"Cheers!"

Glass clinked, and the echo bounced under the freeway ramp. The moon shone through the clear skies. Humidity lingered in the absence of the sun, causing Roger to fan his chest with his shirt.

After a long day, Roger and his colleagues collapsed into their little circle. No one wandered here. Public intoxication is considered a minor crime, leaving the culprit having to pay a hefty sum to SCAR. Better than being a test subject.

"Roger, I don't know how you do it, man. Leave it to the new guy to have the most sales of the month." Casper raised his drink in a small celebratory way.

"He's eating all the commission," Maple teased, brushing his long black hair.

"Save some for the rest, will you?"

Roger was with his four friends, whom he had made at work. Casper, Maple, and Stew. They've been there longer, but never posted the high sales number Roger had.

"Guys, guys, it's all about the tone of voice."

Maple shook his head with a gentle scoff. "I still can't believe this is your first sales job. Did you work anywhere else in high school or something?"

"High school? Nothing. This is my first job."

The three exchanged words regarding Roger's professionalism and being a natural at sales. The way he ensured each member of a party was treated equally and knew when to speak was a form of art that Roger had mastered. For months, Roger self–taught himself sales and practiced going door-to-door, selling a variety of items, from chocolate bars to wrapping paper. He learned and sharpened his skills through the losses and victories.

Roger took the compliments and smiled. The hard work wasn't for nothing. It led him down a path where he could take pride in himself.

"I'm surprised no one's intimidated by you being big and all," said Casper with a drink in both hands.

Maple spoke while brushing his long hair behind his shoulders. "Gentle giant. It's all about the smile. He has a good one. You, not so much."

"Very funny. Anyways, Stew, when are your other friends coming?"

"Soon, soon. They're on their way. They have to come from the university."

Stew invited a few others who lived further away. No one asked who, since Stew didn't say much about his life. Frankly enough, Roger thought Stew didn't have a social life outside of colleagues.

"Y'know." Casper rubbed his hands with a wide grin. "I brought some good stuff." He looked around in the distance before opening his bag. "Check it out."

Inside were all sorts of colors of spray cans used for graffiti.

"Maple groaned. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. What troubles are you insisting on?"

Casper pointed to the freeway ramp and slurred his words. He wanted to draw graffiti and write random phrases, which is considered vandalism, a serious crime. It's on the same tier as public intoxication.

Casper leaned forward, defiant. "What's the point of a blank wall if no one's brave enough to paint it?"

Maple reached for a can, amused, but serious at the same time. Casper yanked the bag away, wagging a finger. "Not yet. We'll wait for Stew's crew. Better audience."

It wasn't long before footsteps approached them from the dark.

Two boys and two girls appeared from the shadows in university attire. The girls wore a longer, yellow and green checkered skirt with a clean, white top, accompanied by a green tie.

On the other hand, the boys wore slacks with a buttoned-up green shirt and a yellow tie.

"Ah, my friends. Come, take a seat," Stew scooched over, opening the space.

"Anggie, hold my bag. I don't want bugs crawling inside."

The girl forcefully shoved her purse into Anggie's chest. With a smile, he grabbed it and sat beside Stew.

"Are you sitting here, O'?"

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"It's Olivia for you. And no, I'm not sitting on the ground? Am I a peasant? Tim, quit talking to Macy and hand me the chair."

He raced over to Olivia and placed the foldable chair next to Anggie. He scratched his head and looked up, his face churning in different directions.

"Roger?" Tim unconfidently said.

"Tim?!"

Stew hopped in. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah… uh… we used to… hang out here and there. Hey, Roger, can I talk to you on the side really quick?"

Roger spurned on his feet and met Tim face–to–face. In a discrete area, they whispered.

"What are you doing here?" Roger asked.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"I work with them. You're Stew's friend? How do you know him?"

Tim sighed. "I know of him. He's friends with Macy, and she invited me here."

Roger looked back at the group. "The ginger?"

