Chapter 22

Zane broke into a house.

It was not his finest moment, but it was necessary.

He and Mallory had set off in the morning to scout out the city, but they soon realized they were getting nowhere in the clothes they were wearing. Everyone on the streets was wearing the traditional attire of New Vancouver, drab gray suits and navy ties. Zane and Mallory stood out, him in a beige shirt and cargo pants, her in a loose-fitting shirt and jeans.

So Zane broke into a house. He took a garbage can from an empty alley, found a deserted house, its occupants gone to their jobs, and smashed a window. As the glass shattered, he chuckled. This is the first crime committed in New Vancouver in so many years, he thought, amused.

After they'd crawled through the window and set foot on the polished hardwood floor, Mallory looked around and shook her head viciously. "What is wrong with these people, they're so compulsively neat?" She seemed to realize what she'd said and glanced embarrassingly in his direction. "Sorry."

"No harm done," he answered, blushing slightly. He didn't know if he wanted to be associated with New Vancouver anymore. It had certainly proven not to be the perfect place Zane remembered. And from the militarism they saw on the streets, it was slightly unsettling.

The layout of the house was so achingly familiar Zane propped himself against the sofa and took a deep breath. Aside from a few small mementos, it was the exact size and shape of his own house. The furniture was arranged in the same patterns, the windows in exactly the same spots.

After several steadying breaths and a weird look from Mallory, he straightened up and pointed to a door at the far end. "That's the bedroom,"

She looked unimpressed. "Okay,"

He sighed. "That's where they keep the clothes," he said, inclining his head slightly.

"Oh." She swung open the door and stalked over to the closet. She pulled out a gray suit and blue tie for each of them, and threw the outfit at Zane. "Change," she ordered, heading for the connected bathroom.

Zane gave the familiar tan v-neck and cargo pants a last, lingering look before shucking them off. He tossed them on the large bed nearby and tugged on the dress pants. As he buttoned them up, Mallory strode out, decked out in a New Vancouver-regulated outfit.

"Nice abs," she said, smiling. Her curly black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that screamed I mean business. She had taken out her nose piercing, a defining characteristic of Mallory Sanchez. She looked constricted by the tie, constantly tugging at it, loosening its grip around her throat.

He rolled his eyes at her, throwing the undershirt on, and then the suit overtop. She pulled shoes from a chest at the end of the bed as he threw the tie around his neck, knotting it expertly from years of experience and muscle memory. Somehow, he understood Mallory's desire to rip the tie from her throat. It seemed to tighten around him, cutting off his breath, forcing him into submission.

He exhaled, imagining his worries dispersing with the air he'd released. The tie seemed to loosen. He closed his eyes, telling himself this was for a reason, not because his desire to return to a predictable life had won out. This was for the good of himself as well as everyone he cared about. He was being both selfish and selfless.

Mallory tossed him a pair of shoes, polished black dress shoes, the same style he'd worn every day since he had turned ten. He slipped them on without further need of assurance from himself.

He needn't do anything else; they'd left their packs and weapons with the others, assuming no blood would be shed today.

Zane looked Mallory and himself over. They appeared to be normal New Vancouver citizens, heading out to their jobs for the day. They were part of the entity, the being, and would not be viewed otherwise. He nodded, pleased with the outcome of their breaking and entering.

"Let's go," he said, leaving the room. He swept his hair to one side, disrupting it for the first time since Joseph had told him he liked it rogue, not uniform. Somehow, it was the worst punch to the brain yet.

They exited the front door to reduce their risk of being seen climbing out of a broken window.

The streets were sparsely populated, most people at their jobs. But a substantial number of young men and women were marching orderly down the street in concentric lines, moving synchronously down the road, knees punching the air up to their chests. Their traditional clothes had been discarded for the Kevlar vests and navy blue attire of Wawrzynski's soldiers, complete with a taser, tranquilizer pistol, and real pistol.

They walked down the sidewalk opposite to them, discreetly watching the march. You could hardly discern one soldier from the next. Their hair was buzzed down to a certain length and their movements were timed as a group. It was like watching a well-oiled machine operate.

After several minutes of this, a loud, booming voice echoed throughout the city, reverberating from the metal walls and throwing the timbre into hidden corners.

Wawrzynski.

