‘Looks like I’ve made a full circle. Suppose it’s time to head up top.’ He thought.
As he thought he saw a small group of children playing on a broken merry-go-round. It was greatly slanted and spun like crazy. They took turns spinning until one flew off into the sand that surrounded them. Laughing, they’d get back on and try again. Shakar found himself watching, ‘Ah yes, every school worth their merit needs a system to distract the children and engage in healthy behavior. Hmm, I wonder if I incorporate equations where they land and the others could solv—’
“Say mister,” a young dirty faced boy in an old hat said running up to him. He picked his nose, “we saw ya watching. You wanna play with us?”
“Appreciated but I’ll have to pass.” He answered with a smile.
“Are ya sure? You can take yer funny hat off if ya think it’s gonna fall off.”
“My ‘funny hat’ isn’t going anywhere, but thank you for your concern.”
“Aww man!” the boy kicked some dirt. “All we got is Dimples ‘ta push us, and he’s too fat to keep playing!”
“Then you should follow his example as that equipment is quite dangerous.” Shakar replied, glancing back at the other kids who now watched them. He looked back to the boy. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t talk ‘ta strangers. My folks taught me best.”
“Ah, I see. Then what are we doing right now?”
“…Ok ya stumped me, name’s Toddy.”
“Well then, Toddy, why don’t you and your pals read a book instead?”
The boy stared at him for a bit, star eyed. “Mister, we can’t read.”
‘That explains a lot,’ he thought somewhere in the back of his head.
“Besides, I think it’s funner to do what ya like rather than be bland and all safe.”
“Hmm,” Shakar nodded. “Even if that ‘fun’ gets you killed?”
The boy’s face went pale, “D-dead? Whatcha talkin’ bout mister?!”
“Apologies,” he laughed, “I only meant seriously hurt.”
“Oh,” the boys’ face and expression changed back to normal. “Then I guess it’s ok. My folks always said short and sweets’ better than long and tough.”
“These folks being your parents?”
“No siree!” Toddy shook his head. “I never knew them anyways. I’m talkin’ bout the Groundhogs!”
Shakar felt his face nearly frown. “They taught you this rhetoric?”
“Yeah, whatever that means!” he laughed wiping his nose. “I wanna join ‘em one day and get with Trixie!”
“No Trixie’s my girl!” a fatter boy in a similar hat with a brown vest called, lumbering towards them followed by the others, two girls and one more boy. The fat boy sized up Toddy. He had huge creases on the corners of his cheeks. “Besides I look more like Abbas anyways so I’m the leader!”
“What you are, is obese, Dimples!” a little girl in a long faded blue shirt with a rag doll said. “I hear Abbas is pure muscle!”
“That’s why I like Spit-Take” the taller boy in the back wearing an old hoodie said. “He secretly has everyone’s best intentions in mind.”
“Or ‘cus he’s boring.” The other girl with a rugged sweater and greasy hair said. “I like Snap ‘cus he shows me how to blow stuff up.”
“No fair!” Dimples yelled. “What about us?”
‘These children…’ Shakar thought watching them all begin to argue about the best Groundhog. Interestingly enough he didn’t hear a single one mention Patchwork.
“Hey, hey, that’s enough now young-ins!” a middle aged woman with frizzy hair and a used apron ran over towards them, aiming her spatula at the playground. “Now you leave this fine gentleman alone and go play!”
The kids sighed, “Ok,” they said and went back to the merry-go-around. The woman watched.
“And keep your voices down!” She turned back to Shakar she gave him an exhausted smile. “Sorry ‘bout that, these kids get all rowdy when the Groundhogs are brought up. Oh, you must be new here!”
“Guilty as charged!” Shakar smiled. “What gave it away?”
“Mostly your clothes,” the woman answered returning to her stand, “it ain’t really what you’re wearing, but how clean it is.” She motioned to him, “C’mon, sit!”
