Hounds bark and shadowy silhouettes of armed soldiers noisily sprint across illuminated brick walls. Hiding on the inside balcony floor of a warehouse, the two peek over the windowsill to see if the coast is clear to move. They proceed. The sound of handcuff chains follows them as they head towards the fire escape. 

The girl struggles to keep pace with the chains holding her ankles so close together. 

   “It would have been nice if you’d tried to steal a key off of one of those guys.”

   “You’re doing a lot of complaining for someone who could have been french fried right about now. Try to be a little more thankful.”

   Once they make it down and across the street, things get a smidge more simple. 

   “My place is down this block. We can go through the alleyways to get there.”

   A stressful walk to his home ensues as sirens blare louder the closer they get. 

   “Are you sure it’s gonna be safe?”

   “Yes, just shut up.”

   A doorway lies ahead and quickly, he runs up to it and uses his key to get it open. He flips the light on to reveal the disarray of what should be a workshop. Various gizmos and gadgets, tools and scrap metal, all strewn across the ground. The thick and pungent smell of petrol fills their nostrils upon entry. 

   “What is that smell!?”

   Gagging and coughing, she overall causes a ruckus. 

   “Don’t be so dramatic.”

   The young man is already shuffling through his toolboxes looking for something that will solve the crisis. A makeshift lock picking kit is dragged out of a toolbox and is promptly out to work to free up the girl’s ankles. Sitting her on a stool as he works, an ice breaking conversation finally has the chance to acquaint the two. 

   “Thank you.”

   “Uh huh.”

   …

   “Do you almost got it?”

   “I’m working on it.”

   “Ok. … So what’s your name?”

   “Clyde. Yours?”

   “You can call me Shelby.”

   “Not the kind of name I’d expect.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean?”

   “You’re Oikosan, what kind of Oikosan has a name like Shelby?”

   “It’s what I go by. Does it bother you?”

   “Nah, I tend to get along with everybody regardless of their nationality. What does bother me though is I’m ninety-nine percent sure you don’t have a citizen ID.”

   “Why would that matter?”

   “You know, you don’t sound like you get along with everybody.”

   Click! Clank!

   “Considering I just took the handcuffs off your not-so-boney ankles, I’d say I don’t have to sound like it.”

   “Right. Thanks, can you take the other ones off now?”

   “Yeah, I guess.”

   He finishes and puts the toolkit away. Shelby rubs her wrists a bit and looks at him. In her chest she can feel the thumping urge to get as far away from this guy as she can, but her mind reminds her that her chances are better with him than with whatever the hell is waiting for her out there. She pops the question.

   “Can I stay with you for the night,” she asks.

   Clyde’s eyebrows almost devour his forehead at the question and he chokes on an old bottle of water he’d picked up off a shelf.

   “You want to stay with me? Does that head of yours work or is it all just for looks?”

   She pleads with him until he finally complies, “What next? Gonna try to use my shower?”

   The girl takes a quick glance at herself and looks at him with a cheesy grin. Frustratedly, he obliges. 

   They head out the door and up the stairs into the small apartment. Much is left to be desired. The place is a mess, empty boxes are strewed. Across one corner. There’s small randomly scattered holes down the side of the wall. The ceiling fan is missing all its blades. The carpet in the corner behind the tv is obviously pulled up and the couch is covered in food stains. There's also a displaced smell floating around. It’s not pleasant but not unbearable, somewhere in limbo.

   After a few minutes, Shelby steps out of the bathroom drying her hair as Clyde quickly rushes her from behind the doorframe with handcuffs. She tries to yell but he places his hand over her mouth to which she promptly bites his finger. Clyde gets her on the ground in a chokehold, prompting her to feel around her pocket and pull out the scissors. She jabs Clyde in the thigh which causes him to let her go as he yelps in pain on the ground. Clyde stands up as she’s trying to make it to the door and yanks her to the ground by the foot. Upon slamming her head into the doorknob on the way down, she passes out. 

