Enjoy the first chapter of The Fear of Fighting Back (Book One in the Sensor Series)

~ PROLOGUE ~

RED. ALL I SEE IS RED as bodies collapse at my feet and children are taken out of their homes. We were trained for this—born for this.

A woman runs out of her house screaming; she doesn’t make it far as a bullet is launched into her chest. But I don’t flinch, not even when her blood sprays on my face and the metallic taste of it seeps into my mouth: another casualty, another raid.

“Sergeant Pierce! Pierce!” I spin around to see Commander Hawkley, the only blue in all the red, marching angrily toward me. “Get your head out the clouds. We gotta code blue. I need you to handle the situation on River and Tenth. Fenton James is already there and has identified a thirteen-year-old male, but his father and mother are interfering with the collection.”

Hawkley doesn’t control my branch, but he’s the head commander, so my interaction with him is—unfortunately—limitless.

“Yes, sir. On it.” I spot a motorcycle leaning against the house to my left. I sling my gun over my shoulder so it rests on my back and hop on the motorcycle. River and Tenth is only the next street over. I could’ve hopped a fence if I really wanted to.

Mud coats the motorcycle’s tires, and water splashes underneath. April is the rainiest month in Ravine, but today there isn’t a cloud in the sky except for the waves of smoke that keep me from inhaling. Homes on my left and right are set ablaze. Out of all the days the weather chooses not to rain, today is the worst one to pick.

Mothers cradle their babies as they cry in front of their collapsing houses. Every four years. That’s when we visit, and all hell breaks loose in Ravine. Children who are old enough for the Injection—no younger than the age of ten and no older than the age of 15—are taken from their parents, put into squad vehicles, and sent off to Legrove, labs in the Escalade up north.

Ravine raids are the worst; their population constantly decreases as only a fourth of their children live to see the age of sixteen. Meanwhile, in the Valley, the other half of the south, drafts are in place every ten years. Their people are flourishing and are more inclined to volunteer for the Injection than the Rivians. Long ago, we tried setting up a draft here, but only a few thousand people registered and the rest revolted, burning down the registration sites and hijacking squad vehicles. Drafts never came to Ravine again; instead, deathly screams have paraded their streets.

But what am I to do? Fight back against a system that has been in place way longer than I’ve been alive? That I’ve been serving for almost half of my life?

A part of me says yes. It wants to end the cruelty of Ravine raids and the experimentation on children. But the other part yearns for the power scientists have projected—promised—for my future.

Every cell in my body cries out for control, harnessing as much as they can. The feeling of, rather, knowing that I can make cities fall and empires collapse if I truly desired it. An energy surges through me, and the ground splits on either side of the motorcycle. The one on my right is so wide that a house partially falls into it.

The System, Legrove, gave me this. Serving it is the least I can do.

I get off the bike in front of the house where Fen is. He and I have known each other practically since birth. We were born in the Valley, never knowing the hardships of Ravine.

He’s decked out in the same all-black uniform and bulletproof vest as me, except where I have the touch insignia on my left shoulder—a white hand with a golden eagle at its center—he has the sound insignia—an eagle surrounded by sound waves—stitched onto his.

“Hey, Carmine.” His hand automatically goes out for a fist bump. “Hawkley cleared us—and by us I mean you—to collapse the house if we have to.”

If we don’t take this kid with us now, he’ll be too old for the Injection and to round him up during the next raid. And Legrove needs every kid they can get to have the highest rate of Sensor transformations.

The clouds of smoke blur my vision. The smell of charred wood fills my nose. I can almost feel it on my skin. Mud cakes my boots. Black smudge is on my arms and cheeks, and I’m sure another streak is added when I wipe my forearm on my forehead.

I walk up the porch steps of the brown and tan stone house with its once vibrant red door. The door is already cracked open, so I pause with a hand on the door frame and listen—feel. I can sense every vibration in the house, from their footsteps to the beating of their hearts. In my mind, I can see the white lines of vibrations ripple up the walls and furniture and even the people inside.

One, a man, presumably the father, waits on the other side of the wall with a small handgun. In the corner of the back closet upstairs, a boy is wrapped in the arms of his mother, who holds a kitchen knife in her right hand. All three of their heartbeats are erratic and uncertain, anticipating my arrival.

I silently step to the right and relocate my hand on the wall, directly where the man is standing. I focus on the particles beneath my hand, rattling, violently shaking, until the wall explodes forward and topples onto the man. Fen comes up from behind me and grabs the handgun my groaning victim is holding.

“Nice job.” He says as he pats me on the back of my shoulder and takes the lead up the stairs. He holds his gun in the air, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

The sofas in the living room look worn out from days, if not years, of late nights in front of the TV. The house is small and quaint, with pictures hanging on the walls. The smell of chicken still lingers in the air.

The house itself is eerily quiet. The only sound is the crackling fire outside from the houses ablaze and soldiers barking out orders from houses down. I hate these darn raids. I hate how every eye watches me in terror. Will anyone ever look at me normally?

