“Turn around slow, hands up.”

It’s a low, steady voice. Grown up man. I do what the man says. Feel the tremble in my legs coming all up my spine and into my arms.

Hurts my eyes. Can’t see nothing but white. CAn’t see what the other boys are doing.

“Pack of street kids, chief. Ain’t nothing.”

“Clear them out. Make me want to puke.”

Another voice, higher pitch - still a man though, maybe a bit younger.

“Alright then, up and out. This is our turf now. Anyone you meet, you tell them the golf club belongs to the IDM now.”

Isle of Dogs Mob. From the other side of the river. That means war coming. River rats got to get out the way.

“I can’t get my boys out right now.”

“Did it just talk back? Did that rat just talk back to me?”

I see a shadow pacing back and forth, then the light changes, the older man points his light at the ground. Now I can see them. Uptown gangers. Both got guns. Isle of Dogs is a slum too they say, but least they got access to the rich boroughs, riversiders are trapped.

“I had to leave a good party for this, Plot. Light ‘em up. Do ‘em a favour. Kill ‘em all.”

“Mean no disrespect sir, but my boys is sick, need a bit of time to move ‘em is all.” I mumble.

The younger one, all dressed up, uptown style. Designer clobber. Marches up to me and puts his burner so close to my face my cross over and I see two guns converging on the bridge of my nose. I can’t stop the tears coming. The shivering.

“You talked to me. To me. Thought you had permission to talk to me. You think that ain’t disrespect. Virus that you are.”

“Mash! Backup, he’s infected. They all are!”

“You all mixed up, Plot, they are the disease.”

“You ain’t gonna waste bells on scum like us.” Nikair pipes up

Mash starts laughing, mad, hysterical. Maybe he’s on drugs. He bends over, making a big show of it. Keeps it going too long. Everyone just stood there frozen waiting for him to stop.

“Your local clowns can’t afford to waste bullets, but up North we bloody swim in them.”

Then the world goes completely quiet. Then a ringing in my ears. Then Mash, his voice fades in, ranting, fades up slowly to full volume as he moves about, can’t keep still.

“He fired his gun next to your ears. Don’t worry, he didn’t shoot anyone.”

It’s blankie, whispering in my head.

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Then Nikair says “You want workers? We work for you?”

More laughing.

“Oh look, Plot, it’s a job interview!”

“You want to go back to the car? I can finish up here.” Plot talks low and slow.

“I’m having too much fun. Alright boys, you all run out onto the range and we’ll play a little game. The winner gets to apprentice into the Isle of Dogs Mob. Get you some real labels.”

I look at Nikair, see all the stupid hope in his face, all the stupid little swooshes he painted on his clothes. I want to say, he’s lying. But if I say it out loud he might just shoot me.

“We don’t want no cry babies in the IDM though.”

I look at Plot, his eyes are strange, trying to tell me something. Still holding his gun on us. He nods. Telling me to go on with it.

“I’ll run, sir. I’ll play. But leave him, please.”

I point to Ninja, who is awake now, but still busted up pretty bad. And Chips and Mud are sat up staring, not understanding. Northface gets up first.

“We’re gonna play races boys!” I try and make it a game, make it fun.

I think if we run fast enough, maybe we all get clear.

I can hear the whispering deep in my brain box, the strange voice that sounds like a mummy and a computer at the same time. Singing something about rabbits running. Singing something about infinite loops.

And I’m very aware of the tech that these gang boys are carrying. Smart pistols linked to brain implants. Smartphones that actually work, connected to flying machines in space. I can’t see this stuff, just know that it is there.

I can see blankie floating like an angel, just out of reach. He looks sad.

We all line up. Each of us in a little stall, patch of fake grass under our feet, all separated by wood boards. Except most of the wood has been ripped out by scavs. Somehow, this Mash guy has found the only rusted up old golf club that nobody else stole. He has a handful of small shiny metal balls. Not golf balls.

“I’m gonna spin around twenty times, then I’m gonna play some golf. Wait for my gun. Oh and if you head for the fence on the side I’ll shoot you. Got to get to the other side or it’s cheating. If you make it to the river, I’ll give you a job.”

I know that these balls have chips inside. Smart grenades. Half a dozen different wireless protocols. Ain’t me that knows this, it’s blankie. Almost feel like I could reach out and do...something.

It’s too late for thinking.

Run rabbit

Boom.

And we all run.

Running through the ripped up turf of the old driving range. Running so fast nearly lose my feet from under myself. Grass is morning wet. Got to look out for old golf balls, potholes. Weave around a ditch of sand. My lungs are burning. Want to cough.

Hear the maniac laughing while he counts his turns, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...

Hear the thunk of a club hit something heavy.

I can trace the arc of the little bomb in my head, see it coming right for me. I swerve and dive into a sandpit, rolling to a stop.

Boom.

Sand and turf rain down on me.

Nobody screams.

He’s cheating, I think, as I get up. No way he’s that good at golf. Implants.

Then the sound from behind us changes. The whole building echoes with ratatatatatatata. The bombs stop coming. I keep running. Don’t look back. I guess the sitch. Noise brought the Guvnor’s running. Little gang battle. Keep ‘em busy.

I shout “Over the fence boys!”

And we’re alive. All of us, except Ninja, except Pigeon, and we make it over the fence and head down to the river shore. We keep low and head north, it’s a long old loop around the peninsula back to the barge, but nobody comes down to the river except rats.