Yellow

21:12

We’d been waiting forever. An hour, if not more. I was thirsty and my legs were sore from sitting in the car so long. I’d told Mom I’d be back by ten, but guess not.

The MagiTech logo shone from the top of the tower, blindingly blue. So much so, that my eyes were watering, especially at it reflecting off the car’s hood. That stupid, overly cheerful slogan rang out from the speakers: “MagiTech. Stay in touch.” If I could climb that tower, I’d smash the speaker just to not have to hear it again.

This street, like most of the city center, was nothing but glass, light and ads. Ads were everywhere: snacks, face creams, uh… canned tuna. I kept staring at some smiling Japanese girl holding up a green health drink because unlike Punch, or the pipe in my hands, she was at least a pretty sight.

Punch was checking his reflection while I yawned. A light switched on in the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw a woman on the staircase of the MagiTech building. Brown hair on the brighter side, pastel yellow knit cardigan—just like Mom would always wear to church—a bag on her shoulder, and a phone in her hand. She looked about as old as my cousin, who was twenty-five.

Punch elbowed my ribs too hard, like he was trying to give me a bruise. His eyebrow rings caught the light as he grinned.
“That’s her. Tester. Mask and jammer on, quick.”

I’d read about her. The people I was working for could buy data on anyone. This woman was a device tester, and the company let her take a prototype phone so she could work from home. Her given reason for remote work was so she could spend more time with her cat. No matter how I looked at it, she wasn’t some evil suit pushing hardware surveillance. Just some girl who liked her pet.

Punch said it was one job. Dirty my hands once and make more than my dad did in a month. Maybe enough to get admitted to a good university. He’d been doing this for a while. Told me he was over twenty, but not by how much.

I pulled the ski mask down over my face, tightening the jammer bracelet around my wrist. They’d told me not to wear my wrist tag tonight. Now I knew why.

Punch whispered.
“I’ll go first and shut her up. You grab it.”

He tapped the pipe.
“In case she tries to run.”

My hands trembled around it. I wanted to say no, but… Maybe I could just scare her. Maybe it’d go smoothly and I wouldn’t have to think about this ever again.

She walked out the door, headed straight for her car. Punch moved first, fast and quiet. Right before she could get in, he yanked her back, locking her arms with one hand and clamping the other over her mouth. She kicked her legs frantically while making this horrible, muffled scream. The kind an actress in a horror movie couldn’t make if paid to. Her phone, covered in holographic cat stickers, fell onto the pavement, the screen shattering with a crack next to her company bag.

I felt sick. This wasn’t the cool, stylish heist I’d imagined. She didn’t stop to give us the prototype at the sight of our masks. She wasn’t just some bag to rummage. She smelled like perfume, she was crying and fighting for her life to the point Punch was struggling to hold her. Could’ve been anyone else from my life: a classmate, Mom, my cousin… Her panic crawled under my skin, even if Punch was the one holding her.

“I-it’s fine. It’s fine. We’re just thieves.” I trembled, trying to calm her. “We’re just here for the prototype, okay? We’re not here to—”

It was like she hadn’t even heard me, only crying louder. Her wrist tag lit up in bright orange, the standard stress signal. Everyone in the city had one, monitoring their vitals and nerves. One step from red, which would have sent Grid after us.

Punch’s eyes went wider as the girl began to slip from his hold. “She’s about to go red, Dome! Knock her out!”

The pipe kept rolling around in my sweaty hands. It started to feel ten times heavier, like it was going to pull me down to the ground with itself. No, no. I can’t do it. I’m not a killer. She doesn’t deserve it.

“But she didn’t do anything—”

Punch bared his teeth, shouting. “You fuck me over, I’ll beat you with that thing!”

I raised the pipe. Her eyes were begging me not to. She shook her head side-to-side, hair getting in her eyes. The ads just kept shining as the slogan repeated. MagiTech—Stay in touch. It mixed with muffled, shrill screams and the kicking of legs like it didn’t matter.

Images flashed through my mind. Blood. Glazed eyes. All the awful things that I would have seen had I hit her right in the head. No way, I told myself. I’d just scare her. I swung anywhere but, aiming for her shoulder, trying to be light without making it only a tap.

Her eyes widened, cries growing more desperate as the pipe flew through the air. Her tag shrieked, flashing red. Just as the pipe was about to connect, she jerked in fear and broke free of Punch’s grip. The pipe slid up her shoulder, right toward her temple. It hit with a sickening tock, vibrating after the fact.

That sound looped in my head. I couldn’t believe it. That was all it took? She crumpled face down, the sounds of struggle cutting off as the city’s hum and ads returned, interrupted occasionally by the tester’s tag beeping for help. Blood was already flowing from her temple, leaving a small pool on the concrete that matted her bright hair and stained the yellow cardigan.

I felt all the color and temperature drain from my face. My body responded, begging to vomit like I’d just poisoned myself.

