“The State will never be less-interested in following you, of course, but it isn’t ‘The State’ that’s following you—it’s their little crony dipshits doing it. And they would much rather be doing anything else. If those cronies know that they aren’t going to get a reward for ‘catching you in the act’, and you haven’t pissed them off enough for them to lie, they will just chock it up to ‘making easy money following some dumbass around.’ Most people would much rather do nothing for a living; but at the end of the day, if you have to work, it’s much better to do very little than to do a lot. That’s how most of these people feel. The easier the money you are for them, the more they will sympathize with you—so to speak.
“You can also throw them a bone or two, by dropping a piece of paper at, say, a money-machine or something. They will have to walk over and take that piece of paper. If you put something on that paper that is worth reporting, but won’t dime you out in any way—like, a love note to a fake secret lover—they will have accomplished something that day and might leave you alone. It’s also a way to confirm who’s following you and control future interactions. Hell, I’ve even heard that leaving personal information (like ‘Dear Diary’ letters) or bribes (accidentally forgetting money) can humanize you further to them.”
“But what if you do have to lose them?” Lena asked.
“That’s called ‘Breaking the Box’. The easiest way is to get on a bus, and then get right off, or just ride the bus for a few hours. They’ll eventually have to get off. That’s a choke point: where you force them to take a one-way direction. Sort of like standing at a cross-walk and not hitting the button, walking across a bicycle bridge, or sitting at a bus stop and not taking the bus. They have to hit the button, or go a separate direction. They have to continue across the bridge, or go a separate direction. The have to get on the bus, or go somewhere else. Otherwise they’ll be found out.
“If you need to lose them faster than that, you can use a force- past. That’s where you walk inside of a building, and wait on the other side of the door. Once they enter, they have to continue on, and you just walk right out… you forced them to pass you.”
“Yeah, but I mean, what if they are chasing you?” Lena asked fearfully. “Like, they are fully intent on arresting you?”
“Well, if you can, you have to figure out if they are willing to take you in broad daylight, or if they are wanting to take you in private. If it’s in private, then you just have to lose them in public and get to a safe house. That’s pretty easy… you just lose them in a crowd of people. Reversing direction is the golden ticket.
“But if they are willing to take you in public, you have to lose them immediately. It’s hard to do, but the best way is to just stop running altogether. People who run leave trails in their wake—splits in the crowd where they ran through, onlookers gawking in the direction you ran—the best thing to do is to stop running, change your hat or jacket, and blend into the crowd. If you do it right, no one will suspect a thing. If you do change your outfit, though, try and change your backpack and shoes—those are the hardest things to change, so no one ever does.
“You can also just hide. Just hide anywhere in public, really—behind a staircase, in a garbage can or whatnot. Police don’t have the time to search every nook and cranny when they think you are running.”
“That works?” Lena asked.
“So far it has,” Vivika said dourly. “Then again, they haven’t come for me yet, so I don’t know for sure.”
“Are you afraid that they might?”
“Honestly,” Vivika sighed, “I’m worried about the both of us now. You and I both know too much at this point… there’s no way we’re getting across the wall unless your grandfather wants us to. And if he wants us dead, there’s nothing saving us.”
“He wouldn’t do that!” Lena said. “Grandfather is a good man! Trust me: he’s looking out for us.”
“That’s what he wants you to think.” Vivika said knowingly. “But you know how these people are. They have no loyalty to either one of us. The second we stop being useful, we’ll die screaming in a black cell.”
“No, you don’t understand!” Lena said excitedly. “Yes, all of the others are like that. But Grandfather… he’s different. He does his job, but he does it in, you know, a certain way. He has had plenty of reasons and opportunities to not look out for me, but he always has. He cares for me, and I know he cares for you too.”
“Why would he? Why would he care for me? He’s just an HVA case officer. He has no reason to look out for me.”
“I beg to differ. He has every reason.”
“Name one?” Vivika said, with a distrustful tone.
“Let me tell you something. Grandfather knows how to do his job and not hurt people in the process. He looks out for young people, and he especially looks out for women. I know him. He believes in socialism, but only because he believes in community. He works for the HVA because he feels that it’s the best way for him to strengthen that community—next to directly protecting its members, that is. He may not know you personally, but you are a ‘young person’. To him, that’s enough of a reason to look out for you.
“I also know this because Grandfather likes punk rock more than you and I ever will. He knows the music and he knows the stories. But more importantly, he ‘gets’ the message. Grandfather stands for something, and that something includes you and I—if for no other reason than we’re punks just like him.”
“You really think we’re going to make it out of this alive?” Vivika asked.
“I don’t know.” Lena answered honestly. “But I know this for sure: if we die, it won’t be because of our Grandfather. And if we do die, at least we’ll die together, not having any secrets between us.”
“I am so sorry, Mister Collins,” Matt York said. “I am so sorry I’ve put you in this position.”
The audio recording blared out of the small handheld speaker and the sounds it was making were reprehensible. The snarling voice of Patrick cut through with terrible insults aimed at a female voice begging for mercy. “You’re hurting me!” The voice screamed so piteously, “Please Patrick, stop!!!” Matt wanted to hunt him down. He wanted to hunt down the repulsive wretch and slit his throat wide open.
Mr. Collins didn’t respond. He simply sat in the booth listening and staring out of the side of the bus. He was furious, and he had a right to be. Things weren’t going as planned, and it was all Matt’s fault. Worse, he knew the onus of fixing it would have to be on his case officer. This wasn’t something that Matt was capable of working out or even helping with. He was too close, and had acted too rashly, keeping his continued involvement with her a secret. Patrick had something over him now; something that he would have never known about if Matt had just left well enough alone.
“I told you to stay away from her.” Mr. Collins said, matter-of-factly. “You realize now why I told you to?”
“Yes, Mister Collins. I realize that.”
“I don’t think you do, Matt. This is the reason I split you two up… and the reason why we have the policies we do.”
“Yes, Mister Collins.”