Altered

Chapter 4

4. Equalists

Something is unusual.

Still silence is the first thing that greets me the moment I realize it's morning. While usually around this time there would be the sound of running water or the soft tune of indie music, there is nothing.

Droplets of water drip from my chin the moment a weight drops on to my chest.

An ice pack?

The window is open, with bright white light piercing the usual dimness of a usual Rust household, if you can even call it a household. There is nothing, nothing but radio silence. While usually there would be the soft hum of indie music playing in the background from Fiona's playlist, she's left trails of her disappearance with silence itself.

I immediately search if she's left anything. The homepage of the HD-3X710 flickers on as it recognizes my presence.

"Good morning, user Marcus Oakley. It is 10:23 AM, and the weather is 57 F. You have 3 unread messages, 1 from your favorite contacts," the female computerized voice speaks in the tone I am used to.

I skim past the messages sent to me, and again, I send those random death threats straight to my spam, as usual. They're mostly just random thugs that think a pocket knife and a pair of fists are all I got. I check the other messages and apparently the one from favorite contacts is obviously from Fiona.

I left earlier this morning. Be back by 8ish.

Surprisingly, I can't even bring my legs to walk down the 1st floor and start the day to look for her. Too tired to, rather. There is a tinge of purple on my cheek from where she punched me, but it doesn't swell or show any bumps. Taking a glance at the screen, I notice the date on the calendar, September 28. It's mom's birthday and I didn't anticipate it even days before, I mentally scold myself. I finally gather my will to be a decent son and partner and get myself out of the bed.

Not forgetting to alter my look, I head out of the house, looking around just to see that the streets are a bit emptier than usual. Well, to begin with night is the only time that shows the true population of the Rusts in Portland. During the day, most of them are all scattered in Gem and Diamond areas. Everyone says there are too many Rusts in Portland, but they haven't seen the actual number. The truth is, this is the safest time to go to the Rust area. But today, out of all days, it seems that the Rust area has become the safest place for the day.

Long yellow police lines wrap around the entrance of the station, completely blocking it off from anything else. Two policemen stand on the side, guns ready on their sides with bulletproof vests set to cover their chests. They aren't as protective as the ones soldiers have, but it's still odd to see in a regular day— unless it's not. What's going on in those few hours I'm gone?

I notice their every movement— their gazes sharpen, hands twitching to raise the gun. "Show your ID and state your business," one of them commands as I show them my arm along with the iron bangle dangling on it. One of them pulls my wrist, making sure the chip inside the ID is readable. In one swift motion, one of the police's eyes gleam blue, zeroes and ones forming an endless chain slightly visible on his eye. For a second I begin to think if my ID is questionable in any sense, but they barely skim through it and clips the chip back into the bangle. I drop my arm around my sides.

So it seems like the name Hawk only circulates around the world of thugs.

"Marcus Oakley, Portland citizen belonging with the Rusts, currently unemployed,..." he drones on, practically reading my existence off my ID. "So, which area are you headed to? And state your business," he says. At this point this police sounds more like an interviewer rather than a police.