《Aliases》

¤

The knock at the door can't come fast enough. Izzer gives me one last look before he turns and opens it.

Seven. Izzer had been the 89th Council's Nol. My gaze drifts to the boy I know. How much alike were they? Did Izzer have a love of prescription pills? Did he joke, did he-- I gulp-- flirt with the previous Ten? If we graduated and became the 91st Council, would Nol's career end like Izzer's? With a noose around his neck and a forged death certificate?

"You brief them?" Della's brusque voice causes my thoughts to scatter. Both the commander and her second stand in the doorway, clothes piled to their chins in their arms.

Izzer nods.

"Good." Della tosses the clothes onto the space between us. Keran's all too happy to follow her commander's lead. "Grab whatever floats your fancy. Meet us in the main room when you're done."

Della turns to leave. "Leave your uniforms on the floor. Izzer will dispose of them when we're done."

Rima folds the bottom of her shirt over her hands. "Dispose of them how?"

"Burn them," Izzer replies, matter-of-factly.

Rima frowns.

"Don't take long," Keran says. "You dawdle, you get left behind."

Della claps Izzer on the shoulder. "And he hates company. Liable to burn you alongside those uniforms."

One by one, they file out of the room. The door clicks close behind them.

I kick at the pile of clothes. Jeans, ratty t-shirts, military jackets with missing pockets. There's even a pair of cracked sunglasses and a used container of sparkly, jelly lip balm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marava hone in on that lip balm as though it were all she ever lived for. She smacks her lips, as though imagining herself already wearing the makeup. A desire to pluck that lip balm off the floor, get to it before Marava, and squeeze out its contents into the trash, sparks shivers of delight in my veins, but, not wanting my eyes gouged by Marava's nails, I won't make a move for it. Being Head Cockroach has made her tolerable. It hasn't smoothed back all her quills, but at least she's not throwing them at us every time she speaks.

Tujo grabs a pair of black, cargo pants, similar to the ones the Titav wore, and a gray t-shirt. Rima takes a pair of navy jeans, frowns as she stretches the fabric only to find out it has little give, and a dark blue, long-sleeve shirt with some kind of diamond pattern traveling down one sleeve.

Marava snatches up the lip balm, giving little attention to the actual clothes. She cradles the plastic container as if it's something precious. Her eyes grow wet. Her shoulders tremble. Quint notices and places an arm over her, smiling.

She smiles back. "I had one like this when I was little," she says. "My abuela got it for me."

Quint nods. "That's a nice memory, Mar-" he clears his throat."Karen."

Marava doesn't even bother to grimace at the mention of her alias. She just stares at the lip balm cradled in between her palm and her chest. I pretend not to have heard her, not to see her now, as a tear rolls down her cheek.

Mars' vulnerability is not for my eyes. It's a moment she's allowed Quint to share. No one else. The others feel this too, everyone except Tujo, who's gaping like a fish stranded on land. Rima has to swat his chest to get him to look away.

I pick up the clothes nearest to me - a crumpled purple t-shirt with a smattering of glitter stars across the front and a ripped pair of baggy denim.

Tujo blushes. "So how are we-" his eyes flit about the room. "There's nowhere where the-" he gulps as a bead of sweat treks down his forehead.

Marava grabs a flouncy tunic and jeans off the floor and yanks Rima free of Tujo's grasp. "Girls along this wall. Boys over there," she points to the wall with a holographic player that's still projecting the Tramway tunnels. "No one turns around until we've all given vocal confirmation that we're dressed and presentable."

Quint grins while Tujo breathes a sigh of relief, though his face might just be a brighter red than Mars' nails. "Good thinking, Karen."

Marava slaps Quint in the chest. "Don't call me that." As she heads for the wall, with Rima hobbling in her wake, she says, "Call me Novia." Her words come free of that typical Marava glower.

It's an odd sight, seeing Marava so timid, so it comes as no surprise when Quint raises a brow. "What's Novia mean?"

Marava puts a strand of hair back behind her ear and when she does, I can't help but notice there's a little redness on her earlobe. "It's slang some people back home used to call me by. Anyway," she starts to undo the snaps of her Liar shirt. Tujo's head erupts into a flurry of deep red flushes. He jerks around and scurries over to the boys' designated wall. "It's a better name than the shit one Izzer gave me," Marava says. "Just use it instead."

Quint nods and turns around. I follow Marava's lead, undoing my top snaps. As Marava pulls the shirt down over her head, I say, "Do I have to call you Novia too, or is Head Cockroach good enough?"

