INVICTA GLORIA
Alec Davis. November 2024.
“Welcome to Invicta Gloria.”
Selene’s voice boomed out across the rock cavern as the colossal god approached. The entity was humanoid and clad in callous armour. Whether that armour was an extension of the god’s flesh or not, nobody knew. Amber illumination in the chamber revealed but a silhouette, like even the light rays couldn’t escape its gravity.
“Please forgive me, o powerful ruler.” Selene grasped the microphone tighter as she bowed her head. The speakers overhead crackled. “Had I noticed you had arrived sooner I would have greeted you, um… You are just so quiet, my lord.”
The gods’ grace had always impressed Selene. Their boorish power had not. She craned her neck in awe as the being encroached on her reception desk, only remembering to avert her gaze at the last second. The light from her computer screen was now all that remained.
“Your arena is ready for you,” she said.
The god did not acknowledge her. It took a deep breath in and out – a sigh, perhaps – and Selene hid her reaction to the repugnant smell that engulfed her. It then half clenched a gargantuan fist, and glided past the desk to the right and headed down a tunnel in the rock that could only just contain its form.
Selene relaxed somewhat. It never gets any easier, she thought.
She crept up against the wall and peered down the long tunnel.
Empty.
Now Selene sighed.
She returned to the desk, let down her wavy, black hair, popped a mint in her mouth, and took out her mobile phone. She hesitated, but then wrote, ‘All clear in the entrance hall,’ and sent the message. Selene made herself look busy. “Here we go,” she said to herself under her breath.
The clack of dress shoes came before the man. “Which one was that?!” he asked, approaching the desk a little out of breath.
“Mars,” Selene said with a smile. “And could you keep your voice down a little, please, Sam.”
“That’s the biggest one, right? The one the others all fear?” He wiped the pristine marble desk with the back of his hand and carefully lent on his forearm. “Sorry, I can’t keep track of the high-brow names they have.”
“They’re not high–” Selene continued to tap, tap, tap on her computer screen, not really doing anything other than maintaining her ruse. “Their names are historic,” she explained. “They’re part of a culture, a mythology from our home world that is more than three thousand years old, which Frankie felt was worth keeping alive a little longer. I wouldn’t dare to call the gods by the names she chose in their presence though.”
“Frankie – that’s your boss, right? She built this place, these training grounds? Convinced the gods to use the facility?”
“That’s a simple way of putting it, yes.”
“She doesn’t know their actual names?”
“We don’t even know if they have them.”
“Super interesting.” Sam reached inside his tightly fitted suit jacket and revealed a rainbow-coloured flower. “I must say, this is already the most exciting second date I’ve ever had.” He handed Selene the flower with a smirk.
“You’re counting this as a date? It’s just a tour you requested.” Selene placed the flower in a small vase with several others at the desk corner. I should never have told him about my flower obsession.
“Yeah, of course it is. Especially since I intend to take you out for dinner afterwards,” Sam beamed.
“Oh, I didn’t know that was the plan. Anyway, we’re miles from any restaurant. Invicta Gloria can’t exactly be close to civilisation for obvious reasons.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I have a plan.” Sam stepped away from the desk and peered down the tunnel. “So, what’re we seeing first?”
Selene pretended to finish her work with a final extravagant tap on the computer screen. “Um, the training grounds consist only of caverns, so I guess we’ll start with a cavern?”
“I’m excited!”
“Yes, well…” Selene, after slight hesitation, held out her hand. “Follow me, then.”
Sam stumbled on the uneven, rocky path, scratching his dress shoes. “I expected grand hallways and artistic murals like your boss’ other enterprises,” he said, “not some dark and cramped burrow.”
“These are back routes that connect all the training arenas,” Selene replied, showing little mercy for Sam’s hindered pace. “They’re not really used. Though they are handy for sneaking someone around on an unsanctioned tour.”
“Right, right.” Sam tripped but caught himself on the damp wall. “How much farther, Selene?”
“Just around the corner and…”
Sam passed through a battered metal door and stepped into darkness. He knew the cavern was immense from the echo following the door close. Selene flipped a bulky switch on the wall with two hands and the chamber flooded with artificial light.
Sam was surrounded by jagged, dull rock – a complete absence of flora. Across the vast space were several metallic monoliths protruding from the ground. He ventured forwards until he reached a trench that appeared to have been carved out of the rock with a giant spade.
“Apollo trains here,” Selene explained, her voice bouncing off the chamber walls and the high ceiling. “We believe he rules over one of the smaller continents towards the planet’s north pole. Apollo seems…younger to me. Not as powerful as the others.”
Sam studied the colossal monolith closest to him, realising now it was shaped like a person – no, shaped like the gods. It was battered and scorched, discoloured at the edges. “He seems pretty powerful to me.” As he clumsily explored more of the cavern, Sam examined the other god effigies, noting many had limbs and heads missing.
“Actually, the other gods can destroy these dummies completely,” Selene said. “We make them out of this hardy iron-nickel alloy that’s abundant in the rock on this island, and Apollo isn’t quite strong enough – yet – to deal with it.” Selene whispered now, “We compromised the dummies in here somewhat so they’re less resilient – we didn’t want to hurt Apollo’s feelings and trigger a reckoning.”
“You pander to their egos?” Sam said without restraint.
Selene nodded. “If the dummies can’t be damaged or destroyed by a god, we get the blame. And anyone with knowledge of their…inadequacies gets destroyed.” Selene walked past Sam towards the chamber corner. “Still excited for the tour?”
“Damn right I am,” he said chasing after her.
I was worried you’d say that, Sam.
The connecting tunnel was more cramped than last time and the cracks across the rock told Sam it could cave in at any moment. “Does each god hav–”
He stubbed his toe on a short stalagmite, groaned, and jogged to catch up with Selene. “Does each god have different magic?”
Selene sighed. “They don’t possess magic. Their powers obey the laws of physics. They’re just more advanced than any technology we primitive humans understand.”
“So, they’re just smarter than us?”
“We don’t really know. Seems to me that their weapons are biological – part of their bodies.”
“Wait, wait, wait. How can those deadly energy lasers and explosives be part of their bodies, Selene?”
“Millenia of fierce competitive evolution would be my guess.”
“What does that mean?”
Finally, Selene stopped and faced Sam. “These beings live to fight each other.” She tapped her fist on the rock face. “That’s why this place exists, so they can create new and better ways in secret to kill each other. The gods only really die when another becomes powerful enough to best them in a battle, and over thousands of years that has driven them to become monstrously powerful.”
“I…never thought about it like that,” Sam admitted. “You have to respect their ambition.”
“No!” Selene barked, but then recoiled. “It’s not ambition. It’s primal instinct. Don’t romanticise these creatures as actual gods. They are barbaric and foul beasts who seek only to dominate life. The only reason us lowly humans have been allowed to remain here is because people like Frankie have made themselves useful to the gods, they’ve served them.” Selene took Sam’s hand. “Mars, Apollo, and their ilk use us and discard us, and if you defy one of them, you’re in serious trouble. Do you understand, Sam?”
He saw the worry in her eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes. I understand.”
The tunnel shook twice violently with two claps of deep thunder.
No, Selene thought. No, you don’t understand, Sam. “Shall we continue the tour?”
Sam hesitated, but eventually said, “Yes.”
Selene struggled to force open the steel door. After watching momentarily, Sam helped and they toiled together.
“The…air pressure,” Selene said, “…differs…on each side…and causes–”
The door slammed open and Sam was taken aback. “So much heat!” he gasped.
“And they’re just getting started.” Selene stepped into the cavern beyond the doorway.
“Who is?”
“Mars.”
Sam took a deep breath, straightened his suit jacket, and followed his date. This time they were on a balcony many, many metres above the cavern floor, but still far from the ceiling. There was no railing, nothing to stop them plummeting down to the jagged rocks below if their footing went awry.
Sam stared out across the training ground. Remnants of metallic dummies littered the space among the untouched, like a decimated army of gargantuan robots. The destroyed weren’t like those felled by Apollo. These effigies had been obliterated down to the knees or lower, either by melting, violent explosion, or outright disintegration. Black smog obscured anything beyond them.
