Mr. Holdover shoved a fork full of waffles in his mouth and chewed angrily, his mind still fixed on an image of the RV. ‘Shit’s not fair! Why is it always the good ones that go?’ he thought. He took a gulp of black coffee and glanced up at the TV, watching the morning news.

  “Good morning Empire City! We’re going to begin straight away with our continuing cover from last night’s homeless riot.”

  Coffee exploded from his mouth, “WAITER!”

  “ACK!” a teenager behind the counter cringed. “U-um, are you good—?!”

  “Turn that shit up!”

  The employee carefully went to the TV on the corner of the café, adjusting the volume:

  “As we pick up in the downtown metro area, the fallen ECPD helicopter is still causing a hazard for drivers on their daily work commute. While there have been no reported fatalities, officials warn this and the attack on the Head Precinct, show a ‘dangerous turning point’ for our city.”

  It cut to a police officer full of badges speaking at podium with the flag behind him, “Unfortunately,” he said, “with the Head Precinct gone, along with our Bodily Division, as well as many of our officers from that sector, we can only hope that White Collared businesses will reconsider abandoning us altogether as we attempt to rebuild.”

  “Now we’ve reached out to both the governor and mayor for comment, which we’re still waiting on, but we did receive a surprise message from our President, Sam Merkin!”

  “I’ll be honest, I had no idea.” he said, sitting with his legs crossed at a beach, “But I’ll do whatever I can to support my boys in blue! Oh, how bout I bring ‘em all here with me on, uh…” he looked off screen, “Where am I again?”

  “Cuba, sir,” A female voice said, “Specifically—”

  “Yeah, yeah they can all come to uncle Sam’s favorite vacation spot!”

  “Again, sir, the officers aren’t permitted to leave their post in a time of unrest.”

  The man stared off, his jaw dropping, and his finger going to his chin…

  “This comes just several weeks ahead of fifty-state meet in Washington, where the senate has been pushing for the camo-blue bill to be passed and now, may get their chance. Again, I stress not to panic as we’ve been told by the rest of law enforcement that the best thing we do as of this moment is stand tall with our city and Collared workers. When we come back, we’ll talk about the ten best jobs for your kids!

  “Turn that shit off!” Mr. Holdover groaned. ‘What the fuck did I miss?!’ he thought, fist shaking. ‘They took out the whole damn precinct?! And a fucking chopper hit the city at that! What did they have the boy doing? And where the hell was Kufi? And how many people did these psychos kill?!’ he leaned his head back, fingers going to the bridge of his nose, ‘Ugh shit, maybe I do need to take care of those homeless…but I really don’t want to.’

  “Bah! Can you believe that loon?” a man in a t-shirt sitting against the wall said to his family, “Good for nothing President! Why hasn’t someone shot him already?”

  “I know how you feel, dear.” his wife said rubbing his arm.

  “You’re absolutely right!” Another man with a blue coat said, “I swore he lost the last three elections!”

  “I know!”

  Mr. Holdover simply chuckled and shook his head. His face automatically went stern again, ‘D may’ve been telling the truth,’ he thought, ‘he didn’t deny using the bank, but his request doesn’t match up with the one I saw. Goddamnit, if that’s true then I’m back at square fucking one! What am I missing?! This buyer having a relationship with Haven checks out. They’re aware of what’s going on, checks out. What wouldn’t match up with D’s claim?’

  He pressed his forehead to his fist, trying to call back to the document, trying to remember anything; details, contradictions, loopholes…

  ‘Last updated, 9/16/2020’

  ‘The date…’ he realized. He sat back, rubbing his knuckles along his temples, ‘That was the night we arrived here and that bizarre-ass lockdown…’ he suddenly jerked his head up. ‘Meaning he was in Haven the entire time!!’

  The older man stuffed his hand into the coat pocket while simultaneously smashing open the napkin dispenser, spreading as many as he could across the table. The other people finally glanced over at the commotion. “They’ll let anyone anywhere nowadays!” the man in the t-shirt said.

  “Mind your fucking business!” he snapped over his shoulder and yanked the marker form his pocket, scribbling as fast as he could. ‘Damn, it’s fading. Ok, Kufi—too annoying. Boy—too dumb. Groundhogs—which one? How many where there again—?’

  “Um, excuse me, sir.” The teenager said, appearing in front of him.

  “Eh? What is it, waiter?”

  “I’m not a…” he sighed, “You know you’re wearing a Black Collar, right?”

  Mr. Holdover glanced to his tie, then him again. “What’s it to you?”

  “Well then uh…” his face flushed in awkwardness, “I was just wondering if you were with the guys here earlier, that’s all.”

  The man’s interest perked, “What?”

  “Around breakfast time,” He said, “Three Collars, two blue and one red. Though the red one wore the same color you have, I’m pretty sure—”

  “WHAT?”