Shakar followed her back to her stand. The woman made her way to a small booth where bread sat on the counter. He took a seat and looked back at the playground. “Are they always like that?” he asked.
She took a piece and sliced it, nodding. “Oh of course! It’s like meeting a real life story-book hero! We adults just have a better time handling our excitement you know?”
‘Even she’s excited?’ he thought feeling his brow furrow. The woman must’ve noticed because she stopped cutting briefly to glance at him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” She said, wiping some sweat from her brow. “You must think they’re getting all types of bad influence by the Groundhogs aren’t you?”
Shakar pressed his lips together. “Well in all fairness, it’s not just them.”
“’Knew it,” She said slicing again. “You get a good look around here?”
“Yes I did in fact.”
“Well this’s all built by hand from the ground-down by folks who’re sick of the surface. Down here were not judged by Collar, creed, or that junk, we’re all equal, and that’s all thanks to the Groundhogs.” She put her knife down and pointed to the children, “I know you fresh and all, but you better understand something. Those kids you see wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them. Abbas saved them from being sold off for quick cash. A common practice on the surface—”
“That’s been ignored by the government despite having evidence stemming back over the course of the last several decades.” Shakar cut her off. “Yes, I’m aware.”
The woman saw he still smiled, however his face now avoided hers. She took a breath and put her arms on the table, “Sorry, didn’t mean to go off like that. What I’m tryna say is down here folks get a chance to grow up without learning to hate or be stuck up cause of cash. In fact that’s why it’s banned down here.”
“I…” Shakar did his best to hide his disbelief, “I highly doubt that. I’ve don’t believe this world is kind enough to offer free lunches.”
She chuckled. “Y’know for a cheerful looking fellow you sure seem awfully cynical, y’ know? Down here all we do is take what we need and give what we can weather it comes to materials or labor. That’s what you call a miracle.”
“…”
“I mean you can try to horde, though good luck lugging it outta here!” she laughed.
He looked down at the counter to see she’d given him a slice of warm bread. He picked it up, eyeing it. ‘A miracle,’ he thought, ‘this place…’ He took a bite.
“This place’s big as hell!” Mr. Holdover exclaimed looking at the map at the central booth.
“Whelp, it is a roof for all us homeless.” A younger man in an orange vest and black t-shirt said. Mr. Holdover stood at the central booth among dozens of other people, all talking and pointing to find where to go next. The map was made of three circles with countless labeled lines shooting from each to the other, a closer look would show the names of the hundreds of booths in the center circle while the lines led off to smaller ones. Unfortunately for Mr. Holdover, the smaller one was what he was looking for. The t-shirted man’s eyes lit up as a printer popped out a green hand-held card. Though it’s surface was digital like a small tablet. “This should be your Green Pass, bud.”
Mr. Holdover made a face. “My, what? I just want to know if you all got a library or something.”
“Oh, that’s gonna be here.” The man pointed to a line leading to a circle above them and close to Zone 1. “It’s called the archive pod—“
“And I don’t really want this,” Mr. Holdover said offering it back.
The man shook his head, “Oh believe me, you’re gonna need this. The idea ain’t new, but our Green Pass is more of a map for all the little parts of Haven. Oh, we also use it to steer clear from Collared law enforcement.”
Mr. Holdover squinted at it, “I’m guessing this can be traced?”
“Only by the Groundhogs, but we try to keep it a secret as—”
“I’ll take it in paper.”
After leaving the central booth with a map instead, Mr. Holdover found himself at an upper level on one of the many walkways, making his way toward the nearest wall while finishing the rest of his Groundwater. He looked at the cup and shook his head.
“Mmm, that was some damn good juice.”
