Carl eyed himself in the mirror, looking between his damp hair and his clean shaven face. He rocked back and forth on his feet, something his father often complained about him doing. Their house was old, so each and every movement Carl made Rick, his father, could hear. Carl combed his fingers through his hair, halting his movements against the creaking floorboards. His jeans hung low on his hips but squeezed his legs. The shirt he wore was one of his fathers. It was too big, thin, white t-shirt that had been a part of Rick’s uniform until Carl stole it for himself.
After one last glance into the mirror, Carl turned away and picked up his new leather jacket. When he wrapped it around himself, he sighed, allowing the old Carl to become the new one. Old Carl was known as the nerd who read too many comics, had one friend, and was the loser whose dad was the sheriff. New Carl was someone who snuck out of his room at midnight or one to meet up with his boyfriend, he was strong and desirable, and tonight, he would also become one of them. An Anarchist.
Before they were titled as The Anarchist’s they were known as the King County Killers. The war between gangsters and government started when Carl was twelve years old. Several men who worked at his school or on his soccer team were found dead. After their deaths, many came forward about sexual assault, rape, and molestation. Despite them killing bad people the King County police force put all their effort into finding the gang and putting them in prison.
When the war began the leader was named Simon. He died at thirty-nine in a driveby shooting from a rival gang, and rumor had it that he died with money in one hand, a knife in the other, and a cigarette still burning between his lips when he was found. Now, at eighteen, the new leader was a man with slicked back hair and a Chesire cat smile. Negan. Negan was Simon’s right hand man until he died then at nineteen Negan took the gang over and has stayed alive for six years. His reign as the leader was one of the longest between gangs in the area.
There had still been losses, though. Anarchists dying or ending up in jail with sentences impossible to live through. Shane, Carl’s father's best friend, was one of the cops who killed one. His name was Dwight and he had a nasty burn on his face from a fight. The scar was the only way his wife was able to identify him. Dwight's body showed obvious signs of overkill, twenty three bullets inside him and five that went through him or grazed his skin. Shane caught Dwight following one of their next victims and attacked him, beating him then shooting him until he was out of ammo. Shane was proud of himself, but Rick wasn't. Rick hated the gang as much as everyone else, but he didn't believe in murdering them.
And as Carl grew up, he hated the gang too. They were nothing but bad news. Their kills focused mainly on people who deserved it along with other gang members in the area who abused their power or had a deal fall through. Every once in a while an innocent person would get caught in the crossfire. Carl lost one of his teachers in a drive by shooting and then he lost a friend whose father was in a different gang and got killed. Carl swore to stay away from the gang until he was seventeen and went to a pool hall.
Carl's friend Enid was a year older than him and worked at a pool hall Rick always told him was bad news. People were fucking on the pool tables while others played games around them. Women snorted coke off of the pool sticks and men praised them for it. The first night Carl went he was filled with a horrific anxiety he had never felt, but also filled with a disgusting curiosity. In his father's clean cut town, a town that was defined by suburbia, this place excited. Drugs and sex and booze. So Carl came back.
He came back and he drank and he did any drug offered and then... then he met him. He stood almost as tall as the door, a dark leather jacket wrapped around his arms and caught in the smoke filled, dull lighting of the pool hall. The entire room fell quiet, each person's eyes landing on him. His boots drug across the ash covered floor while he was bobbing his head to the too loud music blaring throughout the enclosed space. People stared, including Carl. Some looked fearful, but Carl was entranced. Several people followed him, all dawning the same shit eating grin and leather jacket.
