“Boy, now that I think about it are you even registered yourself?”

  Xole looked up from the empty street to the back of Shabazz’s head. After getting away from the airport, Shabazz ended up driving back towards the city to refuel on gas, insisting they drive across the country rather than attempt to fly again. The boy tapped the table. “Uh, well no. Is it really that important?”

  “Important? Boy, this shit’s life altering!”

  Xole shuddered. “That bad?”

  The man nodded. “Imagine signing away you freedom to be taxed and tagged. All for a chance at getting a shiny Collar, long enough for you to run far enough away from your masters to know what freedoms like—only from them to YANK you back like a noose…”

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Xole thought, ‘where’s he even going with this?’

  “Think of it like a census,” Shakar’s voice cut in. The young man strode in from the back, taking a seat on the chair adjacent to Xole. “The government keeps track of which citizens possess which Talent to provide them the most optimal job, prioritizing them over ‘non-citizens’. Because of this most individuals have a job before their even eighteen.”

  The boy nodded, “That makes more sense.”

  “It’s all the same fucking thing at the end of the day!” Mr. Holdover exclaimed. He eyed the gas tank. “So I take it your parents or sitter never had you registered?”

  “No,” Xole shook his head. He looked back out the window again. “My sitter was against me signing up for anything long term. Driver’s license, cards, college, even school was a pain sometimes.”

  “That’s…abnormal,” Shakar said, “Apart from our driver of course. Though this begs the question, what did she have planned for you?”

  “I don’t know.” Xole stared at the passing alleyways. “To be honest I never have a clue what she’s thinking except when she bites her lip and looks at me.”

  Mr. Holdover glanced up. A concerned look briefly crossed his face. His gaze returned to the road. “Well we know about the whole abandonment thing and bunker. Whatever her goal was couldn’t’ve been good.”

  “I do remember her saying something about the government, my body, and this thing called the M.I.R.S during our argument...” his foot tapped, trying to remember back to the text messages he saw. He turned from the window only to see Shakar staring at him, no longer smiling. An uneasy silence filled the rest of the RV

  “Xole,” he said, “Did you mean the I.R.S?”

  “No M-I-R-S with an ‘M’, why?”

  “That name,” he sat back, placing his finger to his glasses, “hasn’t been in use since the second world war. After Germany surrendered, the CSA was considering any possibility to end their fighting with Japan as soon as possible. This lead to the gathering of the nation’s strongest Talented in a plot to assassinate the leaders of each the remaining axis powers. Codenamed ‘M.I.R.S’”

  “Why didn’t they do it?”

  “Unfortunately for them, the idea was taken from a captured Japanese solider. He explained that his country already had organized groups as such. This of course forced both into a stalemate as no one knew who would strike first. However, in the end the atomic bomb would be completed in time and the rest is history.”

  Xole’s brow creased. “Wait then who was she talking to? Was she even working with the government?”

  Shakar adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know. The name was used scarcely afterwards, more so as a deterrent to any foreign ‘hostiles’.” He looked to the drive’s seat. “Sir, you’ve been awfully quiet. Aren’t you going to treat us with another conspiracy?”

  Mr. Holdover didn’t say anything.

  “Mr. Holdover you hearing this?” Xole said. “Mr. Holdover, MR. HOLDOVER!”

  “WHAT?” His head snapped back to the two. “I heard you already!”

  “Just making sure you’re still there,” Shakar said, “Also, you might want to roll the windows up. Your arms must be freezing.”

  Mr. Holdover glanced to his arms to see they’d been shaking. He rolled his sleeves up and made a sharp turn. “We’re not gonna stick around to find out who your sitter was dicking around with over the phone. We’re gonna refuel—fast—then we’re hitting the road. Never want to see this city again. Next stop, underground.”

  “You know what, what’s so good about this ‘City’ anyways?” Xole asked. “Do people even live there? And would they even want to help us?”

  ”To answer your question boy—“

  “Can you just say Xole—“

  “—this ’Underground City’ is…I’ll be honest, more of a myth than a fact.”

  “What?!” Xole’s head snapped in Shakar’s direction, who returned the same look. He turned back. “Then what are we wasting our time for?”

  “Because there’s still a chance,” Mr. Holdover replied eyeing the tank. “Damn we’re getting low. Remember what that Blue Collar, uh I think it was Mal, was talking abo—”

  “Malcom. It was Malcom.” Xole said.

