Shadow Walker

Tommy

Dec was dressed in black. All black. From head to toe black. His cap was too tight and his face-stocking constricted uncomfortably around his neck. The alleyway was still and silent, holding its breath, the brickwork underfoot slowly seeping residue heat from the day. Dec held his breath too, bounced on his toes, checked his palm pod, bounced on his toes some more and swiped a drop of sweat from his brow.

7.28 pm. The sun had set almost half an hour ago. Where was Tommy?

Somewhere in the adjoining neighbourhood, a rusty door hinge screeched, high and eerie like a baby crying. He checked the time again. 7.29 pm. In half-an-hour, changeover would be complete, the limbo quiet of the streets would be filled with Nocturnals coming out of their houses and going to work. If Tommy didn't come soon ...

A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared at the end of the alley—the dark sheen of his skin seeming to swallow the SolStore streetlamps overhead. Dec recognised the top-heavy sway of his gait and released his breath, half out of relief and half annoyance. As Tommy swaggered towards him, Dec couldn't help but notice how his friend had changed in the three short years since they'd graduated school.

They used to call him Tommy Bear because of his wiry curls, pot belly and stoner eyes. He was the class clown, the life of the party, the goof who never took anything seriously, except for how many marshmallows he could cram in his mouth. Now, he rarely smiled. After his lucky escape from the horrors of the March Massacre, he'd taken up kickboxing, shaved his wiry curls to the root, and hadn't talked about his experience to anyone. In his silence, Dec had watched the soft, smiling bear of his friend disappear behind a man of lean, compact muscle, with vengeance in his eyes.

That look was in his black agate gaze now. For a brief moment, Dec wanted to retreat down the alley towards home and curl up in bed for a precious half an hour of extra sleep. But it was too late to back out.

"Where have you been?" he said through gritted teeth.

Tommy dropped the gym bag that was slung over his shoulder. "Thought I had a bot on my tail. Had to take the long way here."

"Shit," Dec said, looking around. "Maybe we shouldn't do this." He paused. "Why are we doing this again?"

"To shake shit up. Make the police's life a misery. Why else?"

"I dunno. I just think, maybe there's a better way we can 'shake shit up'."

"Well, when you come up with a plan, let me know." Tommy withdrew two crowbars from the gym bag and handed one to Dec, followed by two cans of black paint.

Dec stared down at the spray cans. "Jeez. Where did you get these? Did they ID you?"

Tommy glared. "I'm not an idiot. Janet put me on to this guy—"

"Trainer Janet?"

Tommy nodded. "At Smackdown comp last week, she told me about this guy named Lazar. Hangs out at Jupiters on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Said he can get us whatever we need."

"What's his deal?" Dec fingered the can, trying to get a grip on the nozzle between the slip of his wool gloves. "Are you sure we can trust him?" While Janet was Tommy's kickboxing instructor and nice enough—she was also an ex con.

Tommy nodded. "Janet said he's legit. A mastermind actually. He's the leader of this new group called the NYR, or Nocturnal Youth Rights group. They're a new revolutionary party—"

"Like the Bandits?" Dec interrupted.

Tommy scoffed. "Nah, nothing like those dickheads. This is the real deal. They've got money and power. Lazar even gets a say in government. He goes to their fancy parties to negotiate Nocturnal rights. Even got some sick kid daylight rights so he could spend his last days in the sun."