The Face of a Rogue

by L T Anderson

  Johnny frowned. “Dude, I said we’re parking.” He turned in to an opening in the tunnel wall. Sensors activated overhead lights in an expansive room. Johnny drove the van toward the far wall in front of him. He guided the truck into one of twenty glass-walled cubicles and threw the shift lever into Park. He turned off the ignition and shifted in his seat to face Curtis. “See? Parked.”

  The lights in the room slowly dimmed as the glass cubicle glowed steadily brighter around the ceiling and floor. The indirect glow changed from red to purple to blue.

  The van moved downward as the cubicle descended. Curtis felt lighter as the high-speed elevator accelerated. Fifteen seconds later, the movement slowed. “Where are we?” He gazed out the windshield through the security screen in front of him. The cubicle lighting dimmed. The highly polished room was blue—floor and walls. The ceiling was bright white. One wall housed a row of lockers and an unmarked door with no handle. Curtis noticed a control panel to the right of the door. Some kind of keyless access. Palm scanner or something. The wall to the right was all glass, covered with blue vertical blinds, and a door to the left of them. Tiny slits between the blinds revealed a lighted hallway beyond the glass.

  Two security guards approached the van. “Good day, sir,” the lead guard said.

  Johnny opened the driver’s door and climbed out of the vehicle. “Hey.”

  “We’ve been advised you have a passenger—an outsider—on board.”

  “Yeah.” Johnny tossed the keys to the second guard. “Get him into lockup. Don’t hurt him. We got plans for this one.”

  Curtis’s jaw dropped. He heard a metallic jingle against the side of the van as the guard pushed the key into the lock. His stomach knotted. “Johnny?”

  A well-dressed man approached Johnny from the far side of the room. “Mr. Logan. Will you be having refreshments at this time?”

  Johnny glanced across to the far side of the room, opposite the van. Five people sat on barstools, engaged in casual conversation. Two male bartenders busied themselves behind the expansive countertop. “Yeah, get me a shot of the usual. I’ll down it on my way out. I’m not stayin’ today.” He puffed out his chest. “I gotta get cleaned up for a big meeting with Levi.”

  Curtis provided no resistance when the two guards pulled him from the back of the van. One of the guards grabbed a wad of collar on Curtis’s leather jacket and pushed him against the side of the vehicle.

  “Oh, he’s clean, guys,” Johnny said. “No need for that.”

  An attendant in blue coveralls greeted Johnny. “We’ll have the vehicle cleaned and detailed for you, sir.”

  Johnny smiled, full-toothed. “Of course.” He glanced at Curtis. “Go ahead and gut the inside. Nothing in there is worth keeping.”

  The attendant nodded. “As you wish.” He stepped into the cubicle and waved his hand over a palm reader on the wall.

  Curtis stood in handcuffs and watched the last evidence of his existence as a Punk descend into the floor.

  Chapter 3

  Disturbance

  The hopeful and vibrant city of Tremayne sat silent in the early morning hours the day after the Chybrid attack at Checkpoint One. As the sun peeked above the horizon, optical sensors turned off LED lights in empty parking lots. A cold breeze hissed through downtown between buildings, past vehicles and around dumpsters.

  Nico perched in his Lenco BearCat and stared at a hand-drawn MISSING DOG sign stapled over a thousand other staples on a nearby utility pole. The corners of the paper fluttered in sync with each gust of wind.

  He started when his two-way radio crackled. “Nico, it’s Will. Do you copy?”

  Nico swiveled his mouthpiece downward. “I copy, Will. Go ahead.”

  “Hey, Dion told me to let you know things are under control here at headquarters.”

  Nico paused. “Say again, Will?”

  “Yeah. Almost all the Chybrids are down, killed.”

  “But how?”

  “You’ll never believe it, partner. Krystal Peterson, that’s how,” Will said. “Things are moving fast, man. Me and the other two amigos got our own BearCats now. Dion wants us to meet you in Tremayne and help set up security. We’re packing now.”

