Not everyone in this world has pure intentions. Not every criminal is misunderstood. Not all evil can be dispelled with kindness, and the wickedest people in the world are the ones who understand love perfectly well. If you believe differently then someone other than myself has lied to you.

Solfeggio Kant presents:

When you have lived long enough, you learn these things. You begin in denial, then it becomes your burden to move to acceptance without the faintest idea how. It is a sad and unfortunate reality that evil is real, and that it is not always ignorant to the ways of a pure heart. I have lived long enough to learn. At least one person in this van will not.

Total Reform: The Ephraim Atrocity

"Now you," continued Anton, rounding on the brown-skinned behemoth at the end of the opposite row. She was a mountain of a woman, round-faced and broad-shouldered with a spattering of freckles on her nose. The Russian man eyed her up and down before asking, "Will you fight?"

"Do it, girl," Nora interjected. The scar-strewn behemoth looked expectant as well as terribly pleased with herself, having just accepted a similar offer. But Ma-Te only balled her fists tighter.

She didn't like this guy at all. She told him so with a succinct, "Not interested, Putin."

"Original," Anton replied casually, though his eyes gave the tiniest flicker. In the corner, Gasper DuPoy noticed this, and his grin deepened. Anton persisted, "Then you'll lie down at their feet, and be killed?"

The girl on Ma-Te's left resumed hyperventilating at his words, and Ma-Te couldn't help but be annoyed. She was quickly finding she didn't like this girl much either. "I really don't think that the plan is to kill us," she told Anton frankly.

On the other end of Ma-Te's row, the ethereal-looking girl who'd introduced herself as Sunlight shot her a nod. Ma-Te wished she could be sitting beside her instead of the dirty girl, who was now retching. Sunlight was predictably beautiful, with tawny skin and a nebula of dark, shimmering curls.

"And what do you think the plan is, my dear?" asked Anton, sounding genuinely curious, but Ma-Te wasn't fooled. Someone else spoke before she could, though.

"I've told you, whatever this was, my family was in on it," intoned Sunlight. She seemed remarkably at ease, confident even, but an incredulous murmur swelled at her words, and Ma-Te couldn't help but agree with it.

"I'm telling you all," insisted the ethereal girl, "my mother knew they were coming. She unlocked my door."

"That's fucking stupid."

"My father wouldn't..."

"I am sorry," Anton snarled at her over the din, "that your mother sold you out. It is a pagan, cowardly thing to abandon your child when faced with death. But do not be fooled, witch. That is what happened."

Sunlight, who'd bristled horribly at the word 'pagan', said, "You're delusional-"

And clearly, he was. Anton Katstanovich was seething so hard that he'd gone cross-eyed. But he was also terribly broad, with compacted, steel-rope muscles and an unmistakably conviction in his sloping face; the most dangerous of combinations. "I know of these men. My father's homeland swarms with them. I have always known they were here as well, hiding in plain sight, waiting to take away the visionaries, the revolutionaries..."

"Katz!"

All eyes turned to Gaslight, who was still folded neatly in his corner. "You wanna calm your tits before they pump their breaks again?"

The Observer jerked his thumb at the metal wall which separated them from the drivers. Anton continued to swell visibly. He bore his pale eyes into Gaslight's green ones, but relented. Nora spat on the ground next to Sunlight's feet.

"This wall didn't protect that shitbird in the passenger's seat, did it?" Gaslight asked Ma-Te. "You know, when they rolled up to your house, we all saw the fight you put up."

"The windows are tinted..."

"I still saw," Gaslight assured her. "And I thought to myself, that bitch is an artist with her hands. I mean, you broke his arm, didn't you?"

Several heads turned, including the dark-skinned, ruby-redheaded boy. It was the first time he'd raised his eyes since Ma-Te's abduction. But as they stared at her with vaguest admiration, she found herself wishing he'd lower them again; his eyes were uneven and his resting face was oddly manic, like a child with an insect, waiting to pull its legs off.