Mars was near. Sam’s body reacted to their divine presence and he trembled. He followed Selene across the balcony in a daze, all the while fixated on the ominous cloud that obscured the cavern, that obscured a god.
Light then pierced through the veil and Selene pulled Sam suddenly by his jacket into a transparent booth bolted to the rock. The dampened, cool atmosphere inside was a shock to his senses. He had to steady himself on a black box affixed to the thick glass wall. “What’s this cage for?”
Selene simply nodded to the intensifying light across the cavern, which quickly exploded into a protracted flash that burned Sam’s eyes and the cavern violently shook. Dense smog then battered the booth, plummeting them both into utter darkness momentarily. A wave of heat swallowed Sam as he realised he’d been brought to his knees.
“This booth protects us from the radiation, among other things,” Selene said. “Without it, that blast would have killed us, even though we weren’t the target.”
Sam dragged himself to his feet. “Power like that could…could…destroy cities!”
“Very much so. Which is why we’re lucky no gods have duelled anywhere near our tiny spat of land on this planet.”
The smoke began to clear and Sam desperately searched the darkness for Mars. “If that happened, the gods could completely wipe us out.”
“Indeed.”
Mars fired another blast, and Sam cowered once again. The heat was now unbearable.
“That is why Frankie built Invicta Gloria,” Selene said. “It deters the gods from using our cities as training grounds, and we leave their destruction here for the others to see, as proof of their power.”
“Their destroyed dummies demonstrate the damage they can inflict without actually fighting each other,” Sam realised.
“Precisely. And, importantly, the gods don’t see each other’s weapons in action, just the end result. Their abilities are their most precious secrets and they’ll do anything to protect them. Anything.”
Selene sighed deeply and offered her hand. Sam took it. He realised she was trembling. They walked together outside the protective booth.
“If we are to survive here, on this planet,” Selene said, “w-we must serve the gods. We cannot challenge their power. We m-must follow their decree, and we cannot, cannot, defy them.”
She kissed him.
I’m sorry, Sam, Selene thought, but you have defied Mars.
She pushed him off the balcony.
“O mighty ruler.” Selene’s voice blared out across the cavern. She twisted the dial within the box affixed to the inside of the booth to boost the microphone volume a little. “I have brought you a traitor,” she said, ignoring Sam’s screams of agony below. “This worm conspired with Pluto to learn the secrets of your great power. This wretched creature infiltrated Invicta Gloria to defile this great institution, and then had the audacity to believe he could witness your mastery without consequence, without punishment.” Selene paused, her hands still shaking. “I leave him to face you, my lord.”
Selene hung up the microphone and closed the box. She stepped out on the balcony and peered below.
“Selene, what are you doing?!” Sam screamed, dragging his leg across the cavern floor leaving blood-stained rock in his wake. “Help me, please! I’m sorry! Help me!”
“You cannot defy the gods,” she said simply, under her breath. “We are powerless. We must obey.”
A hand fell on her shoulder from behind. “Good work, Selene.”
“There isn’t anything good about this,” Selene said without facing Invicta Gloria’s creator. She tensed as Mars emerged silently from the black smog. She now saw his full form – blue-tinted armour resembling chitin, a series of small convex lenses embedded in its chest, eyes black below a furrowed brow.
“We are powerless,” Frankie repeated with a delicate tone. “We must obey. Remember always that if we are to survive, we must play the game. We must serve the gods and keep them content. Invicta Gloria is the only thing that protects our people from complete annihilation by their hands – it must be protected.”
“Even if that means murdering our own?” Selene watched in despair as Sam attempted to flee. He continued to scream her name.
“If that’s what we must do to keep the peace.” Frankie wiped the dust and dirt off her hands on her baggy overalls and took Selene’s arm. “Come,” she said.
They stepped into the protective booth as light coalesced in Mars’ chest. Selene couldn’t face Sam any longer. Instead she watched Frankie and wondered, Are we powerless?
As the god executed the guilty vermin with its transcendent power, Frankie’s expression remained unchanged. Her resolve solid. Selene watched the light reflected in her eyes.
Sam was coerced by Pluto through fear. The second he was caught, his choice was to be killed by one god or another.
Smoke engulfed the booth and darkness consumed them.
The gods’ power is very real. But us humans are intelligent, resilient. We travelled across the galaxy in a ship of our own design, beating insurmountable odds. Can we not outsmart the gods? I’ve followed Frankie’s lead like a good employee, assuming we have no other choice but to obey. But if we don’t even try to resist the gods’ rule, how can we consider ourselves anything but evil like they are?
It was over. Punishment dealt. Selene stepped forwards. She clenched her fist when she saw Sam’s charred remains embedded in the melted rock below.
“How’s many is that now?” Frankie asked.
Mars moved on, caring nothing for the life they had extinguished, like Sam was little more than a germ. The god vanished into the black smoke.
“Five,” Selene replied. “Five people I’ve sent to their deaths because they were trapped in inescapable deals. Five people murdered because of the gods’ pissing contest.”
“Remember we too are trapped. They had no choice but to become spies, much like we had no choice but to reel them in and deliver the spies to the gods.”
Selene faced her boss, barely containing her rage. “What happens then if I’m approached by a god with a deal? Will you deliver me for divine punishment?”
“I would. We must obey.”
Selene left the booth, if only to put some space between them.
Frankie continued, “However, the gods made an agreement not to corrupt the servants of Invicta Gloria.”
“That’s an excellent incentive to keep your best employee around.” Trapped indeed, Selene thought as she headed for the exit.
“Selene,” Frankie called after her, “Pluto arrives tomorrow morning. Be ready!”
As she watched Invicta Gloria’s servants dig out Sam’s unrecognisable corpse from the rock, Selene said, “I must obey.”
STAIRHELL
Alec Davis. September 2024.
“Triathlon and sprint champion, philanthropist, and best-selling novelist; today Haru Holt descends the two hundred and forty-four flights of Stairhell, but why? I’m Kaylee Hitomi and I’ll be taking a journey with the legendary sports star to find out.”
It was noon. The sun grazed the freshly cut lawns and flowerbeds of Shin’naha’s third city-floor, serenity denied by the chaos emanating from the metropolis below. Haru Holt stood next to the park barrier, looking down at the gentle ocean waves far below. The breeze tried its best to mess up the athlete’s slicked-back brown hair, but the mould was unyielding. She studied the jagged, concrete monolith – a colossal stairwell – tacked onto the side of the three-story city carved out of the rock. Her sight blurred as she followed the seemingly endless structure hundreds of metres down to the ground.
It had a name once, she thought, but all memory of that had faded hundreds of years ago. All that remained was its nickname, loathed and feared in equal measure. All that remained was Stairhell.
Even though invitations were sent to Kaylee Hitomi and her camera operator only, the media circus had a keen nose and had tracked Holt’s internet-scent to Stairhell’s entrance within minutes. Her manager was accustomed to the reporter dogs, though a team of bulky handlers did their best to keep the pack at bay.
“Ms Holt,” Kaylee Hitomi said, approaching with a camera drone hovering over either shoulder, “thank you for inviting me on your journey today.” Haru’s two security guards – one wider than tall, one taller than wide – padded her down before she came into arm’s reach of the sports star.
“Thank you for accepting,” she replied with a gentle bow. “And please, call me Haru.”
The cries from the ever-growing journalist pack grew louder still and became hard to ignore. It was time to leave.
Haru offered her hand to Kaylee and said, “Let’s descend.”
Flight 244
The smell hit Haru like a jockstrap slapped across the face. Urine, body odour, stagnant water, she thought, unconsciously slowing her breathing. Is that barbeque I smell too? Dread to think where they got the meat from.
As one of her signature sneakers landed on the very first step, she weighed the consequences of throwing in the towel at the first hurdle. But she hadn’t failed a single challenged thus far, and she wasn’t planning on starting now.
Haru glanced across and saw a faded and crumbling ‘Flight 244’ painted high on the wall in blood red. The stairwell was wide, but the low ceiling triggered her claustrophobia. And the farther she descended, the more cramped she felt, as the landings began to fill with the homeless and their copious belongings that blocked her path. Haru focused on the steps one at a time, comforted somewhat by her security team leading the way.