"Citizens of glorious New Vancouver," Wawrzynski's voice boomed. "I have a message concerning rebel activists inside this wonderful city of ours." Mallory's eyes darted to Zane, but he kept his gaze and feet facing forward, maintaining the appearance of a loyal citizen. "A few days ago, several of my employees turned rogue and I was forced to hold them indefinitely at my facility to try and revert their mindsets.

"However, last night, they escaped my facility and emerged into our city." He paused for a second. The soldiers across the street faltered slightly. "They now roam our streets freely. Please beware, they are extremely powerful. They have turned my harmless experiments toward themselves and used my scientific discoveries to gift themselves destructive abilities that, if not controlled, will surely bring an end to our world."

Zane struggled not to scream obscenities to Wawrzynski, wherever he may be. He was twisting the truth and injecting it with lies as he did Zane with his serum.

"So far, they have not shown themselves," Wawrzynski said, his voice echoing so Zane heard it multiple times, exponentially increasing his rage. "If they do, I implore you to inform myself or any of my other fellow governors of any suspicious activity. We as a city will contain these rogues and return our society to its pleasant state.

"For now, I ask you to continue with your lives. And again, I ask all men and women over eighteen years of age to sign up for our tactical offense industry. Just keep in mind, this is the only change of industry allowed by our government. With the threat of war hanging over our heads, we must prepare to retaliate. If you decide to join, head for the west wall, where you will be transported to the tactical offense headquarters."

Wawrzynski ended with the mantra of New Vancouver. "'Earth is for the humans. All not human shall perish, and make way for us'." A burst of static sounded, indicating the end of his announcement.

Zane, without breaking stride, whispered, "He made it sound like a decision, but it was really an order. People here can't make their own decisions, so they trust others to make them for them."

"That's what you got from that?" Mallory asked, her voice rising. "Wawrzynski is a governor! Three weeks in his facility, and he still keeps proving that he's not who we think he is." She rubbed her nose where the piercing had been. "He's a monster."

"Don't stop moving," he hissed at her as she started to halt. He knew cameras watched the main streets. More so now. Wawrzynski had more authority than they'd initially thought, so the cameras would be fine-tuned to any suspicious movement inside the city.

Zane felt like a bug under a microscope, watched every second of every day. The freedom of the night before had faded, the elation of not being watched. He knew there were multiple cameras burning holes through his neck right now, scanning him and projecting holograms of his rigid body, showing Wawrzynski exactly where he was.

Then a sudden thought struck Zane. "He didn't describe us or give out our names," he said abruptly. "Everybody thinks Joseph and I are dead, and that's one advantage we have. These people can only recognize us if we perform some radical act."

Mallory nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's true. We just have to look and act like citizens of New Vancouver." A new resolve burned in her eyes, a wish granted.

Zane subtly glanced around him. They were descending into downtown, where larger crowds were sure to be. The bitter tang of metal became stronger, flowing into his sinuses and flooding his brain. He refused the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Maybe we should do something," he said haltingly. "Whatever Wawrzynski is planning, it requires the complete obedience of the citizens." He cast her a sidelong glance without rotating his head, allowing her to catch it but the cameras to miss it.

Mallory caught on, her dark eyes ablaze. "So we disrupt that obedience, create fear and uncertainty," she said, her eyebrows pulling together.

"Exactly," Zane responded, still in a hushed tone. He knew many of the cameras in New Vancouver could detect voices and recognize them. "We don't hurt anybody, but we wreak havoc, create mayhem." He gave the sidewalk a sly smile, his hands tingling in an anticipation he wasn't certain he enjoyed.

Mallory discreetly cracked her knuckles, the sound reverberating off the nearby buildings and a soldier whipped his head in their direction. His eyes lingered, a kind of want or desire painted within them. With a barked order from his superior, his head snapped back and his pace resumed. Zane smiled.

He looked to Mallory, not caring whether the cameras noticed his deviation from normalcy, only caring about ripping Wawrzynski down from the pedestal he'd placed himself upon.

"Let's create disaster like the failed experiments we are," he said.

Her face grew serious. "You realize if we do this, Wawrzynski's cameras will follow us back. They'll know where we are, where everybody is. He will never let us out of his sight again."