"Didn't you?"

Ma-Te looked away but muttered, "I did."

"And impressive as that was," continued Gaslight, "Do you think they won't split you nails down the middle with a safety pin for it?"

Ma-Te had nothing to say to this. Somehow, the narrow-faced boy had picked up on her exact fear at the moment: retribution.

"They ripped us out of our beds, our families, our possessions," he added, with a pointed look at the wheezing girl, who suddenly looked murderous. "You call yourself Ma-Te, right? Well, Ma-Te, even if they don't plan on killing us, do you really think their intentions are pure? Don't you think we should stand up for ourselves, as one, if possible? That's all my friend here is suggesting."

Sunlight cleared her throat and at once, it was clear that she had enmity for this oily, green-haired imp. Her nostrils flared as she argued, "Your friend," she gestured at Anton, "isn't suggesting unity. He's suggesting suicide."

"You don't know that, partner."

Another first: the boy on Nora's other side seemed to have woken up, or at least cottoned on to the conversation. Until now, he might've been a wax figure for how still and silent he'd been. Now he was smirking, and to a great collective gasp, he pulled an unmistakably-loaded pistol from somewhere and clicked off the safety. Anton looked as though his every prayer had been answered.

"My friend," he wondered aloud, "how did you-"

The boy with the gun looked terribly drawn and tired. Ma-Te wondered if he had a disease of some sort that rimmed his eyes purple, turned his nose cherry-red. He chuckled darkly and indicated the drivers. "Those cow-pokes are just rustlers," he said in a Tex-Avery sort of drawl. "Dumb as beasts. They pull two pistols off you and don't bother looking for more."

"I wish we could kill them now," Nora remarked. "Those two pieces of shit up front. We could out a bullet in their skulls and leave 'em for the coyotes. I could drive us outta here."

"Wouldn't work," Gaslight interjected, resting his head against the wall. "Solid steel, no weak spots. I can barely hear what they're saying up there through it."

"You're all idiots," said Sunlight incredulously, who hadn't taken her eyes of the red-nosed boy's gun. "Will you put that away?"

"Why would I?" Rudolph asked. "They don't have guns, or I woulda seen them. Let 'em come back here and try to take mine. See what it gets 'em."

He mimed shooting Sunlight, who pressed her back firmly against the wall. Anton and Nora gave cruel smiles and Ma-Te noticed, Sunlight's lips moved quickly and silently, like she were praying. "I got six bullets," Rudolph continued, saluting Anton with his pistol. "Five kills for them, and the last one… well, that's for me, if it comes to it. But I can do a lot with five bullets, more than most could do with twenty."

His voice was frank, humble, and completely detached. It carried a chill into the van but Anton ignored it with a humble sort of nod of his own. "You perform a great sacrifice, my friend. For the greater good."

"I'll fight too," seethed the dirty girl, who'd long since regained her breath, but Anton ignored her completely. Nora briefly acknowledged her, but it was clear that she had no idea how this wastrel would be useful at all. She was built like a fishbone and missing several teeth. Her ponytail was so filthy that it might have been any color and none of then would be any the wiser. Sunlight looked at her sadly.

"It isn't smart," she said to the girl, gently as she dared.

"Play smart when it comes time to act and you die," said Anton. "It is that simple. When you're captured by the enemy, you kill first. You make them afraid."

"They are not afraid of us," said Ma-Te finally. She was staring down the barrel of a gun in the hands of an unstable man. If one of his five kills was for her, she figured she might as well earn it. She glared at Rudolph and said, "We're the only ones who'll die if you start firing that thing."

And Sunlight began to cry. She gave no sound, no clues, save for the great, pearly tears that coursed down her face. The red-headed artist boy threw his head back and cackled under his breath, so that it sounded as though he were suffocating. Ma-Te set her jaw.

