Arte crept to the edge of a wall, carefully peering around the corner then pulling back. He took a moment to settle his breath, then slipped from behind the building and glided to a large metal framed sign board. A faded poster inside offered the promise of luxury living for the responsible citizen.

Arte, clearly the exemplar of such a man, was currently spying on a wild animal no more than a dozen yards away. It had been two days since his run in with the Night Owls and the CPD, and Maribel informed him only a few hours ago the police decided their arrest of the Class B was a case of mistaken identity. In response, he ended his self imposed exile and went out to carry on with his hobby.

Today he opted to visit the other side of Old City, as far as possible from where he was last time. This section was more run down than any other, being both the closest to wilderness, as well as the victim of a great fire several decades prior. Most of the nearby buildings were crumbled into untidy piles, and even the ancient scorch marks were long overgrown by thick layers of vegetation. A short distance away lay an open prairie, concealed by a row of unsightly mounds and ruined structures, as well as a wrought iron fence now filled with creeping vines.

Arte peeked from behind the metal sign, getting a good look at his prey, before ducking in and pulling out his phone. He slowly edged out, carefully aimed his camera, tapped a few times to get his target in focus, then snapped a photo.

He straightened out, bumping the poster board and releasing a rusty crunch, then took a moment to admire his work. The image was of excellent quality, drawing a pleased smile, followed by a few quick swipes to take him to a messaging app. He posted the picture with the caption, “Hey, check out this cool pig I found. It’s HUGE! The pic doesn’t do it justice.”

He slid the phone away, then started a quick set of stretches, but was interrupted by a buzz from his pocket. He pulled the phone back out, looking it over. A message on the screen read, “Warning. Feral Hog. Will Kill And Eat.”

Arte looked up, color draining from his face. He took a circumspect glance around the metal sign, which now contained a boar far more conscious of his presence. It snorted, like a pig which fancied itself a lion, then charged with a terrible squeal. Arte yelped and hurtled himself down the road.

The beast chased him halfway down the street, missing a chomp at his leg by only a few inches before he leapt through an open door. The hog wedged itself into the narrow space though force of impact, and for a few seconds it looked like it might succeed where decades of wear and neglect failed and tear a hole through the wall.

Instead it huffed indignantly, then lurched back onto the sidewalk. Other than making periodic circles on the ground with agitated stomps, it didn’t look much inclined to wander off.

“Well, crud,” Arte said. He spent a few seconds checking himself over, finalizing the sweep by pulling an empty hand from his pocket. “Great… I dropped my phone.” He turned to the pig outside the door, which snorted in response. He sighed and looked around.

The building was in better condition than its neighbors, thanks to a sturdy construction. The inside was still a ruined mess, having been exposed to the elements for decades. The cheap synthetic carpet crumbled to dust long ago, exposing the unfinished concrete beneath. The walls were cracked in several places, in some cases going so far as collapsing to the floor.

Arte himself was located in a central hallway that ran front to back. There were a few doors on either side, most of them destroyed, and a dark path that seemed likely to take him out the other entrance. He took a few tentative steps down it, but quickly encountered an overturned desk jammed halfway out an old office. The steel furniture had been dragged into position by some enterprising scavenger, who lacked the good sense to take it apart first, and now was permanently wedged in place, obstructing the path.

Arte retreated from the barrier, poking his head through each entrance, though there was nothing to discover save a handful of windowless rooms littered with broken crud. He returned to the rear entrance no better than when he started, considering the hog still waited menacingly outside. His last option was to check the rear stairwell.

The door ground open, scraping through splinters of rusted metal and a thin crust of gunk to reveal a long vertical tunnel cluttered with debris. Light filtered through numerous cracks in the wall, giving the space an eery air. Arte started with the upward stairs, but was blocked by a pile of old steel furniture fused into an immovable mound. He frowned, then turned around and tried the lower path.

He reached the basement without issue. The door leading in fell off decades ago, and he hesitated a brief moment before plunging into the pitch depths. He advanced slowly, feeling his way through the hallway one step at a time. Around halfway through he came upon a faint glow cast from a room on the far end of a righthand corridor. He followed the light to an open door, where he paused.