  Nico pushed himself up in his seat. “I can’t wait to hear about it. I’m at the city center, at the intersection of Habiliment and Main.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Nico adjusted the rearview mirror to check his look. You don’t seem so badass. How can you lead the Three Amigos, let alone all these other Punks? Dion was crazy to promote me. He scowled at his reflection, shoved the mirror back into place and stared out the windshield.

  A rude gust of wind whipped into the cab and pushed his straight bleached-blond hair into his eyes. He reached across his waist and grabbed his left wrist, pulling the paralyzed arm into his lap before unlatching the door. Might as well wait outside.

  Nico hopped down the single step on the armored truck and stood in the street next to the vehicle. Using a custom-made Velcro strap at his waist, he secured his left arm to his side. He faced the wind to sweep the hair back off his face and grabbed a red-and-black beanie from his back pocket. With his chin tilted slightly upward, he slapped the beanie onto his head before closing the driver’s door.

  He stepped to the sidewalk and ambled toward the intersection of the city’s two main streets. He was thankful his beanie covered his ears as his cheeks and nose flushed pink from the cold wind. The sunlight flickered off and on as clouds moved in to gray the day. He stopped at the corner and peered left.

  A group of children loitering at the alley between Main and First Street caught Nico’s attention. One, two, three, four, five…six, he counted. Two girls.

  One of the boys bent down and picked up a small rock. The kid threw the rock into the alley, igniting the group into a clatter of oohs and ahhs as the rock clanged off something metallic.

  Nico guessed from the sound the rock hit a trash dumpster—probably empty.

  “Hey,” he yelled.

  The activity stopped, and the six kids looked in Nico’s direction. After a quick impromptu conference, the group of youths turned and walked swiftly toward Nico.

  “Hey, yourself,” the tallest kid said as they approached. “Are you a Punk?” The kid wore jeans, athletic shoes and a loose-fitting polo shirt.

  A skinny girl with dirty-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail stood next to him. “He’s a Punk all right.” Her olive drab sweater appeared at least one size too small. Her blue knee-length skirt looked awkward with red tennis shoes and no socks.

  Her girlfriend, a short-cropped brunette with glasses, whispered in her friend’s ear.

  The blond girl giggled and looked at Nico. “Yeah. My dad said the Changers were gonna whip you guys. He always said you Punks aren’t as tough as you think you are.”

  “What are you guys doing out here, anyway?” Nico asked.

  A pudgy kid with his baseball cap on backward spoke up. “Don’t have to tell you, man.”

  “Yeah,” another kid said. “And we’re not all guys, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Okay, kids, that’s enough.” Nico swallowed. “It’s probably best if you head on home.”

  The tall guy meandered around behind Nico and pretended to look in a storefront window.

  Nico glanced toward his empty BearCat as the other five youths formed a loose semicircle on the sidewalk in front of him. He spoke into his shoulder mic. “Unit Two, it’s Nico. Do you copy?”

  The response was immediate. “Go ahead, Nico.”

  “Yeah, get a couple of units headed in my direction.”

  “10-4. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing yet, Two. Just roll a couple.”

  “You got it, bro.”

  Miss ponytail put her hands on her hips and giggled. “You calling for backup? You scared of us kids?”

  Nico stepped back toward the building behind him.


  “Ow!” The big kid hopped around in feigned pain as if the pressure from Nico’s boot had somehow broken his ankle. “That’s assault, man.”

  “Sorry, guy. Didn’t see you.”

  “Hey, you know what, Mister Punk?” The pudgy kid took a step toward Nico. “My dad says we don’t really need you guys. You didn’t protect us from the Changers during the Lottery. They didn’t just attack you Punks, they attacked us regular citizens.”

  “Yeah, the Punks are sissies,” the brunette girl said. “We really don’t need Punks in our town. Why don’t you just leave?”

  “What’s up with your arm, anyway, dude?” The pudgy kid slapped Nico’s paralyzed arm.

  When Nico flinched, the tall kid saw an opening and took a swing. Nico ducked and swiped his foot at the youth’s ankles, knocking the boy to the ground. Before the big guy had a chance to inhale the breath that was knocked out of him, Nico’s knee was in his chest. He grabbed the boy’s throat and pinned him to the sidewalk.