   A few hours go by and she begins to come to. Clyde is pacing back and forth across the room. She’s handcuffed to the bars on the window and tries to shake free but it’s no use. Clyde steps up to her and begins his interrogation now that he knows she’s still alive. 

   “Just what exactly was the reason for you killing that guy,” Clyde asks. 

   Knock. Knock. Knock.

   “Uh oh. Someone’s here…”

   Through the door, the voice of a woman can be heard. “Clyde, open up.” Shelby, unsure of what to do, stays silent. 

   “I swear to God, Clyde.” Whoever is outside unlocks the door and steps inside. 

   “Clyyyyde? Where are you? I got grocerieees.”

The woman opens the door to the bedroom to find Shelby handcuffed to the window. 

   “Um, hi, he’s not here.”

   “Huh! I see. Well, this is a very pleasant surprise. Clyde never has guests, especially not any girls.”

   “Oh, well, I-“

   “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna get involved in yall’s business. I especially don’t care to know about the handcuff situation. What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their home is their business.”

   “Whoa whoa, wait a minute, I think you got it all wrong.”

   “No escapades?”

   “No, hell no! Not at all. I got into a situation and, well, he doesn’t trust me enough to let me out of these handcuffs.”

   “I see. Well, I’ll tell you what. How about I pick those handcuffs off of you and we’ll just worry about Clyde whenever he gets back, sound good?”

   “You trust me?”

   “Doesn’t matter if I trust you, I’m pretty sure I can handle you.”

   “Shelby blushes, not properly interpreting the very paper thin veiled threat.”

   The woman introduces herself as Kat and helps Shelby to some breakfast and an actually clean pair of clothes. After a while of getting to know each other, the door slams open once and Clyde enters. 

   “Kat! What the hell are you doing!? Don’t you know this girl’s a wanted criminal? Where are her handcuffs?”

   “I’m painting her nails. I didn’t know. They’re outside in the trash.”

   “What the shit, dude!”

   “Don’t ‘what the shit’ me. Where the hell have you been?”

   “I had to go do something!” Clyde nervously scratches his arm at the question. 

   “Do what?”

   “I was getting some orange juice. Now, can you lock this bitch up!?”

   “Now, you listen here, Clyde Palmer. I’ve had a chance to get to know this girl and I think you’ve got her completely wrong.”

   “Oh? And you got her all right? You know she’s from Oikosa, right? Look at her!”

   Shelby animates into a snappy reaction at that comment, 

   “I thought you didn’t have a problem with where I was from!”

   “Oh, I was just being nice! I didn’t feel like dealing with some woe-is-me monologue about how bombed-to-shit you guys were!”

   “You’re a dick!”

   “Ha! And you’re an enemy of the state!”

   “And so are you, asshole!”

   “Jackass!”

   “Prick!”

   “Dick-breath!”

   Kat interrupts the contest with sharp disapproval,

   “Will you two quit your moaning!? You’re both giving me a headache.”

   An aggravated voice jumps in from the hallway,

   “Not only that, they’re also both in deep shit.”

The tall figure steps in and blocks the entrance. He unzips his leather jacket and stuffs one hand in his pocket and uses the other to rotate his glasses behind his head.

   “Lucky for you, I deal in such misfortune.”

   It’s Tuesday night. The once quiet and unsettling street corner is now bustling with life. The corner down the way in front of the apartment once only populated by a heap of garbage and rat dung now shares tenancy with pedestrians seeking a carnal escape from the life that pursues them. More frightening than this, however, will be the military presence on the streets. These soldiers lack any and all mindfulness and empathy is gone from them. The reputation they’ve rightly received from the populace for being integral pawns in this demonic regime has left an irreparable rift between the law and the citizen’s conscience. The dehumanizing of the soldiers employed to ‘protect’ has vice versa led said soldiers to dehumanize the protectees. Should a soldier feel the need to interrogate and get violent with a man for not showing him his due respect, he shall give into that feeling. Should a group of soldiers feel the need to raid a household under loose superstition that they may plan a revolt, they shall give into that feeling. Should a soldier decide he has a right to a woman for a short while, he’ll deny himself nothing whatsoever if it seems fit to him to strip her of the dignity which in his eyes is so abhorrent. These are the beasts patrolling the streets below the apartment as poor souls drift and wander in the cold night, some drunken to a stupor, their minds in a far off world, and some too sober to ignore their pathetic existential crises they simply can’t run away from. They know the city wants to eat them, and that is what scares them the most. 

