Kieran followed his contacts instructions carefully, which led him toward the edge of the subsection—a particularly seedy part of Apex known as The Stacks. This section of town used to be a sprawling roadway network; connecting hundreds of vehicles heading into town from all directions. It was said that the average citizen usually had their own car; taking these vast concrete networks for hundreds or thousands of miles. These days, The Stacks look much more like labyrinth than a network. Appearing as a garbled concrete mess, with half destroyed and collapsed bridges littering the ground, the only vehicles using the network ahead (or rather, what as left of it) were AA and AE vehicles. Underneath, the space between the ground and the concrete above was filled with vast stacks of shipping containers, old vehicles, garbage, and whatever else others could get their hands on. His entire subsection was nowhere near wealthy, but this might have been the most desolate of all of the neighborhoods he frequented. On the other side of these stacks was Atlantic, so he was thankful for this journey leading towards his destination rather than away from it. He went through the information he had in his head concerning the day’s orders. His mark was named Aren Wrey. He had a sister named Anna. Anna lived in the stacks. Aren was wanted for Suspected Public Endangerment—the AE’s blanket-term for troublemakers. Anna would likely not cooperate easily. Kieran hated himself on some small level for having to enact the bidding of the AE. Runners strived for neutrality; working as an equally uninterested and uncaring aspect of the battle between the lower classes and the upper echelons of society itself. Runners worked in this manor because they knew if they didn’t tow the line, they would just as easily be replaced, subjugated, or much worse. Many of the poorer subsections in town worked on a “three-times forgiveness” system. It ensured the illusion of mercy was stronger in the lower classes. Runners didn’t have such luxuries. If Kieran was caught even so much as associated with suspected rebel leaders, it was an instant execution. Still, while this remained public knowledge, it didn’t stop the animosity many people had towards Runners. There would always be conflict, and frankly, Kieran was used to leveraging his position to keep moving forward. It wasn’t about kindness. Not in Apex. It was always about survival. Kieran wandered the dark, damp bottom floor of The Stacks in search of his contact; a waifish boy no older than fourteen. He didn’t charge much for being a Runner Contact, but he certainly made it clear he took no joy in assisting Runners. Not that it mattered to Kieran. This was survival, and it was never personal. “Behind you,” the contact called out in a high, echoey voice. Kieran turned to see the boy protruding from the side of a residence. As with most people in The Stacks, the boys legs were matted up with gray mud from the knees down. No amount of washing would get rid of the color. “I’ll make it quick,” Kieran said. “Please do,” the contact replied, “I can’t promise people like seeing your lot around here these days.” “Oh?” Kieran asked. “So I take it you don’t have any new work for me?” The contact shook his head. “Runners are always trouble in The Stacks. Speaking of, what trouble do you have for me?” Kieran leaned in. “Looking for an Anna Wrey,” he said, quieter now. The contact seemed to have no reaction to the name, which was good in Kieran’s mind. The boy pointed a bony finger to a deep green shipping container about five floors off the ground. “You arresting her?” The boy asked. “No,” Kieran replied, already moving away. “Not her at least.” -- Kieran knocked three times on the door, and rattled off the usual required summons: “Anna Wrey? This is Transportation Technician #3B149. As per the authority invested in me by Apex Enforcement, I am requesting entry to ask you a few questions—” The door opened before Kieran could get the last few words out. From the darkness, a voice: “Make it quick.” Kieran nodded, and entered the home. In here, the only light that seemed to come through was a small gash in the top of the shipping container. The asymmetric light lit up the back-left of the container, which contained a small, dusty bed. Trash and debris seemed to cover the rest of the area, and Anna-or whom he assumed to be Anna-had made her way back to a small patch of bare floor on which she had been sitting. “I was expecting a Runner sooner or later,” she spoke, face angled downward so as to keep what remained of her identity a secret. All that Kieran could tell at this point was her age—which seemed to be somewhere in the mid-40s. He kept himself