The Collector (22 page)

A Baby-faced Recruit squints as he scans the 3D setpiece. “Based on the look, I’d say it’s Sector A. Rustic.”

“And crumbling,” adds another recruit.

“Good. Knowing your city inside and out is important,” Mazer says. He works a keyboard on the control panel to initiate the first stage of the training module.

Within moments, a Collector enters the tavern. If it weren’t for the brighter than usual gleam reflecting off his sleek black combat uniform or the hollow void hidden beneath his digital eyes, the figure could pass for a real human. The Collector approaches the volunteer at his table. Their nodding heads mimic a brief conversation before the Collector takes a blood sample and runs it against the database.

“What else?” Mazer asks. “Would you expect to just walk in without following the proper precautions?”

Silence, as the Collector confirms the volunteer’s identity and slides over a folded black flag.

“Pay attention to the details,” Mazer says as he places the tutorial on pause. “Neil, what can you tell us?”

It doesn’t take long for Neil to examine the scenario, a veteran who has seen it all. “Something’s not right,” he says. “The infomercial.” The recruits cock their heads, not seeing what Neil sees. “You have to read the situation. If this is his Collection Date, that’s the last thing he’ll be watching. He’ll be with a loved one, a partner, a friend – and if none are alive, he’d at least be remembering them in silence. Maybe with some sort of trinket.”

Mazer nods satisfied, then turns back to the recruits. “Anything else?” he asks, still getting no response. “Congratulations. Your first lesson and you already failed.”

“The cigarette,” Zack chimes in.

“What about it?” Mazer asks.

“It’s at the bar while the volunteer is at a table. It’s still lit. Half smoked. This man is not alone,” Zack explains. The recruits focus in unison on the burning cigarette as Zack continues, “Barring any sort of transfusion procedure, we know he’s a legitimate volunteer since he checked out in the database. So that means this is an ambush.”

Mazer smirks, highly impressed. As he resumes the tutorial, the Collector motions for the volunteer to rise to leave. Suddenly, a computer-generated aggressor leaps out from behind the bar and attacks the Collector. One step ahead, the Collector whirls around and shocks the aggressor with his baton. The volunteer reveals a hidden knife and flails wildly, but the Collector evades before disarming him. The Collector binds the volunteer’s hands and drags both he and the aggressor away.

Just then the 3D digital setpiece dissipates, leaving only the generic grey and blue gridded simulation room that constitutes the virtual training simulator.

“Very good. You survived your first Brigade trap,” Mazer acknowledges.

Zack assured Neil he wouldn’t disappoint him again after the mishap at the Wall, and he assuredly kept his promise. He and Neil exchange glances before the recruits interrupt and congratulate him, everyone all smiles and impressed with the Academy.

Neil slides over to Mazer. “You’re training them to be bounty hunters?” he asks in concern.

“Times have changed since you went through the program,” Mazer says. “I’m trying to protect them.”

At the same time the demonstration at the Academy concludes, Adrianne is just leaving Agency Headquarters after a long day in the Dispatch Department. Her favorite pair of worn heels click against the pavement as she treks across the second floor of the Agency parking structure where the green fluorescent hue from flickering lights creates dancing shadows in the corners.

Adrianne’s mind races faster than her legs, her thoughts elsewhere, which cause her to be oblivious to the white van parked alone just a couple spots ahead. Neil would immediately recognize this van as the getaway vehicle in the Brigade’s attack at the gala, but Adrianne doesn’t even hear its engine suspiciously in idle.

As she passes behind the purring vehicle, the taillights flash red and the van speeds out in reverse. Adrianne recoils to avoid being hit just as the brakes squeal to a stop.

“I’m so sorry,” the driver says as he hops out and apologizes profusely. “Blind spot.” But the driver is Leon, purposely babbling and flailing his arms just enough to distract Adrianne while Chelsea leaps from the shadows and ties a burlap sack over her head. Adrianne’s muffled shrieks barely penetrate the burlap sack as Leon yanks open the van’s side door and Chelsea shoves her inside the cargo bay. The two Brigade members both hop back inside and peel off, the van’s tires screeching throughout the cement structure.

