Cynetic Wolf

I couldn’t stay here. I had to get out, ASAP. But if they investigated and no one was here, they’d be suspicious. They’d swab DNA. If they did, they’d get a match.

The officers that had drugged me must have taken a sample. If I was in their database, I’d be screwed. Lars too.

I had to warn him. How? He hadn’t left a note.

Stay calm. Hustling around the apartment, I searched for any way to contact him. There had to be something.

A stack of envelopes on the counter. I flicked through, skimming. One caught my eye.

United Comms Co. The GDR’s telecom and media company was too lazy and bureaucratic to digitize their comms. I tore it open. A bill.

Dear Mr. Avery,

Come on... The back had account information. BINGO!

I memorized it and ran to the couch, grabbing my bag and hurrying to the fridge to stuff all the food I could fit.

Outside, sirens wailed over the blaring alarm. A kilometer or two at most.

Decision time… Staying was too risky. I had to get out of here and get ahold of Lars.

Racing downstairs, there was a back entrance. I took it and was in luck. The shabby lot was empty except for several busted scooters.

Trucks sped to the building, tires screeching as I ran, jumping fences.

Once I was two blocks away, I slowed and merged with other pedestrians, trying to act normal. They’d do a DNA swab and ID me in no time. DNS would be there minutes later.

Hurry.

I opened Lars’ information from the telecom, careful to keep my eyes down like the other animotes. It had his username name: @larsmars, and I called him. No answer.

Again, nothing. I sent him a voice message, avoiding any trigger words and told him what happened. As long as he was okay, I’d hear from him soon.

We had to leave the city. Schedules for every lev train and pool ride leaving the city entered my field view. Some headed east, a few west. Either could work and I filed them away for later, sharing the plans with Lars.

Two police cruisers whizzed past, sirens screaming. Shoot. No breaking stories, yet. That was good at least. The longer the World News Network (WNN) took, the more time we had.

A notification. It was Lars calling.

‘Got your message, kid. Shit! Where are you?’

‘Sending my location now.’ I transmitted GPS coordinates and a map snap of my position.

‘Okay. I found a boat. It’s leaving from a port south of Fiern two days from now.’

Two days? All the way out west... ‘Can we make it?’

‘We’re going to have to. I got the lev times you sent. Thanks. Our best bet is hitching a ride on the noon train to Mile High to put some distance between us and the capital.’

‘But that’s thirty-five minutes from now!’

‘We need to hurry. They might shutdown the city when they realize it’s you. We need to be out of here.’

‘Where do we meet?’ I asked.

‘Lockerbie Station. It’s three kilometers northeast of you. Sending details. Meet me at the coffee shop across the street. Find a hat or a pair of sunglasses, something to blend in. Steal one if you have to.’

Steal? ‘Okay.’ My heart hammered, but I was up to it. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘And if I don’t show, Raek, assume something happened. Get yourself on that lev, hide in the freight section. It should be fully automated. Go to Taub port, two hours south of Fiern. Ask for JJ and tell him Birdman sent you. I gotta go, kid. Good luck.’

I wished him the same, switched off, and ran harder. So this was what a real fox hunt felt like... Time to throw caution to the winds.

A squad car approached as I rounded the corner. The rest of the street empty, except me. A store was open and I slipped in.

It was one of those retro urban clothing stores. Colorful sneakers and jerseys, posters plastering the ceilings, old school hip hop shaking the building from the massive sound system by the counter.

“How’s it hanging?” the store owner said with a smile.

“Just looking.” I hurried toward the back.

“Let me know if you need anything, brother,” he replied in a strange accent.

He was an animote of some kind, long black hair braided in twisted snakes down his back. He turned and busied himself with a box by the credit scanner, humming.

The cruiser passed a minute later. Phew.

“Thanks, man, maybe another time.” I headed for the door.

“We be here, me brother, if you be needing something.”

I wasn’t hip hop savvy enough to have a clue what he meant.

A black cap with odd markings hung by the door. Without breaking stride, I slid it off the display and under my shirt. Was I really stealing this hat?

I slipped out, the owner humming away.

After sprinting a block, I tried on the hat. It fit well, covering my eyes and face. A quick adjustment, and I was off

I’d come back one day and pay that guy.