“—wouldn’t take such a drastic action,” said a hushed voice inside. Arte tilted his head, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“They don’t have to actually do it,” said another voice. “They only have to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Not sure I can get them to do that either,” said the first. Arte perked up. “You would not believe the hassle it took to get them out here. The Night Owls are a bunch of wimps.”

Arte stepped into the light and waved. “Oh, Gale, I thought tha—“he was interrupted by a bullet wizzing past his head. Arte froze, eyes darting about in wonder.

Inside the room were Gale and Seig, both wearing fine suits. Gale had a gun in hand, which Seig was forcing towards the ceiling.

“It’s that fucking spy,” Gale said. “We have to get rid of him.”

“He’s a Class B,” Seig said. “And the last thing we need is an ‘association’ poking around Central City.”

Arte looked behind him at the fresh hole in the wall, then back at the two men. “Did… you just shoot at me?”

Seig released Gales hand and said, “Don’t let him run away”—then over to Arte—“and don’t try it if you prefer your legs in one piece.”

“Oh, I remember you,” Arte said. “You’re friends with the angry mustache, right?”

“Is he always this annoying?” Gale said.

“Just keep an eye on him,” Seig said. “I need to make a call.” He pulled out a phone and held it to his ear after a few taps. “Sir, we—yes, I know, this is important. I need someone to disappear. … A Class B. … Exactly. … Alright, ten minutes.” He put the phone away.

“Who was that?” Arte asked.

“Shut up, traitor,” Gale said, then to Seig, “What are we doing with him?”

“Enforcers from Thirteen will bring him to the lake,” Seig said.

Gale frowned in disgust. “Guess it’s fitting, at least. Should I put him down?”

“Not if you can avoid it,” Seig said. “I don’t feel like sanitizing the room, and the less of a trail he leaves the better. Check for any kind of trackers or tech, and keep him quiet.”

“Alright you snake bastard,” Gale said to Arte. “Stand against the wall.”

“My name is Arte, you know, and that’s no way to ask for a favor,” he answered. “Especially a weird one.”

“Never mind,” Gale said. “Shut up.” He put away his gun then pushed Arte face first into a wall. After patting him down, Gale turned him forward and said, “Where’s your phone?”

“Will you make up your mind?”

“Wha—“Gale scowled. “Answer the question!”

Arte shrugged. “I dropped it while being chased by a pig.” When Gale looked at him doubtfully, he added, “It’s probably still up there, if you want to see for yourself.”

“Is every Class B this infuriating, or just you?”

“I don’t know,” Arte said. “What’s a Class B?”

Gale growled, but otherwise remained silent. Instead, he gave Arte an extra frisk for good measure. A few minutes later Seig got a message on his phone. He checked, then motioned to Gale, who marched Arte out the room at gunpoint.

“Am I being kidnapped again?” Arte said as they walked through the hallway. His way was lit by a lantern Gale took from the floor. “Two times in less than a week, what are the odds?”

“Don’t worry,” Gale said. “This will be your last.”

“Oh, good. It’s a pain.”

Gale shook his head. “You are one stupid motherfucker. Guess that’s to be expected, it’s not like we dumped America’s best and brightest. I’m amazed there’s any of you rats left.” Gale pushed him into the stairwell. A minute later they arrived at the main entrance.

They took the front staircase, so the wild hog was nowhere to be found. Instead, a pair of vaguely foreign men were standing nearby, leaning against a beat up old sedan.

“This the guy for the lake?” said one of them. He was Fred, the taller of the two, and de facto leader. “He the lively sort?”

“Nah, the idiot’s too stupid to realize he’s in danger,” Gale said.

“I am?” Arte said.

“See?”

“Wait… should I have run away?”

Gale laughed. “You better tie his arms, the situation’s started penetrating his thick skull.”

The other man, Marty, took a spool of rope from the car and used it to pin Arte’s hands behind his back.

“Stay out of the city,” Seig said. “And don’t return this way when you’re done.”

“Yeah, no shit. Don’t need pigs telling me how to do my job,” Fred said as he forced Arte into the vehicle. Marty jumped into the passenger seat. Fred started the car, and guided it through the tattered streets until he reached an exit onto the dusty interstate. He turned to Arte with a nasty grin and said, “Act nice and I’ll make sure this is painless.”