  “GAH!” he shrieked, raising his fists.

  “This bitc—lady, did she have weird ass hair? Like a mohawk?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Dark make-up and piercings?”

  His face beamed. “I knew you knew them! Oh, her companions were a black dude and this white woman and they both had these ponytails—”

  “Where?!” he said, shooting up off his seat and crossing the café, shoving through tables of the people talking from earlier, much to their protest. He kicked away the scattered glass and wood and strutted to the temporary plastic door, “Where the fuck they go?!!”

  “S-somewhere downtown where the homeless raided the Head Precinct!” he stuttered, watching the man yank the door open, casing more of the sides to fall. “Oh, since you’re pretty high in the chain, can you leave me a good review for my raise? My name is Terrence Daniels—”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  ‘Slam!’

  Several blocks away from the right of the door, Mr. Holdover strutted quickly down the street, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. Making his way to the bus stop, he felt his pocket for the Green Pass, it felt heavier than usual.

  ‘Damn it! Damnit it all to hell. Fuck!’ his mind raced, his foot tapped. He took a seat at a bench, squeezing his knuckles together, ‘There’re gonna get caught. Fuck they’re gonna get caught! I should’ve bound and gagged boy when I had the chance!’ he shook his head. ‘Him and kufi are as good as dead. They don’t stand a chance against those Collard fucks. And to top it off one of those damn Groundhogs are in on it! Shit…’

  He recalled back to when he was told about the notebook in Prime Hill, then, what happened to Shakar in Zone 4. Then it hit him.

  ‘It was that damned chain smoker! But why? Is he planning to exchange the kid to save his buddies? They gonna do the same with Kufi too?’ he shook his head again and looked up to see the bus he’d been waiting for had begun to leave. But that didn’t bother him. Instead he stood up and went the other way.

  “Fucking hell,” Mr. Holdover said to himself. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he made his way to the bridge. “The things these people make me do.”

  Shakar watched over a hundred homeless gather in the center of Zone 2, all armed with sticks, blades of varying sizes, and other objects, old broken or both. Many of the vendors were moved to the sides near the walls as the sales people either watched or went someplace else. He watched the rain coated woman known as Sunshine, and a laid-back looking man with a bun known as Sammy walk past them to the front where Xole was.

  “You,” A voice spoke from behind him.

  Turning around, Shakar saw Sammy’s twin standing there, his face stern.

  “You must be Johnny Tears,” he said, “I could tell by the beard.”

  “And you must be leaving,” he said, aiming his bottle away, “I could tell by the hat.”

  “Not a word un-minced!” he replied cheerfully, “I suppose the rumors of the ‘good cop, bad cop’ duo were true.”

  “Stop wasting time,” he said.

  “Then I’d like to ask why.”

  “No.”

  Shakar smiled at the man, but didn’t move. Johnny’s gait shifted towards him, face unchanged, yet his weapon began to rise.

  “Hey, whoa!” Sammy said, running over to stop Johnny. “I take my eyes off you for a second and your already trying to cut someone up!” he turned around to Shakar, “Sorry about my—oh, well this is awkward.”

  Shakar’s face remained the same, “Is there as issue?”

  “Yeah,” Sunshine said coming over, “You need to beat it.”

  “That was a phenomenal song, but I’m not sure as to what you’re referring—”

  “Cut it out, Shakar,” Xole said. He went over to the three, “I’ll take it from here guys. Go ahead and wait for me, please?”

  With a single nod, Johnny left, keeping his eye on Shakar. Sunshine did the same; aiming two fingers from her eyes to his then back. Sammy simply shrugged, following the two. Xole looked back at the younger man, “This is a training session.”

  “You’ve sure grown up over the past few days.”

  “And Abbas said its best non serious civilians don’t get involved.”

  “I would say you’re unrecognizable, but then again I never really ‘knew’ you per say.”

  “So you need to leave and—are you listing to me?!”

  Shakar looked Xole up, down, and then back up. “You know, I actually came here to address our conversation last night.”

  “You’d call that a conversation?”

  “Yes. Regardless of how you or I felt, words exchanged between two people without the need for violence will always be a form of converse. However, the words I chose that night were…a bit different from my usual repertoire.”

  Xole eyed the man back, but wasn’t able to read him. “If this is you trying to apologize, than it’s too late—”

  “Oh, I’m not here to apologize.” He interjected, “I’m here to tell you that you were right.”

  Now Xole looked surprised.

  “These people…very talented people, have done plenty to ensure your future is secure and as your teacher that’s all I need to know.” He tossed his hands up, “In the end, you’ve chosen to be honest with different people, and with the path you’ve chosen I cannot fault you for that.” Shakar pivoted and began to leave the Zone, “There’s nothing more I can do for you the way you are now.” He said to himself.

  Xole watched him leave, his fist clenched. Suddenly, Sunshine ran over to him.

