Handler’s Initiation Ch. 1

Chapter 1

February 17, 2199, 8:12am

Ash and dust sifted through the broken skylight above Old Metro Line 7, tinting dawn light the color of dried blood. Houston Ward crouched on a cracked stair and held his breath, searching for sounds that didn’t belong—boots on tile, the click of a safety. All he heard was the tunnel’s tired breathing: water dripping somewhere far away, metal groaning under its own rust and decay.

“I don’t hear anyone,” he whispered.

“That only means they’re being careful,” Kel answered, easing past him. She clenched tightly on the crowbar in her right hand, testing her grip in a violent self-soothing attempt.

Arik descended behind them, goggles flashing green. “Thermal shows nothing warm within thirty meters,” he said. “If someone’s here, they are either dead or colder than the walls.”

“Then let’s work before something warmer shows up,” Kel replied.

They reached the platform. Two rows of graffiti-scarred columns framed a toppled train car, its roof peeled like an old food can. Their prize ran overhead: fat copper cables still sheathed in brittle insulation. In their desperation, they’d found a new tunnel that had yet to be stripped bare by other scavengers.

“Finally,” commented Arik, “An all-night scav run with a payoff at the end.”

Kel took watch facing the north tunnel. Arik chalked a quick sigil on a pillar to mark their escape route. Houston climbed a maintenance ladder and set a dull hacksaw blade against the first conduit.

Every pull showered orange sparks. The insulation cracked, peeling back to reveal strands of copper gleaming like treasure unearthed from the dirt. Houston sliced lengths free, bent them over his shoulder to form semi-uniform loops, then let gravity dump them to Arik. Each loop was at least two feet around and carried a fair weight. They thunked onto the platform loudly, their metallic clang sounding sweeter than any music Houston had ever heard on a radio.

Second loop. Third. Sweat beaded despite the chill. By the eighth loop, his shoulders ached, but pride swelled—each coil meant bread, maybe mercy from the Serpents’ tribute master. He kept cutting, sparks falling like fireflies.

As he cut loose the ninth loop of copper, a high, chittering laugh shattered the quiet. Kel’s shoulders stiffened. Arik flipped his lenses to night vision, backing cautiously into a nearby shadow. Houston froze, the saw still in hand, as his senses went on full alert.

Three figures sauntered from the south tunnel. Leading was a young female, at most a year older than Kel, twirling a chain-flail studded with glass shards—every rotation releasing a shrill ringing, the chain links straining against each other. Beside her lumbered a heavyset teen wielding a bat wrapped in barbed wire; rust clung to his coat and clotted across the barbs. Trailing them was the wiry frame of another boy, flipping a screwdriver between his fingers, eyes gleaming dangerously in the dim light.

Kel planted her feet. “This tunnel belongs to the Serpents,” she declared.

Chain-flail sang back, voice bright as the broken glass, “If only you could say the same,” she said. “I don’t see any snake branding on you anywhere, sweetheart.”

Barb-Wire smashed his bat against a pillar, showering flakes of rust. “Drop the copper and you can leave still breathing.”

Arik remained hidden in the shadows of a train hull. Sure, they’d seen him when they arrived, but if he could stay out of sight for the time being, he might be able to take advantage of their focus being on his friends.

“If I’m lucky, they’ll think I ran like a coward,” he thought.

He took a long moment to observe the new opposition as they approached. After careful consideration, he whispered just loud enough for Kel and Houston to hear, “No Aspects—just hardware.”

Kel didn’t blink. “Copper’s ours. Walk away while your legs still work.”

Screwdriver teen pointed at her. “Heavy words,” he said with a rasp. “The pretty ones like you aint usually so bold. Why’re you so special?”

Kel’s eyes cooled to dark steel, her heart rate thumping faster as adrenaline pumped into her veins. “Sure you want to find out?”

Chain-flail snapped forward, bringing her deadly weapon to bear as it swung towards Houston.

Kel moved like a flash. She ran onto a vertical column as though gravity politely stepped aside, boots clapping loudly two meters above the ground. For half a heartbeat, she ran straight up, then launched powerfully into the air. Mid-flight, her body suddenly pivoted almost exactly ninety degrees, physics bowing to her will. She landed behind Chain-flail and whipped her crowbar low. In the same, near-instantaneous motion, her weapon suddenly gained unnatural speed and cut through the air.

The shrill sound of crunching bones filled the tunnel. The raider howled and went down with a crash, gripping her left knee in agony.

It happened fast, far too quickly for the raiders to track with their untrained eyes. The entire room seemed to stand still at the sight of Kel’s unnatural display, but the sound of their comrades’ screams, the other two thugs snapped back to reality.

“She’s a handler!” Yelled Screwdriver.