Arte sighed and settled into his chair. He muttered, “I wonder what Maribel would think.”

Marty scoffed, “That your girlfriend or some shit?”

“She’s my rep at Psa Psa.”

Marty shared a bewildered look with Fred, then shrugged. They continued down the highway, surrounded on both sides by unending grasslands. Only scattered trees and brush broke the monotony. The two men from Thirteen took up a vulgar conversation to pass the time. Neither noticed a faint rumble.

The journey dragged for miles, the distance marked by a few rusted husks and abandoned villages. There were no signs of life, save a handful of wild animals scurrying off the road as they approached. Eventually, they came in view of a vast stretch of water, a great lake spanning the horizon.

Fred turned to Arte with a sneer. “Hey kid, check out your new forever home.” Arte straightened in his seat. “Look Marty, the dumbass finally perked up. You think he figured out he’s about to die.” The pair laughed together.

Arte stared between them. “What’s that?” He motioned with his chin.

“It’s a lake you—“Fred shut up and snapped his eyes forward when a metal figure dropped on the hood with a crunch. It pulled an oversized handgun from its hip and shot out the engine block.

Fred slammed the brakes and skidded to a stop, while the figure floated inches away from the swerving car. Fred drew a gun from his hip the moment they settled, but the figure was too fast. It landed by the driver side and ripped the door off with its bare hands. Fred fumbled with his weapon, trying to turn it on his attacker, but it was yanked from his grip and crushed.

The figure pulled Fred out of his chair and threw him down the embankment, where he tumbled into a heap on the bottom. Marty, meanwhile, regained enough sense to scramble out the passenger seat. The figure didn’t bother hopping over or around the cab, and instead waded through.

The gangster pulled a pistol as he backed away and brought it on target. He popped off two shots, which bounced harmlessly off the figure’s metal skin, and was then thumped in the gut and tossed unceremoniously into the grass.

The figure returned to the car and pried the rear door free, giving them access to Arte. They held out a hand, and with a scratchy electronic voice said, “Come with me if you want to live.”

Arte looked at them and replied, “Am I being kidnapped from my kidnapping?” The figure sagged. “Also, my arms are tied.”

“Whatever,” the figure said. They hoisted Arte onto their shoulders, then took off down the road. “Finally get a chance to use that line….”

“So… what are you doing?” Arte huffed between their bounding strides.

“Give it a minute. I’ll explain when we’re airborne.”

“I hope you aren’t planning to fly away with me on your shoulder.”

Instead of answer, the figure motioned with their free hand. In response, a sleek aircraft dropped from the sky and landed into a hover in front of them. A wide door slid open and they jumped through, landing on the metal floor of a room with matching ceiling and walls. The hatch snapped shut and then they were soaring together into the sky. The figure walked to a panel in the far right corner and tapped, revealing a padded bench, then proceeded to gently deposit Arte on top, freeing his arms in the process.

“Sorry for the sack of potatoes routine,” they said. The figure put their hands to their head and pulled off the helmet, revealing a short haired woman with tan skin and green eyes. “It’s surprisingly difficult to be graceful when lugging someone out of danger.”

Arte had a dumbfounded look plastered on his face.

“Not what you expected?” the woman said with a sly grin. “Name’s Mae, by the way.”

“I thought you were a robot!”

Mae laughed. “Well, to be fair, the suit does most of the work.” She tapped a panel on her wrist a few times, then her armor hissed open with a few clicks and clacks. She stepped out, and the suit collapsed into a tidy package the size of a carryon luggage. She was wearing a form fitting one piece underneath. “I hope you’re not disappointed there’s a pilot.”

“Just surprised when you pulled your head off,” Arte said. “And I suppose when you showed up too. What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I came to rescue you.”

“So… they really were going to kill me?”

Mae softened. “Yes, most likely. Were you frightened?”

Arte looked down. “More confused, to be honest. I’m not doing anything special, so why has everything gotten crazy all of a sudden?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“What? Ah, I mean, no, not really. I’m… a little lost right now. What exactly happened here, and who are you?”

