The Retriever



He was in his mid-thirties but he looked older. 10 years spent as a retriever of runners had caused not one but two ulcers to develop in his stomach. He wore a black suit as required by the agency. A 9mm .40 cal semi-automatic pistol and a badge rested on his belt. The badge gave him the authority to capture runners. Dead or alive it didn’t matter. He had a quota and he was running behind this month.
The rain pounding on his windshield was making it difficult to see. He pulled into the Diner parking lot. The signal from the girl was weak but she was somewhere in the area. He slapped the side the tracking device a couple of times before giving it a big shake. The damn thing never worked right.

The Diner Owner

The young man behind the counter was tall and lean. His dark curly hair handed down from his mother; “God rest her soul”. With a heavy sigh, he wraps the food-stained apron around his waist. He loathed this place: the counter, the stove, the constant smell of grease. The diner and its associated debt belonged to his dead parents; their lives stolen by a drunk driver grieving the loss of his cheating girlfriend as they returned home from a friend’s anniversary part.
Matt considered abandoning the diner and its associated debt to attend college but his younger brother Josh would suffer the consequences. The boy was only 15, and considered property of his parent’s estate. The Office of Financial Affairs could legally tag the boy as a commodity and sell him into slavery to pay off their parent’s debts.  He would not reach the age of independence for three years.

Debt

Debt
Family debt forced mothers and fathers to surrender their children to the state-run Office of Financial affairs. As commodities of the state, children were bought and sold until the age of 18. By law, the collectors could gather children to satisfy unpaid debt using any means necessary.
Her head ached, her eyes swollen from hours of crying. She pleaded her case and promised to sell a kidney but it was too late. She looked through the 8-foot high chain link fence as the guards loaded her son onto the truck. The boy was crying. He begged not to go. She yelled out his name and cried, “I’ll get you back”.

The Travelers

The diner was a temporary stopping place, a safe haven from the torrential downpour outside. The booth made of old wood was cold and drafty but offered a clear view of the road. Exhausted from their journey, her head of brown curls resting on his tired shoulders she whispers, “I love you”.
The waitress brings the weary travelers two glasses of water and a breakfast platter. The young man scratches his stubbly chin and nods in appreciation. He could offer no more. His pockets were empty.
The waitress sighs, “There would be no tip from this table”.

Ghent

The Awakening
My name is Ghent. I remember nothing prior to the time of my awakening; during my first conscious moments, my mind attempted to search for answers. I was not afraid but lost in blankness; there were no images to retrieve, no clue to my predicament. Limited to a space no larger than a casket, movement was minimal; I used my hands to search for a button or a lever that would allow escape from my captivity. While blindly searching the walls, a light above my head began to flash and change in color from red, to yellow, to green. The hatch released allowing external air to rush in; the sudden change in air pressure caused my lungs to take a series of unexpected deep breaths. The inhalation of fresh air was invigorating. I reached out and pushed the hatch aside. My first images of freedom were a metal grey ceiling lined with pipes and recessed lighting. Curious about my surroundings coupled with the desire to flee my confinement I sat up. To my surprise, I was not alone.

A room of strangers, both male and female from various places of origin, we looked at each other uncertain what to say. When words were finally spoken the language unfamiliar but recognizable to all. My first attempts to speak in retrospect were comical. I started and stopped sentences several times in an attempt to fix the malfunction in my brain. The words in my head English but what springs forth from my mouth is not.

I look around nothing is familiar. A placard on the wall suggests we are in a place called Dannick. None of us remembers entering the pods; our minds blank in regards to past events. Attempts to brain storm for answers ineffective; our imaginations run wild with possibilities. We can only speculate as to how, when or why our destinies collided in this place.

Our matching jumpsuits suggest we are members of a group possibly inmates or an elite band of warriors. I prefer to think we are the later or something comparable in respectability. I do not wish to be a criminal.