next to the door in case a quick escape was needed. “You want Aren, I know.” Kieran cleared his throat. “He’s been requested for questioning, and I’ve been asked to locate him.” He figured being honest may be the best move here. “He’s on his second strike, you know,” Anna said, eyes still to the floor. “Something tells me they have more than questions for him.” “I would not know,” Kieran said, keeping his cards ever-closer to his chest. In actually, yes; the phrasing on Aren’s summons was standard for a summary execution. His body would likely be tossed on top of the other bodies on Mercer Island by the end of the week. “Do you know where I can find him?” “Unity,” Anna said, using the unofficial and banned name for the Atlantic subsection. Not that Kieran was interested in correcting her. “Look for a tavern in the innermost square, ran by a couple a bit older than me. He told me he’d be there this morning if I wanted to come by.” “This morning?” Kieran asked. When’d he tell you this? “A month, maybe,” Anna said. She coughed twice, then took a swig from a nearby bottle. “Said it’d be the last opportunity for us to meet before he skipped down.” “So why aren’t you there now?” Kieran asked. Normally he wouldn’t, but considering the strange circumstances here, he was curious. “The same reason I’m ratting him out to you,” Anna replied. “He took every dollar we had with him when he left. All because he was out fucking around and making a bad rap for himself.” She stood and leaned in closer to Kieran. “Whatever comes his way, he deserves it.” Kieran thought for a moment. On one hand, this meeting had gone smoothly. Too smoothly. Yet on the other, these situations weren’t entirely uncommon. Dire financial situations often meant family sharing resources to survive. Mix money and family, and these sorts of things could happen easily. These were some of the few moments that Kieran found himself thankful for his lack of ties. No family and very few friends meant no enemies. Kieran remained invisible; invulnerable to the sorts of familial betrayal he had found himself a part of on this day. Kieran thanked her for the information, handed her a small payment for the trouble, and set off once more. He was thankful this mission just got a whole lot easier; in fact, he likely wouldn’t even need to find a Runner for Atlantic. To pay off. From here, it was just a simple payment to the AE officer in the area to write down a different subsection, and it was smooth sailing from there in out. Hell, he might even have time for his other goals for the day after all. -- Kieran crossed into Atlantic without too much trouble. Subsections often had checkpoints to keep track of the people heading into and out of certain areas. This was often stated as a means to keep people safe, but more often than not, it made it much easier for AA to track down whoever they needed to. As a Runner, these crossing simply involved showing the officers on guard his paperwork and Runner’s Stamp. During today’s crossing, he essentially breezed past the checkpoint. Atlantic was one of the many subsections to have an assigned work schedule. Most people here woke up, received their orders, and went about their day. As such, Kieran kept a low profile and slipped past the Sanitation and Maintenance workers that were making their daily routes. He slipped his bag onto a clip on his back and covered it with a longer jacket. It was his hope that most people saw him more as a random stranger than a Runner. God knew the trouble he’d be in if other Runners knew what he was up to. Kieran observed the street clean up crews carefully. A boy here. A older man there. A thin woman about his age down a side street. These were often the silent watchers of Atlantic, and all of Apex for that matter. The people out all day; seeing passers-by, taking mental notes. Kieran knew he was walking into one of the most antagonistic subsections against Apex Authority today, and by proxy, antagonistic towards himself. Antagonism that had only grown worse since the recent shortages had began. Looking up once more from his thoughts, he spotted the old tavern Anna had told him about a few buildings down from where he was. He was just about to head that way when a large arm blocked his path. “Finished with your daily duties already, are ya?” the boorish AE officer said. He shoved Kieran for good measure. “I haven’t seen your type around here. You’re dressed too well for this.” Kieran didn’t hide his distain. He had no time for this. “Runner #3B149, official business, so do you mind?” The officer gave Kieran an incredulous look, as if he had been offended by Kieran’s tone. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he muttered out. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in 3F, not 3B.” “Yeah, I’m well aware,” Kieran said. His eyes looked to the left and the right. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to have in public. “And if you leave me alone I can make that discrepancy worth your while.” The officer frowned. “Show me your stamp and papers then, Runner boy.” Kieran had just about had it with this officer. He angled himself against a wall, as to ensure no one but this asshole would see his paperwork. He handed the stamp and papers to the officer, who gawked up and down at them before throwing them back at Kieran. “Shit,” he said, “Guess you are a Runner.” “Yeah, no shit,” Kieran snapped back. AE officers liked to talk a big game, but AA looked at the officers and the Runners as equal under their jurisdiction. And as much as it probably pissed off this particular officer, Kieran was sure the brute in front of him now knew that and wouldn’t push too hard at Kieran’s rudeness. Disputes between AE workers were often resolved by the cleanliness of one’s record, and Kieran’s was spotless. “So do you want to make some money today or not?” The officer grunted, “just hurry it up, would you?” and stepped out of the way. As he did, Kieran couldn’t help but notice the three or four street cleaners in the area that had seen the altercation and how easily Kieran had got the officer to stand down. And judging by their looks, he was sure he had already made too much of a reputation for himself here already. “If a man runs out of the tavern I’m about to enter,” Kieran said in a low voice to the officer, “do me a favor and arrest him. Alive, preferably.” Kieran waited for the officer’s nod of understanding, and walked off. Making a mental note never to come back to Atlantic after today, he stepped into the tavern. Inside, aside from the couple behind the counter, there was only one man; sullen and looking downward at his drink. He looked up quickly after hearing Kieran approach, but quickly looked down again. Expecting to see Anna, no doubt. Kieran took a seat next to the man. He hated this part particularly. He shot a glance up to the couple behind the counter which screamed [i]‘you don’t want to see this.’[/i] They seemed to take a hint, and slipped away. “Aren, I presume,” Kieran said to the man, looking forward instead of at him. “Please,” Aren stammered. “I have money, I have information. There was a woman here a short while ago. She said something about a meeting tonight. Maybe that could—” “Aren,” Kieran said again, and the dire tone he struck seemed to shut Aren up. “This isn’t something you can talk your way out of.” “Please man,” Aren continued. Kieran could hear his voice quiver as he spoke. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” “Did you take all of Anna’s money?” Kieran asked. The man’s silence answered his question, and cleared Kieran’s revolve of the situation. At least Kieran could sleep better at night knowing at the very least, this guy had stolen money. Finally, the man spoke. “That money wasn’t just hers, you know.” He looked to Kieran. “It was mine, too.” “This is how this is going to go,” Kieran said, changing the subject. “I’m going to leave, and the officer outside is going to bring you in for questioning.” “Bullshit,” Aren shot back. “They’ll shoot me in some back alley for my third strike.” “Or,” Kieran said, continuing his earlier thought, “You can run, in which case, they’ll shoot you right here in the center of town.” “My own sister,” Aren said to himself. “Fucking bitch.” Any empathy Kieran had for this man was gone by this point. “Which way are we doing this, Aren?” Judging by the glass smacked into Kieran’s head the next second, it seemed like this was going to go the hard way. Aren had bolted from the tavern before Kieran had hit the ground. His head rung with pain immediately, but judging by the fact that the bottle Aren had hit him with remained intact, he was immediately sure the worst injury he had sustained was a mild concussion. Not so bad. As for Aren? He took three steps outside the taven before the AE officer blew his brains out right there in the streets. Kieran was more than finished with this task. He stepped outside and approached the officer—slipping him a hundred dollar bill. “You will write this incident as occurring in #3B, not #3F. Understand?” The officer looked to the money, then to Kieran, then nodded. With that, Kieran marched away from Aren’s still-bleeding corpse, hoping to be out of Atlantic within the hour. He wasn’t sure who or what had marked him, but he was sure he was a marked man by this point. And he didn’t care to stick around and find out the consequences of that.