“Please!” she yells.
I tilt my head and start strategizing.
CHAPTER 2
HIT ’EM UP
Nena is in a serious bind. With every cry, the man smirks. This guy thinks he’s got one up on us. He doesn’t see my girl Truck holding a tricked-out tronic aimed right at his junk. He thinks he got lucky tagging Nena. The foolish act is going to be his downfall. I just need to give Truck the sign and it’s lights out.
“Let her go,” I say.
“I’m not scared of you,” he says. “I don’t care. I’ll break her little neck.”
Nena’s arms flail about, trying to land a hit. She’s unable to make contact. I need to cut her loose soon before she truly freaks and trips him into committing a fatal act. It was only two days ago when we showed her how to break free from a bear hug by stomping the enemy’s feet. Those hours of training are completely wasted if she doesn’t calm down and formulate her next move. I’ll think for both of us.
“That soldier you’re holding is mine. You hear me?” I keep my hand steady on my weapon, my beautiful silver tronic, and point the laser beam at him, creating a neon pink dot on his forehead. The tronic produces nanosecond electrical pulses meant to knock a person out. We don’t have enough juice to kill anyone, but it’s more than enough to cause a blackout.
His eyes dart wildly, as if he’s waiting for backup. He smells of a loner. Only fearless crews come out at this hour. Girls only. There is none more fearless than our crew. This guy is a fluke.
I shoot above his head. He barely flinches. Nena screams. I should shoot her instead for causing such a ruckus.
“The next shot is going to be your face,” I say. My black curls sneak in front of my goggles. I keep steady. I don’t want to make any sudden moves.
“I’m not here for her,” he sputters. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
He wears green, a common color for most toilers. However, his overalls are ripped and covered in muck. He looks to be in his midthirties, way older than me. The tattoos on his knuckles are slightly faded. I can barely make out the T for toiler. There’s no way he’s a worker. The men in Mega City are relegated to manual labor; they work in the factories, hauling trash to the dumps. If they’re smart—scientists or engineers—Déesse will invite them to be a part of her inner circle. This guy is exhibiting none of those traits. He’s a garbage dweller scrounging for whatever he can steal. He’s found a live one in Nena.
“I’ll let her go as soon as I find . . . um, I’m looking for . . .”
He has a hard time completing his sentence. He must have snuck up on Nena when she tried to light our path. We taught her to use the large slabs of crumbled concrete as cover or to walk alongside the multitude of empty buildings. You can never be too sure if another crew is hiding, holding their buffalo stance on a desolate lot, waiting to jump you. We’re here to make sure no one makes false claims on our section of the city. With Déesse living in our neighborhood, life for us is way easier and more comfortable than in other parts of the city. We’ve got the best boydega clubs and a better selection at the mercado. Unfortunately, we divide the neighborhood with the Deadly Venoms. A temporary thing until we beat them in the next throwdown. The other sections of the city can’t compare. Crews have tried to muscle in. They fail every time.
“You’re breaking curfew,” I say. “Everyone in the city is asleep. You need to join them.”
I inch closer to him. His eyes and lips are awash in blue. Soon his skin will turn an ashy gray. I should have known. He’s an Anonymous Nervous Toiler, an ANT, a toiler addicted to sueños. Sueños are meant only to ease people into sleep and to alleviate pain. Weak people abuse the tabs and end up wanting to live in a euphoric state of fantasy forever. I’ve seen the strongest succumb to the temptation. From the looks of his disheveled state, this ANT’s desperate for another trip into dreamland.
A message from Truck appears on the screen of my goggles, asking permission to attack. I let her wait. I don’t want the mess. He’ll harm Nena. The ANT’s smirk disappears and becomes a grimace. Just what I thought. He’s in pain. Nothing but an ANT caught up in the sueño cycle, where there are never enough tabs to keep him going. I have no pity.
“Okay, relax. We can work this out. I’ll help you find the person you are looking for.” I slowly lower my tronic. He loosens his grip on Nena. He’s doing exactly what I want him to do. That’s right. Keep thinking you’re winning this fight, ANT, keep dreaming.
“See, I’m listening to you,” I say. “No problem.”
His stormy eyes are so focused on the tronic, he doesn’t notice how my other hand reaches behind for my baton.
“Legs up,” I say calmly to Nena.
Kneeling, I throw my baton toward his leg just as Nena pulls up hers. The baton hits his ankle with a loud thump. He buckles down in pain while Nena manages to break free. As I step to him, the ANT rushes toward me. I don’t wait to see if he has a weapon. I grab hold of his arm and kick him where my baton landed. The pain is enough to cause him to cringe. While holding his hand, I turn away from him, pull him toward my back, and bend my knees. He’s lighter than I thought, light enough to flip. His head makes a horrible smacking sound as the ground knocks the wind out of him. Without missing a beat, Truck catches up to us, straddles him, and gives him a punch to the side of his head. As quickly as it began, the ANT is out for the count. Too easy.
I’m only a few feet away from him, and his stench makes my eyes tear. I adjust my goggles to cover my nose. This ANT is our third victim of the night. He better be my last.
“I didn’t know he was behind me. I swear, Chief Rocka,” Nena says. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t get mad at me. I didn’t see him. It’s not my fault.”
“Shut up, soldier! You should know better than to let an ANT take hold of you,” Truck yells at her. “You’re never going to be a true Mal Criada. We should send you right back where we found you.”
Nena tries to muffle her cries, nearly hyperventilating with the effort.
“Do your thing, Nena,” I say firmly. She’s the youngest in our outfit. She has to wise up. Get hard or get dumped.
Nena wipes her tears with the back of her hand while Truck looms over her. She removes her bomber jacket and ties it around her waist, exposing her thin arms covered in thick metal cuffs similar to the gold cuffs I wear. She puts on her gloves and walks over to the ANT. She empties his pockets.
“He got used tabs,” Nena says in a shaky voice. “Garbage. Garbage. Garbage. Wait. There is an object around his neck.”
She pulls out her knife to release the item.
“Can I keep this?” she asks.
Nena dangles a necklace in front of me—a miniature black fist charm hangs from a crude leather cord. Wait. I’ve seen this charm before. Where? I scan my head, going over the other gangs. Is it an emblem from another crew? No. I’ve never seen anyone rock this fist. So strange.
“Give me that.” Truck grabs the piece from Nena.
Truck is never one to play it cool. If she’s not unleashing blood on an enemy, she’s turning on those who are close to her. It’s hard to keep her anger in check. We’ve been together since we were recruited by one of Déesse’s scouts when we were seven, almost ten years ago. I vaguely remember my recruiter. She had a nice smile. There was nothing hard about her, not what you would expect from a person whose job was to find the roughest. I never saw her again. She must be in the Towers. Recruiters continue to go station to station, assessing families with daughters. Not every girl is selected. You can’t be sickly or harbor any weird flaws. Only a lucky few can catch a break. The girls who aren’t selected must figure out how to make themselves useful—work in the sueño factories, feed the soldiers.