Looking ahead, he remembered that the central booth told him his destination was supposed to be directly ahead after reaching the third level. However upon reaching the hole and entering the tunnel, he came to the realization that every door in it was exactly the same. He took a long breath and put his hands to his hips, pacing left and right and scratching the back of his head. He went back out to see if he’d made a wrong turn, however when he left the tunnel the walkway he entered looked completely different. He snapped his head to the side, then the other. Everything looked exactly the same. He felt his neck crane, letting out a long breath.
“Where in the FUCK AM I?!” he yelled, much to the startlement of the nearby people. “Seriously, how hard is it to find the fucking library?! Any guesses?!” He spun his head in their direction, throwing his arms the side. “ANYONE?!”
“You mean the archive pod?” A man pushing a shopping cart with supplies asked as the others quickly dispersed. “It’s directly ahead in the hall”
“I already tried that.”
“No I mean the very, very, end of the hall.” The man grinned and wagged his finger. “Sometimes you gotta go all the way, food for thought.” With that he went about his way.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Mr. Holdover creased his brow but went back to the tunnel and headed all the way down. To his surprise he saw a worn sign above the center door at the dead end:
[Archive Pod]
“Well shit he was right!” he said, entering. Like most zones in Haven, it was round in shape. The tall bookshelves were even specially designed to complement this as they all were fixed to the walls with adjacent shelves also following the same curves. There was also a staircase on each side where the design continued up. Rubbing his hands together, Mr. Holdover immediately went to the first bookshelf he saw and began yanking them out, looking through the pages and tossing it aside moving quickly to the next one.
Action too similar to other characters (i.e. Snap, much different in personality)
“What the hell?” he said skimming over the contents of each book. Mr. Holdover couldn’t believe his eyes. Records of information from past collared workers, athletes and even celebrities littered each page. Their faces were usually unrecognizable and each had a small backstory covering their life. One of them caught his eye, what looked like a bald man with a mustache.
‘Former White Collar, Mr. Blizzard, was found dead in his home two years after selling most of his assets and moving to the Afar Triangle near the Danakil Depression in Ethiopia. While many believe his death due to the harsh conditions of the environment, lack of details and contradicting evidence lead back to his creation of the many so-called ‘black web forums’—
“Dammit,” Mr. Holdover said, “its missing shit.” He looked through more. All were former Red or White collars who usually had the ‘deceased’ tag next to their name. One was a man who at one point attempted to run for president, but was assassinated before the preliminaries a couple days after a ‘controversial’ speech.
‘This was in 1954,’ Mr. Holdover thought, ‘Two years after the elite ‘liberated’ this country. Was he possibly looking for answers too?’
Another was of a translator who was killed in alleged gang violence after participating in a meeting between the President, and an African ambassador. Unable to find the names, Mr. Holdover shook his head and read over the first record again. He quickly looked around and slipped the document into his pocket, continuing to rummage through the rest of the books. More books caught his eye, from titles such as, ‘The Better Housing Lie,’, ‘Who’s scared of Olay?’, ‘How the Collared Man Got So Rich’, and ‘The REAL Hollow Earth,’ He felt like he stumbled upon a gold mine, he could be here for days.
“Excuse me!” a gray haired woman huffed, strutting into view. She had her hair tied back and wore a matching dress with a white ruffled collar. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“The hell does it look like?” Mr. Holdover replied, shifting to the next book.
The woman’s eyes widened, blinking a few times. “It looks like your destroying my precious archives mister! Now, put them back immediately!”
Now Mr. Holdover turned to face the woman, sighing and cocking his head to the side, holding up one of the books.
“First off lady, librarian, whatever the fuck, this is a book. Second off, this is a library, so it’s public property. And third eh…” he looked off trying to think of something. “Just shut up!”
The woman looked as if her head was going to explode. She reached out and snatched the book from Mr. Holdover’s hand, “I am the archive master and I know what a book is mist-err! These are called archives for a reason! Precious collections of these one of a kind documents I carefully compiled chronologically in the safety of these hardback books! So NO, people don’t just ‘willy-nilly’ waltz out with them because I can’t REPLCAE THEM!”