“Like I said, I’m Mae, and I’m a Solver,” she said. “A Solver being someone who, well, solves problems. Often of a martial nature, though I’ve certainly handled my fair share of mountain rescues and island castaways.” She laughed. “I even once rescued a cat from a tree.”

“In power armor?”

“Well, it was a bengal tiger and a redwood, but still. Quite the story, that one.”

Arte smiled.

“Ah, good, you’re perking up. Would you like me to find you a counselor? Situations like this can be very traumatic, and it’s helpful to get on top of that quickly.”

“Why are you here?”

Mae gave him a playful look, but turned serious when she met his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“It’s not like you happened to stumble across me being driven away, so there must be some other reason. What is it?”

“Psa Psa hired me to extricate you from the situation.”

“And how did they know I needed rescuing?”

“If you didn’t contact them, and can’t think of someone who did, then it must have been Cybel.”

“And who is that supposed to be? I’m certain I never met her.”

“I think ‘what’ might be more appropriate, but in any case, Cybel is a kind of computer system. I… am unsure exactly what her purpose is—I’ve heard it different ways—but what she does is provide alerts to associations when a member is in danger.”

“What!” Arte said. “I’m being spied on?”

“Monitored, I’d say.”

“There’s a difference?”

“One of them you sign up for? You match the profile, at least.”

“I… don’t remember doing that.”

“Really?” Mae said. “That’s odd. I don’t think Cybel will do it unless you opted in explicitly. Maybe we can pull up your contract with Psa Psa and see if anything shakes out.”

“My… contract?”

“Yeah, how membership in an association works is written out. It should be available somewhere in your account, though I’m not a member of Psa Psa so we’ll have to poke around.”

Arte patted his pockets, then said, “Is that something I need my phone to get to? Because I don’t have it right now.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure we can log in through any terminal with web access.” She tapped open a couple wall panels, revealing a screen and keyboard as well as another bench across from Arte which she sat on. “This one should do the trick.”

After a few minutes of searching, while Arte learned how to navigate the unfamiliar interface, and some hassle, with Arte confirming his identity without his phone or password, they were able to reach his Psa Psa account. Mae guided him though a few menus, then pointed to a line on the monitor.

“See, ‘Real Time Risk Status Service’ is selected,” she said. “You must have picked it when you signed up. You can even look at the terms of service right there.”

Arte tapped through and scanned the document. “Wait a second…. This… this is how Maribel knew I’d been taken by the CPD, isn’t it?”

“Most likely. It also sends messages to your phone.” Mae laughed. “Usually when you’re doing some damn fool thing you know you shouldn’t.”

“What did you mean by ‘I match the profile’ anyway?”

“Here, back out one level, then tap ‘Do I need this?” and I wager it’ll answer that for you.”

Arte did so, which opened a small questionnaire with the fields already filled in. On it, Arte indicated he was single, friendless, had no available relatives, did not have a dangerous occupation, and would be living in a Yellow Zone. “What’s this mean?” He pointed at the last item.

“A Yellow Zone is an area without many associates, in contrast to a Blue Zone, where most everyone is one. There’s also Red Zones, places in active conflict, but I doubt you’ll be heading to any of them. You can also think of it as federal territory versus associated territory, though that drastically oversimplifies things, in my opinion.”

“There’s that word again,” Arte said. “Federal. Maribel didn’t know what it meant.”

“Maribel? You mean your Psa Psa rep, right?” Mae said, then laughed after Arte nodded. “Yeah, I’ll bet she pretended she didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Association reps are expected to ‘play nice’ with feds, and in particular not to give them the impression we’re ‘hostile’ to them. Everyone acts like federals are dominant military powers, but that hasn’t been true for decades. I say we tell them to piss off, then let them try some of their old world bullshit and see what happens. We could put those fuckers down like—“Mae squeaked and blushed. “Ah… I mean, never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Arte laughed. “Why?”

“I already lost my Tranquil Heart once, and the Council frowns on war talk.”

“Tranquil Heart?”

“Oh, right, you’re basically an outsider, ain’t ya?” Mae said. “It’s a special award for making a habit of solving hard problems without violence.”

“Didn’t you toss someone into a ditch?”

Mae grinned. “I mean, violence relative to the demands of your job.” She chuckled. “Let’s say there’s a reason I’m a Solver now, and if wasn’t a passion for space flight.”