  “Whatever you say,” He shook his head, “Almost lost my fucking train of thought. Anyways, he mentioned the reason behind all this recent property damage and business assaults were cause of some ‘ultra-violent’ homeless, right?”

  “I mean yeah, but—”

  “Now get this. From what I’ve read, this sort of coordinated assault doesn’t happen unless an Underground City is going to expand.”

  Xole looked surprised. “You think the homeless are attempting to…take over Empire City?”

  “You’re catching on quick.”

  His lips began to quiver as he exhaled hard from his nose. His eyes started tearing.

  “I’ve heard from enough reliable sources that there are plenty of people who live underground to escape unlawful convictions, government bullshit, and registration among many things. It’s like a safe haven for those trying to stay off the grid...”

  But Xole couldn’t hear him anymore. The mere thought of Mr. Holdover’s earlier statement had manifested itself into the boy’s small mind in the most absurd ways he could imagine. Dingy, sick, half naked grown adults chasing the terrified police around with sticks and broken bottles; laughing with foaming mouths, leaping from precinct to precinct as each one exploded behind their hairy butts. It took all he had to keep from laughing. His muffled breaths sounding like sobs.

  Shakar, however, was already slamming his fist repeatedly on the arm of the chair. “Ah—ah, oh now I see!” he snorted, “You’re taking us on this wild goose chase just to avoid registration.” A high pitched giggle escaped his lips, “You could’ve just cut to that!”

  “Of course I’m avoiding registration, dumbass!” Mr. Holdover’s hand went up. “You think I wanna be some number the government can call up whenever? Work by their laws? Yeah right!”

  Xole suddenly stopped laughing. “But you promised Sam!”

  “Look I’m gonna give you guys some harsh truths. Sam’s just a puppet. All those fake smiles he gave are just him wincing through the pain, and it’s all because of—”

  “That gosh darn secret family!” Shakar finished with a snap. Xole nearly laughed again but caught himself.

  “Look, let’s say we make it to this ‘city’,” he began, “what do we do then? I mean I thought you wanted to start a business!”

  “We’re gonna do that to.” Mr. Holdover said.

  “Oh really?” Xole challenged. “Did you even come up with a name yet?”

  “The league of rebellious freedom fighters.”

  Shakar nearly fell out of his chair. Xole shook his head.

  “A little on the nose don’t you think?”

  Mr. Holdover took a deep breath. “Well why don’t you two come up with something better! I want these elitist pricks to know who’s coming for them.”

  “Ok well what about advertising? Getting people involved. We can’t help anyone up here if we stay down there forever.” Xole continued.

  “We stay there until this Amesworth shit’s blown over. We’re gonna help our own damn selves first!” Mr. Holdover declared, feeling the car begin to slow to a halt. He hit the steering wheel. “But we can’t know for certain until we get some damn gas in this tank! Why the fuck are we empty already? It was HALF a tank!”

  Xole took a peak out the window. They had pulled into the side of the road hidden by taller buildings. The shadows casted made it dark enough to feel like night, despite it only being dusk. Mr. Holdover kicked his door open cursing, stepping out as Shakar got out through the side door. Xole scrambled after him.

  “Hey wait, slow down guys! Shouldn’t we, I dunno, make a PLAN for exploring creepy areas?”

  Shakar turned around. “Well it’d be more convenient if we’d parked up the hill next to the health food store linked to the gas station but it seems our choices are rather limited.”

  “C’mon guys!” Xole complained. “I’ve got a bad feeling about—”

  “No, stop it right there, I don’t want to hear it.” Shakar waved his finger. “People who say those types of things typically attract what they fear.”

  “Huh? That makes no sense!”

  “Well as your teacher I’m here to answer any question you may have.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Can you two idiots hurry up and check the gas tank!?” Mr. Holdover hollered from the other side of the RV. “Swear I’ll never find this fuel line…”

  Shaking his head Xole went to the gas tank with Shakar behind him. When he got there however, he saw the RV’s fuel tank hatch and gas cap were missing, along with a trail of liquid seeping under their feet.

  “What the…Shakar, you see this—”

  “Actually, it’s what I didn’t see.”

  Xole looked over, horrified to see Shakar had a medium sized blade to his neck and a figure of a smaller woman in a hood and gray bandaged mask covering the lower half of her pale face behind him. Xole stumbled back only to come face to face with the homeless man from earlier, now wearing a ski cap.