Her Liar's pants slink to the floor, exposing a set of lovely bronzed legs. Smooth skin, hairless. What'd she have to do to get her hands on a razor?

"I don't give a shit what you call me," she says, her brow furrowing as she stuffs herself into a pair of jeans. They adhere to her form, the slenderness of her calves to the fullness of her hips.

She catches me staring. Quickly, I shove my own boxy form into the t-shirt. To my dismay, the shirt's too small, exposing stomach when I dare to raise an arm. Guess its verbal communication only, no hand accompaniment for emphasis.

As I slither out of my Liar's pants, something falls out of my pocket. There's a drop of blood staining the back of a laminated white card. My breath catches in my throat. Snitch's, or more accurately, Christian Fenson's fat, ruddy face stares up at me. I trace a thumb over it, remembering his blubbering, his pain, and then, suddenly, the absence of pain, his expression glazed, emptied of everything.

I'd taken it- why? Because it'd somehow felt wrong to leave it behind, which didn't make sense because we'd left Snitch's corpse behind but-- I glance over my shoulder at the wall opposite me, and make out the pale flesh and hard lines of Nol's back. Like all of us, he's got his share of scars - a crop of three surgically precise lines between his shoulder blades and a more mangled mess of red, puffed flesh on his lower right side. I clasp Snitch's ID card in my hand. Maybe I should give it to Nol. The edge of the ID cuts into my palm. I pull on my jeans and then stuff Snitch's ID into my pocket. I'll give it to Nol later, when the timing's better. Or, remembering Nol's face and the way he'd slammed his fist into the holographic projector, maybe it's better to toss the damn thing away.

"You guys decent?" Tujo says, his voice high-pitched and shaky.

Rima chuckles as she reaches down to pull on a pair of jeans similar to Marava's. They're about three sizes too big and sit just below her chest. "He's not good with girls."

Marava snorts. "We're not girls, we're women."

Rima blows out her cheeks. "I'm still a girl."

"A girl who's got blood on her--"

Rima's face goes pale.

"We're all good over here I say!" I give Rima's shirt a quick tug over her pants, while purposefully stepping on Marava's foot. She yelps and glowers at me, and I'm only too giddy to return the gesture.

"We're ready to go if you are," Quint says.

Without taking my gaze off Marava, I say, "We turn on the count of three."

"Okay."

"One," I say.

"...two..."

"...three..."

Tujo gapes. Quint grins. Sin and Nol, thank god, remain impassive, expressions unreadable.

"Ri-Ri," Tujo clears his throat. "Mason, you look," his cheeks flush furiously. "You look nice."

She chuckles. "You clean up well yourself."

Quint throws his arms over Marava's shoulders. "You look great."

She grins. "It's not anything you haven't seen before." She playfully nudges him in the side.

"If I'd wanted to barf, I would have drunk the shit Izzer offered us pre-op," I say.

"You're just mad no one's reacting to you."

My gaze drifts to Nol. He's got his hands shoved in his denim pockets much like he had with the Liar's uniform. A long-sleeved black and grey striped shirt skims his frame. When he moves some blond hair out of his eyes, he notices me, noticing him, and gives a little nod. The corner of his lips turn upward, and his eyes sparkle like he's just discovered a new prescription pill. It's too much, and I quickly turn away.

Tujo coughs and rubs the back of his head, just above the incision. "I think you look nice."

I chuckle. Leave it to Tujo to breathe fresh air into a room. "A new pair of clothes is all it takes to make you go from wolf to lamb?" His face flashes bright red. "If only the Doctors had figured that one out, would have been easier for them to get you to do what you were told." I pat him on the back. "But all joking aside, thanks."

"We should go," Sin says. He points to the door. "They're waiting."

¤

Sin's never wrong. The majority of the Titav fill the main room. Most wear civilian clothes, though they look newer than ours. They still have combat boots on, like Della, and the outlines of concealed carry holsters bulge under their shirts, but aside from that, they look fairly normal. Guess that's the point.

There's a table in the center of the room, metal, foldable, and a few Titav scurry around it, lifting packages and putting them into the back of a black van. It had tinted windows, and tires - an old model, used by people too poor to lease a high-end hover model.

Nol eyes the packages with curiosity. "This all you have left?"

Della nods. "The El Accostas attacked a warehouse of ours. We managed to get our guys out, but most of the Elysium got caught in the blaze."