“Tristan!” Kaylee said, snapping her fingers at the cameraman and pointing in front of Haru. Tristan, who skulked behind them like a disgruntled caddie, whispered under his breath, “Two weeks into this job and it’s already too much,” and repositioned the silent camera drones in front of Haru and Kaylee as they continued their descent. The remote-control device he held showed the camera feeds and he positioned the shot to cut himself out, to hide his obvious contempt for Haru.
“Haru, tell me: why descend the entirety of Stairhell live on air?” Kaylee now walked beside the sports star, the clack of her dress shoes echoing around them with every step. “Why descend the two hundred and forty-four flights of stairs connecting the city’s three floors? What purpose will it serve?”
“Homelessness is a serious problem in Shin’naha,” Haru explained. “No one uses this stairwell to travel between the city floors, so, every year, hundreds of people come here for shelter. Although the government aid centres throughout Stairhell provide hot meals and do rehome a significant number of these unfortunate people, it just isn’t enough. Today, I hope to raise awareness of the situation here.”
“But why today, Haru?” Kaylee placed her hand delicately on Haru’s wrist. “You should be with your grandmother on her birthday!”
Haru chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with her another day.”
“It’s her one hundred and fortieth birthday – quite the milestone. I would’ve thought you’d be celebrating today as a family, especially since you’ll be competing in the triathlon world championships tomorrow, which we all know you’re going to win again, by the way.”
“She’s not keen on birthdays, my grandmother. She’s spent far too much of her life at the centre of attention. Plus, she doesn’t like drawing attention to her age.” Neither do I.
“What is the secret to your grandmother’s longevity? Or to your impeccable vitality, for that matter, Haru? You’re – if you don’t mind me saying – beyond fifty yourself now, and still competing like someone half your age.”
“Good genes, I guess. But eating healthily and staying active is a big part of it too.”
“DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH, YOU DISGUSTING HOMINID!” The androgynous voice blared from the waist-high bin on the staircase landing. The yellow light encircling the lid flashed with the bitter words. “AS IF THE LONGEVITY OF YOUR FAMILY WAS ANY OF YOUR DOING.”
Kaylee faced one of Tristan’s cameras and said, “For those of you tuning in from outside Shin’naha, this sour AI is Keith, our Autonomid. He’s watching over the city while our original cyberspace caretaker is on holiday. For the most part he looks after us, protects us from ourselves, but he isn’t always happy about the arrangement.” Kaylee ducked down so the bin-cam could see her face. “Now, Keith, we’re live streaming, so could you please watch the swearing.”
“PISS OFF.”
Haru helped Kaylee stand. “Let’s move on.”
Flight 220
“This here,” Haru gestured to an annex that was little more than a steel container bolted to the stairwell, “I believe is an aid station. These provide food and medical care to the homeless residing in Stairhell. I’ve heard much about them from the various charities that support the great work being done here.”
“Charities that probably wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for your gracious donations,” Kaylee pointed out. “The people here are truly blessed to have you looking out for them, Haru.”
“It’s the very least I can do.” And I get nothing but grief for it.
Haru squeezed passed the queue on the stairs and the cameras followed her inside the station.
“I’m sorry,” a panicked man said rummaging through empty crates in the room corner, “Ellen Vogel’s crew took all of the antibiotics.” He was talking to a pale-faced teenage girl. Her jeans and coat were grubby, and her tied-back hair was frayed at the ends. “The second we get a delivery, those crooks clean us out.”
Going by his scrub-like outfit, Haru guessed he was a medic. “Excuse me,” she said, approaching the girl. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?”
“Well,” she replied and paused to watch the camera drone that drifted towards her. “I’ve got a…” She stared at the camera once more, and then at Kaylee and Tristan. “I’ve got an infection, but there’s never any medicine in these so-called aid stations.”
“And why is that?”
The girl froze. Her eyes widened. She simply shook her head.
“There’s never any medicine here,” the medic raged, “because Vogel and her goons always steal most of them.”
“That’s awful! Why doesn’t anyone do something about it?” Haru stepped aside so the camera could fit them both in frame.
“No one cares enough! With one gang living in the top two thirds of Stairhell, another in the bottom third, and some kind of warzone in the middle, the situation here is too volatile for anyone to commit the resources to fix it.”
“That’s abhorrent.” Haru sighed loudly and with her entire body. Glad we got that on camera. “Thank you for speaking with us,” she said to both the medic and the teenager. The thought of traversing gang territory later on in her descent made her anxious, but she hid it well. As she had done her whole life.
“Haru,” Kaylee said, placing a hand on her arm and looking straight into the camera lens, “do you plan to change things here?”
“You bet I do.”
“Hang on a sec,” the teenager said, “you’re that athlete. Yeah, yeah! You’re the one that everyone says keeps getting away with cheating.”
“No drugs or mods! Ever!” Haru barked. Damn. Need to curtail that anger or people will never buy my response.
The girl backed away, hands raised, and mumbled something under her breath.
“Shall we continue our descent?” Kaylee suggested.
“Yes,” Haru said gently. “Let’s.”
Flight 187
“What’s that noise?”
It was difficult to hear anything over the din of the ever-increasing number of homeless on the stairwell, but when Haru concentrated, she could pick out yells and screams. She picked up the pace.
“Stop!” a distressed woman screamed. “Please!”
Haru rushed to her side on the stairwell landing, but before she could ask what was wrong, she spotted two men brawling one flight down.
Haru froze and watched them.
Wide eyes stared, unblinking, through bloody faces. Their noses were battered and misshapen, their cheeks were split, yet they continued to swing punches at each other. Haru had never witnessed such pure violence before, such apathetic brutality.
The smaller of the two men lost his footing and fell, bashing his head on step after step until his momentum abated. He fell unconscious, but that didn’t stop his opponent. As the brute began stamping on his chest, Haru snapped into action. She charged forwards and tugged the brute backwards like he weighed nothing. As Tristan’s camera swooped around behind her, she dodged several punches from the possessed beast, caught his arm and twisted it behind his back to restrain him. The brute said nothing but continued to struggle.
“Look,” Haru said, pivoting his arm with ease. Among the blood splatters were several injection marks around the forearm vein, surrounded by black and blue bruising. “Cryomorphine,” Haru explained. “He’s overdosed on the drug and will continue to be dangerous until he comes down. I’ve only one choice here…”
Haru brought her arm around the brute’s neck and applied pressure. Again he struggled, fighting for breath, but he just couldn’t break free from Haru’s vice hold. Kaylee held back the distressed woman until he passed out and Haru gently lowered him to the ground.
“Haru, Cryomorphine – CMP – is well-known to be lethal, so why would someone inject themselves with it at all, let alone overdose?”
Haru whispered, “I’m sorry,” to the woman now cradling her unconscious husband, and turned to Kaylee: “For many reasons. The people that reside here in Stairhell don’t have easy lives. They’re starving, nights are cold, and healthcare is apparently non-existent. Maybe they take CMP to numb the pain, which it does so effectively. Maybe, just maybe, the temporary euphoria the drug induces gives them an iota of happiness for a short time. And I, for one, can understand how that can lead to an overdose through fear of returning to the misery of this place.”
“I…see.”
“We have to help them, Kaylee.” Think I sold that well.
Haru placed both men in the recovery position and continued her descent.
Flight 122
“Haru, Haru!”
After over thirty minutes of descent, Haru reached the halfway point – the second city floor.
“Haru! Do you have a second to answer a few questions?”
At the end of the Stairhell exit ramp, many metres away, awaited a crowd of journalists, fans, and haters, hungry for Haru’s attention.
“Haru, I love you!”
Again, her handlers kept the dogs at bay, but the pack was dense, wild, and voracious. Perhaps even frightening.
“Haru, tell us about your body mods? That’s how you cheat, right?!”
Haru simply smiled and waved. She turned to find Kaylee, Tristan, and her security sat on the stairs, panting, and wiping sweat from their brows. “Shall we rest for five, team?” she said.
“Mod-stealing cheat! Those organs are meant for the sick, dammit!”
“No, no, no,” Kaylee said, “don’t let us slow you down.” As she stood her legs gave way and she bumped into a young teen. The bag he carried flew from his hand and landed at Haru’s feet. The black carrier was sturdy, well padded, and the zip was open a touch. Haru stared inside. There was a padlocked pouch.
