The Equipped

I was eight when the Brass was formed. They used to protect us from the gangs. Now they’ve become the worst gang around.

It all started with a breakthrough in prosthetics. About a decade ago, some eccentric engineer had the idea to upgrade robotic limbs, giving the beneficiaries powers above and beyond the average human. His test subjects suddenly found themselves with titanium arms capable of anything from crushing apples to playing Mozart, or with reinforced steel lower limbs with protractible roller blades. The possibilities were endless.

The idea caught fire. It wasn’t long before businesses the world over started equipping every ordinary Joe who had a bit of money in his pocket with high-tech appendages. For the meager cost of a few thousand dollars and one or two body parts, you could transform yourself from ordinary to extraordinary.

Things soon began to get out of hand. New gangs formed. Crime rates skyrocketed. Governments intervened, making these new upgraded prosthetics—Equipment, as they became known—illegal, but that only fanned the flames. Black markets stepped in, selling more dangerous Equipment to shadier people. Robberies and gang wars became rampant.

That’s when the Brass Force was formed. A police initiative to restore the peace, the Brass Force was composed of heavily Equipped, highly trained officers who could stand up to even the worst of gangs. For a while it worked. Crime rates steadily declined as criminals tucked in their tails and ran. The Brass became the undisputed kings of the streets.

I guess all that power must have gone to their heads.

My name is Charles. I’m 16 years old, but I live alone. My parents died a few years ago; they were casualties of one of the Brass Force’s frequent blind rampages. Every so often, they’ll just start blasting everything in sight for the sake of it. I'm still terrified whenever I feel my apartment start shaking.

My parents left me some money, but I still had to drop out of school to get a job. In any case, the school building ended up being razed to the ground just a few months after I left, courtesy of the Brass. At least it was on a weekend. Now I run a small electronics repair shop from my apartment, which makes enough for me to scrape by.

Today I have no clients, so I’m free to do as I please. Not that there’s much to do. With the streets teeming with Brass, I prefer not to leave the house unless absolutely necessary.

I drag myself out of bed and go brush my teeth next to the bathroom mirror. A brown-haired boy stares back in my reflection, one of his eyes a soft hazel, the other startlingly blue. As I look around the room, my left eye picks up on details that no ordinary person would notice, such as microscopic cracks in the mirror and minute knots in the wooden floor.

I was born with an empty socket where my left eye should have been. When my parents bought my eye at a pawn shop shortly before they died, neither the shopkeeper nor they had any idea it was anything more than a regular prosthetic. The plan was to have it implanted when I became of age at sixteen. Honoring my parents’ wish, I paid for the implant two months ago. The procedure was costly, however. To afford it, I was forced to sell a precious keepsake that was left to me by my parents: a golden, heart-shaped locket. Remember that. It'll come up later.

Anyway, once I recovered from the surgery, I realized I hadn’t been implanted with a simple prosthetic eye; I had been Equipped.

After brushing my teeth, I have my eye render a holographic screen with a list of chores to be done. The first item on the list is something I’ve been putting off for years: clearing out my parents’ old room. With a sigh, I decide to get it over with.

I open the bedroom door and my eye immediately scans the room, giving me an estimate of how long the task will take. Then I notice something: an envelope on their bedside table—and it's addressed to me. I walk across the room and pick up the letter with trembling hands. Before I can open it, I hear a disturbance outside my apartment. I pocket the letter and exit the bedroom.

My eye picks up two heat sources moving up the stairs toward my place. By their heat signatures, I can tell that they’re Brass. Only their torsos and heads reveal themselves to my eye’s heat vision, since like all Brass, their arms and legs are Equipped.

My heart starts pounding, but I tell myself that they probably don’t mean to harm me. Just in case, I move toward the light switch on the wall adjacent to the door. One of the Brass walks up to my door and, instead of knocking, punches straight through it. I flinch at the unexpected show of aggression. His metallic hand unlocks and opens my door from the inside, and the two Brass stroll into my apartment.

“Charles Theodore Mackle,” one of them says, sounding almost bored. “You are in possession of illegal Equipment. Come with us.”

When I don’t respond, they begin advancing toward me. With their massive Equipment, they both stand close to seven feet tall. I’m shaking, but I hold my ground. As they close in, I turn off the lights.

My place has no windows, and the three of us are plunged into complete darkness. Both Brass grunt with surprise and reach blindly for me. I duck under them with ease, my enhanced vision unaffected by the dark. I sneak out the front door as quickly as I can and bolt down the stairs. As I reach the ground floor, I see them exit my apartment above. I escape through the front door before they spot me.