Nol grimaces. "That's less than a third of what I'd made."

He strides casually over to the table, the Titav parting to make room. When he reaches the table, there's a row of clear vials, stoppered with rubber. Bright blue liquid sloshes against the glass. He plucks a vial up and shakes it back and forth. The way it catches the light reminds me of the part of Nol's eyes that mirror the sky.

"Told you you'd have a lot of work, but the lab's ready to go. We managed to get everything on your list." Della puffs her chest out with pride. "When the Titav do a job, we do it right."

Nol nods and places the vial gingerly on the table. "I'll get started when we arrive."

Della claps him on the back. "That's the reason you're our chemist."

He clicks his tongue. "I'm the only one who knows how to make real Elysium. All your other chemists failed to produce top quality stuff."

Della frowns. "Izzer end up giving you those details?"

Nol shakes his head. "You end up killing them?"

"Overdoses, all of them."

"How unfortunate." Nol raises an eyebrow. "And coincidental."

He steps off to the side, leaning against a wall while he watches the Titav loading package after package into the van.

"What's Elysium?" I say.

Della and Nol exchange glances. "You haven't told them?" She points at me. "Not even one-zero?"

He shakes his head.

Della snorts. "I thought for sure you'd tell them something." She turns to me, her eyes hard. "Weren't you going on about all being cockroaches or some such shit?"

Keran cackles. "I wore my thick-soled boots just in case any cockroaches need squishing today."

"Guess the Chemist doesn't share in all that solidarity bullshit," Della says.

I shrug. "It's his choice."

Della stalks toward me, lips parting into a grin. "But doesn't it kill a part of you? Knowing lover boy here withheld information from you, of all people?" When she's close enough, she places a hand between my breasts. "He makes your heart speed up, doesn't he?" She narrows her eyes and leans in. "Makes your breathing faster? Skin tingles where he touches you?" Her breathe caresses my cheek as she makes for my ear. I gulp. "You still a virgin, one-zero, or were Liars allowed conjugal visits?"

"You know," I say unwilling to give an inch to this horrid bitch. "if we survive to Christmas, I'm getting all the Titav dictionaries so you can expand your verbiage. Lover boy? Really?" I shrug. "Are you starring in some archival 1950s rom-com vid?"

Skin collides with skin as Della's hand smashes into my cheek. There's a hardened smack that whistles past my ears. My vision blinks out. Something metallic explodes on my tongue.

I reel backward, stumbling into the twins. They manage to catch me in their entwined arms. When my vision comes back, Della stands tall, her face twisted in fury. I can feel my skin already starting to bruise.

"I've wanted to do that for a while, one-zero."

She snarls while Keran fists the air and gives a little whoop.

I get to my feet, coughing. Bloody spittle drips onto my shirt. "Feel any better?"

Della squeezes and releases the hand she'd just used to smack me into the dark ages. "A little," she says, her face relaxing.

I nod. Rima reaches up to me with the sleeve of her shirt, offering to wipe off my mouth. I shake my head. There was no need to cover her in any more blood.

Della walks around to the other side of the table, hands on her hips. She looks calm, collected, her rage tempered. For now. It ought to be, what with how hard she hit me.

"Elysium's," she plucks another liquid-filled vial off the table and raises it eye-level, "the most sought after drug in East Coast, soon to be nation-wide, Aviaries. Gives you the best high of your life," Leeds, who hadn't been stocking the van, but overseeing it, cringes at Della's words, "or so I've been told."

"A drug?" My mouth falls open. "Nol--"

"Kellam," Keran corrects with an almost giddy pitch in her voice.

"Kellam's," I continue, "the creator of Elysium?"

In the corner of my eye, I see both Nol and Leeds tense. Della nods. "The one and only."

I turn to face him. "How? The Facility would never allow the creation and delivery of narcotics into the Aviaries."

Della chuckles. "You have no idea, little dove, what they will and will not allow to prevent dissent among us common folk."

I shake my head. "But drugs-"

"People crave escape," Nol says. I turn to him, head shaking.

"And Elysium does the trick," Della interjects.

"The Facility commissioned the batches," he says. "And the Council oversaw distribution."

I blink back astonishment. In a way, in a completely bonkers way, it made perfect sense. Drug the masses, keep them high and compliant, prevent upheavals in the fragile ecosystem created within the Aviaries. And having a Liar create it meant the Council would have total control, but Nol? He didn't seem like the type who would work with the Council, not after the way he always openly disparaged them.