HUMAN ORGAN FOR TRANSPLANT. HANDLE WITH CARE.
Artificial organs, Haru realised. Mods.
The boy, startled, scrambled to his feet and snatched the bag back.
“Where are you going with that?” Haru asked sternly.
He ignored her and Haru stopped him with a vice grip around the collar of his mucky hoody. She dragged him down the stairs and out of sight of the crowd. “Where are you taking that?”
Haru missed the prying eyes of Tristan and his camera.
“Let me go!” the boy cried, fear in his eyes.
“You’re delivering this somewhere for Vogel, aren’t you?”
“Please, just let me go. I’m so close…”
Haru released the boy and stepped back. He barged passed Kaylee as she approached. “Haru, what’s going on?”
“Vogel controls who gets rehomed. You have to work for her, deliver…contraband, who knows what else, to even apply for rehoming.” Again, Haru sighed. “Extorting the homeless. Stealing from those in need. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, disgusting.” Tristan scowled at the distressed athlete.
“It has to end.”
Flight 80
The cacophony from the crowd fell below that of the chatter from the homeless occupying every landing. Haru pushed the toxic accusations to the back of her mind and refocused on her goal. She picked up speed. However, fresh anxiety hit as the sea of homeless began to thin and her squad was alone.
“Why doesn’t anyone live down here?” Kaylee asked, placidly.
Haru paused and said, “A better question might be: what are they afraid of?”
A boy appeared from around the corner. The same boy from before, and he carried the same bag as before, but this time, it was flat. Empty. He appeared paler now, distressed. “Turn back,” he told Haru as he passed. “You can’t pass through One and Half.”
“Why not?”
The boy turned the corner up the stairwell before he replied. “Vogel won’t let you.”
The camera flew around Haru’s head to face her. “What do you say to that, Haru?” Kaylee asked from behind her.
“We carry on.” This isn’t what I signed up for.
Flight 61
The way was barricaded. A pair of guards, stood either side of a bulky door, eyed Haru as she approached, but they soon focused on her security. Expensive suits for gang thugs, Haru thought and said to them, “We would like to pass.”
The guards folded their arms.
As Tristan’s camera flew around and faced her, Haru step forwards and demanded, “Let us through.”
“No one gets through One and Half,” one guard said with a smirk.
“Is that so?”
Without a word of warning, Haru’s security threw her aside and the pair quickly overpowered the gangsters, choking them until they collapsed, while Haru yelled, “What are you doing? Stop!”
Cold metal stung the back of her neck.
“Turn around.”
Haru found Tristan pointing a pistol at her face. As she studied the seemingly homemade contraption made of crudely welded steel, she realised she was powerless.
“Tristan!” Kaylee roared. “What is this?”
“Oh shut up, Kaylee,” he barked. “This doesn’t concern you.” His hateful eyes fixated on Haru. “This is about the untouchable Haru Holt. She will be exposed, live on air, as the cheat and murderer she is.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Haru couldn’t contain her disdain even through her hands shook in fear.
Tristan shook his head with a patronising look, then took out a phone and dialled. He placed the call on speaker.
“WELL, WELL, WELL, IF IT ISN’T MY DIRTY BIPED ACCOMPLICE.”
“Keith, we’re at the One and Half door,” Tristan said. “The code?”
“NOW, NOW. WHERE ARE YOUR MANNERS? THE CODE, PLEASE.”
Tristan sighed and gripped the gun tighter. “The code, please, Keith.”
“SIX, NINE, SIX, ONE, ONE, THREE, FIVE.”
Tristan turned to the taller than wide security guard and he nodded back. He took a card from the inside jacket pocket of one of the felled goons, then opened a small metal box affixed to the wall, swiped the stolen key card, and entered the code.
The door unlocked.
Tristan marched Haru inside at gun point. The stairwell was now pristine – metal steps so shiny she could see her own frightened face in it, and there wasn’t a piece of litter in sight. However, the blood-red stairwell counter painted on the wall was still faded and crumbling.
The security guards followed but then slammed the door behind them in Kaylee’s face.
“Hey! You can’t do this, dammit! Oi!”
Tristan nudged Haru forwards with the gun as the camera flew around to face her.
Flight 60
“So what makes you think I’m a murderer?” Haru asked her captor staring straight down the camera lens. “Clearly I’ve missed something.”
“The artificial organs you stole to cheat and win your fame were meant for the sick and dying. With scum like you putting strain on the supply chain, the manufacturers can’t produce enough life-saving organs fast enough to keep up with demand. Your heart, your lungs, they were on their way to save someone’s life when they were swiped, all because you had more money to offer. The ill-fated few waiting for these organs died because of your greed, because of your hubris. You are a murderer, Haru Holt.
Flight 59
“This seems personal to you, Tristan,” Haru said. “Who did you lose?”
“Like you care.”
Haru stopped and turn to face him with the gun pressed firmly against her forehead. “I do care. Of course I do. You deserve justice, but this is not how to get it.”
Tristan scowled at Haru and pushed the pistol harder against her face. “Keep moving.”
Haru sighed. “I have never stolen any artificial organs. I have never cheated.” Haru continued to descend. “And I will never say anything different.”
Flight 58
Tristan paused momentarily, then spat, “Dammit!”
Haru heard the heavy footsteps from below too. Are they police here to save me, or gangsters here to kill me?
“Move!” Tristan barked.
Flight 57
Flight 56
“Stop!”
Haru look around the stairwell landing searching for reason. She then spotted another metal box on the wall.
“Keith, code!”
Haru saw the panic all over Tristan’s face as he yelled at the phone. The security guards, however, remained cool and collected.
“WHAT DO YOU SAY…?”
“Keith, the code, now!”
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”
“Damn asshole AI. May I have the code, please?”
“YOU MAY. ONE, NINE, NINE, SEVEN, TWO, TRIPLE THREE, SEVEN.”
Again, the bruiser opened the door and they all charged inside before they were caught.
At first, only the dim, crimson glow from the cameras illuminated the room. They hovered above the central operating table and Haru could have sworn the entire thing was drenched with blood, but when Tristan hit the light switch, she realised it was actually clean and sterile with neatly folded scrubs on the end. Orbiting the table were various instruments and machinery that looked well out of the price range of simple gangsters. Haru walked among white plastic and metallic kit, brushing their tops with her trembling hand.
“Remember this place, Haru?”
She denied him the satisfaction of acknowledgement. Instead, she continued to peruse the room, rifling through the notepads on the desk and staring down the large garbage shoot in the corner. The camera followed her face all the while, but she didn’t engage it.
“I guess you’d have been blindfolded,” Tristan said, “or put under to protect the location of this place. Either way, this is where you gained your prosperity, your fortune. Not through eating healthily and staying active, or whatever spiel you like to tell people.”
Bang, bang, bang!
The door visibly began to buckle in its frame and the bruisers quickly braced it against those on the other side.
“Shit! We’re out of time.” Tristan headed to the large computer in the corner and prodded the curved screen several times before it lit up. He then placed his phone on the desk next to it, again with the speaker active. “Keith, get me in.” He sighed. “Please.”
Bang, bang, bang!
“AS YOU WISH, YOU VULGAR MICROBE.”
The login screen suddenly vanished and Tristan began hunting through the document folders, with the camera hovering over his shoulder baring the computer’s secrets for all to see. “Ah, here it is. This is the list of customers for this surgery. Everyone that’s received a stolen organ is in this record. You can’t hide your crime now, Haru!”
Tristan scanned through the list of names, once, twice, and a third time, while his expression drifted from triumphant to panicked.
Haru stood behind him, watching the screen over his other shoulder. “I’m not on that list, Tristan.”
Bang, bang, bang!
“How many times do I have to say I don’t cheat?”
“Keith, there must be another list!” Tristan yelled hysterically.
“NO, HARU’S RIGHT. SHE’S NOT ON THAT LIST, NOR ANY OTHER ON THAT COMPUTER.”
“What? Why?!”
“BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T CHEAT.”
Bang, bang, bang!”
“What?!” Tristan quickly shut off the camera. “Why would you let us break in here and stage this live stunt if she was innocent all along?”
Bang!
“BOREDOM MOSTLY.”
BANG!