Collectively we decided to explore our surroundings. I suggest we are on a military vessel or in the deep dark depths of a research facility or possibly a fallout shelter; although a logical reason for being in either of those places is not apparent. I step toward the only door leading out of the room; it slides open. Two armed guards prevent my exit. The guards looked as if they were ready to shoot anyone that stepped out of line. I step away from the door.

Captain Addison enters the room; with all the joy of a proud father and exclaims “Welcome to the Dannick!” He called us recruits and congratulated us on finding our way here. My mind is confused. I try to remember what I have forgotten, to make sense of my circumstance. Captain Addison makes it sound as if we are here by choice. He seems nice enough but I feel as if all is not what it seems. I am a recruit for this vessel but something deep within says I do not belong here.

Character Development: The Graphic Artist

Character Development: The Graphic Artist

She was 15, and a talented graphic artist. The old man was retiring and selling his grocery store. He no longer needed a grocery clerk to clean and stock the shelves. Grateful for three years of honorable service, he labeled her flier as reliable, smart and pretty. She wished he had left off “Pretty”. Pretty attracted the wolves. Her portfolio held tightly in her hands, she prayed her new prospective buyer would have a need for her artistic talent.

The old man paid for a commercial endorsement highlighting her talents as a graphic artist. The ad would run on the large viewing screens three times during the day.

Character Development: The Intern

Character Development: The Intern

He was 19 and nervous. His mom had insisted he wear the suit on his first day of work. Exceptional grades had earned him an internship as a state-processor for the Commodity Trade Convention Center. Armed Security Guards escort two dozen tired, cold and hungry children into the backdoor of the facility. Holding the tag scanner with shaky hands, he confirms each child’s name and number. Feeling awkward and a little guilty, he can’t look the new VEP commodities in the eyes as he marks them for their initial sale price.

A nurse gives the children a once over to insure adequate health and has them dress in standard t-shirts and shorts.

Eating a breakfast biscuit and drinking a beer, the smelly truck driver smiles as he holds his hand out for payment.

Character Development: The Intern

Character Development: The Intern

He was 19 and nervous. His mom had insisted he wear the suit on his first day of work. Exceptional grades had earned him an internship as a state-processor for the Commodity Trade Convention Center. Armed Security Guards escort two dozen tired, cold and hungry children into the backdoor of the facility. Holding the tag scanner with shaky hands, he confirms each child’s name and number. Feeling awkward and a little guilty, he can’t look the new VEP commodities in the eyes as he marks them for their initial sale price.

A nurse gives the children a once over to insure adequate health and has them dress in standard t-shirts and shorts.

Eating a breakfast biscuit and drinking a beer, the smelly truck driver smiles as he holds his hand out for payment.

Character Development: Commodity Trade Convention Center

Character Development: Commodity Trade Convention Center

Neatly dressed in standard commodity t- shirts and shorts, the children from various Vocational Education Programs arrive at the Commodity Trade Convention Center. A State Processor confirms each child has a legitimate working tag number. Categorized by age and reliability rating, guards place the commodities in viewing cells.

The doors to the convention center open at 8am for private viewing. Public access begins at 10am.

Located on wall posters around the convention center is the following disclosure: The commodity tag button on each child should glow green, not yellow. Yellow indicates the commodity is within 6 months of turning 18 and is ineligible for sell or trade status.

Character Development: Commodity Trade Convention Center

Character Development: Commodity Trade Convention Center

Neatly dressed in standard commodity t- shirts and shorts, the children from various Vocational Education Programs arrive at the Commodity Trade Convention Center. A State Processor confirms each child has a legitimate working tag number. Categorized by age and reliability rating, guards place the commodities in viewing cells.

The doors to the convention center open at 8am for private viewing. Public access begins at 10am.

Located on wall posters around the convention center is the following disclosure: The commodity tag button on each child should glow green, not yellow. Yellow indicates the commodity is within 6 months of turning 18 and is ineligible for sell or trade status.