It becomes clear why Neil was so quiet at the Academy. It wasn’t so much his nerves from public speaking; it was his guilty conscience weighing down on him. Because of him and the choice he made, Adrianne is gone.

******

Outbreak

I heard some people recently got sick with a nasty flu. They claim they fell ill soon after being stopped for a random identification check. This is a gross thought, but do Collectors and SEOs clean their sample devices between uses or should we all be worried about some sort of new blood disease?!?

-Quado

18

I
t’s chaos at Agency Headquarters in the wake of Adrianne’s kidnapping. Office workers answer phones and bang away on keyboards as a News Reporter repeats the same few details on every TV and computer screen stationed on the fourteenth floor. She announces a tip line and link to an Agency sponsored website for any information leads.

Mazer zones out the hysteria as he crosses by, the burden of responsibility crushing him from the inside. Ultimately he is Director of the Agency and accountable for all that occurs on his watch. He knows his Collectors are targets and at risk, which is why he ensures they are properly trained to respond to the Brigade’s evolving methods. That’s the reason behind the revamped virtual training simulations at the Academy. But he never considered the Brigade would stoop to this level. He recalls Neil mentioning it, but never once did he think innocent civilians were in danger. There is no way he can protect every worker or train every employee at the Agency – all of who he has to now consider as targets. The only way he knows how to provide a blanket of protection and get Adrianne back is to eliminate the Brigade once and for all.

As Mazer reaches the observation window, he barely catches a glimpse of Jace’s bruised and broken body tipped over on the floor, his hands and feet still tied to a chair, just as Slayter flips off the light. Slayter steps out with his sleeves rolled up and blood on his knuckles, some of it his, most of it Jace’s. Slayter’s been hard at work questioning Jace, but a slight shake of his head informs Mazer his efforts were unsuccessful. And based on Jace’s limp body and lack of signs of breathing, the interrogation is officially over.

Slayter glances to the television screens, to the monitors, then to the concerned workers – the Agency office spiraling into disarray. “You’re losing your control,” he comments.

Control…Mazer knows it is slipping from his grip, and he takes it personally. He can only imagine how the rest of the city is reacting as news of the Brigade’s recent conquest spreads. It’s another victory for all those who oppose their philosophies. Mazer knows victory breeds hope, and hope will only fuel the Brigade’s crusade. He cycles through his limited options before dialing on his PDA.

“Neil. I have an assignment.”

Quado types away by candlelight on her laptop, her feet propped up on the control room mixing board inside the Public Access TV Station. Knee-deep on another blog post, her attention perks up when the bright soundstage lights suddenly whir to life, accompanied by the eerie laugh track echoing throughout the studio. The control room looks out onto the country themed soundstage, now illuminated, where nothing looks out of the ordinary – the two clothed mannequins situated at the kitchen table with the bird cage still between them and covered with a sheet.

Quado leans close to a microphone and presses a button to speak over the studio intercom. “Hello?” her voice blares out with no response. She
clicks
her cheek to illicit a response from her parrot beneath the sheet, but to no avail.

“Who’s here?” she commands.

Silence. She scrunches her brow as she tries to communicate with the parrot again,
click click click click
.

The bird finally responds. “Distract them. Distract them,” it squawks, though muffled.

Quado senses something’s not right. She knows someone else is there. “Show yourself!” she demands.

Her heart nearly skips a beat when the intruder reveals himself, not because it’s Neil, but because Neil clutches her beloved bird threateningly between his palms. He stares at her from down below on the stage up towards the control room, the glass window separating them. “What do you want?” she asks.

“Distract them,” the parrot squawks again. “Distract them.”

Neil remains silent. A nod of his head combined with his steel eyes confirm the parrot’s request.

“Who, the Brigade? The people?” Quado asks, responding to the bird but really trying to speak to Neil. “I only write about what I see.”

“Distract them,” the parrot repeats.

“This isn’t funny,” Quado says, her eyes pleading. “Say something.”

Neil reorients his grip around the bird’s neck, ready to squeeze tight and snap it in two when the lights suddenly shut off.