  “Hey-o! Been a while.” he waved, stepping forwards as Xole stumbled back. “Ya know I never did get to thank you personally for that donation earlier…”

  Xole tensed. “What kind of loon takes a hand out then attacks the person who gave it?!”

  The man’s smirked widened. “The kind of loon that’s about to return that generosity ten-fold! Salamander! Light ‘em up!”

  From the top of the RV, a darker, bearded man appeared. He wore a jagged-ended beige colored trench coat with only a harness vest full of pouches underneath, and baggy loose green sweatpants stuffed into a pair of unlaced brown boots. He grinned, taking a puff from a thick cigar, rubbing it through his fingerless gloves.

  “Get ready boys!” the man’s inhumanly raspy voice screeched their ears. “Here comes da…BOOM!”

  As he spoke that last word, a vicious stream of flames blasted from his mouth into their direction. The two could feel the heat of the oncoming stream of fire. Shakar could only grit his teeth as Xole stood there, stunned.

  ‘Oh…guess my Talent went to waste after all…’

  Suddenly a foot stomped off the woman’s head, then, into the air, leaping over the flames and landing on the fire breather with a ‘crush’ sound, stopping the flames short of reaching Xole and Shakar. The man in the ski hat creased his brow as Mr. Holdover stood up holding the arsonist by the collar.

  “So it was you…” he began, his voice low. He looked down, eyeing the situation. “Do you bastards have any idea…HOW MUCH FUEL COST?!”

  “Salamander!” the woman yelled before quickly brining her weapon to defend Shakar’s side swipe.

  “A short sword?” he asked, dodging her left counter and pulling his stick back, jabbing for her head in a single swift motion. But before he could make contact, she reached her arm from behind her producing a second blade, ducking his jab and blocking his stick in an ‘X’ shape with both blades.

  “Two short swords,” she replied, shooting forwards while sliding her dual blades to his hands. Shakar quickly loosened his grip while simultaneously grabbing the other end with his free hand, twirling forward and swinging his arm behind him, smacking the back of the woman’s head. She fell back, enticing Shakar to follow up—but just as he recoiled overhead and snapped to another strike, her feet shot into his stomach, sending him sliding until his back slammed into the RV next to Xole.

  “Ah Xole, glad to see your still in one piece!” he exclaimed happily before spinning his stick to defend a forward thrust by the woman.

  “Speak for yourself!” Xole yelled back ducking his head as the two furiously exchanged blows. Stumbling back, he heard a sickening roar as ball of fire blasted into the air, shattering glass windows as it exploded above. He saw the one called ‘Salamander’ standing on one side atop the RV, holding his side as Mr. Holdover walked towards him, cracking his knuckles. Salamander started laughing.

  “Khehehe! Ya know what I love about roasting Bodily types? Da smell! Oh, da sweet smell of all dat Talent going ta waste—!”

  He was cut short as Mr. Holdover—in a single step—dashed within striking range of the man, his right fist already halfway to his face. The smoker’s mouth opened, expelling more flames, slowing the oncoming fist ever so shortly before jumping off the vehicle and back against the wall of the nearby building, broken glass crunching under his feet. He looked around, whipping out another cigar to take a puff just as Mr. Holdover came from his left—his fist cracking into his cheek, his head smashing into the bricks. He made a noise resembling anger and excitement, snapping back to shoot a ball of fire forward, exploding in Mr. Holdover’s direction. But the man feinted left, spinning to gain momentum as he shot his right fist into Salamander’s side, letting the man reel back so he could grab his face with his other hand and slam him to the ground.

  “GACK!” he groaned, feeling his body bounce back upwards as Mr. Holdover’s foot caught his stomach, kicking him down the sidewalk like a pebble. Mid-slide he saw Mr. Holdover bolt after him, the man already throwing his right hip at him, knee bent. Salamander tensed his body, feeling his stomach swell with Inner-gi, darker flames beginning to spill from his lips. Just then he saw a stream of spit fly in his attacker’s direction.

  ‘P-TOOO!’

  Mr. Holdover stopped, defending the attack with his forearm. He peaked back to see the man in the ski cap smirk at him. The spit exploded, sending Mr. Holdover flying back into an alleyway.

  Salamander threw an arm up. “Aww, I was aboutta roast him!”

  “Sure ya were,” ski cap retorted. He turned in Xole’s direction. He saw the older boy’s arm’s outstretched, hand over the other, glaring at him.

  “I don’t k now what you people want, but you picked a bad time!” he said. He tried to do to him what he did with Brandon. Instead the man just looked at him, puzzled.

