text: Exodus Agent WK927 was insignificant. The thousands of creatures that passed by him every day would forget him almost instantaneously, almost as if he’d never been there in the first place. Nothing else was really to be expected on Æ92, one of the busiest transport planets in the galaxy. Millions of life forms flooded through the massive checkpoint buildings on the way to their next transport - whisked away from the dull bureaucracy of galactical immigration agencies. WK927 was one person well accustomed to the dull bureaucracy of galactical agencies as it was his current and indefinite occupation. WK927 was of an average height and build for a male human at age 28. Even if the individuals passing him noticed his dark brown hair and pale skin, they forgot he even existed by the time they walked through the archways leading to the Pads. He was just like every other Exodus Agent in the countless checkpoint buildings across the planet, absolutely unnoticeable. Illuminated under giant fluorescent lights, the colossal checkpoint building gave the impression that it stretched endlessly in all directions. Thousands of creatures stood waiting to be processed, slowly trickling past Exodus Agents and through the large archways leading to the landing pads. Under the helmeted eyes of the marshals overlooking them from the walkways above. Always watched. As WK927 scanned and stamped data cards, creatures and faces blurred together until he was going through the routine mindlessly. Occasionally, he could hear the roar of the engines from starships taking off from across the planet, heading even farther out into the reaches of space. The rumble would be then drowned out by the din of the awaiting individuals, and WK927 would drown out his self-pity with another stamp. Rothelain. Scan. Stamp. Next. Mizur. Scan. Stamp. Next. Human. Scan. Stamp. Next. Znocheds. Scan. Stamp. “Next.” The figure was wearing a flowing maroon coat going down to its knees with matching dark gloves. Its chrome blue helmet reflected WK927’s face back at him. “WK927? Known as Double?” asked the figure. He frowned. WK927 had only been called that as a child, “How do you know that?” The figure didn’t answer. “I have a proposition for you, Double. I want to offer you a new occupation.” WK927 saw his own reflected eyes cloud with confusion. The figure removed its helmet, revealing a female human with black cropped hair. “I’m Elite,” seeing WK927’s confusion, she added, “It’s a nickname, similar to yours.” His brow furrowed, “Why did you come all the way to Æ92?” “My profession is...unique. Not at all like your current trade,” she said gesturing around her. He glanced at the group of life forms still waiting to be processed. No one seemed to notice that WK927 was talking to a traveler much longer than allowed. He was as unseen to the universe as always. He glanced back at this mysterious woman. “You traveled here, to one of the furthermost planets in the known universe to offer me a job?” She shrugged at his incredulous tone. “We do strange things in my line of work.” “What’s going on here?” demanded the marshal who was approaching them. WK927 could read her number on her breastplate: UO198. The marshal must have been sent down from the walkways viewing the checkpoint building when Elite had started talking to him. Someone did notice. WK927 felt an odd rush of joy at the thought. The helmeted marshal turned to him. Through her silence, he knew that she was reading data that was being transmitted through her helmet. “WK927. Why haven’t you processed this passenger?” “I was offering him a job,” said Elite. UO198 laughed. “Don’t you know anything? No one picks their occupations. You only get reassigned or promoted. WK927 will always be an Exodus Agent, nothing more. That’s how it is.” “Maybe that should change.” Elite’s voice bristled with hostility. Marshal UO198 straightened, “You aren’t showing up on any of our databases.” She sounded confused. Everyone showed up on the Galactic Republic’s databases. “Who are you?” demanded the marshal, a gloved hand drifting towards her rifle strapped to her back. “I guess you’ll never know,” said Elite. A bullet shot through the air and UO198 fell to the ground. WK927 leaped to his feet, staring at the revolver in Elite’s hand. It quickly disappeared into one of the many folds of her coat. Slipping her helmet back on, Elite strode back towards the crowd amid the growing cries of panic as the crowd of life forms seemed to detect that something was off. “Are you coming?” she cried. The marshals above on the walkways started shouting something unintelligible. WK927 stared at the dead marshal, then grabbed his helmet, racing after Elite. He cut a path through the horde of creatures, trying to catch up to her when the sounds of rifles firing and beings screaming filled the room. WK927 spared a glance over his shoulder to see the marshals firing randomly into the crowd, shooting beings with no care for their innocence. “Come on!” shouted Elite. WK927 was stuck in place, staring in horror at a young Mizur bleeding out onto the immaculate, stainless floor. Elite grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd. They burst through a side archway just as the crowd of creatures dissolved into sheer panic, trampling one another in an attempt to get to safety. *** WK927 tugged on his helmet, hearing the usual hiss of air as it adjusted around his head. He struggled to keep up with Elite, boots splashing on the muddy ground, “Why would you do that?” “Do what?” “Shoot that marshal? We’re both dead now!” Elite glanced over her shoulder. “Only if they catch us.” WK927 was infuriated at her lack of concern but kept quiet. They were sprinting through narrow alleyways between even more equally enormous checkpoint buildings that were scattered across Æ92. No other souls were to be seen, no one daring to risk the thick fumes in the air. Even with his dark gray helmet filtering out deadly air, WK927 still didn’t feel safe from the harmful chemicals polluting the atmosphere. He had never noticed how grimy and industrial his planet was, the sky tinted gray and dark blue from the nebulae fuel that powered the starships. WK927 hardly went outside to avoid the acidic smog and mud, a harsh contrast to the sterile, fluorescent interiors of the checkpoint buildings. Elite and WK927 jogged under a suspended holorail track, holding their breaths instinctively as a Magnetrain rushed by, kicking up even more dust and corrosive oxides into the cloudy air. She had