I emerge onto a downtown street and take in the scene in front of me. As always, the city lights and car horns disorient me for a moment. Once I regain my bearings, I notice that quite a few citizens are being rounded up by the Brass. Some are even being dragged from their homes. Those who try to resist are swiftly subdued by the Brass and cuffed.

My eye picks up on a pattern: every person being taken into custody is Equipped. The Unequipped majority is being left alone. The Brass seem to be making a move on every Equipped person in the city. Maybe they finally decided we pose too much of a threat. Whatever the reason, I pull my old eyepatch from my pocket and put it on. I always carry it with me so I can avoid attracting undue attention in the streets. After all, eye Equipment is so rare that it's almost unheard of.

I head for my best friend’s house at a run. His name is Max, and he’s the only person I kept in touch with from school after I dropped out. Tall with long black hair, he reminds me of Edward Scissor-Hands, except it’s his feet that are Equipped. I’m worried the Brass might be after him too.

I keep running through the city. I pass by many Brass officers, but they ignore me since I have no visible sign of Equipment. I bank left through an alley and make it to Max’s street. Just as I feared, three Brass are heading into his house half a block away. I accelerate to a sprint and arrive in time to see them leaving the house, one of them carrying a struggling Max. His mom follows them outside, begging them to give her son back. One of the officers strikes her across the face. She falls unconscious to the ground.

Max yells in fury. He kicks the nearest Brass in the chest with both of his Equipped feet, activating their propulsion mechanism at the same time. The Brass whom Max kicked manages to keep his footing, but the one holding him stumbles to the ground. Max disentangles himself from his captor and tries to run, but the other two Brass block his way.

None of them have noticed me yet. I pick up a discarded wooden chair on the lawn next door and sneak up behind the nearest Brass. Max spots me and his eyes widen in surprise. Seeing this, the Brass turns toward me, but not fast enough. Before he can even shout, I whack him hard across the head. He crumples to the ground.

The other two turn to face me.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” one of them says chidingly.

The other one just laughs. “Go easy on the brat, Roy. Look, he’s not even Equipped.”

I take off my eyepatch. The nearest Brass frowns. I yell and run at him with the chair, swinging madly. He easily blocks my attacks with his arms, then knocks the chair out of my hands.

“You’ve got spunk, kid,” he says. “But now it’s my turn.”

He swings a titanium fist at me. Somehow, I see his punch’s trajectory before it happens. I duck. His other arm swings, and I dodge to the right. Frustrated, the Brass charges at me, but I anticipate his movements and roll out of the way. I land next to the chair and pick it back up.

The Brass growls. “And what do you hope to accomplish with that piece of junk?”

I run at him and feint an attack to his right. Once again, my eye is able to calculate his movements. As he starts to bring his arms up to defend, I spin on my heel and strike at his left side instead. I connect, and the Brass clutches at his side. I hit him hard again before he can recover, and he falls unconscious as well.

Panting now, I stare determinedly at the last Brass officer. He points at me, and blasters extend from either side of his forearm.

“Don’t try anything funny, now,” he says.

I drop my chair and put my hands up. “I won’t,” I say.

Behind him, Max propels himself into the air and kicks the officer on the head with a reinforced metal boot. He collapses to the ground.

Max looks up at me. “Cool moves,” he says, hovering next to the defeated officer.

“Not too bad, yourself,” I say, walking toward him.

Max and I clasp hands, grinning at each other. We know that we’re fugitives now, and that we won’t be safe for a long time, but at the moment, we’re too full of adrenaline to care.

After resting Max’s mom in her bed, we head to our favorite hiding spot: the wreckage of our old school. Max is wearing some snow boots he found at his place to disguise his Equipment. Thankfully, none of the Brass we encounter along the way stop to wonder why anyone would wear boots like those in the summer.

We make it to the school ruins and take a seat on a large piece of rubble. I pull out my parents’ letter. Max looks at me questioningly, and I fill him in on how I found it.

“Go on, then,” he encourages. “Open it.”

I open the envelope delicately. A note falls out. It reads:

Charles,

The Brass is onto us. Your mother and I are in grave danger. If you are reading this, I fear the worst has already come to pass. Just know that no matter what, we will always love you.

In the event of our death, we will have left you a locket. Open it. It has all the answers you will need. It contains the truth about the government and the Brass Force.

Above all else, make sure you keep the contents of the locket safe.

Love always,

Your father

I stare dumbstruck at the letter. The locket. The one I gave in exchange for my eye. What have I done?

“What is it?” Max asks, looking concerned.

I lock eyes with him and say, “We have a locket to find.”