  Two Lenco BearCats rolled slowly into the intersection. “Attention. Everyone move away. All parties move away.” The PA speaker from the lead truck reverberated off the buildings.

  A big punk leaned out the driver’s window of the first vehicle. “Saw it all, bro. Hold him there.”

  The Three Amigos guided their newly assigned BearCats down the highway toward Tremayne. Will led the miniconvoy, followed by Adam and Joey. A new billboard—courtesy of the Changers—caught Will’s eye just outside the city limit sign.

  ADOPT A CHILD TODAY.

  GOOD FOR TREMAYNE.

  GOOD FOR THE SOUL.

  Hmm, that’s new. Good for the soul? He shook his head. Those people are weird. He tapped the brake to release the cruise control when he saw the REDUCED SPEED AHEAD sign.

  At Habiliment Avenue, he turned right and cruised the vehicle at thirty miles per hour. He glanced at the time on the dashboard clock: 9:35 a.m.

  “Will, Adam. Do you copy?”

  “Go ahead, Adam.”

  “That’s four straight green lights, and I’ve seen a few groups of kids playing around on the side streets. Dion hasn’t sent the all clear to the city manager yet. What gives? Why are these kids out of their homes?”

  “Break, guys. Joey here. Do you copy?”

  “Go, Joe,” Will replied.

  “Yeah, seems like those kids you’re seeing are checking us out. Every time we pass a group, they run out in the street and stand there staring at the back of my truck.”

  “Something’s up, guys,” Will said. “Don’t know what it is yet, but we got activity at Nico’s location.”

  With zero traffic, Will felt comfortable pulling to a stop in the middle of the intersection at Habiliment and Main Street. Adam parked two truck-lengths behind and to the right of Will’s truck. Joey stopped the same distance to the left.

  The trio exited their vehicles and met Nico dead center in the intersection. The four young Punks bumped fists.

  Will looked past Nico at the big Punk in Unit Two and his crew, now involved in an animated discussion with two youths. “What’s happening here, partner?”

  “Well,” Nico said. “It didn’t start out as much. The kids were throwing rocks in that alley—no big deal, right? When I confronted them, they were a little belligerent, so I suggested they go on home.” He shrugged. “They didn’t like that, so they challenged me.” He turned around and motioned to the tall kid in handcuffs. “After I called for backup, the big guy made a move on me, so I took him down.”

  “Hey, I know that guy,” Joey said. “His name’s Tim. Everyone calls him Little Man.”

  Adam wandered back to the alley to have a look. Tall buildings on both sides still blocked the day’s new sun. A piece of paper—crumpled by some anonymous fist and powered by the wind—crawled up to his boot like a tumbleweed. He bent down and picked up the crinkled wad. He held it momentarily before untangling the indiscriminate folds.

  Faint giggling in the narrow passage between the buildings pricked his ears. Adam glanced toward the intersection. Will, Joey and Nico remained engaged with the situation on the street. He stuffed the paper into his pocket before stepping into the darkened passageway. Grit under his boots and the now-continuous breeze muffled the distant laughter as he strained to pinpoint the source.

  He stopped and squinted. The green dumpster ahead on his left was out of place. What the heck? Adam’s instinct pulled him to the opposite side of the alley into a small alcove—the rear entrance to an electronics repair shop. He moved quietly past the dumpster and crouched in the shallow recess before turning back to face the garbage bin.

  Without the wind swirling in his ears, the voices became clear.

  Giggling children in quiet conversation. “Try to make it in her mouth.”

  Clink splat.

  Clink clink splat.

  “You keep hitting that eye, stupid. Gimme one.”

  Bang splat.

  “Shh, you idiot. That’s too big.”

  “Made it, didn’t I?”

  From his vantage point, Adam saw four children he guessed to be around twelve years old. They’d obviously made themselves comfortable on top of an abandoned mattress and a pile of flattened cardboard boxes. Two girls leaned against the brick wall of the building opposite Adam. The other kids, both boys, squatted on the mattress, facing the crevice between the dumpster and the wall.