slowed down to a walking pace, but was still justifiably on edge, head darting around and glancing behind her. WK927 walked alongside her, trying to slow down his heart rate, “You’re part of that group, aren’t you? Those anarchist traitors?” She smirked, “You catch on fast. We prefer the term Revolutionaries.” “No one prefers being defined as what they are.” “The Republic labeled us as traitors. They’re the genocidal bastards destroying planets that defy them. But of course, you would believe their propaganda,” shot back Elite. “Why are you offering me a job then?” demanded WK927, “What do I have to offer to your cause?” “Because you see the faults of the world you live in,” Even through the helmet, he could feel her eyes drilling into him. “Not many individuals do, and those that see its faults turn away because it’s safer.” WK927 stared back, “And just because of that, I’ll join you? Risk everything to-” “Well, you’re here aren’t you?” Elite started walking faster, moving towards the Pads that they could faintly see through the opaque sky. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m joining you,” muttered WK927 under his breath, mainly to convince himself. WK927 had seen the Pads as a child and remembered the sprawling layers of twisted metal that climbed thousands of feet into the sky, piled haphazardly. His neck had ached for days afterward from craning his head, staring at the ships taking off. Even though he had never been off-planet, he had been told that the Pads could be seen from the outer atmosphere, and made Æ92 seem like it was made of giant metal disks. As they approached, Elite produced a pistol from one of the pockets of her coat. “Can you shoot?” WK927 accepted it, “Of course I can.” “Good. My ship is on one of the lower levels of the Pads, where the maintenance crews live. The bigger starships would have crushed it if I left it anywhere else.” The Pads was just as he remembered, looking even larger and towering as ever. Layers upon layers of metal held together with a combination of iron walkways and ladders, balancing precariously upon each other. The highest pads where the largest starships sat were shrouded in dust and fumes from the departing spacecrafts. Elite started to climb the anchored into the mud, WK927 right behind her. He tried to focus on the filth on her boots to distract himself. He didn’t think about how they were climbing miles into the sky on rusty metal ladders. He definitely didn’t think about what would happen if they were caught. Their ascent became another routine, scaling countless ladders and platforms. His arms ached, but he kept going, his mind turning numb trying not to think about what would happen if a patrol of marshals caught them or if he fell off. Elite suddenly pulled him back, just as a patrol marched past. “Be careful. We’re one or two levels below my pod.” He nodded and started to climb. Halfway up the narrow ladder, WK927 heard shouts, and a stray bullet hit the bracket holding him to the wall. The entire ladder shuddered and WK927 clutched the metal bars tighter, holding on for his life. He managed to clamber to the top and pull himself onto the platform without dying. Elite followed right behind him and started returning fire at the marshals. WK927 surveyed the multiple landing pads, spotting marshals scattered on walkways and adjacent platforms. He took careful aim and fired his revolver, shooting several figures. They were in a strategically better position, able to see all of their opponents and take measured aim without rushing. Even with WK927’s limited shooting skills, he felt like it was too simple. Surprisingly, he felt not the slightest bit guilty as he killed the armored figures. “Is that all of them?” he asked, glancing at Elite. Elite shrugged and turned to her pod which was sitting on the very platform they were on, “So I take that you’ve accepted my offer?” He hadn’t considered her offer in fact, just following Elite because it seemed like the best option at the time. “I don’t have much of a choice, Elite. Æ92 isn’t a big planet. I’ll be dead in days.” “I wouldn’t doubt yourself too much. You’re resourceful, Double. You could survive here.” “Don’t move,” commanded a voice. WK927 felt the tip of a rifle press to the back of his helmet. Elite froze her pistol halfway in the air. WK927 was standing with his back to the ladder and a marshal must have climbed up and snuck behind him. “Drop your weapons. Both of you.” WK927 let his revolver fall from his hands. Elite slowly lowered her arm, and dropped her pistol to the ground. In the reflection of her helmet, WK927 could see himself, standing rigid, only one marshal behind him. “Make a move and your friend is dead,” said the marshal, gesturing towards WK927. WK927 didn’t trust in his helmet’s ability to protect him from a bullet at point-blank range. The helmets were useful for filtering out elements and fumes, not bullets. “Now,” started the marshal, “You’re both going t-” WK927 leaped into action suddenly, ducking forward and driving his elbow into the marshal. The rifle fired over his head, hitting a metal pipe and then ricocheting into the platform. WK927 spotted his revolver on the ground and picked it up, spinning on his heels, firing two shots into the marshal. The man froze, his rifle hanging loosely in his hand. He took a few steps backward, clutching his stomach, and then fell backward over the edge of the pad. WK927 slowly stood from where he was crouched on the ground. Elite looked at him, then nodded in respect. He clambered to the edge of the platform and glanced down. The platforms below them were cloaked in the usual acidic haze, but the only marshals to be seen were the ones they had shot while ascending the ladder. “He must have fallen in between the platforms,” said Elite, standing beside him, staring into the abyss. Sure enough, they heard a crash similar to the sound of metal on armor. He waited for a rush of remorse to come flooding through him...but it never came. “Impressive.” said Elite, picking up her discarded pistol, “As I said, you can take care of yourself.” She approached him and he could tell that she was smiling. “So, last chance. You coming or no? You want the job, Double?” Elite extended a gloved hand. WK927 studied it for a second and then glanced around him. The giant Pads, the acid in the air of his home planet. The dead marshals on the platforms. Double took her hand and climbed aboard. WK927 could be significant. Maybe Double was more than an unnoticeable number.