A notification flashed. I pulled it up. A breaking story.

’Authorities confirmed the animote wanted for killing four cynetic officers last weekend has been staying with this man, Lars Avery. Firefighters investigating reports of smoke and a potential fire at 1104 Heartlow, reported Mr. Avery’s room unresponsive after several attempts to notify the occupant. Upon entry, EMTs and local law enforcement took genetic samples. DNA matching the murderer, Raek Mekorian, was found at the scene. Citizens are encouraged to stay vigilant and report suspicious activity or sightings of either Raek Mekorian or Lars Avery to their local DNS precinct.

Clicking off, I pinged Lars the news. I’d set an alert on my name and he might not have thought to do the same.

Two minutes later, he called. ‘I saw. Doesn’t change anything. Be careful,’ he added.

‘I’ll be there in twelve minutes.’

‘Good. I’m organizing some last minute things. I’ll be there soon.’

After the stress of the morning, the rest of the way was uneventful until the station. It was crawling with cops. Not good.

I messaged Lars. Anywhere else we could get on?

Incoming call. ‘Kid, you here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Head west. See the gray and blue tower? Meet me at the entrance. Hurry!’ His voice was loud and strained. It was 11:53. We had seven minutes.

I sprinted for my life. Lars had sounded worried and he’d been unflappable to this point. Did he have a plan?

Four minutes later, the entrance. There was a whistle.

“Over here!” Lars knelt behind a bush, pretending to tie his shoes. “You made it.”

“What’s the plan?” My voice felt fine. Weird, I wasn’t out of breath despite sprinting for thirty minutes.

“We jump it,” he said matter-of-factly, surveying the tracks from all possible angles.

“Wh, what? What do you mean jump it?”

“It’s simple. As the train goes by, we run alongside and hop on. We’ll pull ourselves up, sneak into the freight compartment, and we’re golden.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jumping onto a moving train?

“Wish I was.” He shook his head, calm despite what we were about to attempt. “It’s our only option. Besides, trains don’t pick up real speed until they’re a kilometer outside the metro area. Follow me, kid.” We ducked a wire fence, hopped a crumbling concrete wall, and moved toward the edge. “Don’t touch the track. You’ll be fried.” Lovely.

“Also,” he added, “the train’s visual detection system can’t see us. If it does, it’ll alert security or turn around. We have to wait until the engine passes before we pop up.”

Pop up? “What?”

He pulled me behind a breaker. “Here it comes! They’re silent until they get going. Electric engines and magnetic levitation.”

Sure enough, the bulleted monstrosity hurtled toward us with scarce a whine.

Where’d Lars want us to grab on to? There weren’t any openings.

“Take these and hold tight.” He handed me a pair of fifteen-centimeter poles. “They’re maggrips. Jump and squeeze the handle as soon as it hits the train. That’ll activate the electromagnets and should be strong enough to support you. Don’t stop squeezing! Anything below a rough handshake and the EM coils deactivate... Loosen your grip slightly to climb or reposition the handle.”

“On my count,” he said, his eyes set in slits. “Three, two, one!”

He took off and I hurried after him, squeezing the handles like my life depended on it, which in a lot of ways, it did. He took a forty-five-degree angle toward the train, correcting as he closed and narrowing the gap as the train flew by.

It was pulling away from us, too fast… He jumped. “Holy shit!”

Time slowed as his body flew through the air, arms flailing. He slammed into the side and the handles slid for a second. Somehow, the grips held and despite penduluming from side to side, he stabilized.

I leapt a second later, terrified and wired like never before. My arms braced for impact, felt the wind, and adjusted as I flew. The hum of crickets, the beating of my heart, the vibration of the train—everything in an instant as I inched across the chasm.

Flexing my hands as the handles struck, my legs slammed into the train below. Squeezing harder, I forced myself upward and before I knew it, was atop the train, lying next to Lars in a daze.

“Good work, kid.” A shocked, boyish grin blanketed his stunned face. “I can’t believe it worked.”

“We need to get inside,” I said. “I researched the train. Compartments fifteen through fifty-nine are freight, the two external doors are at thirty and fifty. We’re close to forty-five. That makes backward our best bet.”

“Good work, kid, but you didn’t know what train we’d be on. When’d you look this up?”