"Yeah, she mentioned how he's friends with a lot of younger women. Kinda creepy. Hey, also, listen, I really like her, ok. Please don't say anything stupid. This is my chance to score."

Roger glanced at Macy. "I'll stay out of your way. But, what should we tell them about our relationship?"

"Old friend. Don't say anything about us living together. Just keep it casual."

Roger nodded and headed back to the group, with Tim trailing behind.

The group mingled for a while, the alcohol softening the tension. Olivia sat in her chair like a queen on her throne, occasionally scoffing at a joke.

Finally, Casper couldn't take it anymore.

"Alright, enough chit-chat. The canvas awaits." He pulled out a bright red can, shaking it with a metallic rattle.

"You're insane," Maple muttered, though he grabbed a blue can himself, smirking.

"Insanity is just creativity without fear," Casper replied.

Olivia gagged dramatically from her chair. "Really? Defacing public property? Do you have any idea how low-class that is?"

"Low-class?" Casper shot back, not even looking at her. "Nah. This is art. Future historians will look at this and call it a revolution."

Stew laughed, pulling a green can out for himself. "If no one scrubs it off in the morning." He leaned in and drew a stick figure with a helmet way too big for its body. "Behold, the SCAR agent!"

The others roared with laughter. Even Roger, standing back with his arms crossed, couldn't help but smile.

Casper turned and shoved a silver can into his chest.

"C'mon, sales boy. Don't just watch."

Roger hesitated. He knew what this meant. SCAR didn't care about jokes or art. To them, a painted wall was a challenge, a sign of disorder. Disorder was their enemy. But the others looked at him, waiting.

He pressed the nozzle and let the can do the work. His heart hammered, but it wasn't fear. It was something more. Something alive.

The freeway ramp bloomed with color. Red flames, blue spirals, and green bushes glittered with silver arcs under the moonlight. The concrete no longer felt like a cage. It was theirs.

Then, a faint hum arrived.

Roger froze, the can slipping in his grip. A low growl drifted down the empty road above.

The laughter died.

"Shit," Maple whispered, eyes wide.

A pair of headlights pulled up to the group, spilling light down onto the vandalized wall. The vehicle that followed was a black beast of plated steel. This was no mistake. That was a SCAR vehicle.

"Casper…" Macy's voice shook.

Casper dropped the can. The metallic clatter rang out like a gunshot.

"Run!"

They scattered like rats.

Olivia shrieked, clutching the hem of her skirt as she bolted toward the road. "Tim! Tim! Don't let them touch me!" she cried.

Tim sprinted after her, torn between Macy's hand in his and Olivia's shrill cries. He cursed under his breath, yanking Macy forward instead. Olivia was on her own.

Macy, wide–eyed, barely kept her footing. "They'll capture us…oh God, we're fucked…"

"Keep moving!" Tim said, racing towards the woods.

Anggie stumbled early, tripping over a loose stone. He hit the ground hard, but somehow rolled into a ditch where the weeds were thick. He froze there.

Stew was nowhere near as fast as the others. He staggered, his heavier frame slowing him down, but he didn't head for safety—he moved in the opposite direction, shouting nonsense. "Over here! Come get me!"

Roger risked a glance back and saw it. Stew was pulling the soldiers' focus, buying the others precious time. A bright crack of a stun dart dropped him. His body stiffened, then collapsed.

Roger wanted to scream, but there was no time to spare.

The spotlight swept again. Olivia shrieked as the beam landed near her, dropping her purse and chair in the dirt. Somehow she managed to scramble uphill, her pale skirt glowing like a beacon as she vanished over the lip of the freeway. Tim and Macy disappeared into the woods.

Roger didn't know who would make it, who wouldn't. He just knew the soldiers' boots were closing in behind him, relentless, their orders barked like iron.

"SUBJECTS DETECTED. DO NOT RESIST."

Stew went down. Casper was slammed against the ground. And Roger's run ended with the cold barrel pressing into his back.

The rest had scattered. Some escaped. Some didn't. But Roger, Maple, and Stew were the ones pinned under the light.

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