"If you wanna have a shootout with a bunch of cops, and you hounds are braindead enough to follow him," she said, more bravely than she felt, "Then fine. But do it in the doorway. Give me the back to-"

"To cower?"

"To keep people safe." Ma-Te amended. "Not everyone wants to be a martyr."

Anton scowled, but looked to Nora and Rudolph, who shrugged. Gaslight cleared his throat. "Give these cowards their due, Katz," he said casually. "The back of the van is more than fair. And I'll make sure they stay out of the way."

"Fine." Anton relented finally, after a brief moment of deliberation. His expression let on that he was considering just killing them rather than negotiating. Ma-Te couldn't help but think that Sunlight's prayer worked. There was no doubt in her mind that Rudolph would have shot both her and Sunlight if he'd been given clearance. The dirty girl wormed her way closer to her new friends, who visibly recoiled from her.

"You'll lead the charge," Anton said dismissively. "Guard our armed friend. And you, Mr. Wayne," he said to Rudolph, "you'll be flanked on either side by Ms. Nora and myself. You'll shoot five, six if you can spare it, and whoever is left, we will handle."

Nora bared her teeth in a horrible, bloodthirsty grin. A new mood shifted into the van as the rebels assumed their battle stance, shoved and kicked Ma-Te, Sunlight, and the red-head behind them. Nora spat again on the floor beside them. Ma-Te felt her heart pounding in her stomach; they were actually going to have a shootout. She couldn't think of what to say, so she turned to the redhead, who managed to wrestle a metal sheet free from the floor.

"You're not fighting?"

"I wanna see the carnage," he said honestly. "I wanna watch these white devils bleed, I can't do that if I'm dead too."

"Robert Artisson, beholden by my ancestor, beloved by her flesh and blood," Sunlight was close enough now that Ma-Te and Redhead could hear what she was muttering. "Sit with me, as you sat with our Alice, let me feel you close to me; and her too, if she can be spared..."

"What if they shoot back?"

"If they do," said Redhead. "Sorry, bitch, but this shield's for me."

Ma-Te only stared. She had gone to bed less than twelve hours ago like any other night. Now her father was dead, more than likely, and she had been taken. For what, she couldn't say for sure, nor could she say what was about to happen to her. There was nothing to do, no way to help herself. And now, the van was pulling into park, the drivers were dismounting - she could hear them. Whatever was to happen, was about to happen. The realization came to her like a slow submersion in cold acid.

The door to the van would soon be thrown open. Whether the van would flood with light, or everything would go dark, she honestly couldn't say.

Miles' arm was wrenched off his stump when the guards pulled him to the ground. He was subjected to several jeers and well-aimed kicks before he was able to wrap his remaining hand around it. He was so used to his extension that holding felt unreal, like he were holding his umbilical cord.

"Aw, man, this one's damaged," came a new voice, an oddly-familiar one. Someone else got their eyes up before Miles. They were the first to look eyes with Chris McLean.

"You've gotta be kidding me," whispered Sketch. "This fuckin' has-been..."

She raised herself up on her elbows and yelped at she was swatted back down. Chris was shouting, "You and you, are you rolling? Get their faces, close in on them. Stop moving them, we need this footage!"

There were guards all around the eight teenagers, shoving and jostling and jeering. In the dim of the sunrise, they were assailed by bright lights and cameras. It was like a paparazzi ambush in Hell. A flashing, blinding pain erupted in the back of Miles' head. A gruff, stupid voice chuckled.

"Don't fucking damage my players!" shouted Chris. "Hey, hey, you apes! He's coming!"

There seemed to be an infinite amount of hostile hands, feet, and faces raining down on the inmates, but at these words, they consolidated themselves into twenty young adults, at least a decade senior to the oldest 'player'. All of them wore green uniforms with red bands on their arms. The scariest thing about them was how apprehensive they suddenly looked.

A buzz-cut man whose red band was striped stepped forward and electrocuted his spine straight. He shouted, "Ten hup," and his fellows followed suit. "Line 'em up!"

