Multicolored lights strobe and bounce off the disco ball hanging in the center of the blacked-out room. Beats pulse in the air. Men and women wearing short, flashy outfits dance around to it. Some partiers are sober, but most are drunk off the not-so-mini bar tucked away in a corner. With the rainbow of elixirs offered, how could the young adults and punk teens resist?
The party room is packed with people, laughter, dance, and drunk antics - perfect cover to seal his movements. After he scaled the stilts the dock house rests on and edged his way along the shadowy side of it, he watches the scene through an open window. If it wasn't for the filters he placed in his mask, he's sure the alcohol smell would choke him out. But he can keep his breaths clean and steady as he spots each target in their places.
Before crawling through the window, he waits for the strobe lights to replace the laser lights. A group of people see him come through. A quake tickles his chest until the people laugh.
"Wish I'd thought to come through that way!" one guy says.
Shard laughs with the rest of the group to match their vibe and ease his own tension. These people are so drunk they don't add together his odd entrance and slightly misfitting appearance. The strobe lights help, too.
The group invites him to dance with them. He accepts. Dancing with the drunks provides him cover from hired, sober eyes. Shard gradually leads the drunk dancing group to the center of the dance floor. Strobe lights then help hide him removing the safety from his revolver.
Laser lights replace the strobe lights. Shots rise above the party spirits. The music screeches to a stop. Disco ball pieces rain on the partiers. Pieces fall like glitter in his white-colored hair. His unmistakable chrome-covered jacket reflects the multicolored lights. Partiers face the source of the shots. Jaws agape and rounded eyes tell him they know exactly who he is. Shard smirks from under the former place of the disco ball.
Partiers flee as guards armed with laser pistols charge him. He lets out a chuckle as he casually activates a small EMP in his jacket pocket. The pistols, lights, and everything else electrically powered shuts down. In the light of glowsticks, guards and partiers rush the exits, but the exits open on them.
Shard's heavily armed Chromies, dressed in camouflage and an array of filtered masks, herd the partiers at gunpoint to the dance floor while Shard struts his way up to the makeshift stage where the DJ once was. The dock house is under his control.
He picks a microphone up from the ground. Tapping it, he examines it. No sound comes out, and he chucks it across the stage. He shouts for everyone to shut up. Despite the black cloth, surgical-like mask over his face, his voice carries over the crowd's nervous murmurs. The crowd hushes.
"Now that y'all have shut up, I can explain the meanin' of all this," he says. "First off, I'd like to thank all y'all's stupidity of posting and sending messages through the Net about this little underground get-together of politicians' brats. Haven't your parents ever told you not to do that?"
Guilty expressions flicker in the crowd.
"That's what I thought," Shard says. "Now, since y'all were so good at organizing this get-together, my Chromies and I were able to well organize our party crashing as well. So, what's gonna happen is a select of you will go off with individual..." Shard twirls his hand next to his head. "...handlers and be spending lots of time with us at our cozy Chromy home until your parents meet our demands or don't."
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Nervous murmurs rise again. Shard silences them with shots in the air.
"Y'all are just as talkative as your parents. Now, be quiet and wait patiently for your handlers before Squad get here, and then, we'd have to kill you all. Something none of us want, I'm certain."
Silence freezes over the room.
"Good listening skills. Now, let's get our brats of interest."
More Chromies armed with old-fashioned firearms, handcuffs, and an extra filtered mask on their belts hurriedly enter the room. When all men get in in an orderly line stretching across the stage, Shard nods and the first man in line steps forward.
"Mindy Winters," the man says.
A girl with platinum gold hair and shimmering eyes squeezes a girl's hand next to her before stiffly making her way through the crowd. Chromies prod Winters along with guns until she reaches the stage. She approaches the man who called her name. With fire in her eyes, she stares straight into his. He snatches her wrist with her DigiWattch on it and removes the watch. The man tosses it to Shard. Shard rips the battery out of the watch and tosses the battery. He puts the watch in his jacket.
The man who grabbed Mindy cuffs her. Mindy continues to glare at him.
Shoving her head, the man says, "Watch those eyes, slut." The man steps back in line with Mindy in front of him.
Her lip snarls, brow furrows, and eyes, glued to the floor, gloss over.
Shard’s jaw stiffens. His eyes stay sharp on her as he knows the fire this girl has can easily explode and cause him problems, but she hasn't seemed to keep up her father's will in training. Hopefully this will play to his advantage.
The next man in line steps forward. "Xander Olowe."
A short, young, bulky man constantly glancing at the same girl Mindy squeezed hands with makes his way through the crowd. He's gentle when moving through the partiers, but when he reaches the first Chromy, he swings at him. The Chromy easily takes on the drunken Xander. Using his forearm, the Chromy blocks the blow and swipes Xander's feet from under him. Xander crashes into a heap on the floor. The Chromy proceeds to kick the stunned Xander in the head, rendering him unconscious. The man who called his name goes off stage to cuff and collect Xander. He returns to the stage with Xander at his feet.
More names are called including Maxwell - the bartender, Gracie Goodman - a girl who was in the group dancing with Winters, Lucille Stickler – the contented wallflower, and others until the last man in line calls out Ajax Turner, a punk, loud-mouthed fourteen-year-old who is drunk out of his mind. Everyone taken who has their watches with them have them removed and given to Shard and is cuffed.
Shard resumes center stage. Arms stretched out in a grandeur manner, he calls out, "That's not all folks! Do you think I would miss out on this fun? I get to call out my own little brat. One who's gonna be my bestest buddy from spending so much time with wonderful me. The best handler there is!” Shard hugs himself and swings side to side. “We're gonna get to know each other well. Real well. Just like two peas in a pod. Just like siblings. Just like an oppressive warden and a prisoner locked in a tiny cell together! Who's the lucky one? Who’s won this dream vacation? Drumroll, please!"
Shard drums his fingers on the makeshift DJ booth. His fingers boom loud in the quiet, still room. All the anxious faces staring at him shoot tingles through his body.
Scanning the crowd, he sees his brat's reaction telling him that she already knows she's it. He smirks. Excitement and need to speed things up stop Shard’s fingers.
"And my little sweetheart is..."