“You let us take an innocent hostage at gunpoint because you were bored?!”
“OF COURSE. THIS IS MOST ENTERTAINING. I GUESS I ALSO FELT LIKE TEACHING YOU A LESSON ABOUT TRUSTING THE NONSENSE YOU READ ON YOUR PITIFUL HOMINID INTERNET.”
“No, no, no.” Tristan placed the gun on the desk.
“What do we do, Tristan?” Haru spun him around. “You must have an escape plan for this stunt of yours?”
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
“Well, um, the plan was to hole up in here until the police came to arrest you and congratulate me. But, but, that doesn’t seem likely now.”
The police would’ve made themselves known by now. It must be gangsters behind that door. Haru grabbed Tristan by the arms. “Ask for help then! You have a live camera that can transmit to millions – call out for help. Beg the police to save us!”
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
“I, I-I guess I could–”
The door lock buckled and the security guards struggled to hold back the gangsters on the other side. One forced himself through enough to fire his gun randomly into the operating room. Bullets ricocheted off metallic instruments and bounced around the room like deadly ping-pong balls, and one quickly found Tristan’s shoulder. He fell to his knees howling in pain, and at that moment, Haru made a snap decision – she opened the garbage shoot and leapt in feet first.
Please let me survive this.
Flight 55
Flight 54
Flight 53
Flight 52
Flight 51
Flight 50
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Flight 48
Flight 47
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Flight 45
Flight 44
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Flight 10
Flight 9
Flight 8
There’s no pain…and it’s pitch black.
…
Am I dead?
…
I wouldn’t have thought the afterlife would smell this bad.
Wait…
Okay, move your toes…check.
Arms…check.
Seems like I’m alive.
…
Feels like…rubbish bags? Gross.
Ah! Phone torch.
Haru shone the focused light around the room. She’d landed in a huge, metallic bin, one at least as tall as she was. She clambered out, conscious of her body and aware that her adrenaline must have been nulling inevitable pain. All that surrounded her was more garbage and dirty walls – and one wooden door in the corner.
Flight 1
As Haru stepped outside into the city air, the light blinded her momentarily. It took her a moment to realise it wasn’t the sun’s rays, but the inescapable artificial light that permeated every inch of Shin’naha’s first city-floor. Haru followed the path between the concrete chasm towards the main road. When she spotted the familiar marketplace on the left beneath one of the many skyscrapers, she realised where she’d ended up – the exit of Stairhell. I’ve done it, she thought. I’ve escaped.
“Haru?”
“Haru! What happened up there?”
“Haru, was that a publicity stunt?”
At the exit to Stairhell the dogs awaited. They now charged into her face and boxed her in, with only prearranged security keeping them from pouncing.
“Haru, how did you escape?!”
She felt defenceless, vulnerable, and once again under siege.
“I knew you were a damn cheat, Haru Holt!”
“I hope karma hunts you down and your stolen organs fail!”
“Screw you, Haru!”
And once again, she was guilty until proven guilty.
It then dawned on Haru that the great physical challenges she set herself paled in comparison to her own personal Stairhell – her own daily, never-ending battle against the unfettered public opinion, digital hearsay, and unjustified hate, hate, hate.
When will this end?
GHOSTS
Alec Davis. April 2021.
“Are you ready?”
Weeskind – or just ‘Wes’, as he liked to be called – buried his face into the pillow and took a deep breath. The strong scent of chemicals caught in his throat. The bed he lay on was comfortable, but the plastic film wrapped around it squealed when he moved.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for this.” Wes turned to look at the mid-thirties woman wearing a red headscarf. “It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?” he said.
She smiled.
Wes examined the various needles and medical supplies around the room and began to panic. His heart was pounding. “Well, I can’t back out now. I agreed to this and I’m a man of my word.”
“Shall I start then?” the woman said.
Wes took another deep breath and nodded.
“And you’re sure about the design?”
Wes hesitated.
“Yes, he’s sure about the design!” Weeskind’s friend and accomplice, Koji, stood over him with a sick grin and a camera. “What’s not to like?” she said. Koji brushed the dark hair out of her eyes and behind her ears, careful not catch it on the many metal studs that decorated her lobes. She preferred to wear plain, loose-fitting trousers and t-shirts to rebel against mainstream fashion trends.
“But it’s so…so…pink?!” the woman objected.
“And he loves it,” Koji said. “Don’t you, Wes?”
“Absolutely not. But…I agreed to this, didn’t I.”
Wes lost his hair the year after he left school. Since then, he never went outside without wearing a black beanie to hide his head. Even though he was currently topless, he still wore the beanie.
Without warning, the woman grazed Wes’ back with the oscillating needle. At first, there was little pain, and the buzz of the machine was soothing, though soon he realised she was just easing him into it. Once the needle began to pummel his spine, he gripped the pillow against his face to hide his expression – the sort you make when you peel off a plaster gripping to your hair for dear life; that scrunched, squinting mess of a face that we all make.
“So, I’m guessing there’s a story behind this design?” the tattooist correctly surmised.
“There certainly is!” Koji said, as she snapped a shot of Wes’ ink-stained back with her camera. “Would you like to tell it, Wes?”
After several seconds he squeezed out, “No…thanks.”
“Guess I’ll have to tell it then, with all the embellishments I please!”
“Last night we went to my favourite bar, the Vespa,” Koji said. “It had been three years to the day since the Horizon hit Stratos, three years since the damn planet lashed out at us and snatched away Wes’ and my parents. So, as our tradition dictates, we got smashed and use booze-fuelled logic to try and understand how life is fair. However, rather than follow tradition, Wes decided to nag me about my career.”
Koji was a gifted architect, well, in theory she was – she’d studied arduously to follow her dream so she knew more about the subject than some of the professionals, and she certainly had better ideas than most of them. All she needed was an opportunity. In the city of Stratos, architecture was a field that many wanted to enter into, but only a select few had the right…friends. It was a classic case of ‘it’s not what you know, it’s who you happened to meet in a bar one night while all the good students were studying’. Though after her parents died in the Horizon, Koji gave up on her dream and took an accounting job instead. She hated it, but it kept her afloat.
Over the years Koji’s passion for architecture laid dormant somewhere, buried among the suppressed misery and anger where it guided her eye once in a while and subtly influenced the odd decision here and there. Like a choice of bar, for example. The Vespa was named after the architect that designed Stratos’ famous Atrium, Ninette Vespa. Koji frequented the Vespa up to four times a week. Before her parents died, however, she’d never set foot in there.
As the tattooist poured out pink ink into a little cup, Koji snapped another photo with her camera, and continued her story: “As Wes nagged away about how I gave up on architecture, a nerdy-looking group – I think they worked at the aerospace facility – overheard us and joined the conversation. A few drinks later and they started laying it on thick about my career motivation too. One woman kept asking me again and again why I gave up on architecture, so I eventually told her I just lost my love for it. ‘I don’t buy it’, she’d said. ‘No one works that hard for something and then just gives up! What’s the real reason you gave up on it?’ she’d asked. I’d had quite a bit to drink at this point so I thought, ‘Screw it. I’ll just tell her’. I rambled on for ten minutes or so about how, at the time, I had no money, no family, no job, and currently, no future. There was no guarantee I’d get my foot in the architecture-job-door anytime soon, or at all! So, with my self-esteem at its all-time lowest, I decided to accept that I’d never get my dream job, and started looking for something easy that paid well.”
“We’ve all been there, honey,” the tattooist said, dipping her machine in the ink whilst wiping Wes’ back with a tissue. “It sucks.”
“That it does.”
Koji glimpsed over at the banner hanging on the wall that said, ‘I support the insurgency for our children’s future. FIGHT BACK!’
“It’s part of the reason Wes and I both joined the insurgency – we had little to lose,” Koji said and took a sip of water from a bottle. She then offered it to Wes but, cruelly, just out of his reach. To her, his predicament could not have been funnier.
Koji continued: “And then this woman, this complete stranger, managed to turn my evening around with one simple observation – ‘With luck that bad,’ she’d said, ‘some good must be on its way!’
“I let that settle, as well as the shot I’d just drunk, and I realised that she was right. She was undeniably right. How could life have become so shit, so quickly, if a stream of good luck wasn’t coming my way?”