Arte froze, then stuttered, “A-are you implying… you dropped from orbit to rescue me?”

“Sure did!” She beamed. “It’s fun… after your first drop.” She muttered an additional, “Or fifteenth.”

“That’s so cool! What’s it like?”

“Turbulent,” she said with a playful smirk.

“I bet.” Arte settled for a few seconds, then snorted a laugh. “I think we digressed.”

“Well, somebody is awful curious,” Mae said, then looked up. “And, you know, someone else might have gone on an angry tangent when you asked about federals.”

“You do seem to have strong feelings.”

Mae sighed. “I’ve had more experience than most, and my grandfather summed them up best. Federals are larcenous thugs with delusions of grandeur, and their people are a battered spouse cranked up to eleven.”

“That doesn’t sound impartial.”

“It’s charitable. I’ve seen those bastards stand by while cities were ransacked and terrorized, then throw the whole weight of their crooked gang after anyone who complained. So you know what? Fuck ‘em. I won’t pretend for an instant I don’t hate their guts.”

“That sounds rough,” Arte said.

“Ah, sorry.” Mae patted his arm. “I started ranting again.”

“How did you end up spending so much time with them? Do you live in a yellow thing?”

“No.” Mae shrugged. “I’d probably be more evenhanded if I did. I mostly interact with feds as part of my job, usually in the form of rescuing associates with more ambition than wisdom. There’s big money to be made in conflicts between federals, and no shortage of plucky businessmen looking for their take.”

“There are different federals?”

“In name, sure, and some of them are less blatant with their bullshit than others, but I swear to God every last one thinks the world should be their exclusive dominion.”

“Dominion?”

“The ones telling everyone how to live.”

“Sounds like a bother,” Arte said. “It’s hard enough managing my own life.”

Mae laughed. “Anyway, as much as I love teaching my young pup the ways of the world, we have to discuss your future.”

“We do? You’re not taking me home?”

“So I can swoop in to rescue you again? As fun as it sounds, no thanks. They call me a Solver because I solve problems, not prolong them.”

“But I don’t even know what the problem is,” Arte said.

“Just tell me everything that’s happened, and we’ll see what I can figure out.”

Arte and Mae spent some time going over Arte’s last couple of days.

Mae pondered his story a few minutes, then said, “The obvious solution is, ‘Move to a different city.’ You could resettle in any Blue Zone and this would never bother you again.”

“But I like my life where it is.” Arte sighed. “Do I really have to move?”

Mae hemmed and made a vague gesture.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“It… depends,” Mae answered. She pulled a thin tablet from her waist and started poking around.

“What are you checking?”

“I suppose we could have looked in your account”—she motioned to the terminal—“but I want to see if you have High Water.” She continued navigating her device.

“High… Water?”

“As in, ‘Come Hell or High Water.’ Basically, if you have a problem, and you have High Water, your insurance will move heaven and earth, possibly literally, to get your life back the way it was. Most people don’t, because it’s a ridiculous waste of money, but my boss would be pissed if I bullied you into a substitute and I—“she deflated. “Well bugger it all, you do have it.”

“I do?”

She glared at him. “You’re with Psa Psa, right? Which of their rip-off plans are you on, anyway?”

“They’re a rip-off?” Arte yelped.

Mae huffed. “Well, I hate to besmirch everyone’s favorite Psa Psa, but their damn ‘bundles’ always include a bunch of crap no one needs.” She added with a mutter, “Like High Water.”

“S-should I switch?”

She sighed. “It’s not my job to tell you who to do business with, generally, but I sort of want to look at your plan anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh… sure?” Arte motioned to the terminal. Mae switched to his bench, then spent a few seconds scrolling through the menu.

“‘Platinum Deluxe’,” she scoffed, then tapped through to look at its contents. “Might as well call it ‘kitchen sink’,” she muttered. She swiped down a few more times to the price, then jumped from her seat like she brushed a live wire. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Arte looked up in alarm.

“Are you spending your whole fucking salary?”

“N… no?” Arte said. “If I understand everything right, I think it’s only half.”

Mae shook her head. “First, your pay is insane, and second, even a tenth of that would be unthinkable to most people. You could have gone with a much cheaper option, even from Psa Psa.”