Izzer's twisted smile flashes before eyes. He'd been his batch's Nol.

"We've decided to have a go at distribution," Della says. I glance her way. She points at the van where the last package is being neatly tucked in between two others. Sweat drips off Leeds' forehead. His fingers tap nervously along his thigh. "Cut into the Council's profits, but the knock-off Elysium wasn't as good a seller as the original so--"

"You agreed to rescue No-Kellam, in exchange for the real stuff?"

Della nods. "There's that one-zero intellect."

Keran growls. My gaze flits between her, the hundred or so packages of Elysium -- christ, Nol had said that was only a third of what he'd made
-- and Nol, himself.

"What do you want with us, then? We can't make drugs."

Keran smirks. "None of you have the brains for chemistry," she shakes her head as her gaze roams over each of us, "but you've all got legs. Good for running."

I blink again. "Running what?"

Keran points at the back of the van. Rima gasps.

"You want us to run Elysium?" I ask.

Della nods. "We've experienced an increase in El Accosta attacks and we're low on the manpower necessary to keep our supply stashes safe. Figured you all would come in handy."

"No," I say, clenching my hands into fists. "You agreed to take us on."

Della lurches forward, her hand going for her gun. "I agreed so the Chemist would come with us. But you all," she waves the barrel at us. "You. Owe. Me." She grins. "Think of it as repayment."

"We're just bodies," I say, remembering Keran's words.

Della nods. "When you die, it won't be a problem."

When. I frown. Not if.

Della quirks an eyebrow before whirling around as footsteps echo off the ground. "Leeds? Van ready?"

Keran narrows her eyes, and places a finger on her holster, undoing the snap in the single breath. Tears stream over Leeds' cheeks and drip onto his shirt.

I reach for Rima, pull her close.

Her eyebrows arch so high they almost jump off her head. "Ten? You okay?"

I close my hand around her wrist.

Della addresses Leeds again. "The van, Leeds, is it good to go?"

He doesn't blink, doesn't move. When it looks as though he won't answer, he lurches forward, gun raised and pointed at Nol. A piercing howl escapes his lips as his finger presses the trigger.

Bang!

Coils of smoke rise off the end of Della's pistol. There's a thud as Leeds' body crumples to the floor. Blood pours from the bullet hole where Della's wedged a bullet in his skull.

Rima screams. Tujo wrenches her free of me and pulls her into himself. Petting her hair, he whispers into her ear that everything will be alright.

Della raises a hand and two Titavs come running. "Dispose of the body," she places her gun back in its holster. "Traitor's funeral."

Keran stalks over to the corpse, and conjures up a wad of saliva. She spits on Leeds' face. Spittle runs down his cheeks like pretend tears. Even in death, he's crying.

"Dissenter fuck," she growls.

The Titav haul Leeds' away until there's only an ugly red smear along the concrete reminding us he ever existed.

"You look unfazed, Chemist," Della says and now that she's pointed it out, I see it too. His face is a mask of pale marble, smooth and placid. I've seen this mask before- it was one of Izzer's favorites. Seven. Another shudder skirts down my spine.

Nol shrugs.

"Do you even want to know why Leeds came after you?"

Nol stays still.

"Boyfriend overdosed on Elysium," Della says. "Never got over it." She glances down at the blood. "Obviously."

"It happens," Nol says, indifferent. A Councilman's tone.

My heart clenches. Out of all of us, the one I wanted to believe in was Nol. I'd trusted him. I'd--

"--goddamned trusted you." The words spill from my lips.

Della smirks. "Looks like trouble in Liar paradise."

Nol's eyes widen slightly before he reverts to being as expressive as Sin. I clench my fists and ignore the pain shooting through my knuckles.

"Well then," Della motions to us. Keran's got several familiar black bags clutched in her hands. "Time to head out."

Keran chucks one at each of us. Mine smacks me in the stomach, before falling to the ground. I don't give a damn about the bag.

"Got a problem, one-zero?"

"Where should I start?" I snarl.

Keran nods, plucks the bag off the ground, and places a hand on my shoulder. She smiles before ramming a fist onto my stomach. "No time to start complaining." She shoves the bag into my chest.

"Get some rest, ladies and gents," Della says, the doors to the van slamming behind her. The engine screams to life. "Next time you wake up, you'll be in the Brights."

She grins and tramps through Leeds' blood smear. A dark red footprint marks the concrete.

Keran cackles. "Welcome to the Collective."