“Just now.”

His eyes widened. “What? That was three seconds at most.”

Was it? It felt like ages. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. Let’s move before there’s a tunnel.”

I crawled backward, holding on for dear life, and he followed. We were doing a hundred at this point, and accelerating, even blurring past. At fifty, I went over the edge and flipped onto the grated platform entrance. Solid ground, thank you.

Of course, the huge metal door was locked.

Lars messed with the handle while I researched train specs. He was smart enough not to touch the keypad or fingerprint sensor.

After twenty minutes, I had it. “Every lev comes hardcoded with one of four predetermined passcodes. Must not be too worried about theft...”

Glossing over the details, I said, “Someone found a bug but the company was too lazy to fix it. Never even noticed the post. Four options, but we only get three tries before it triggers the alarm. So, we have two tries, a fifty-fifty chance. If we don’t get it with the first two, we’re out here for the trip and jump when we get closer.”

“What are the codes?”

I reopened the post. “9927, 1430, 1173 and 5158.”

“Nine-nine-two-seven,” Lars repeated, punching in the code. A red light flashed on the touchscreen pad. “Crap, nothing.”

“Wait, wait. Let me think!” Is there anything we’re missing?

“We’re lucky,” Lars said. “It’s three hours with no stops. It’s the boonies between here and Mile High.”

“Let’s try one more.” What could it hurt?

“You do it, kid. My luck’s worn out.”

“Like mine’s better? Remember the week I’ve had.” I smiled despite myself and typed in 5158.

Ding. The keypad flashed green this time. It worked! Laughing, I opened the door and Lars clapped me on the back.

Inside was a spartan interior, basic holding docks lined with rows of biorecycled boxes, each sporting micro scanner codes on all sides. Some had logos too, massive State-Owned Enterprises (SOEs) like United Comms Co, United Energy, United Digital Industries, WNN and the World Bank. A few smaller corporations as well: The Everything Store, Europa Auto and RP1, leading legal producer of VR headsets and content worldwide.

We could steal stuff for the poor towns... but we had bigger fish to fry.

Sitting in the corner, Lars told me about his childhood as the son of a poor urban family. His schools were filthy and his parents worked from 7:00 to 19:00 Monday to Saturday in a VR factory, one week vacation a year. His mom died of heat stroke one summer. The factory owner wasn’t willing to pay for air conditioning. Life sucked after that, and his dad struggled to put food on the table. Sounded rough. How could someone who’d been through so much be so happy, or at least content? Was it a facade?

The story turned violent: riots, police dogs, tasers. Lars’ neighbor was killed in a protest, crushed by a tank. Most protesters were rounded up and shot. GDR couldn’t risk news of the riots spreading. Only thirty years ago and I’d never heard about it. It was erased from history.

“One day they came for Dad,” Lars said in a hushed voice. “Three troopers kicked down the door, said he was guilty of treason. I was under the bed, hiding. He’d sent me when he heard the knock, knew it wasn’t safe. Dad went without a fight, wanted them out of our apartment. He wanted to protect me.” His eyes glistened and he swallowed hard. “I could have saved him. I should have saved him.” Tears covered the strong man’s face and he looked away, embarrassed.

I put my arm around him—the big guy I’d met not two days earlier—without saying a word. I understood, I’d failed too. Every animote had a similar story, everyone. We sat for a while and I lost track of time. Eventually, Lars dozed off and I stood, stretching. I had to think.

Mom and Vynce popped into my head. What had happened to them? And Elly and Merie... There was Professor Ivey, tied to a chair, her face decimated. Even in Caen, the homeless animotes and pseudo-slaves. The world was cruel and broken.

My thoughts shifted to the Initiative. I pictured Fitz and Lars and Paer fighting the government, Fitz’s wife being gunned down. The burning hate in Lilia’s eyes, the pain in Fitz’s.

Every resistance fighter must have a similar story, something that pushed them over the edge. So much pain and suffering. Who was I to deny all that? Who was I to hold them back? I could change things, couldn’t I? Or at least try. I had to. I had to do something. It wasn’t fate, it was more than that. Purpose, maybe?

No more running. No more hiding. No more! I’d do whatever it takes.

It was time!