  “Well, looks like this ain’t gonna be easy for ya, ain’t it?” he sneered, making a sound with his throat.

  “Uh oh,” All Xole could say before leaping away from the man’s deadly saliva. He heard it hit the city’s mailbox across the street. This time though, it didn’t explode.

  ‘Wait, he can control it?!’ he thought before wildly swinging his arms around before running away to avoid more shots of spit.

  “C’mon, Spirit Boy!” the man laughed, “Show us that special Talent of yours!”

  “H-how do you—I-I mean what are you talking about? You’ve got the wrong guy!”

  “Do we now?” he laughed, “I guess we’re both about to find out.”

  An explosion from behind sent the mailbox flying. Xole spun around—then back—realizing the spit he’d avoided earlier had landed around him in a within a fifteen foot radius. ‘Crap!’ he thought, ‘How long was that? Maybe few seconds, ten? He can clearly control its duration!’ His mind raced, his eyes scanned for Mr. Holdover and Shakar but the two were nowhere in sight. ‘He intentionally separated us?! No, no he’s gonna KILL me, he’s gonna—no, remember to breathe, think through this. He doesn’t want me dead yet. Just some kind of twisted test…WAIT, he wants me to react first!’

  Xole took in his surroundings; the parked car to his left, a sewer lid behind him, even the ground to his right and directly in front of him had all been marked in the homeless man’s saliva. He tensed, ‘Dang it, either could go off at any time! Shoot! What do I do—?!’

  “Back”

  ‘BOOM!’

  The street before him exploded into pieces—however, his legs had kicked themselves backwards, off the ground and into the air. By the time Xole processed what happened, he found himself rolling to the curb. The ski-capped man looked on, puzzled. However, Xole was even more confused.

  ‘W-who was that?!’ his mind raced, looking at his legs, ‘And what did I—?’

  “Well I’ll be!” the man said, placing his hands to his sides. “You either did something extraordinary,” he then smirked, taking a long, gurgled sniff, “or got extraordinarily lucky.”

  “Wait,” Xole said, “You’re not gonna…”

  “Twist forward, now”

  Suddenly he felt a slight ripple in the air on his skin, and his body beginning to sway forward…

  ‘GACK-KA-BOOM!’

  He threw his shoulder to the left and stomped his foot hard to the ground to leap forward, letting the rest of his body follow through as more flying spit exploded near his back. His ears rang, yet his body felt fluid, as if he were in a trance.

  ‘This feeling,’ he thought. There was a tinge to his skin as he quickly approached the parked car, ‘It’s…it‘s just like Amesworth. What the hell is that voice?!’

  “Roll—now”

  “Who are you?!” he yelled.

  “You’re talking to the wrong opponent, kid!” the homeless man said. “Not to mention that car you’re trying to hide in…”

  Just as Xole dove under the car—it exploded into a fiery blaze.

  ‘VR-BOOM!’

  “*Hack*, *ahem*, damn smoke!” he coughed, “The car was trapped too! C’mon, really thought you’d already knew that.”

  He watched black smoke emit from the top of the vehicle’s flamed remains, which lit the night time street. The man shook his head. “Poor kid. Really thought he was the one. Guess Abbas was wrong after all…wait a minute.”

  Carefully, he made his way to the destroyed car, peeking underneath it. There was nothing there. He spun around in time to block Xole’s punch. He shifted his feet back as the boy stepped in closer, bringing his elbow inside the ski capped man’s raised hands. The man caught his elbow but Xole unbent his arm, letting the back of his fist strike the man’s face.

  “Tch! Little bastard’s quick, eh?” he said and grabbed the boy’s face—however, he shoved his foot into the homeless man’s stomach, sending him skidding across the sidewalk on his heels. The boy then dashed towards him—but the man jumped off the ground and let out a deep gurgle, emitting a massive splat of saliva to the ground where he dashed.

  ‘B-B-BWOOOOM!’

  But the boy had leaped into the air to meet him, throwing his arm back for a haymaker, but this time, the Ski capped man already had a small bolt of spit leaving his parted lips. He looked directly at Xole.

  “Gotcha.”

  ‘Boom!’

  Xole tensed at the small explosion; the burst knocking the two back. The boy was thrown across the street, his back slamming into the class of a jewelry store, hearing it crack behind him. He rolled to his side, then, back to his feet, hearing the ‘splat’ of the man’s saliva land on the glass behind him. He took off as it shattered, his feet hit the street. His knees buckled, his stomach was in pain and he felt he was on the verge of losing his pizza from earlier.