“Stop,” I whisper to him at the top of the stairs, “someone’s at the back door.” Fen holds still while he tries to hear them, listening for their thoughts.

Although Fen’s and my abilities are very different, they overlap in some areas. I’m a part of the Severance Branch of the Army, slowing the vibrations of particles or amplifying them to the point of an earthquake. Fen, on the other hand, is in the Perceiver Branch, meaning that he has advanced physical hearing and can pry into the minds of whomever he pleases.

“It’s just a neighbor. She heard a loud sound and came to check it out.”

Who would be dumb enough to do that? I think. We’re in the middle of a raid, and if I were her, I’d hide and fear for my life.

“Take care of her, would’ya?” I slide past him as he slouches, sighing in frustration that he doesn’t get to be a part of whatever’s coming next. “You’re the best.” I whisper, giving him two thumbs up and a smile for encouragement.

One of the bedroom doors is open, the door of the boy I’m here to retrieve. The room is a mess. Airplanes clutter the desk; dirty prints of boots roam across the floor. The bed is rumpled like he was in a hurry. They didn’t have time to escape, forced to meet their fate and their doom. Everywhere I look there’s a photo of a memory, and truly, at my core, I’m an invader. I’m the dark, drowning out the light, a beast coming and hunting its prey.

When I listen closely, I can hear the ragged breaths of the mother and son in the closet. The moment that I’m in front of the door, Commander Hawkley’s voice blares through my radio. I should’ve grabbed a new earpiece before we left the base.

“Sergeant Pierce, have you acquired your target?”

I hold down the side of the communication device. “No, sir. I’m in position now.” Release.

“Then why are you wasting time running your mouth to me?”

I roll my eyes as I lift the radio to speak into it. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

As I clip my radio back into the front of my vest, the door to the closet flies open, and a kitchen knife launches past my face. It doesn’t completely miss me when I turn, and it grazes my right cheek. The knife ends its journey stuck halfway through the wall. I touch where it nicked my cheek, pulling my hand back; my fingertips are covered in the only color that draws my attention—red.

The mother stands before me, mortified. Her thick blonde hair is tangled into a bun, and her clothes are drenched in sweat. The only thing I can see in those deep blue eyes is her realization that she’ll most likely die saving her son. Whether she wins or loses, I will be the last thing she sees.

I keep my gun slung over my shoulder. Knowing that I have one will throw her completely off the edge. I raise my hands; I don’t want her to think that I’m a threat. I need her trust if I want to keep her alive.

“Don’t come any closer!” She straddles the doorway like a dragon blocking her most precious possession. “You’re a monster! Taking innocent children. I won’t let you take my baby boy.” Fear and rage line every word that comes out of her mouth. Protection and love flow through her.

“Ma’am, please. I don’t want to cause you or your son any harm. Just let me take him, peacefully. Both of you unhar—”

The middle of her shirt turns a crimson red; her frightened blue eyes stare past me. I don’t flinch. But not for the same reason as last time.

I begin to turn around. “Fen! Why would you—” It is not Fen, definitely not Fen. In fact, the complete opposite.

Takoma Tanaka.

I don’t need to see the signet on his shoulder to know his sense, to know that he’s a Perceiver. His black hair sticks to his forehead and the sides of his face that is sticky with sweat. I’m sure I look quite similar, but instead of black, it’s my red hair that’s clinging to any amount of exposed skin. Where my face holds utter shock and rage, his is collected, as if nothing fazes him. His eyes, like the ocean’s abyss, dark and lurking and mysterious. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, years since I’ve talked to him, years since we’ve been in the same room. And as much as I would’ve loved to keep it that way, to add more years to our distance, I knew that I would see him eventually. I knew that he would come up and creep behind me like my dark past tries to do almost every day. He reminds me of everything that I hate about myself. He reminds me of what I did. He reminds me of what I haven’t done.

“What do you think you were doing?”

“I think I was saving you from getting yourself killed.” Saying it so nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just interfere with someone else’s mission. Didn’t just kill someone without reason.

“Well, I wanted–”

“I know what you wanted,” I swear if he cuts me off one more time, “and what you wanted would’ve gotten you killed.” He folds his arms across his chest; the muscles push out of his sleeves as if trying to break free. He nods to me, pointing his finger at my cheek and its blood-encrusted scratch. Besides Fen, I hate Perceivers. They think that they’re high and mighty because they can read minds. “And talking back to a sergeant? That’s no way to speak to someone of a higher rank. Do you know who I am?”

In a few short strides, he closes the distance between us, towering over me to what? Make me feel inferior to him? I don’t think so. I close the gap even more, pushing my head all the way back, so he can see that I mean every word that I’m about to say.

“I don’t think you know who I am.” The whole house starts to shake; cracks travel from my feet up the walls and through the ceiling. Picture frames and flower vases fall and shatter. Then silence.

Through the few seconds of my controlled demonstration of power, our eyes stayed on each other, neither one of us moving. I even opened my mind, so he could read it all.

A mischievous smile creeps across his face. “Now I know exactly who you are.”