Remote

Wren

Wren

Wren ran her fingers over the rocks as she always did, enjoying the prick of the rough surface as she made her way up and out of her home in the depths of the mountain. Her gray and khaki clothing blended into the background as she materialized from the mountain façade, a ghost in the shadows.

At five feet, six inches, her slim frame easily slid in and out of the fissures. Her dark hair and olive complexion did well to hide her in the shadows. Only her eyes drew attention, the color of leaves in the winter, a collage of browns glinting off the little light offered by the night sky.

"Clear here. Ready to get this raid rolling," she said into the headset, maneuvering along the hidden steps.

"You're the only person who happily goes into New State," a static voice replied.

"For the cause," someone whispered into the headsets for all to hear.

"For the cause," came a reply from the raiders.

She chuckled to herself as sure steps brought her off the mountain and onto the barren landscape. Wren took a moment to examine the February sky and consider her job as a raider. She rarely viewed the sun, so even the glimpse of the half-hidden moon brought her intense joy. Cloud cover also worked to her advantage. Raiding New State took skill and effort. Darkness added to her stealth.

Raiders were vital to the survival of her community. Few luxuries found their way to the underground caves where she lived, and even basic provisions like food and medicines had to be commandeered. "If you want it, you'll have to find a way to get it," her father had told her from a young age.

She approached the small group of raiders, all of whom had exited the mountain range separately for safety and listened to the whispered arguments about the best picking in New State.

Wren didn't join the debate, her thoughts still consumed by the tense conversation she had before leaving to join the raid. One of the Grounder leaders, who just happened to be her father, cornered her on the way out.

"Wren, I got a complaint from your commander. You need to follow the rules as written for the Raiders. It's the only reason your mother and I let you join the group."

The raiders were part of the Grounder military. It was their job to sneak into New State and liberate the city of anything that might be of value to the growing population buried in the mountain.

"I need to explore New State and go where others don't. How else are we going to understand and defeat them?"

"We have other ways," her father said.

"Excuse me, Head of State Rafe, but why?" His expression soured after she used his first name. "My searches lead to the best discoveries."

"I won't care what you find if you end up dead. Promise."

Silence blossomed between them. "Fine."

She had no plans to keep her promise. It was one reason Wren worked alone, and to the members of the raiding team that was okay if she brought back items of use, returned on time, and didn't get caught. Wren often retrieved clothes, food, medical supplies, and the newest technology. The group could thank her for the headsets they now wore. Much better than the hand signals used prior.

"Down!" The commander's voice pierced her earpiece and shook her from her reverie.

Without hesitating, Wren threw herself into the sand, arms over her head for the little protection they provided. She listened for the hum. A soft whine filled the darkness. Her heart palpitated with fear as she waited, long seconds slow to tick by.

Cyborgs, nicknamed Hell's Phantoms, flew above. Phantoms were sprung from the darkest of night terrors. They were a horrifying combination of ruined human features morphed with the deadliest of New State technology.

It might have been minutes but it felt like she'd relinquished lifetimes before the "All clear," came from command. Dusting the sand off her face, she stood and stared into the muted darkness. New State Phantoms patrolled the skies to eradicate the rebels, but the Grounders stayed safely buried in their city born of caves.

Raiders slipped in and out of the darkness around her, their movements silent. Wren padded alongside the others toward the bright city lights. Nerves on edge, a long, dark hike waited for her. She twirled her baton, searching the sky for any indications of Phantoms. The raid heightened her awareness of the inky black sky and quiet surroundings. Even the bugs had gone to bed, making every step toward New State ominous.

"I heard Tong was assassinated by his number two at the United Community," Zander, a lanky, twenty-something said.

"One less commander to worry about." Wren's hushed words rose in the wind. A camaraderie had been born of long training sessions; cold nights trudging through darkness; and their desire to screw New State, a grand and industrial city ruled by the United Community.

After the Decimation, a group of dictators seized control and formed a global community, with New State at the center of the power. Citizens lived in wealth and excess. The Grounders wanted only to survive, but the New State leaders had other thoughts for them.

Dust clotted like blood on Wren's black boots by the time she reached the great gate surrounding the city. The gate had been constructed over many generations. The entrance was built of stone and wood laced with electrified barbed wire. Guards stood at attention during the day and cameras recorded everyone who entered and exited 24/7. Her group avoided this entrance, preferring less guarded areas sewn together with chain links and electrified wires.

Wren slipped away from the raiding party after silently signaling her leader, heading west. Long minutes later, surrounded only by lonely silence, she pushed back the shrubs and debris that hid her entry, crawled under the barbed wall, and out of the darkness. She blinked several times once she emerged. The contrast between New State and the wasteland outside the barrier played with Wren's acute senses, honed by years of living below.

Only Wren moved along the bright, deserted road. She could thank the curfew enacted at eight bells for her free reign. No one who lived in New State was allowed out at night, not that anyone wanted to be unplugged. Technology gave residents the extreme excitement and glamor they longed for. New State citizens hooked up to machine-made virtual realities at eight bells to live out their fantasies. All their fantasies, with nothing considered too extreme or perverse.

To defy a curfew or disobey New State laws meant incarceration or worse—the Phantom Program. That left a mostly empty cityscape ripe for Wren and the other raiders to pick through if Phantoms could be avoided. Raiders found it easy to take advantage of the residents' coma-like existence to help the Grounders, and some lined their own pockets as well.

She scanned the streets, moving through the shadows, shifting a large pack from one shoulder to the other. Pristine housing pods had been fabricated on small tracts of land, perfectly aligned. No garbage littered alleyways, no rundown storefronts or graffiti. No homeless people lounged on the corners begging for money. All that had disappeared when New State emerged years ago. And while Wren had never witnessed the old world, she had grown up listening to her father's stories.

Wren made her way along the sidewalk's edge. Nighttime hook ups, where New State citizens interacted any way they wanted with anyone they wanted, had cured New State of crime. Citizens' alternate life online could get as crazy as they wanted, as long as they remained docile as lambs during the day. A limited police force was required, but Phantom cyborgs flew overhead to ensure people didn't break curfew.

If a Phantom patrol spotted her, death would follow.