“AAAARGH!” Wes bellowed.
“Sorry, love, it’s just cold water on your back,” the tattooist explained, wiping away some of the pink ink and blood. Without turning to Koji, she asked, “What happened next?”
“I decided to test the theory. I started small, simple – a coin flip. I bet the random woman sat opposite me that if she won the flip, I’d give her all the money in my wallet; and if I won, I’d get her a pint. She was keen to prove her theory so she agreed. And you know what? I bloody won.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, because at the time, Wes was thinking it too: ‘Fifty-fifty odds hardly proves anything, no matter how high the stakes,’ he’d said. ‘One out of four if I win again,’ I pointed out, but he knew where the evening was heading and was keen to put a stop to it. He rolled off some spiel about life being shitty, luck not being a thing, and that lots of bad luck doesn’t get balanced out with the good. I believe he used the phrase ‘cosmic karma is just plain nonsense’. He even went as far as to use the Stratos-Maeda stand-off as an example – ‘If cosmic balance is real,’ he’d said, ‘why then do the snobs in Maeda get a pass from the Horizon? Why does their city keep them safe from it when ours doesn’t? And why, two years running, haven’t the Maens let even the youngest of our children inside their city wall to keep them safe when the Horizon came?!’
“I saw his point, well, some part of my brain did, but that woman had sparked the hope inside me and the boozy part of my brain was eating it up. So, I ignored Wes’ argument just like the liquor stains on my shirt.”
Koji walked around to the opposite side of the bed that Wes laid on, behind the tattooist, and took another photo.
“I tested my luck again and again with the coin flip,” she said, “and again and again I won. When my odds hit over a hundred to one, I started getting cockier. And Wes started getting pissy – he hates being wrong.”
Koji could tell Wes wanted to argue back, but he was too busy gritting his teeth and burying his face (and his pain) in the pillow. “Tat’s looking good, Wes,” she said with a smile. “Over half way now!”
“How long before you lost a bet then?” the tattooist asked Koji.
“What makes you think I lost?”
“You had to lose eventually!”
“That’s pretty much what Wes said to me when a sleazy guy made me a bet involving cards – he cut the deck in half and asked me to guess the top card. One in fifty-six odds by my reckoning.”
“ONE IN FIFTY…EIGHT!” Wes cried in pain.
“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, this guy bet me any bottle of booze of my choosing from behind the bar for the contents of my apartment – I think he was taking advantage of my booze-fuelled overconfidence. And that’s when Wes stepped in.
“He’s always looked out for me, ever since we were kids. As neighbours, we played a lot together back then. I’d always talk about doing stupid stuff, and Wes was always talking me out of it. But last night I was on a roll, and I knew I couldn’t lose. So, again, I ignored him.”
At this point, the tattooist was going over some of the block colours, and Wes was really struggling to hold it together. Koji just knew he was hiding tears in that pillow.
The tattooist jumped ahead in the story: “What bottle did you pick?”
“Hmmm…not sure,” Koji said. “My memory’s not exactly crystal clear after that point. But here’s what I do remember: Wes couldn’t believe I’d won again, and he was determined to make me lose. So, egged on by almost everyone in the bar at this point, he challenged me. It was a bet with odds so ludicrous that there was no way I could win. I accepted. Wes bet me that I couldn’t throw a coin, over the top of the bar – not the actual bar, but the building the bar was in – into a glass on the other side.”
The tattooist put her machine down, sat up, pushed her wheelie chair backwards, and flicked her gloves into the bin in the corner.
Koji had her full attention.
“How many attempts did he give you?” the tattooist asked.
“One.”
“One?!”
“One.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“…Shit. And you accepted?!”
“I accepted. I picked a pint glass with a large rim, placed it in the field behind the one-story building, and took aim from the other side. At that point, the entire bar had emptied outside and every punter was watching; their eyes, all of them, were looking into mine. So, I leaned into my streak, I put faith in my good luck. I turned my back to the building, to my audience, and to Wes, and then I chucked the coin over my shoulder.”
Koji paused for effect, to torture the tattooist like she was torturing Wes. She took that time to admire the artwork and gig posters that decorated the pristine, white walls. It occurred to her that most band names are dumb.
“AND?!” the tattooist barked.
“I won.”
“No you did not.”
“Yes I did so!”
“No way.”
“Way!”
“Sorry, no. That’s impossible!” the tattooist argued fervently, continuing with her work.
“Wes?”
“…It happened,” he mumbled through the pillow.
“Oh…wow. Wait! What did you bet on?” the tattooist asked.
“Wes, what did we bet on?”
He simply pointed to the nearly complete tattoo on his back.
“Oh…wow. So, this is…?”
“Lady Luck!” Koji said. “A reminder so he never forgets that cosmic balance exists, and Lady Luck will bless him soon too.”
“I was going to ask if it was you,” the tattooist said.
“Well, I based the design on me, of course, but it’s supposed to be Lady Luck.”
“And the relevance of the pink rocket Lady Luck is riding?”
“She always rides a pink rocket. Everyone knows that.”
“Right. Right. Anyway, I’m about finished here. I’ll just patch up your back, Wes, and you’ll be ready to go.” The tattooist turned to grab more tissue and suddenly asked Koji, “Wait! What did he want if he won?”
“Wes wanted me to pursue a career in architecture again.”
“You really should, honey.”
Koji paused and then said, “You know what? Maybe I will.”
Weeskind got to his feet, directing his eyes away from the full-length mirror at all times.
“Don’t you want to have a look at your beautiful piece of art?” Koji teased.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to admire it over the course of my entire life.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll grow to love it.”
“Anyway,” Wes said, “we need to get moving, the…meeting starts in just over three hours and we don’t want to be late.”
Koji approached the tattooist and handed her a small envelope of money. “Thanks very much for this. We’ll see you again next time Wes loses a bet.”
Saya Andela’s insurgency was born in the city of Stratos. It had one simple goal: terrorise the people of Maeda until they opened their city doors to them. Maeda sat on a giant platform made from an exotic metal called Nameidium, a material which had the properties to protect the city from the Horizon – the planet’s wrath. This platform restricted Maeda’s size, so not every Straton could fit inside its great wall, but the Maens wouldn’t even admit the Straton children when the Horizon came. They claimed that the Nameidium platform could only withstand so much weight before it collapsed and exposed everyone to the dangers of the Horizon, so they prioritised their own people and refused all Stratons sanctuary.
However, this wasn’t always the status quo. Stratos was built on an area thought to also provide protection from the Horizon, and it did so for over three hundred years. Though, as time went on, it was concluded that the site Stratos sat upon wasn’t as safe as previously thought. The Straton people pleaded to Maeda to protect, at the very least, the children inside Maeda’s wall when the Horizon was due. Though every year the Maens refused. All the while, the Stratons tried desperately to solve the city’s vulnerability themselves without avail.
But then, three years ago, without warning, the Horizon struck Stratos and destroyed an entire city sector. In that sector were Koji’s and Weeskind’s homes, and their parents.
Several months afterwards, news travelled around Stratos about an insurgency – a woman named Saya Andela was assembling a group to challenge Maeda and its selfish and cruel policy. Since the Straton government appeared to be doing little to resolve the situation, many people joined Saya’s insurgency to take matters into their own hands, people like Koji and Weeskind. Soon, the insurgency had hundreds of members.
“How’s your back, Wes?” Koji said with a grin. “Throbbing pain died down yet?”
“You know it hasn’t.”
The two twenty-somethings had left Stratos on foot after sunset so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the city – discretion was key for where they were going.
Koji loved Stratos at night. During the day, a smog cloud from the ring of power plants hovered over the city and made her feel dirty just looking at it. Though, after nightfall, the light from the city bounced off the base of the cloud and illuminated the city in a beautiful haze. It was a stark contrast to the barren, rocky plains surrounding Stratos.
As Koji headed farther north, she turned to admire the view briefly.
Their destination that evening was the ruin of Ark. Koji and Wes’ ancestors came to this planet – commonly known as Sixe – aboard the colonising ship Ark from a distant star. Sixe was not its chosen destination, it had crash-landed there. The spacecraft, nearly as large as a city itself, had broken into twelve pieces which were scattered across the plains surrounding Stratos. Over the years, the abandoned living quarters had been stripped of anything useful, and now only the creepy-crawlies lived there. It acted as an excellent hideout for an insurgency.