“Then she’s worth at least ten times what we’d get for the copper,” replied Barb-Wire. “Handle the scrawny one. If she’s not in a crew, then she couldn’t have been bonded long. I can handle a fledgling like this.”

The brutish teen lunged, barbed club arcing toward Kel’s ribs. Kel tossed her free palm out as sweat covered her brow. The bat’s speed bled away—as if thick syrup filled the air—yet the barbs still scored her shoulder when it connected. Barb-Wire was shocked by her ability, but the sight of her blood filled him with confidence.

“He’s too strong, I can’t handle all of this force,” she thought, gritting through the pain. The fabric of her sleeve tore, blood blossoming, but the speed she’s syphoned at least spared the bone.

Grinding her teeth, she rolled with the blow, recovered quickly, and kicked Barb-Wire away with an accelerated mule kick to his sternum. The bat fell; he roared but stayed upright despite staggering, his rage eclipsing the pain in his chest.

-

Screwdriver darted toward Houston, who’d finished climbing down the ladder. He threw the final loop of copper straight at his attacker. The coils collided with Screwdriver’s chest, but the teen’s momentum carried him through, a vicious smile etched on his gaunt face. The loop bounced away behind him, loud but harmless.

Closing the gap quickly, Screwdriver swung his weapon down in an arc, aiming for Houston’s chest or neck; he wasn’t sure. Falling backwards in a pathetic and desperate attempt to avoid a fatal blow, Houston fell, defenseless.

“Damn it, go. Just go!” He thought, “If only I could move like Kel!”

He stumbled to the ground, quickly rolling away from the screwdriver as he continued his approach, wild swings tearing through the air.. Houston backpedaled on all fours like a spider. There was no strategy, just raw instinct as he moved away until his back pushed up against the unyielding metal hull of a train. His attacker caught up quickly, following through with a final, vicious swing. The screwdriver punched deep into his thigh. Only the handle stuck out. White-hot agony flared; Houston’s vision spotted as he cried out in anguish.

“Got me a screaming pig!” the teen crowed, twisting the tool sadistically deeper into the flesh of Houston’s thigh.

-

Barb-Wire reclaimed his bat and barreled toward Kel. She tried to pivot again, but blood loss slowed her reflexes. She’d already begun to exhaust herself.

“I’m this tired already?” She thought, frustrated with her inability to protect herself or her friends against these bottom feeders. She heard Houston’s screams and wanted to help, but she knew taking her eyes away from her opponent would have dire consequences.

The bat whistled—she raised her crowbar to guard against the attack. The impact rang like struck steel. Pain flashed across her face; despite slowing the swing, she couldn’t stop barb tips from gouging her forearm as the boy leveraged his size advantage.

“I need to handle this savage before I can help them.” She committed her full attention to the enemy before her, knowing that she couldn’t help anyone if she got taken out herself. All she needed was a moment to recover. “Just enough for another blitz,” she thought, “I have to end this fast.”

-

Air vanished from Houston’s lungs. He fought to keep his wits as the panic tried to set in. His hands scrambled, searching—his hacksaw, a shard of conduit—anything would do. He seized a loop of copper and, as a last-ditch effort, swung upward. Metal slammed Screwdriver’s temple; the grin vanished, replaced by shock. The teen reeled, blood streaking his forehead, but he didn’t drop. As he fell back from Houston, he inadvertently pulled the screwdriver from his leg, eliciting another cry of pain. Screwdriver blinked, blinked again, and snarled. “Oh, you want to play?”

He drove the tool at Houston’s ribs. Houston jerked sideways as fast as he could, dropping the copper loop again in his haste. His wounded leg buckled, unable to move him away as he lay supine, still on the ground. Screwdriver pounced, stabbing again, but Houston caught his forearm, stopping the weapon inches from his chest. Every movement was agony, but it was agony or death.

“Why am I always the one?!” He shoved the tool as far away as he could, boots skidding mid-struggle. Panic squeezed his lungs; the tunnel blurred at the edges. Screwdriver wrestled his weapon from Houston’s grasp and raised the blade for a final killing plunge.

“You should have just given us the copper,” he spat, a disturbing smile spreading on his face.

Suddenly, screwdriver froze and his eyes widened in shock. The same copper coil Houston had used to strike at his attacker had cracked against the back of his skull with a dull, meaty thud. The teen toppled, screwdriver clattering from his limp fingers.

Arik stood over him, both hands still gripping the loop he’d swung. His voice shook. “Is this the copper you wanted?” he muttered. Then he dropped to one knee beside Houston and helped him press a palm to the puncture in his leg.

“Thanks,” Houston rasped, trying a grin that didn’t stick.

