Seattle
–  near Terminal City

In the dim light of the predawn, four men wearing bomber jackets
emblazoned with �Portland Freedom Fighters� stalked the alleys near
Terminal City. They had the carriage of high school football stars:
clean-cut, athletic, confident. They were young enough that their glory
days were not far behind them, so they roamed the alleys looking like
they owned the world.

�Man,
we gotta get rid of these transgenics,�
one of the Freedom Fighters said as he turned to his companions. �They�re
a threat to everything this country stands for.�

�Great
idea coming up here to help the cause, Joe,� one of the others piped
up.�

�I
heard they only come out at night �cause they�re too ashamed to show
their faces in the light of day.�

�No
surprise to me, Mike, given the faces some of them have to live with.
We�re doing them a favor, ending their miserable lives,� the fourth
Freedom Fighter added.

�Just
keep your eyes open, all three of you,� Joe said sharply. �It�s almost
dawn. They�ll be heading back toward Terminal City now.�

They
turned a corner and saw a lone figure walking briskly down the alley.
He had a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead and the collar
of his jacket turned up against the cold. The Freedom Fighters nudged
each other and ran down the alley, pulling chains and lead pipes out
of their jackets. They quickly surrounded the man, who stopped in his
tracks, eyeing them warily.

�Morning.�
Joe looked at the man suspiciously. �Where you headed?� he demanded,
shoving his face into the man�s.

�Work��
the man replied, nodding down the alley. �I start at six.� His eyes
darted back and forth, looking for a means of escape.

�Not
heading to Terminal City, are you? Maybe you�re one of those transgenics,�
Joe accused with unmistakable menace.

�N-n-n-no,�
the man stammered tremulously.

�You
sure?� Joe grabbed his target�s arm and twisted it behind his back.

�I�m
not a transgenic, man!� the man shouted in pain and terror.

�Check
for a barcode,� Mike offered.

Joe
shoved the man�s head forward and yanked down the collar of his jacket.
Mike peered at the man�s neck.

�No
barcode,� he said, his voice beginning to reveal some doubt.

�Doesn�t
prove a thing,� Joe snarled, yanking the man�s head up by the hair.
�They can laser them off anytime. I say he�s a transgenic,� he insisted,
shoving the man into the center of their group. The Freedom Fighters
closed in once again, their eyes aflame with hatred.

Just
as Joe was about to land the first blow, a figure dropped onto the dumpster
beside them with a loud clang. Their prey momentarily forgotten, the
four Freedom Fighters turned toward the dumpster to discover a young
woman with long, dark hair staring down at them.

�He�s
no transgenic,� she nodded at their intended victim, �but I am.� She
slowly turned her back to them and swept her long hair away, revealing
a barcode at the nape of her neck.

�Hey,
you�re that gir�� Mike shouted in astonishment, but was cut off as Max
jumped from the dumpster into the center of the circle.

�Go,�
she said to the man, who just stood there, staring at her in stunned
silence.

�Go!�
she repeated more emphatically. The man began to back away slowly, his
eyes darting from his accusers to the woman. He backpedaled more rapidly,
fear and momentum driving his legs out of control and sending him sprawling
onto the pavement. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet and ran for his
life down the alley.

Before
the man had even turned the corner, Max attacked Joe with blinding speed.
She wrenched the pipe out of his hand and shoved him into Mike, sending
them both sprawling. Then, without skipping a beat, she launched herself
into the air with a scissor kick that landed squarely in the faces of
the other two Freedom Fighters. They both hit the ground, their noses
bloody and broken.

�Portland
Freedom Fighters,� Max spat out with disgust. �You�d better head back
where you came from, because if I catch wind of you ever being in Seattle
again, you�ll be nursing a lot more than a couple of broken noses.�

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