Why was here there? Standing patiently waiting, watching the corpses leaving the office in a steady procession.
Total insanity, his mother would have answered in her little kitchen attached to her hovel on Denver.
A purpose, his professor at University would have heralded. Of course that was if he'd actually spent more time in his studies than about on the campus. But that was another life-time ago.
It wasn't vengence, his father's death and thier subsequent abandonment by the Liberty corporation that had been thier shelter against recession, depression and poverty. He'd have joined the Rogues if that were the case. But the Rogues were pirates, blood staining thier hands half-mad on drugs. He didn't want that.
What did it leave? Varsity student yanked from education dreams to look after his ailing mother. Desperate to find something to give him a purpose.
Working in the factories had taught him a lot, assembling components, maintaining machines that churned out consumer goods that fed the fat lifestyles of the liberty elite. That the rich standing upon the backs of the Liberty poor kept an iron grip on the power they had bought.
As if Liberty itself were a commodity upon the great exchange... it had to change!
He hadn't intended to pick up that pamphlet, but the cover, a striking image of the Statue of Liberty crumbling, had caught his eye. He'd studied it, leafing through the pages late at night. Reading the words of Trotsky "Insurrection is an art, and like all arts has its own laws. "
What did it mean?
To him, at least, it meant learning more.
His old professor had laughed at the mere mention of "The Coalition"
"Wolves in the forest, boy," the old man had rumbled over his book. "A wives-tale to scare fat-little rich children into playing nice by threatening their trust funds..."
Of course that hadn't stopped the Liberty Police from beating down his door and dragging him in on suspicion of sedition.
A night of questioning, of demanding to know why he had seditious material in his home... The usual fare of democracies scared into the shadows out of terror. He'd been beaten, though all involved swore blindly that that had not been the case.
Bloodied and battered, Katz had learned a valuable lesson that night. It had to change.
He knew who could change it, and if he gave them his all, his best, his heart and his blood... maybe... just maybe it could change.
Katz walked up to the desk, trying his best to look firm.
"I would like to meet the recruiter, please," he said watching as yet another body went out of that room. "I am unarmed," he demonstrated. "All I ask is a chance to demonstrate my worth."
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