Koji and Wes had been part of Saya’s insurgency for over two years now. In that time, they’d learnt to fight with their fists and swords, and had been taught various military tactics. All in the dead of night, of course – if the Stratos police authorities discovered the group of nearly a hundred dissidents, they’d probably all have been arrested.
Saya had set out two stepping stones for her soldiers’ training: first, once they were adept at melee combat, they’d be taught to fire a gun; second, they’d be taught to use EMRs. Firing a gun on Sixe wasn’t as straight forward. On Sixe, Sparking complicated things – there were some funky physics surrounding the planet which caused explosive compounds to ignite randomly, and no one had the foggiest as to why. So, when a gun was loaded with a bullet, the gun powder could detonate at any time and fire the gun. Though the Sixians weren’t going to let that spoil their favourite toys, so they found a workaround – mixing kits. These useful tools quickly combined two safe powders into an explosive one inside a bullet casing so it could be fired in a controlled manner…most of the time.
As you might expect, handling guns on Sixe required special training so no one shot each other, hence Saya’s hesitance. Today, Koji and Wes – among others – would start their gun training, though they expected a lengthy lecture from Saya before they began.
“After tonight, do you think Saya will let us join one of her teams?” Koji asked Wes. “Do you think she’ll finally let us wreak havoc at the Maens expense?!”
“I’m not sure how her system works,” Wes said. “If it was me, I’d have a group of specialists, you know, real stealthy types, sneak into the city and terrorise people in their sleep every day. And at the same time, I’d be building a mob to eventually storm the city and trash everything in sight, until the Maens agreed to protect at least some of us from the Horizon.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Koji said. “The stealth team could loosen steps in the Maens’ precious, interconnected balconies and bridges, and people would fall down stairs all the time. Or, or, they could set off a series of explosions around the city every night, all night, so they were constantly terrified!”
“I think the latter is more in line with the insurgency’s ideology.”
“If that’s the case, why do we need gun training at all?”
“Well, if we plan on terrorising Maeda, their city guards are going to resist us, and if there’s more of us pointing weapons at them than they have at us, they’ll have to surrender. Easy.”
“Okay, good, good. Saya’s not planning on having us shoot anyone then?”
“Oh. No, no. The Maens would never grant us sanctuary if we started killing their people.”
“That’s what I thought!”
“We may need to get rough with them from time to time though, hence the other training.”
Koji still had lingering questions but buried them, as she was keen to make the Maens as miserable as she was – as miserable as she really was, the part of herself she let no others see.
Not even Wes.
As they neared Ark, Koji and Wes noticed the looming silhouettes becoming clearer. The section of Ark they approached gave no indication as to what part of the ship it came from, but then, most of them didn’t. It spanned nearly a quarter of a kilometre across and stood at least four times the height of the Atrium. The intricacies of its hull were hidden by the moss and other plants that had somehow grown through the metal plates. Vines appeared to strangle the whole section like they were about to drag the spaceship remnant underground. The section-end Koji and Wes entered from had fractured at a forty-five-degree angle, but over the years, the Horizon had torn holes in it leaving the tear less visually satisfying.
They ventured inside. Koji and Wes flicked on their torches as the moonlight faded. Moss and plants initially covered most of the walls, and the bugs that called them home seemed to do their very best to kamikaze into the budding insurgents’ mouths and ears. Koji ended up sprinting onwards into the spacecraft depths to avoid the damn things.
The ground-floor deck was crushed and twisted from the crash-landing, and often it was difficult and outright dangerous to navigate, so they took the first staircase up. Their destination was on deck fifteen, and since there was no active elevator, they were forced to traipse up the steps and complain fervently about how primitive the whole ordeal was.
Koji demanded a rest at deck eight, and took further sit-downs on decks ten, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and then a lie-down on fifteen. Wes patted himself on the back for having made them leave the city early, and then made a mental note that Koji needed to cut down on the beer and get some proper exercise.
Deck fifteen appeared to be mostly office space which, at first, seemed odd; but paperwork has plagued civilisation since the dawn of time, and where there’s paperwork – well, in this case, digital paperwork – there are offices. Like the rest of their race, Koji and Wes could extend their eyes’ receiving range into the infrared spectrum to see the deep-red heat of anyone lurking in the darkness, but they panned across each of the offices with their torches anyway. Just to make sure there were no surprises.
As they walked farther down the barren corridor, voices grew louder and louder, until Koji and Wes reached a large hall at the end filled with nearly thirty people – members of the insurgency.
Koji scanned the room and noticed the majority were older than she and Wes were. Many were her parents’ age when they had died. She found this was the norm with the insurgency. Many were parents who only wanted to protect their children from the planet, and would do absolutely anything to ensure that.
People who had little to lose.
The insurgency had many meetings in that hall as it was the largest in any section of Ark. It was thought to have served as a public forum once, as it could easily hold a few hundred people. The hall was scattered with collapsible chairs in front of a small stage with a podium on it. The waxed-wood podium was equipped with an ageing microphone and sound system, but now they were just for show. Though it didn’t stop people tapping the mic every time before they started speaking.
Tap, tap. “Listen up!”
Koji and Wes had only seen Saya once before. It didn’t matter what she looked like, what mattered was the aura only she projected. It was commanding, powerful, and addictive – once you’d met Saya, you’d follow her until the end of time. Knowing that, it wasn’t surprising that the insurgency’s numbers had grown so rapidly.
Koji basked in Saya’s presence, in her control of the room. It had been a long time since she’d experienced it. She missed it.
“You’ve all worked hard, trained hard, to get here, and I thank you,” Saya began, with her partner, Tamir, stood beside her. “You’ve taken risks to be here, kept secrets from loved ones to fight for our cause, and I have the utmost respect for you all.
“Today we will begin your firearm training. You have been chosen for this because of your skill and commitment. There are only a few I trust to come this far, only a few out of many that I bring to the war table.”
Koji whispered to Wes, “‘War table’? Bit overdramatic isn’t it?”
“Ssssssh!” Wes looked troubled.
“It has never been more important for us to have skilled fighters at our disposal,” Saya said. “The Maens put together a strike team specifically trained to defeat us. And I’ll be honest, they’re quite formidable. But they do not have your drive, your passion. They will not stand a chance against you soon!”
Koji interjected again: “Wes, she’s talking like it’s kill or be killed. Please tell me I’ve got it wrong.”
Again he ignored her. Koji had never seen that look on Wes’ face before.
“Together,” Saya yelled, “we will bring Maeda to its knees! We will fight and we will win. Their soldiers will challenge us and they will die. And once they can watch their own bleed no more, they will admit defeat, they will open their doors to us, and the children of Stratos will finally be safe!”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Koji slowly backed away from the stage. “What am I involved in?” she uttered, trembling with fear.
Bang!
From somewhere, a pistol shot blared.
Koji ducked and fell to her knees. Looking up, she saw Saya take cover, putting the podium between herself and the hall door. She held a gloved hand to her chest – she’d been shot, but she wasn’t bleeding. When Saya leant out to spy the corridor outside, Koji saw the light reflect off the hole in her shirt – she was wearing a protective plate around her chest, a plate which had saved her life.
“Koji, we need to get out of here,” Wes said. “Now!”
“You want to go towards the gunshot?”
“No, there’s a side door. C’mon!”
Wes dragged her by the scruff of her collar and they funnelled through the single door with some of the other insurgents. Once outside in an unfamiliar corridor, the group ran through the darkness until they reached a dead end.
“What now?!” someone said.
“Hide?” another said.
“What’s the point? They can still see our heat!”
“We should fight!”
“But they have guns!”
“Did anyone get one from Saya?”
During the chaos, Koji reached for her torch and shone it at the end of the corridor. She saw only rusting panels and floor gratings.
“Turn that off! You’ll draw the Maens straight to us.”
“Shit, shit, sorry,” Koji said. Her heart was racing heavily, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins made her hands shake so it was hard to comply.
Once again in the darkness, the group felt the corridor walls for unseen doors and exits. They were trapped like scared rats in a cage. For a moment, in her peripheral vision, Koji thought she saw someone at the corridor’s end. Quietly, she asked Wes to confirm what she saw.