-

Ten paces away, Kel and Barb-Wire circled each other in a widening ring of debris. Kel’s breathing came ragged; fresh blood oozed through two jagged tears in her sleeve. Barb-Wire’s coat dripped crimson from a crowbar strike to his shoulder, but he still swung the barbed bat with brutal certainty.

He feinted high—Kel flinched—then hammered low at her knee. She slid sideways, siphoning just enough momentum to blunt the club’s speed, yet the barbs still grazed her shin. She hissed, favoring the leg but refusing to yield ground.

“Running out of tricks?” Barb-Wire taunted, moving in for another swing. “You freshly bonded handlers always do.”

Kel flicked her crowbar, hooking his bat and twisting. He wrenched free with raw strength, forcing her to backpedal. Sparks spat where barbs scraped the ground.

The other girl from before wrestled to her feet, hobbling on her one good leg. She’d found her weapon again and was preparing to throw it, wanting nothing more than to repay the pain she’d been dealt. With a pained grunt, she launched it in a desperate, flat arc toward Kel’s unguarded flank.

Kel saw the gleam at the last heartbeat. She knew she didn’t have enough strength left for a full redirect, all she could do was slow the chain down. The glass studded flail drifted sluggishly, but still sliced her bicep, drawing a crimson ribbon. She staggered, knees threatening to fold.

“Got you now,” Barb-Wire growled. He lifted the bat for a head-level swing meant to finish things.

Kel planted her feet, eyes hard. She siphoned the bat’s murderous velocity a second time—more than she could afford—draining her reserves to near zero. The swing crawled through syrupy air, barbs brushing her hair instead of crushing her skull. Before he could recover, she slammed her crowbar into Barb-Wire’s ribs, returning every stolen Newton in one violent instant.

The brute wheezed, dropped to one knee, and cursed. He glared at Kel’s heaving chest, at her blood and sweat. Her limbs trembled in fatigue; whatever she had left wasn’t much.

“She’s on her last leg,” he thought, getting up again to finish the fight once and for all. His hands tightened audibly around the handle of his bat. “Let’s end this.” Just then, Arik’s voice called out from behind the brute.

“Drop your bat and leave, or your friend never sees the light of another day!”

Barb-Wire, caught off guard by the voice he’d yet to hear, slowly turned to observe its source. His ally, Screwdriver, was lying on the ground, unconscious. Arik was crouched near his head, aiming the boy's own screwdriver tip-first to the unconscious teen's temple, his intentions clear.

“No!” screeched the other girl, her vision almost going red with rage. “Take her out, look what she did to my leg!”

“Enough,” he answered, calmer than Arik would have expected. “My brother’s life is worth more than some copper or a Handler’s bounty. Your leg will heal.” His tone was cold. There would be no arguing.

“Throw me your weapon,” Kel said, “Then get your girlfriend and your brother and leave while you still can. You won’t get a third offer,” demanded Kel through panted breaths; barely able to stay upright. If her attacker knew just how close she was to falling over, he might have tried his chances. She did her best to hide how little was left in the tank.

Barb-Wire looked at his bat momentarily, but ultimately acquiesced. The bat clattered to the ground, rolling to an awkward stop on the barbs. Kel bent and retrieved the weapon with her empty hand, blood trickling down her wrist with the effort. She pointed the business end of the weapon at Barb-Wire, keeping him in her sights. He grunted, defeated, then walked calmly to his brother lying near Houston and Arik.

He eyed them silently before tossing his brother over one shoulder. From the effortlessness of the motion, it was clear why Kel had been so pressed by this boy.

Screwdriver in tow, Barb-Wire moved to Chain-Flail girl and placed his shoulder under hers on the injured side. The group hobbled to the exit, but just before leaving, Barb-Wire stopped and turned his neck towards Kel.

“Next time, your little tricks won’t save you,” he sneered. “We’ll meet again.”

“Next time,” Kel answered instantly, her voice more confident than she felt by far, “bring a coffin.”

Darkness swallowed Barb-Wire as he carried his brother and Chain-Flail away, his threat echoing off the hard metal walls.

Kel’s fingers relaxed, the bat and crowbar falling from her grip with a loud clatter. Her knees buckled. Arik reached her first, guiding her to sit. Houston crawled over, leg burning, but relief warm in his chest.

For a long minute, they sat in the near silence, only the sound of their ragged breath filling the station. Kel finally tore what was left of her sleeve into a strip and pressed it to Houston’s thigh. He tried and failed to contain his whimpering.

“You’re lucky that thing wasn’t poisoned,” she said, tightening the knot. “Let’s get topside and see if your luck holds out.”

He forced a tired smile. “I may need a hand with the stairs.”

Arik hefted the copper loops, arms trembling subtly from adrenaline. Together they rose, battered but upright, and limped toward the exit—toward tribute, stitches, and whatever the Serpents would demand next.