   Up in the apartment, Shelby looks out the window as a crowd of three bickers behind. She was previously involved in the dialog, but the more it dragged on, the more footage she put between herself and them so that the headaches wouldn’t pull her brain into a chokehold. After a moment of introspection, a hand falls on her shoulder. She looks up at the man in a daze. 

   The conversation had gone awry when Calvin had entered the room. Topics of bombs, assassination plans for public officials, racketeering firearms, etc., these essentially set the course for the next topic, and the next. How it got to this point in such a short amount of time left poor Shelby in a whirlwind of confusion. She had no idea she’d been spending the last twenty four hours with political terrorists and crime lords. The tall man’s identity as Clyde’s older brother, Calvin, was the most ordinary thing to happen on this night, despite the two looking not in the least bit related. With a hunch over to match eye level, he speaks,

   “Listen, young lady, what was your name again?”

   “Shelby.” Her tone is hushed with a detectable shakiness. 

   “Shelby. We could seriously use someone like you. You’re high profile right now. We could easily get right in close to some big names and do a serious wallop to the regime.”

   “You want me to be bait?”

   Calvin looks at the other two and then back to Shelby,

   “Ok, what do you expect me to tell you? You some kind of pacifist? Do you lack self preservation?”

   “No, I don’t. And yes I am. It’s against my religion to kill anything whether it's a person or an animal.”

   Calvin can’t help but laugh at this response. 

   “Well, your alternative is to stay here with my brother and pray they don’t find you. Do you think that’s going to work out well for you?”

   “Well…,” she ponders.

   “It won’t.”

   “No shit, Sherlock,” Clyde interjects. 

   “No one asked for your input, wise ass,” Calvin replies. 

   “Shits for brains.”

   “Asshole.”

   “Jackass.”

   “Bitchass.”

   “Kill yourself.” 

   “Make me.”

   “Enough!” Kat slams her hand down on the table, she’s more than over the childish bickering. 

   “Can we please act like adults here?” 

   Calvin gives her a nod, “Ok.” 

   He looks at Shelby and calmly he says to her, “you need to make a choice here. Just understand that for every time you’re right, there’s going to be at least ten times you’re wrong. Listen to a professional and not your nerves.”

   He stands up, looks at Shelby with a half smile, something she’s unsure is sincere or not. He gives Clyde a sharp glare then pats Kat on the arm as he walks to the door. 

   “I’ll be in touch.”

   The door shuts and the three remain, looking at each other and not really having much to say anymore. 

   Outside, Calvin steps into the street. His hand pilfers around in his breast pocket and pulls out a cigar. Looking up, nothing is in view beyond the smog. He can see the tower’s lights but not even the silhouette of the obelisk can be seen today. This is the city he’s known his whole life and it’s finally begun to make him sick. The resolve to make a difference no matter the cost drives deep inside his chest. Occasionally, such as is the case now, he wonders if he wouldn’t be willing to throw his own brother into the line of fire if it was a necessity. The thought disturbs him as it usually does. He lights the cigar and moseys down the street.

   Memories dart across his mind. He remembers a young Clyde, glassy red eyes hunched over on the step leaving the back door of their childhood home. A cigarette in the boy’s mouth and blood on his cheek as Calvin kneeled in front of him to light the cigarette. The memory tears him up inside. Frustratedly, he drops his cigar to the ground and stamps it out and continues into the distance.