Nova reached the back end of Cyanide’s train car and paused. She could hear things scattering across the platform and dropping down onto the tracks. A moment later, a small can of baked beans came rolling toward her, striking the side of the tracks only a few steps away from Nova’s feet.
“Come on out, Anarchists,” trilled a chipper, feminine voice. “It’s time for your performance review.”
Nova darted behind Leroy’s train car and crept to the other side. Peering around the edge, she spotted four figures on the central platform, where many of their rations and supplies were stored. Or had been stored—two of the massive industrial metal shelves had been thrown to the ground, leaving a mess of broken bottles, crushed boxes, and a thick stench of vinegar in the air.
She recognized the Renegade team immediately—one of the most high-profile teams in the city, with a reputation for having taken countless criminals into custody. Their leader, the girl who had spoken, was Frostbite. A few years older than Nova, she was athletic and pretty, with a bob of silver-white hair and silver-white skin that was so translucent Nova could see hints of her blue veins even in the tunnel’s dim lighting.
Then there was Aftershock, a stocky man with a dark goatee who must have been the cause of the earthquakes. Beside him stood Stingray, a lanky, beady-eyed boy who moved with as much creepy, slithering grace as the animal he took his alias from, a sleek barbed tail trailing behind him. Last was the giant. Gargoyle, who seemed to be permanently hunched from always having to stoop to fit into places, and whose limbs could shift from human flesh to solid stone in an instant.
“Well,” said Frostbite, planting her hands on her hips, “it looks like they’re all too cowardly to come say hello.” She nodded at Aftershock and Gargoyle. “Search the tunnels and see if you can’t draw them out of hiding.”
While the two Renegades lumbered down opposite tunnels—Aftershock passing an arm’s distance from Nova’s hiding spot—Stingray began picking through the scattered supplies.
“Pickled okra?” he said with a sneer, picking up a glass mason jar. “Sounds disgusting.” Turning, he threw the jar at the wall, where a mosaic of small tiles spelled out the name of the street above. The glass shattered, spilling more vinegar and green vegetables across the platform.
Nova’s grip tightened on the gun.
“And Fruity Rings?” said Frostbite, kicking a box of breakfast cereal that was already crushed on one corner. “I haven’t eaten this junk since I was four. It’s really better given to the rats.” Stalking to the edge of the platform, she picked up the box, opened it, and dumped the chunks of colorful cereal onto the tracks.
That box had actually been Winston’s—it was his favorite kind of cereal—so it would be no great loss to the rest of them. Still, the waste of it made Nova’s jaw clench. Anyone who remembered the Age of Anarchy at all knew that wastefulness was an unforgivable crime, no matter which side of the battle they fell on.
On the opposite side of the train car, a door clunked open. Frostbite and Stingray spun toward the car. Nova ducked back into the shadows, listening to the sounds of Leroy’s footsteps as he paced down the steps and onto the tracks. She caught a glimpse of Frostbite’s disgusted look as she took in Leroy, with his scars and discolored skin.
As Leroy passed into Nova’s line of vision, she saw that he was wearing his worn bathrobe over tattered sweatpants and slippers. His feet crunched through the pile of cereal as he made his way to the steps beside the platform.
“Oops,” Frostbite said in a saccharine voice. “Did we wake you?”
“Oh no,” said Leroy, coming to stand a dozen paces from the Renegades. “We were expecting you, after what happened today. It is nice to see you still living up to expectations. Although…” He sighed heavily and gestured toward the fallen shelves and the mess that took up a quarter of the platform. “I question the point of all this.”
Frostbite’s face turned swiftly from arrogant to enraged. She closed the distance to Leroy, a long shard of crystalline ice forming in her fist. “The point is to remind you freaks that anything you have, whether it’s food or water or even this pathetic little hovel in these cockroach-infested tunnels, is because we allow it.” She lifted the shard, tucking the point beneath Leroy’s chin and forcing him to lift his face. “And if we decide you don’t deserve such charity, then we can take it away.”
“Charity?” said Leroy, his voice even despite the ice digging into his jaw. “The Renegades have given us nothing. Everything we have has been bought and paid for—or fairly scavenged, just like everyone else.”