“…”
By the time she was done talking, her nose had started bleeding. Mr. Holdover looked blankly at the book he’d been holding upside down, then to the floor to see papers had fallen from the books and had gotten everywhere. He looked back at her and slowly reached for another book.
“DON”T!” she nearly screamed.
“I was just looking—“
“Just go! GO!”
With that, Mr. Holdover was already jogging up the stairs.
“You know, you could’ve just asked.” a voice said from his left.
Mr. Holdover twisted is head back, “Now what!?”
There, propped against the bookshelf upside down on his neck, was a frail, pasty young man in all black. From his overly baggy jeans, to his boots, tang top and unkempt spiky hair which fell over his eyes, he looked like an outdated Goth punk covered in tattoos if not for the bandages on his arms and cheek. He was scribbling what looked to be an empty street into a sketchbook. Snapping it closed, he looked up at him and grinned, pointing his arm out, “Looks like you could use some help, my friend.”
“I don’t need help!” Mr. Holdover said.
“Well in that case,” he outstretched his fingers, “could you help me out?”
“Why the hell you decide to sit on your neck in the first place?” Mr. Holdover asked, helping him to his feet. He was shocked to find he could nearly wrap his hand around his wrist twice.
“It’s all for the art, my friend,” He said with a breath, “Good thing I didn’t pass out again.”
Mr. Holdover turned around, “The things you weridos do for Talent sometimes…”
“Now, now hold on!” he said, jogging ahead of him. “I think we’re more alike than you think. He gestured to himself. “My name’s D. Clark and I’ve been looking for information on spiritual Talent.”
‘Huh, him to?’ Mr. Holdover thought. “What’s an artist doing scavenging for that stuff anyways?”
“Art,” he began. “is more than just drawing pretty picture on your free time. It’s a way of life. It’s who you are, and ultimately, what you choose to bring into reality.” He gestured at the older man. “Talent is the exact same. In a sense, you’re just as much as an artist as I am.”
Mr. Holdover looked at him sideways. “How the hell’s that’s gotta do with anything?”
“Because!” he exclaimed suddenly, “Art is dying! It’s being silenced and hidden away by those without taste! Do you understand what this means? It squanders those of us who look to understand more about ourselves because those tasteless ones are afraid, afraid to see our art!”
‘I’ve got no idea what this guy’s on about,’ Mr. Holdover thought, ‘But I’m not getting that bad of a vibe from him. He’s been here longer than me, maybe he knows something.’
He offered his hand, “Mr. Holdover, leader of the League of Rebellious Freedom fighters. We’re looking for recruits of your interested.”
He shook his hand and then made a face. “That’s just a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
Mr. Holdover felt his grip tighten before forcing himself to let go. “We’ll discuss my offer later. Anyways, what do you know so far?”
“Well, any information of the Talent is always linked back to the same name,” he said, “Jakub, the fabled dictator of the free world.”
Mr. Holdover rolled his eyes. “Then you’ve got a lot to learn then, bud. First off he wasn’t a dictator, he was a scientist, and he was trying to expose the elites who took over this country.”
“Oh, I know that too,” D. Clark said, “But I believe there more to it than just that.”
Mr. Holdover raised his eyebrow at him, “Then it sounds almost like you don’t need my help.”
“Oh, sorry of it comes off that way.” He laughed, “I just thought you knew more.”
“Tch!” Mr. Holdover tensed, “The hell you mean?”
The younger man waved his hand, “It looks like Abbas has done a good job at reeling you in.” His expression changed, “Let me guess, he promised you information too, didn’t he?”
‘Ok, this motherfucker’s getting too weird.’ Mr. Holdover thought. “And by the sound of it, you too,” he spoke. He got a better look at the man, “Who are you really? A former member of Abbas’s Groundhogs?”
