me a year ago in deep, deep shit, and I pulled him out. He’s loyal and has a good head. It ain’t my fault if he realizes the world isn’t perfect.” “Is that what your first boss said to you?” “I’ll see you on the flip side, Jack.” “See you on the flip side.” 5:25 “Where are you, Sawyer? Get in this damn car right now.” 5:30 “Hell.” 5:32 “Get your shitting hands off me!”

“Sawyer Maddison, you have the right to remain silent.” “This is just a whole misunderstanding fellas.” “Uh huh. You have the right to an attorney.” “Let’s just talk this out.” “Anything you say can and will be held against you.” “Jack! Jack! They’ve got him!”

“He knew what he was getting into, kid. Get in the car.” “I can’t stay in here!” “Yes you can, Kid.” “He’s your best friend. How can you just leave him?” “He told you that?” “Well, ya. I mean, isn’t he?” “It’s complicated.” “Why? Because you got lucky and landed some office job? Because your parents earned some cash and got you into college? Me and him ain’t got that. We don’t got some fancy degree. This ain’t some rebellious phase for us. It’s do or die, man. Kill or be killed.” “And if I let you go back out there you’re going to get yourself killed. Sawyer wouldn’t want that.” “How would you know what he wants? You left him, man! You got up and left him in a ditch! I’m all he’s got, and he’s all I got. I can’t leave him.” “You have to.” “Unlock the car, Jack!” “KC-” “Unlock the fucking car!” “What’s your plan? You’re going to jump two cops? That’s not the same as robbing a bank.” “I don’t care.” “You should.” “I don’t!” “I’ll get you into college, Kid. You can crash at my place.” “Like I care about college!” “Whatever you care about, I’ll get it to you. But if you go out there, you’re going to get killed, and you’ll never be able to have any of it.” “I only care about Sawyer! Now unlock the car!” “I’ll pay for his bail and make sure he gets a fair trial.” “You know that won’t happen!” “I’ll get him a lawyer and-” “You’ll run away again, man! You’ll leave him just like you left before and those white collar judges won’t give a shit about him!” “He made his choices, K.C.” “No he didn’t! He’s not the one in deep with the sharks. It’s me! He was just protecting me! Now open the car!” “Well, I’ll be damned.” "So?" "Well, I'll be damned."