"You and you, wide shots; you, keep on me," Chris was commanding, sending camera-people flying. No... these were no people. They were-

"You," Chris said, to himself, "Keep on the criminals; you, keep on my dad."

In the haze of their floodlights and the dust they were kicking up, they all could see: the crew was made entirely of robots, static, human-shaped things with wheels for feet and immobile snarling grins. They wore a younger Chris' skin, right down to the smallest wrinkle. Edith and Seneca shuddered as they, and everyone, were yanked up by guards and manhandled into line. As they were, another van pulled into sight, and more guards seemed to materialize around it. They just kept coming.

"So, this is our crop?"

"Yeah, pop, half of it. We got all the pansies in this van. The uh... cannon-fodder, if you will."

Chris guffawed at his own joke but the older, brawnier, and far more fearsome version of him just stared through them all. Behind his mirror-shades, there may have been nothing at all. "And the other van?"

"We're just about to crack that one open."

"No, you're not."

The eight assembled inmates were still regarding the man-and-machine army enveloping them, blotting out their surroundings except for the hulking, razor-wire wall around them. It rose higher than anyone could climb, and its base was buried so firmly in the hard, red ground that it looked like it had grown there. No one was brave enough to turn their head; to see it stretch eternally into the horizon on either side. It seemed a futile thing - beyond this fence was nothing, just barren space that the universe hadn't gotten to creating yet. The pale-orange of the morning sky and the color of the clay. Nothing more.

Chris was trailing his dad nervously now. "We're not?"

But Maxwell McLean was already examining to the approaching van. He raised his massive chin as his buzz-cut lieutenant lined up the guards around it. "Pop, we need the footage," Chris said. "This episode goes to editing tonight, remember?"

"Something's not right," said his father simply. He stayed static as he watched the drivers dismount, one clutching his right hand, which was purple.

Chris muttered. "Jesus Christ..."

"One of them had a couple guns on him, Colonel," said the driver at once. "We found 'em in the search."

Col. McLean looked back at the first eight arrivals, and then he looked at his boy. Chris looked back at him with his mother's small, apprehensive eyes.

"One of those kids had a gun?" he asked the guard. "Did... he do that to you?"

"It was a girl," said the guard, wincing as he tried his fingers. "The gunman came quietly enough, but... I dunno, man, he was freaky..."

"These guys are dangerous, aren't they?" intoned the Colonel. And then he pulled back and socked Chris hard in the arm, knocking him back several inches. "So it probably wasn't a good idea to send a couple college preps to get them, was it? I think I warned you..."

"You did..." Chris admitted, wincing. That was his pop, the old man could hit like a damn mule... "You definitely did."

The Colonel clapped Chris on his uninjured shoulder and steadied him. "These little fuckers aren't 'kids', boy. They're criminals, and that's why they're here. That's why they need to be afraid."

Chris nodded. He wasn't convinced of his father was right, but he couldn't really argue either. He hadn't expected the little shits to be armed. "So what do we do?"

Again, Maxwell McLean didn't answer. Instead, he cracked his neck, his knuckles, and stood before the door. Behind it was his prey.

"Collar the inmates in line, if you can handle that," said the Colonel. "Leave this lot to me."

I see you pulling away from me. I feel your apprehension, and yes, I fault you for it.

Fine then. Run if you must, leave and swear to never return. Doing so will not spare you. You will not let it. You will return to me.

You all return to me, sooner or later.

With special thanks to: TheGrooveMaster; Candela Monsoon; Zevoros; MagikarpofLegends; Ergo Glast; PretzelNinja; Unique Name; and most especially, Fangie-Kun (for being the internet bestie I never wanted. Jamie, you grew on me like an abscess.)

Thank you to everyone who applied, favorited, and followed the story: your support means more the world. I hope you'll all stick around for the thrilling conclusion of our first chapter. Consider dropping a review and telling me your opinions on our exemplary cast of criminals.

Solfeggio Kant