Zane considered this. Every word she'd spoken had been true. Wawrzysnki was overly desperate to have them back in his clutches for unknown reasons known only to him. If he caught sight of them, his eyes would never falter again. Zane knew this put everyone else in danger, including Joseph, which he was hesitant to do. In the end, his intuition and hatred for Wawrzynski won out and he nodded to Mallory.

"You have a keen sense of cause and effect," he said cautiously.

She shrugged. "I learned it on the streets,"

"The streets?"

"In Rio," she said. They ducked into a nearby alley where she halted, her back against the cold metal. "I was a rooftop kid." She shrugged again.

Zane wrinkled his eyebrows. "What's a rooftop kid?" he asked hesitantly.

"A fancy word for homeless kids. We got the name because when the police started patrolling the alleyways, we moved to the rooftops," she told him, her tied-up hair squashed against the smooth surface of the building. She was in a shadow and it made her figure less obvious, more ominous.

"That's awful,"

Mallory didn't contradict him for his pity or prying. Instead, she elaborated on her words. "You and Joseph got selected for the experiment because of the bond Wawrzynski knew you would forge. Daisy and Anastasia were chosen because it had been proven twins had a higher chance of surviving the procedure. Marcus was already a failed experiment, so Wawrzynski figured he'd die going through the injections, but he managed to survive. I'm simply here because I got caught."

Zane leaned against the wall beside her, his arms dangling uselessly by his sides. He wanted to say something, but no words would form when he tried to speak. He could only listen as Mallory continued her tale, seemingly without emotion, as if she'd put the entire event behind her.

"The only way us rooftop kids could get food was to steal it. At night, when the police force relaxed a little bit, we'd descend from the roofs and dig in garbage cans or pickpocket random strangers for money. A couple of the cops gave us handouts, such as a dollar or two here or a sandwich there. We came precariously close to dying many times.

"One night, I got separated from my street partner by a particularly angry man whose wallet I'd just stolen. I went one way and she went the other, hoping to divert the man." A tear welled up in the corner of Mallory's eye, but she wiped it away viciously. "He fucking called the cops on me, cornered me in a dead-end alleyway. There wasn't even a fire escape nearby, so I couldn't get back to the rooftop.

"The cops came and took me away, locked me in a cell, an actual cell, not like Wawrzynski's. Complete with floor to ceiling metal bars and a steel shitter," she spat, anger flashing in her eyes. Her earlier emotionlessness had been replaced by rage and bitterness, viciousness and fear. "I couldn't believe I'd gotten caught. I had been running from the police since my parents died when I was seven, and yet I got cornered by a fucking old man."

Zane shuffled his feet, not wanting to imagine what she'd gone through in the last ten years. His problems suddenly seemed very small and insignificant compared to what she'd been through. He didn't want to pry further, but he wanted to hear the end of the story. "What happened next?"

"Three months of boredom, dude," she said, smiling sadly. "Any time one of them came to give me food, I swore like a sailor and insulted them about every possible thing, from their shoes to the way they talked. I was angry and relentless, a very bad combination, especially when you're in prison.

"Then, out of the blue, they came in with a letter from New Vancouver, signed by Wawrzynski. The document asked them for a troubled child, a rebellious teenager, or a set of twins. They said it was the easiest way to get rid of me for good.

"I didn't want to stay a minute longer, so I went with them," she sniffed, rubbing her nose with her hand. "I got shipped here, and I only wish I could have said goodbye to the other rooftop kids. My partner would have been so worried about me, although I guess it's better she thinks I'm dead than she knew what Wawrzynski has made me." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she made no effort to wipe it away this time.

"I'm so sorry," Zane said. He felt like he'd been saying that a lot lately. Maybe Joseph had been right. Maybe he was just easy to talk to. And the more he knew about the people he called his friends, the more he felt connected to them, tethered to them like a falcon on a string.

"Don't be. It's not your fault," she said, an edge of confidence creeping back into her voice. "It's mine. But no matter how bad the road was to get here, I'm glad I took it, because I'm having the time of my life."

Zane smiled at her, and she returned it graciously. She pushed herself off the wall and peered back into the street. The group of soldiers had long since marched away, and the road was empty and silent. Zane recalled a line from a holiday poem.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

He felt like perhaps that line was meant for New Vancouver.