  ‘Keep moving’ the voice ordered him, ‘Twist’

  Xole panted, but curled his body, twisting away as the ground next to him popped in a smaller explosion, throwing him to the curb again.

  ‘Again’

  Xole twisted the other way, feeling the force of another explosion behind him send him rolling back. He looked up to see the man pointing at him about ten feet away.

  “Great work, you got em all.” He pointed a few feet ahead of the boy’s face. “‘Cept for one…”

  Xole looked in front of him to see the sewer lid begin to glow, almost what looked like slow motion. His body trembled.

  ‘No!’ he thought. ‘It’s too close I can’t stop—!’

  ‘No, redirect it. Now,’ the voice ordered.

  With a cry, Xole looked directly at the exploding lid, shooting his arms towards it while turning his head away—

  ‘BOOM!’

  The blade wielding woman blocked another one of Shakar’s strikes, his blows growing more and more fierce the longer the fight dragged. She made a note of that. Shakar on the other hand could tell she was intentionally dragging the fight out. He sucked his teeth. He couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed.

  “Surprised you kept up with us,” he said flipping away from an upwards slice. “Especially with my associates’ nonexistent driving talent!”

  “This city’s our home, nothing gets past us.” Her voice hissed behind her mask.

  As the two prepared to clash again the sound of an overhead explosion drew their attention away from each other. Shakar quickly looked back only to see the woman relax her stance, putting her blades away.

  “It is done,” She said.

  “What’s done exactly?” Shakar asked.

  “Ga ha! Looks like I didn’t get to roast nobody today, phooey!” Salamander said stepping to the woman’s side. “Guess our work here’s done. Kid must’ve been blown sky high. That damned Spit-Take always overdoing it. Best scram before ‘dem blues get here.”

  Shakar gave the two a blank stare. “So your goal was to test him or kill him?”

  “The former of course,” the woman said placing a hand to her hip. “Though since he’s probably failed, I suppose his only choice now is the latter.”

  “I see,” Shakar dipped his head into a small smile, bringing his hand to his kufi. “In that case…”

  “What the HELL was that noise!?” Mr. Holdover’s voice boomed through the alleyway he came from. “Nasty-ass pricks! Where the fuck that spitter go?!”

  Shakar retracted his hand, “Sir…he’s—”

  “WHAT?” a voice hollered from the other side of the RV.

  “—over there.” Shakar finished as everyone scrambled towards the noise. The group saw the ski capped man standing there, mouth gaped open at a stunned Xole, who laid on the ground, his arms sticking into the air. The man turned back at them, grinning from ear to ear.

  “We did it! HA HA, we’ve done it!”

  ‘Done what?” Mr. Holdover asked.

  As if on cue, pieces and bits of the destroyed sewer lid rained down into the street around them in a brief but deafening noise.

  “That,” the man replied, “he did THAT!”

  “Again,” Mr. Holdover said through gritted teeth, “What the hell does THAT mean—?”

  The wail of sirens blared into their conversation. The sight of red and blue lights now visible from up the road. The ski capped man ran ahead into the alleyway, motioning to the three.

  “I’ll explain on the way follow me!”

  Shakar took Xole’s arm over his shoulder. The older boy was murmuring something. He looked back towards the man now being followed by his companions. “Where do you think you’re taking us?”

  “Haven!” the man answered.

  “Haven?”

  The woman turned her head, “The underground.”

  Mr. Holdover perked up, “Like a city?”

  “Ya seem ta know a lot!” Salamander said, “But yeah, y’all’ll be safe dere. Don’t ya worry one bit!”

  Shakar looked to Mr. Holdover, who eyed the three. Then without hesitation, hefollowed them with Shakar behind him. They dashed into the pitch-black alley, going in so deep they could barely see each the person next to each other, the only light being from the police cars far back. Shakar felt regret welling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Trix!” the ski capped man called out. “The entrance, now!”

  Rubbing her blades together quick enough to create a spark, her weapons ignited, revealing a large dumpster before them. Xole shuddered.

  “In here, you three first,” The woman said briskly.

  Shakar looked to Mr. Holdover again, who returned the glance and nodded his head. Shaking his own, he took Xole with him as everyone else piled in. Trix went last, twirling on the way in and slicing off the legs of the dumpster letting to fall to the ground overhead, blocking their entrance.