  He watched one of the boys reach into a box and pull out a potato-sized rock.

  “Aw, that’s no fair, man,” the other boy said. “That’s way too big.”

  The girls laughed. “Do it, stupid,” one urged.

  The boy tossed the rock.

  Splat.

  “Whoa, I think you broke her tooth!” one of the girls cheered.

  More laughter.

  “Gimme one!”

  Her? Adam frowned. He stood and walked swiftly toward the children. As he approached the small group, the reality of the scene punched him in the gut. The blood rushed from his face as his skin turned cold. “What—?” He suppressed a gag as every hair on his body prickled. Lack of oxygen squelched his attempt to scream. His muscles went weak. He knew the feeling—like the last time he tried to scream in a dream. “Hey…hey!” he whispered hard, trying to catch his breath.

  A forty-something-year-old woman was propped up in the corner between the garbage bin and the brick building. Her expensive skirt was hiked above her knees, her silk blouse torn down the front. The red pump on her left foot contrasted sharply with her pale skin.

  Blood trickled from one of her open eyes and the corners of her mouth.

  Adam found his voice. “Hey!”

  The four children scrambled to their feet.

  Adam rushed to the woman and knelt beside her. He grabbed her wrist. Pulse!

  When he turned around, the kids were gone.

  “Nico, it’s Adam! Do you copy?”

  “Hey, Adam. Go ahead.”

  “I need medical assistance in the alley! Now!”

  Chapter 4

  Security Shuffle

  Blinking red lights at each ceiling corner of every major corridor throughout the Changers’ Underground reminded residents the city was still on high alert since the Chybrid offensive on the Punks’ headquarters. Guards stationed at specific checkpoints kept activity to a minimum as citizens were redirected back to their homes or escorted to their places of employment. Not one restaurant, lounge, bar, shopping establishment, theater or game center was open for business during the lockdown.

  Tension remained high inside the conference room adjacent to the Changers’ War Room. Levi Aldrich paced back and forth between the executive wet bar and an array of flat-screen monitors on the opposite wall. As leader of the Changers in North America, Levi had recently made decisions that would take the organization in a new direction. His new program and personnel changes would not be popular with his present inner circle.

  “Leader, pleas
e sit down,” Silver Long insisted.

  Levi stopped pacing long enough to stare down his second-in-command. “Yours is the last voice I want to hear at this moment, Long.”

  Ivan Duncan pushed his chair back and stood. “Leader, if I may.”

  Levi smoothed his hands over the lapels on his royal-blue suit coat and then through his jet-black hair. “You may.” He resumed his pacing.

  “I think a recap of the events leading up to the defeat of our Chybrids is in order. If we analyze the timeline of events, it will assist us in rooting out the weak points of our plan.”

  “And who was responsible,” Marvellus Macey added.

  Levi stopped and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

  “Leader, please,” Ivan said, motioning to Levi’s chair at the head of the conference table.

  A muscular six foot three, Levi’s presence intimidated even his closest confidants. He moved slowly to his chair and sat down, his eyes locked on Silver. “I know where our weakness is, and who’s to blame.”

  “That does it!” Silver slammed her stylus onto the tabletop. “There’s no way in hell I’m responsible for the defeat of your little robots!” Her hand shook as she pointed at Levi. “You were the supreme overseer of that project from its inception. The whole thing was your idea. I wasn’t even involved.”

  “She has a point, sir,” Ivan said. “The Chybrid project was developed by Garrison and Dennis, headed up by yourself.”

  “It’s not the Chybrids that failed us, Duncan,” Levi said. “Their purpose has been realized, the objective complete.”

  “But the Punks have not been eliminated—”

  “The Punks!” Levi’s fist landed hard on the table. “They have been severely crippled. It will take them years to recover from the damage inflicted by my Chybrids.”

  Silver pushed her chair back and folded her arms. “Hmph.”

  Levi stood and leaned across the table toward Silver. “Don’t be so smug, Long. My disappointment is not in the execution or outcome of the Chybrid project. My issue is with your total failure regarding the security of the Changers’ organization.”