“I’m a just adventurer who likes to draw,” D. Clark said. He began to pace around him. “You see I’ve been looking for these documents myself for some time now, going from city to city and compiling the little bits of info like a puzzle. I believe Yakub’s work on Spiritual Talents is what draws many artists like you and myself to him.” He looked at Mr. Holdover. “I think finding his work can get us closer to the truth behind his masterpiece.”
Mr. Holdover looked at the man. Then, he turned to leave. “If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“You seem confident. He promised you that?”
Mr. Holdover looked back, “Let’s just say it was a business agreement.”
“HEY!” the archive master suddenly appeared from the back, holding up a book. “Who TORE my pages?!!”
Mr. Holdover dashed out of the archive pod as fast as he could and back to the walkway overseeing Zone 2. Catching his breath, he saw a hand offer him a fresh cup of Groundwater he had earlier. “Aww shit you’re a life saver,” He said taking it and gulping it down.
- Clark patted his shoulder, walking away, “Anytime friend. Just remember you owe me and let’s try not to meet back there again. Oh, and make sure Abbas makes good on his promise, okay? Byeeeee!”
Mr. Holdover spat out his drink and spun in the direction of the voice. There was no one there.
“Shit he got away.” Looking at his half empty cup, he finished the rest and looked over the edge, hearing an odd familiar noise coming from below. For some reason he saw Xole screaming and looking around with a small crowd gathering. He felt his neck crane.
“For fucks sake…”
One Minute Earlier…
After pulling his head from the trash can Xole looked around, dazed and dizzy.
“Central booth…the central booth,” he said. He paused. “Wait was it?”
He glanced around. Every booth looked identical, same colors, goods, even people. Shaking his head, he moved forward only to bump into someone.
“Hey!” they called.
‘Not this again!’ he thought. This time, Xole moved directly to his right, squeezing between a few clothing booths to get closer to the outskirts. Forcing his way to the less congested outer area, he sat back against the back of an unoccupied booth to clear his head.
‘Stupid, stupid! First the doctor’s office now this? Ever since getting here it’s been it’s been one thing after another, and they have the nerve to call this place Haven!’ He quickly shook his head. ‘No, no that’s wrong. These people still gave us a place to stay and got us away from the police. Still what’s that doctor’s problem? And Shakar, where’s he? Better yet where are the rest of the Groundhogs? Heck even Mr. Holdover?! This place is just…”
“Aid…me...” An unfamiliar withered sounding voice said.
Xole shot to his feet. “Who’s there?!” he asked.
Silence.
Now Xole felt the back of his neck grow wet with sweat. ‘It sounded raspy. Salamander? No, they hissed too much. Trix? But why’d she be here. Actually is this even a boy or a girl?!”
“A saxicolous little one…are you….?” The voice said from behind him.
Spinning, Xole looked behind him to see someone sitting in one of the chairs inside, arms wrapped around themselves. They had on black robes and messy long pitch-black hair. Xole gulped, they seemed very weak.
“W-who’re you.” He asked slowly leaning in to get a better look. He could make out feminine features despite her head was tilted down and quivering. He could almost hear what he thought was slight sobbing.
“Please…” she said. “I need you.”
Xole felt his face turn red. ‘Wait a minute; she ‘needs’ me? How old is she— no, no, stop that right now! She’s clearly going through something, maybe she’s having an even worse day than me. Either or I need to help.’
He smiled and held out his hand, “I didn’t get your name miss—”
A pale white hand shot from the robes, grabbing his and yanking him forward. The woman’s head shot up, her bright blue eyes stared into his soul, freezing him in place.
“Come with me!” she hissed.
“WHAT?!” Xole panicked. He tried to yank his hand free from her bony grip in a desperate tug-of-war. Unfortunately she was much, much stronger than she looked. Her nails dug into his flesh. His stomach began to do back flips as his breath came fast. “What do you want from me?!”
“Come with me!” she repeated.
“No!”
“Now!”
“NO!”