“If I had, would they have sent you to rescue me?”

Mae froze, her hand awkwardly hanging with two counts locked in place. “Ah… maybe?” She looked off. “Well, fine, you got me there. Still, what are you doing for a living to support a bill like that?”

“I’m a service technician for AutoChefs.”

“That’s a glorified janitor!” Mae said. “God… suddenly, living in a yellow zone doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I do really like it,” Arte said.

Mae smiled, then sighed. “Alright, I guess it’s settled. I’ll do what I can, but for the record, this will not be easy.”

“I’m still stuck trying to understand what the problem is,” Arte said. “I know we went over everything, but you seemed to understand a lot more than I told.”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think I have the right idea. Do you remember that man with the CPD? The one in the black suit?”

“Yeah, Seig.”

“He’s most likely an Admin for the CSA,” Mae said.

“Which means?”

“Well, CSA stands for ‘Citizen Safety Administration.’ It’s… a merger of a corporation and the federals on this continent, and they operate this thing called the Safe Citizen Program. To be honest, I don’t know exactly what it’s supposed to be, but I do know Admins are the lame federal version of a Solver.”

“If we’re being impartial.”

Mae grinned. “Of course.”

“But why was this Admin guy working with those police guys and the Night Owls? I mean, Seig really wanted me to talk about them, but it looks like he could have asked Gale. Do you think he doesn’t know his friend is in their club?”

Mae laughed. “God, Arte, you are so cute.” Arte blushed, and she continued, “I’m very confident Gale is an Admin too, who infiltrated the Night Owls for the CSA. From what you said about their conversation, it looks like the CSA is planning a terrorist attack, and setting up the Night Owls to take the blame.”

“And a terrorist attack is…?”

“Someone blows something up and kills a bunch of people to scare federals into changing a policy.”

“Didn’t… didn’t you say the CSA was part of the federals? If they wanted to change something couldn’t they, you know, just do it?”

Mae shrugged. “Apparently it’s not that easy.”

“Why?”

She pursed her lips and hummed, then said, “To be clear, I don’t know a whole lot about federal internals, but from what I understand they have a popularity contest to decide who’s in charge. My guess is someone in the CSA, or whatever, wants to empower someone their people won’t like.”

“Are you suggesting someone is willing to kill… to make people like them?”

“More or less,” Mae said.

Arte frowned. “Isn’t that… bad? Shouldn’t we stop them?”

“You are so adorable!” She chuckled and blushed, looking off. “But, I mean, technically, no one is paying me to solve stupid federal problems. If ‘citizens’ don’t like the treatment, they’re welcome to join an association.”

Arte sagged. “So we’re not going to help?”

Mae grinned. “On the other hand, if the attack happens it probably won’t be safe for you to live here ever again. The CSA is bound to dislike the idea of leaving someone alive who knows what they did.”

“You’ll help?”

“I’ll try,” Mae said. “But I can’t make any promises, and even if we pull it off, there’s no guarantee they won’t try again later.”

“Is there someway to prevent that?”

“Frankly, no. Even if we neutralize everyone behind this, there’s no shortage of federals who’ll think exactly the same thing. As long as the system exists this kind of bullshit is possible. And before you ask, no, I can’t destroy the system, and wouldn’t if I could.”

“I… I wasn’t going to ask,” Arte said. “But, out of curiosity, why not?”

“Even if we ignore the backlash, aka, I would be starting a war, it’s not my place to tell people how to live, or what groups they can be a part of.”

Arte sighed. “I wish there was at least something we could do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say there’s nothing.” Her eyes flashed with mischief. “If, during the process of unraveling this little conspiracy, we happen to collect some compelling evidence of the CSA’s plot, well, we could always spread it around a bit, you know?”

“Will that help?”

“A little,” Mae said. “At the very least it should motivate some people to leave the federals and join an association. Enough of that and eventually the feds will be a bunch of jerks in a room bossing themselves around.”

Arte laughed. “Do you have a plan?”

“I have the beginnings of one, but in order to get a handle on this we need information.”

“And how are we going to get that?” Arte asked.

“That’s easy,” Mae said. “We join the Night Owls.”