“No…” I coughed, gagging into my hands and nearly dropping the pipe. I told myself they weren’t mine, that I wasn’t the one who’d done that. My vision began to double as I stumbled backwards. God… Just don’t puke. Not now. Not here. Please. Don’t puke.

Punch sighed like this was normal, shoving his fringe out of his eyes and spitting behind himself. “Feisty bitch. We have maybe a minute before the pigs come.” He crouched down, ripping through her bag and pulled out a black box. “That’s it. We’re golden. Let’s scram before we’re screwed.” He looked back for a moment. “Not bad for a first timer. You’ll get used to it.” He grinned like that was supposed to help.

The tester’s wristband was still flashing red, lighting up the parking lot. Each flash was brighter than any logo or billboard around. I knew what it meant. Extreme stress, making a call right to the Grid. I could already hear the sirens. If what he’d told me in the car was correct, we had half a minute to get out of here before we’d be in handcuffs. Or shot.

Still… “W-wait… one-one sec…” I stuttered, my voice cracking. I dropped to my knees beside the tester, placing my fingers to her wrist and below her jaw. Please be alive. Please tell me I didn’t just end a life, I told myself as the sirens only got louder.

There it was. I let out a hollow laugh, exhaling in relief. A slow pulse. Her chest was rising up and down, too. She was breathing. She’s alive. I couldn’t tell if her breathing was stable, but I didn’t want to think. I only begged an ambulance would come soon enough.

Punch sneered from the driver’s seat. “What, you feeling her up? Cute. Now get in the car while I’m still nice.”

I wiped my palms on my pants, still smelling the blood. She was bleeding a lot. Apparently that was normal for head wounds, but it didn’t look like it was planning to stop any time soon. I wanted to call an ambulance, but Punch wasn’t going to wait, and the distant wails of sirens were getting closer and closer. All I could do was pray.

I jogged to the car and got in the passenger’s seat, tossing the pipe by my legs. As Punch revved the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, I saw a med drone buzzing through the air, its teal scanning beam sweeping across the ground next to the tower. A patrol, or had her tag notified it of the bleeding?

21:29

The ride was dead quiet. Nausea kept hitting me in waves, random things like the hum of the engine setting me off. Punch wasn’t even driving fast. Too safe if anything, especially for a guy like him. Both of his hands were steady on the wheel with not a hint of speeding. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to draw attention.

His cigarette made the air stink, the car’s filter barely covering it. He looked like he didn’t care about anything that’d just happened. Like I hadn’t just cracked that poor girl’s skull.

I leaned my head against the window, hearing a faint buzz above us. At just the right angle, I could see a few drones, the small ones with scanners. I couldn’t tell if they were medical or Grid. I glanced at Punch.

He sighed, shaking his head. “There are always drones.” He flipped his fringe away from one of his eyes and tapped a tin on the dash tray, the lid covered in old, faded stickers. “Take one. It’ll stop the shakes.”

I quickly shook my head. “N-no. I’m good.”

“Fine, then don’t come beggin’ me for ‘em later.” He stubbed his smoke in the folding ashtray.

I looked through the window again, but it was way too bright with all the ads. Nearly every block had a billboard shouting at me: chips, soap, cream, ketchup. Even the “GENKI!” health drink girl smiled like she was making fun of me now. My head throbbed. I tried counting to eight with every exhale like Mom had taught. Over and over.

We passed through the holo-gate into the old town. Text scrolled: “Welcome to the VHC! Please set wrist tags and other wearables to Polite Mode! We appreciate you letting the spirits of the past roam freely. =)”

Normally the car’s AI should’ve said that a few blocks in advance. I guess Punch had muted his, like a true hardware pirate.

The streets here were tighter, making him slow down. It was a place for walking more than driving. The red roofs reminded me not every color had to glow. I remembered being five, holding Dad’s hand, eating local cupcakes, smearing frosting on my face, Mom laughing. Ten years ago. I clenched my hands around my stomach tighter, feeling like that life wasn’t mine anymore. I should have just stayed home. Should’ve never accepted this.

We rolled out of the old town and into towers again. A golden mall caught my eye, glowing like some rich temple for those rich people on TV. I pressed my head to the glass, closing my eyes and trying my best to not think of anything. But closing my eyes would only make me see the pipes and blood, so I kept them open.

We drove past the palace quickly, leaving the center and heading to more lived-in parts of town. Still tall, but with laundry hanging on balconies and billboards advertising discounts at the local stores: rice, detergent, paper towels. Smart dumpsters and tare machines blinked by the curbs, each one with a holo-animation of a different cartoon recycling bin.

Punch killed the lights and pulled into a tight street by a row of apartment buildings. He motioned me out and I followed, leaving the pipe in the car. At one of the heavy doors, he tapped some code into the keypad. Beep.
“We have it.”

I expected the staircase door to unlock, but instead the one to the basement did. Moldy air leaked out immediately. I hesitated, but followed.