*

  Humans can’t handle Evolves; we are physically stronger, faster, more adaptive, more durable, and very much more vicious than humans. Many amongst them even have superpowers besides the general enhanced physical prowess, but there exists an important biological imperative amongst Evolves. It isn't the type of superpowers; it is the primal sense of hierarchy, by power - the degree of Arcane to be exact.

  The level of power of Evolves displace them into different Grades – F, E, D, C, and B.

  This difference in power for each Grade is very clear, an Evolved of a lower can never take out another Evolve of a higher Grade, normally.

  For the weaker one to win, there must be the higher Grade will be seriously handicapped.

  Normal human beings can’t be placed in this paradigm of power, making them incapable of handling Evolves naturally, that’s where Enforcers come in; they are Evolved law-enforcers put in place to handle issues pertaining Evolves outside the Gates, they don’t take the front line when there is an outbreak.

  That the job of Guards under Towers; so they are more police than soldiers.

  Also, Enforcers are only identified by a series of numbers and alphabet - serial number, on the right-side of their uniform chest plates, they have no name tags, don’t give out their department number or supervisor’s number, don’t normally address humans without clear reasons like questioning witnesses, human accomplices, relatives or acquaintances of interested Evolves or Evolve-rated matters. They are primarily trained for only Evolves and barely know what restrain is when handling them.

  *

  I handed one of the two Enforcers my bag pack as I stood up for the other to search me before he asks me to.

  The Enforcer that took my bag and searched it while making inaudible comments, had the serial number ‘JF-3-21-14-20’.

  “Why is your bag so soggy? Thankfully I can’t smell it” he lament with his radio-like muffled voice.

  The other one with a serial number – ‘CA-4-9-3-11’turned me around and searched me roughly, after finding nothing implicating on my body, he jaggedly turned me to face him again, then pushed me to back to my sit.

  Enforcer ‘JF-3-21-14-20’ tossed my bag hard to my chest after his search.

  “Can’t trust gutter roaches, especially thugs like you from Sumiyoshi… Now, show us your ID!” Enforcer ‘CA-4-9-3-11’ demanded.

  “I riding this train for months now...same time and shit… I showed my ID to you like three days ago. Y'all clearly know me, why…” but before I completed my question, a solid punch landed on my face; making me lose my reasoning for a moment.

  “Show us your goddamn ID” Officer ‘CA-4-9-3-11’ said in a cold tone as he stretch and wiggle his hand after smacking me.

  I reluctantly dived into my bag, pulled out my ID and handed it over to the officer.

  “Look at this Officer, this punk is carrying an expired ID” Officer ‘CA-4-9-3-11’ said tapping Officer JF-3-21-14-20’ on his shoulder as if I be tryin' to be funny to 'em.

  “According to the Black Dragon Tower’s License Centre, I still got 9 days to renew my ID before you can do anything to me. Same thing I told you three days ago” I quickly spat out, in order to let them know I am still untouchable for now.

  I’m sure they excepted me to be shaking in my boots.

  “Look at that, the kid thinks himself a smart ass…. Well I do remember your ugly mug and it was the exact same thing you said three days ago. Which means you have around 5 to 6 days before you get detained for carrying around an expired ID.” Officer ‘JF-3-21-14-20’ said quite loud to be honest. Almost like he wasn’t only talking to me, but the entire cabin.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “I still have 6 days” I confirmed boldly but very softly.

  “Yeah, 6 days…” Officer ‘JF-3-21-14-20 muttered before smacking my face hard with the back of his hand and whispering “…. that’s for being mouthy, wise-ass”.

  Then he shouted again “Do you understand?”

  “Yes” I swiftly replied softly.

  Daigo often talks about picking up hidden cues during interactions. One of our conversations flashed through my head as the Enforcer yelled for the second time. I don’t know why he had to scream his statements, but I could read the subtext: if I didn’t respond accordingly, he’d use it as an excuse to beat my ass.

  Then Officer ‘CA-4-9-3-11’ tapped both his index and middle fingers to the side of his helmet—right where his ear should be—and said, “We are good, you can leave in 8.”

  The two officers walked out of the cabin. A few seconds later the train lurched forward. I touched the stinging side of my face where I’d been slapped, trying to soothe the numbness. Something suggested I look to my right. I did, but only found the kid sitting beside me.

  The guy was hella locked-in on the game he was playing on his android phone, earpieces plugged in. He was trying to keep his cool with a silly poker face and dead-eye focus, but I could see his hands slightly shaking. It’s normal to see folks like him in the Conquest District; shit like what just happened isn’t an everyday norm for him and are rarely at the receiving end of shit.

  I still think he got some balls, though; this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me on this train with him sitting right there. I thought he would have avoided me by now, but he hasn’t budged in months.

  In all those months we haven’t talked, and frankly, I don’t want to. I’m less interested in him and more in what he’s holding. I leaned back to get a better look at his screen. I’ve been watching him play this every morning; anytime I'm around that is.

  He uses what I assume to be an army of tiny people or creatures to fight another tiny army. They all seem to have different powers. It isn’t just action-driven; it deals more in strategy. I’ve never asked him anything about it, even if I was curious about what his little army could do.

  I watched until I started imagining getting a flat phone for myself and my siblings—maybe even trying the game myself. But you don’t think of getting cool shit when you have a debt of more than 250,000,000-yen on your fuckin' neck.

  My stomach quaked in hunger, forcing my attention away from the kid’s phone. I stared at the train’s TV and thought about my life until the train stopped at Taisho Public Station.

  I got off and began the long walk to the only place Mercenary-Guards from the ghettos are allowed to hang around when seeking work: the abandoned Taisho shopping mall.

  As I got closer, I took a quick look at the wrecked structure. The once-grand concrete skeleton was a jagged silhouette against the grey sky, its glass facade long ago shattered into a thousand teeth. Thick, rotten vines choked the rusted escalators that led to nowhere, and the upper levels were partially collapsed, spilling rebar and debris like exposed entrails into the central atrium. Piles of scorched trash and stagnant, dark water filled the hollowed-out storefronts, smelling of ancient rot and wet ash.

  When I arrived, plenty of Evolves were already there—punk heads like me from Sumiyoshi, Suminoe, and the Taisho (Under-town). At a glance, there were at least a thousand of us hanging around under the old, busted-up roof. Enforcers had a perimeter around the mall, surrounding the whole place with their patrol vehicles. They don’t make arrests or chase us out; they just watch and limit our movements to the mall.

  I walked in without anyone stopping me. I headed to my usual spot and leaned against a pillar when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Motherfucker, I didn’t see you here, so I was already assuming the worst.”

  It was Daigo. He’s my best friend—correction, he is my only friend. He closed in, and we did our thing: hands in the air, a hard slam of the palms, a firm grip, and a shoulder bump.

  “Why?” I asked. Daigo is dramatic as hell. I wasn't stupid, but I played along with his acts even if I already knew the answer.

  “I overheard some shitheads from your neighborhood talking about a scrap between two E-Grades last night at the UnDerGround. They described the fighters and I immediately knew it was you,” Daigo said.

  “Good to know that if I’d died, some shit-face would be able to give you a report on how I did,” I said, trying to be funny.

  He chuckled. He’s the only one who actually finds my attempts funny. Rolling with Daigo makes some of his silly behaviors rub off on me; I know it, but I still do it.

  “Don’t be like that, Haiji… I heard the other guy shit his pants,” Daigo replied with a smirk.

  “Well, it seems your shithead narrator didn’t see the whole thing clearly… I was the one actually shittin' my pants.” I didn't try to hide what really happened.

  We stood there and talked, laughing for a long time.