  “Xole, change of plans!” she pointed to one of the walkways in the wall, “We need you to start the training session with these guys.”

  “Wait what?!”

  She raised her hands to him, “Look it’s just for a minute while we fetch the rest of the equipment, no biggie.”

  “Wait, stop!” Xole said, watching the three leave, “You guys are supposed to show me how to teach these guys how to fight the government. Not the other way around!”

  “You’ll be fine!” she said, her voice trailing off down the hall, “I heard you fought a Red Collar once anyways!”

  “That wasn’t me!” he cried. He looked over his shoulder to see at least a hundred people standing behind him, all gruff and dirty. One with a metal pole waved it at him.

  “Hey, you gonna show us something or not?”

  Forcing the most rigid nod he’s ever done, Xole looked back. “One…second…please…”

  ‘WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo!?!?’ his mind screamed. His finger shot up, ‘Gi control, right, perfect, fantastic! I’ll waste time with that first!’

  He turned back and cleared his throat, “We’re gonna start with this thing called Gi control.”

  The crowed exchanged weird glances.

  “Don’t worry. I once had the same look.” Xole said pacing back and forth at the front, arms behind his back. “But it all changed when I—”

  “Is it like shooting stuff out?” a woman asked much to another’s concern.

  “Um, no,” Xole said, “it’s more like your body filling like a cup and—”

  “Oh and then you shoot stuff out!” the woman said again. This time a few people around her shook their heads.

  “No,” Xole repeated, shaking his own, “Ok, everyone close your eyes and imagine your body. Imagine it like an empty…uh…”

  “Cup?” a voice asked.

  “Cup, thanks. Imagine it like an empty cup, filling with your Inner-Gi. Now imagine—”

  “Oh, I get it.” A fair skinned man in a black leather jacket said.

  “Really?” Mr. Citrus said, “Because I don’t.”

  “Yeah it’s easy,” he replied in a Brooklyn accent, “Just clench your belly really hard and take deep breaths—”

  “Hey!” Xole pointed to him, “I’m supposed to be the one teaching here!”

  “But it works.”

  Xole tried it, clenching his belly and breathing deep. His body felt full, yet his limbs light, “Hey wait a minute, it does work!”

  “See? Told ya!”

  “It’s not working for me!” The old woman in the red scarf said.

  “Maybe try the cup thing.” A voice suggested.

  “Yes!” Xole said. He looked around, “That is what we’ll all start with, then the breathing thing. Then we’ll—hey, are you guys in the back wandering?!”

  “Don’t mind them, boss.” Bobby B said, coming from his side, “They’re lost causes.”

  “Where the heck did you come from?!” Xole gawked.

  “Me and the boys are training,” he said aiming his thumb behind him to the other three struggling with push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks. Bobby shrugged, “Anyways, I keep them in shape.”

  “You’re the fattest out of us all, Bobby!” Sally said; her doll on her back.

  “Aren’t you guys a little young to be here?” Xole asked.

  “Uh, Mr. Spirt Xole,” a frail looking woman asked, “How did the punching thing go again?”

  “And aren’t you a little too old?!”

  Now the room erupted. People talking, training, some even broke out dancing for whatever reason. Xole looked on in horror, ‘From what Abbas told me,’ he thought, ‘I have less than a week to teach these guys how to fight.’

  “I need to step out!” Xole shouted over the noise, spinning around and darting to the hall—not that anyone noticed. He went down the empty dim walkway, eyes darting franticly.

  ‘C’mon, where are you guys?!’ he thought. ‘This better not be some type of trick! I ca imagine it now, they all must be laughing somewhere, watching me try and fail to teach these guys. Heck, I bet there even mimicking a few of those dance moves!’

  His foot kicked something plastic sounding. Looking down he saw an orange traffic cone and further, some coiled ropes, and boxes.

  ‘Here’s the stuff, now where are they?’

  He took another couple steps—nearly tripping in the darkening hall as he knocked over a few boxes, spilling its contents. Xole knelt over to it, ‘Fireworks? Where they gonna blow these guys up like what happened with m—’

  “Xole…”

  “Hmm?” His head turned in the direction of the voice. Sunshine was on the ground, face down and covered in blood, her hat torn. To her sides where Sammy lay there, stomach was gashed open, and Johnny, whose body was slumped against the wall, his forearms drenched in blood where his hands once were. The woman raised her head, her face bloody.

  “Run…Xole…get…help…”

  “Sunshine!!” Xole shouted, reaching for her, “It’s gonna be okay, I’ll—!”

  “So it’s Xole…”

  An ice cold tone inches from his left ear pierced his brain. The older boy’s body froze upon instinct, his eyes moving to the sight of a set of long purple nails rest on the side of his cheek. Anastasia’s face appeared from the dark behind his. Her nails grazed his face ever so slightly.

  “…What an intriguing name.”