Owen sat in the back of a black work van wearing a white janitor’s jumpsuit surrounded by terrorists dressed like waiters. Only Ed was wearing a jumpsuit that matched Owen’s. They parked the van a street away from the coliseum. One by one the terrorists left the van following Tuck’s plan laid out in the soda bar. A plan that Owen had mostly forgotten due to his nerves.

  “Hey,” Ed said. He patted Owen’s knee. “It’ll be alright. No stabbings, no fires this time. You know what you need to do. Here, drink this.” He handed Owen an ORANGE SODA DRINK and went through his tools. “You came ready. Sorry about not giving you much of a choice, but the rest of us don’t have the finesse for what Tuck wants done. You understand?”

  “Right,” Owen said between sips of his drink. He wondered if he could take Ed. He was smaller and a lot older than Owen. But Owen hadn’t been in a fight since he was a kid and he lost that one. He didn’t have to win the fight though, he just had to get through the door.

  “You won’t make it,” Sensei Dan said. He sat cross legged on the van floor and was still taller than Owen. “They left him alone with you because he can handle you. Don’t let his size fool you.”

  “They’re ready,” Ed said. He tapped his ear piece and gave one to Owen. “Keep that in at all times. We’re going in the service entrance. Tuck got us an employee ID. We go in together and wait for Vicky. Got it, new guy? Let’s roll.” Ed slid the van door open. “Oh, by the way, try to run and I’ll snap your neck.” Ed flashed him a big smile and patted his shoulder. “Put this on.” He pulled a silver mask out of his bag.

  Owen saw these masks on employees during televised events from the coliseum. They hid all facial features behind a thin layer of nondescript reflective silver. Waiters, janitors, floor staff. Any employee seen by the public shouldn’t have an identity beyond what the coliseum gave them.

  “Employees are tracked using their IDs,” Ed said. “We won’t show up on their scanners once we’re inside. Stick close to me and everything will be alright. Owen?”

  “Sorry.” Owen pulled on the mask. He felt better already. If security couldn’t identify him then the peacekeepers couldn’t issue him a fine. He just had to do what the terrorists wanted and he’d be free. “We’re not going to blow anything up are we?”

  “Don’t talk like that. And no, that’s not why we’re here. Now, shut up. It’s game time.” They made it across the parking lot quickly. The employee entrance was a single door at the rear of the coliseum hidden by tall hedges and a pair of statues of naked women wielding tridents. A single camera was mounted above the door, its red eye glowing behind a dark plastic cover. Ed waved at it and ran his ID across the scanner. Beep. The door opened and they were inside and Owen wanted to piss himself.

  “You’re doing great,” Sensei Dan said. “Take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Keep it calm, keep it cool. Second rule of Hardknuckle Style, always be cool.”

  Owen didn’t know what to expect from the coliseum, but dour brick walls and concrete floors wasn’t it. The employee areas were devoid of any unnecessary embellishment. Exposed wires ran across walls, labeled with plastic tags, while boxes of equipment were neatly stacked in corners. A dozen cardboard cutouts of the current City Fighting League champion Jake Callahan leaned against a vending machine. He proudly held his gold belt in one hand and a can of EXXXTRA ENERGY BLAST above his head.

  “What a prick,” Ed said. He nodded at the cutout. “You ever watch any of his fights?”

  “A couple,” Owen said. They were always seven hour events with commercial interruption. In-between fights the top pop groups kept audiences entertained. Jake Callahan defended his title three times in two years, dominating his opponents every time. He was the undisputed champion of City Seven and seemed poised to remain champ for the foreseeable future.

  “He isn’t all that. Mark Wade. Now that was a real fighter. He would’ve torn little Jakey Callahan apart. Too bad he couldn’t fight his way through the pills.” Ed leaned against the soda machine. “The whole Callahan family is full of pricks, Little Jake, Lucas, Amber. All shit kids that fell out of a shit mother, who is married to a shit father. It’s our shitty luck that he’s the leader of our beloved city. One day one of his kids will take over and the Callahan dynasty will thrive. My credits are on Lucas.”

  “You shouldn’t say things like that.” Owen never heard anyone bad mouth the governor or his family. He didn’t know how high the fine must have been.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “They aren’t going to tell me what I can say.” Ed shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  “You two in position?” Tuck asked over the radio.

  “Ready and waiting,” Ed said. He slapped Owen’s hand away from his ear. “New guy is ready too.” Owen didn’t feel ready. “Relax. You’ll do great.” He took Owen to a room lined with bottles of cleaning chemicals and replacement mops. “Get your tools ready.”