“No!” Quado shouts, the soundstage beyond the glass overtaken by shadow. The lit candle reflects off her face as she listens for any sound, any movement, desperately waiting for the male voice to squawk out,
“Time to lean, time to clean”
at the darkness, except this time there’s nothing.

Quado stumbles out of the control room towards the emergency generator located off to the side of the soundstage. She cranks the shaft, but just as the lights whir back to life, Neil is gone.

Quado collapses to her knees in tears as the eerie laugh track rings out, her last remaining family member taken from her. She sobs, until a voice interrupts.

“Time to lean, time to clean,” squawks the male voice from beneath the dusty sheet, mimicking her father.

Quado wipes her tears as she whips off the cover to the cage to reveal the colorful bird alive and well. “You’re alive!” she exclaims as she retrieves it. She caresses its neck with her finger.

“Distract them,” the parrot squawks, reminding her of her orders that Neil and the Agency want her to do. “Distract them.”

Neil and Slayter eat in silence opposite one another at their booth inside Dani’s Diner. Slayter inhales his meal, while Neil barely touches his. He looks to the backs of Slayter’s hands, then to his own, both pairs cracked and dry, oddly similar to their lives as Collectors.

As he tries to shake off his feeling of uneasiness, he grabs his PDA to check the RSS feeds. Quado has released an unusual amount of posts over the past thirty-six hours, almost double than normal, exactly as she was instructed to do in order to distract the citizens of the city:

REFORM SCHOOL: The Agency recently held a presentation at the reform school. As you know, reformatory consists mainly of orphans. Don’t you think it’s so compassionate how much the Agency cares about those that feel alone?

OH SUNNY DAY: The sky looked beautiful today. With the way the sun reflected through the smog and pollution, the hazy view was actually relaxing. It’s much better than having clear skies because then nothing would block the sun and it’d be way too hot.

EXERCISE CHALLENGE: While some filter their urine to salvage drinking water, what if we did the same with our sweat? Exercising and collecting sweat for one hour a day would put less of a burden on the Agency distribution trucks. I’m sure they would appreciate it if we all weren’t so reliant on them!

While clearly filled with angst and pessimism, there is no mention of the Brigade or their victory. Even near the front counter where every mounted TV plays either the Agency Infomercial or the news, there is no mention of the Brigade. Instead, the same News Reporter from before focuses on the benefits of a recent addition to the penal codes – Code 17.84.f – a city-wide curfew beginning nightly at 10:00pm. Slayter grunts in agreement when the punishment for breaking the new code is reviewed, then stuffs his mouth with bread and water.

Neil ignores Slayter’s caveman-like eating habits, satisfied at the Agency’s ability to eliminate coverage of Adrianne’s kidnapping in order to prevent adding more fuel to the Brigade’s fire of momentum. Now all they need to do is find Leon and Chelsea, the two remaining leaders of the Brigade, which will lead them to Adrianne and allow Neil to set this right. He resists the urge to consider the possibility that Adrianne may no longer be living. Even though he sees people face death on a daily basis, the thought of her death doesn’t sit well in his stomach. Adrianne always seemed so lively. So passionate about relaying the details of his next assignment. He signed up to be a Collector and to deal with the people, both good and bad, while she didn’t. He has to find Leon and Chelsea – for Wade, for Adrianne, for Inna – especially for Inna. For once he captures the rest of the Brigade then things can go back to how they used to be. Back when he was just a Collector and not a bounty hunter…back when he was just a Collector and not an interrogator…back when he was just a Collector and not a killer.

Neil slides out from the booth and sidesteps over to a coffee cart along the wall, in dire need of caffeine to help clear his mind of these heavy thoughts. As he adds a drop of cream to his black brew, a hand suddenly brushes against his. He thinks nothing of it, merely an accident by a stranger, until the hand lingers, stroking the top of his cracked knuckles and accompanied by a subtle giggle. He immediately recognizes the innocent laughter as Inna.

Neil’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he yanks his hand away.
“What if someone noticed?”
Inna plays it off without concern. She pretends to fiddle with the sugar and cream while never directly making eye contact. She giggles again, childlike, as she moves towards the restroom, slyly glancing back for Neil to follow as she slips through the door.