“Yes!”
“AAHHHHHH!!!” he screamed. “YESFIR, MR. HOLDOVER…ABBAS HEEELLP!!!”
‘BOOOOOOM!’
Xole’s head shot behind him again at the sound of an explosion. From the smoke stepped sunglasses and a hat as Abbas made his way into view. Not only he had come, but Spit-Take, Salamander, Trix, and Snap surrounded too, their attention fixed on him. By the time Xole realized what was happening, a small crowd had gathered around them, whispering and murmuring about the sight before them. Abbas tapped his cane against the ground loudly twice, silencing the area.
“Young one, I could hear distress in your voice. What is the matter?”
“Th-th-there was th-this lady—monster—thing, a-a-and it grabbed m-me a-and—”
“Peace, peace, young one.” Abbas raised his hand. “There is no one here who can hurt you.”
From above, Mr. Holdover dropped onto Xole, sending the boy face-first into the concrete. The man picked him up by the collar.
“You wanna tell me why EVERYTIME I take my eyes of you your always screaming or YELLING?!” Mr. Holdover yelled into Xole’s face.
“I-I got attacked!”
“Oh, this again—by WHO?!”
Salamander and Snap glanced at each other. “Uhh…”
Trix came out from the front of the booth. “Abbas, there’s no signs of occupation or life in the booth.”
“Not to mention the subway leaves around now.” Spit-take added. “Even if there was someone here, this is the northwest of Zone 2 is far, far from the station. They wouldn’t’ve gotten far at all.”
Abbas stared at the booth, then at Mr. Holdover yelling at Xole. He thought a moment.
“Young one,” he waved his hand, motioning for the crowd to disperse. “Are you certain there was someone here?”
Mr. Holdover stopped yelling. Still being held, Xole nodded profusely.
“Hmm,” Abbas looked to Prime Hill, “it appears we’ll have to expedite our plans.” He looked back at Xole, “We’re going to being your training today.”
“No way, really?’ Xole said.
“That’s right.”
Spit-Take threw a look to Abbas but the larger man didn’t seem to notice.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the hell up!” Mr. Holdover said, “What’s was the deal with that werido he was yelling about then?”
“Dis happens all da time, fool!” Salamander laughed roaming in. “We’ve had to fight off all types of crazies ta keep this place standin’ sometimes. Oh, there was dis one guy—”
“Another time, Salamander.” Abbas raised his hand. He looked at the ski capped man. “Spit-Take, did you find any leads on homeless exportation?”
“Yes sir,” He said. “There’s our usual shelter near the downtown metro area, across from the park. Apparently there’ve been tons of homeless transferred out recently. I think that could be a lead.”
The large man nodded, “Take Mr. Washington and his associate with you to the surface then.”
He nodded, tapping Mr. Holdover’s arm and walking off to Prime Hill. The man shot a glance behind him at the other groundhogs, and then followed Spit-Take.
Abbas turned to the remaining two Groundhogs. “Trix, get into contact with your brother then meet me on the surface at our usual lot after dusk. I believe he can aid the young one in his training. Bring plenty of Gi-Bars. Snap, Salamander, you’re with me.”
Trix nodded. “You two play nice now.” She said to Snap and Salamander.
“Yeah, yeah I know!” Salamander laughed slapping Snap on the back hard, to which the younger man began slapping him harder. Trix suddenly reappeared behind the two, her gaze unchanged.
“I said…play nice!” she hissed.
The two nodded quickly, waving as she smiled and left. Xole looked at Abbas, “Well if that’s everyone then let’s hurry up and—”
“I’ll be joining you as well,” A voice said from the distance. The four turned to see Patchwork make his way to them with a white briefcase with a red plus on it. “For safety measures obviously.”
Xole made a face but didn’t say anything.
“Well, if that’s everyone then we should be on our way.” Abbas led the way to the subway station. “Your second trial begins now, young one.”