  Owen nodded and set his equipment up on a folding table. He couldn’t stop shaking his leg as he waited. He took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth like Sensei Dan said. It helped. A minute later Vicky burst in the room and tossed a shiny pocket scratchpad on the table.

  “Get to work, newbie,” she growled through her silver mask.

  Owen put on his magnification goggles and started by prying the hard shell apart, careful not to scratch the surface. He’d never worked on something so expensive. The pads that came through Luther’s shop were always several generations behind. The Maestro was worth a few month’s rent and had the finest in micro components held within its pocket sized packaging.

  Tuck wanted the work done faster than fast. Owen exposed the device’s guts, adjusting the magnification lenses on his goggles as he worked, and carefully connected the jumper Tuck gave him. It was small and thin, the weight almost unnoticeable and it fit inside the scratch pad like it belonged there the whole time. Owen powered the device on. The image of a mature woman in a dark suit greeted him and he thought he’d seen her before on some News Network story.

  “You done?” Vicky tapped her foot.

  “Almost,” Owen said. He moved through the scratchpad administrator settings and gave the installed hardware permission to access all of the scratchpad’s functions. Tuck and his group would be able to view the contents remotely and listen into any calls. The owner’s data belonged to them and it made Owen sick to think he was part of it. “Done.”

  Vicky snatched the scratchpad and she was gone.

  “Good work,” Ed said.

  “What now?”

  “Nothing. It’s time to go.”

  And that was it. Ed walked Owen back to the van and they waited for the rest of the team. Vicky showed up first, her face still curled up in a scowl. Tom was next, his vest covered in a red stain and some shrimp in his shirt pocket that he slurped down noisily. Tuck was last. He slipped into the driver’s seat and wasted no time getting away from the coliseum.

  “Check it,” Tuck said.

  Vicky pulled out an ancient scratchpad with a thick screen. It had several buttons along the bottom and a scroll wheel on one corner. It didn’t look like it had a touch screen. It was a nightmare piece of the past worse than the CTD.

  “Looks good,” she said. “New guy got it done.” She shrugged.

  “Perfect. Stow it.”

  They were silent the rest of the ride. Tuck dropped Vicky and Tom off at separate locations before returning to the soda bar. Ed took the van, but Tuck didn’t let Owen go just yet. He retrieved their scratchpads and as promised paid Owen for his time.

  “Two thousand?” Owen asked, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. “Really?”

  “You took a big risk today,” Tuck said. “No, that’s underselling it. You risked your freedom. Good work deserves good pay. Now, Owen. I made that payment under a private repair. All payments from now on will be made under private repairs. Understand?”

  “From now on?”

  “Yeah.” Tuck slapped his shoulder. “Fred installed some updates on your pad. You’ll be invisible to anyone that wants to track your location. We’ll work on getting your info scrubbed from the peacekeeper network too. Change your prints on file and all that.”

  “I can’t do this again,” Owen said. “Thanks for the pay, but once was enough.” He was a law abiding citizen. Getting in deeper with a crew of terrorists wasn’t on his agenda.

  “You don’t get it.” Tuck looked him in the eyes. “You’re part of the team now. Because if you’re not a part of the team we’ll have to make you disappear.” He straightened Owen’s collar. “Don’t go to the peacekeepers and keep your head down. And don’t go breaking the law anymore.” Tuck flashed him a wicked smile. “Welcome to the Citizens’ Liberation Brigade. I’ll be in touch.” Tuck left him with that, disappearing into the low city crowd.

  “Well,” Sensei Dan said. “Looks like you’ll need training more than ever.”

  “What just happened?” Owen grabbed his head in frustration.

  “You’ve been conscripted.”

  “I need to go pay my fine,” Owen said. He made the trek to the city penalty office and happily paid his fine to the dead eyed woman behind a pane of glass. He still had plenty of credits left over but he couldn’t enjoy them. He thought he’d be grabbed by a peacekeeper with every step he took. Owen looked over his shoulder every few seconds, the weight of his crime heavy as he reached his tower. Even within the confines of his tube he didn’t feel safe.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” Sensei Dan said. He gave Owen a thumbs up. “Tomorrow morning we begin your Hardknuckle training in earnest.”

  “Tomorrow morning I’m finding a way to get rid of you.” There were tech shops on every block. Someone could get rid of Dan.

  “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.” Dan shot him with dual finger guns. “Sleep well, my disciple.”