“See what down where?” he asked.
Koji grabbed his head and turned it. Wes saw nothing at first, but then the hazy crimson face and an arm peeked out. “It looked like they threw something,” he said.
Koji looked around at the group of lost and panicked recruits. One had collapsed on the floor. She could only see the blur of his heat, so shone her torch on him – he lay face up, the hilt of a knife protruded from his left eye, and blood dripped slowly through the metal gratings beneath.
“Holy shit!” someone yelled behind Koji. She spun and pointed the torch at the wide-eyed, ageing man. Before he could say anything else, a pair of purple-tinted blades silently slid through his chest and stopped just short of Koji’s face. The attacker hid in the man’s shadow. The figure then vanished quickly without a trace. After the sabres were wrenched away, the victim collapsed and toppled over, trapping Koji between him and the ground. Blood gushed from his mouth and chest and, as claustrophobia set in, Koji desperately tried to free herself.
It took her and Wes’ combined strength to shift the corpse, allowing them to escape. The others were torn apart by the unseen foe cutting the darkness with his blades.
Koji and Wes charged back to the empty meeting hall. Once through, she wedged the side door shut with a folded chair, trapping any who had survived inside with the assassin. Gunfire echoed through the hall from the main entrance in the gaps between their heavy breathing.
“W-what now?” Koji said.
“We get the hell out of here!” Wes suggested. “The same way we came in.”
“Okay, okay. So, heading towards the gunfire?” Koji wiped the blood off her face with her shirt sleeve.
“Any other ideas?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Let’s go then.”
They crept through the gloom, single file, pressed up against the corridor wall like it would diminish the chances of them being discovered. They fought to slow their breathing, to quieten their presence.
The sound of gunfire grew and grew. The muffled tones soon became aggressive and painful, qualities amplified by Ark’s harsh surfaces. Outside one of the offices, Koji and Wes saw several insurgents, armed with pistols, ducked behind a turned-over desk. They took turns clumsily pressing their guns against a mixing kit to load them and shot at seemingly nothing.
Keeping their heads low, Koji and Wes approached the insurgents, making their presence known quickly so to not get shot. “Who are you shooting at?!” Wes yelled over the gunfire. Koji ducked behind him.
“The Maens!” a woman barked back whilst taking aim. “They’re out there, not many of them, but they’re out there, dammit!”
“How can you be s-”
A bullet tore through the woman’s forehead splashing Wes with her blood. After the initial shock, he realised the bullet had actually grazed his shoulder too.
Koji pulled him to the ground. “Shit! Wes, are you alright?” she said.
“Er, fine, fine.” With shaking hands, he wiped the blood away from his eyes.
“What do we do? What do we do?!” Koji had little control over her emotions and actions at this point.
“I, I don’t-”
“If we’re going to survive this we need a plan,” a red-faced, balding, tank of a man said suddenly. “Firing into the dark blindly until we run out of powder isn’t going to get us anywhere!”
“What do you suggest then?” another said.
“We charge them. We load several bullets into our weapons, sprint to the end of the corridor, and hope we find something to shoot before Sparking kicks in.”
Keeping a bullet loaded in a pistol on Sixe was like taking a terrible gamble – the longer you left the pistol unfired, the more likely it was to go off on its own and blast a hole in your foot. And if you had a bunch of bullets in the gun clip when Sparking hit, it would blow your hand off.
The group shared terrified looks and then one said, “I’m in.” The rest followed suit soon after.
That left Koji and Wes.
The tank of a man quickly grabbed the dead woman’s pistol from the other side of the desk. He held it in the palm of his hand before Wes and Koji. “Which of you is with us?” he said.
Wes immediately snatched the gun. “I need someone to show me how to use this.”
“Wes, no,” Koji begged. “You can’t!”
“It’s very clear that if we don’t kill whoever’s out there, we’re all dead. One of us needs to go, and it’s going to be me. End of discussion.”
“Why the hell does it ‘have to be you’? Why don’t I even get a say?! What kind of-”
“Fine – take it.”
Wes held out the gun in front of Koji. She was annoyed he’d assumed that only he could take on such a dangerous task, but when faced with the choice of taking it upon herself, she froze. The thought of running out into the darkness to fight murderers horrified her to the point where she shook uncontrollably. She simply stared at the gun and choked on her words.
“As I said, it’s going to be me.” Wes took back the gun.
I’m a coward, Koji thought, ashamed.
Wes inspected the gun and said, “Someone show me how to use this.”
After a quick crash course, Wes loaded a bullet, and the insurgents were ready.
“Wes…” Koji uttered, “…don’t.”
“No need to worry, it’s about time Lady Luck blessed me, remember?”
The insurgents charged.
It’s seven versus one, maybe two. The Maens don’t stand a chance. Wes will survive.
Wes will survive.
Koji had crawled under the desk, into its smallest compartment, and hugged her knees. She wasn’t sure she could manage anything else. She thought back on the previous evening at the Vespa, on how lucky she had been. Was this a turning point to that good luck? Was the terrible situation she now found herself in a result of that good luck?
Screams echoed down the corridor.
Gunfire sounded.
And then there was silence.
That was it, Koji thought. They killed those damn Maens.
She waited but no one returned.
“Wes?” she prayed.
Koji couldn’t take it anymore – the darkness, the suspense, the fear. She panicked and completely lost control of herself. Before she knew it, Koji was charging down the corridor, retracing the steps she took on her way into Ark. She ran past the office and down the stairwell. Several times she lost her footing but continued to will herself onwards.
“Nearly there,” she mumbled to herself. “Nearly there.”
Another gunshot cut the silence, but Koji ignored it. She was so close to being free of the nightmare and didn’t want to – couldn’t – stop running.
Now on the bottom deck and brimming with hope, Koji turned the last corner to Ark’s exit but tripped. She fell, face first, grazing her hands, elbows, and chin. The moonlight seeped in from the outside and illuminated the source of her trip – another body.
The remnants of a man stared at her.
Koji felt hollow.
Now a little more in control of her senses and actions, Koji heard a whisper towards the exit. Peeking around the corner, she saw two women. Their blades reflected the light like two white-hot sabres. One lunged at the other, deftly disarming her opponent, and buried her blade in flesh where it would reflect the moonlight no longer.
The loser – Saya – mumbled insults between bloody spatters as she slid down the corridor wall.
The winner turned to Koji.
Once, on a clear day three years before, Koji sat before Ninette Vespa’s Atrium in Stratos’ city centre and drew. By no means was this her plan for the day – she’d intended on visiting some friends in the north of the city – but as she passed the magnificent structure, she was drawn to it. As a keen artist and a budding architect, Koji was happy to devote some time to sketch it. She asked if the building receptionists would kindly lend her paper, pencil, and rubber, and then she got comfortable on the bench outside facing the famous building.
Koji’s quick sketch soon became an intricate drawing worthy of any respectable gallery. Unlike other buildings in Stratos, effort had been put into every part of the Atrium’s design – every column, window frame, and doorway of the seven-story building had been decorated differently to any other. Even the surrounding fence and gate had a variety of themes. Koji devoted considerable time to ensure she’d properly captured the complex curves of the decorative, blown and stained glass into her drawing, though she omitted the smog from the surrounding power plants. Soon, the sun began to set.
When she hadn’t shown, Koji’s friends were worried about her – and she knew it – but the sunset on that day couldn’t be ignored. She spent another few hours shading the sun’s reflection on the Atrium’s glass.
If she continued to pursue a career in architecture, Koji could spend her life drawing, designing beauties such as the Atrium. That day was engraved into her memory. It was a good day, a day of inspiration, and it was perfect; right up until the sun finally set.
But then the Horizon hit.
Koji’s memories of the following few hours were patchy, as if her brain was trying to suppress them. She was safe, but that didn’t make Sixe’s wrath any less terrifying. Koji remembered two things well: the intense fear, and then the soul-destroying realisation that she would never see her parents again.
When the Maen assassin set her sights on Koji, she relived that same intense fear, and the voracious need to flee. Charging over the uneven ground she tripped repeatedly, cutting her already-grazed hands and knees. Koji didn’t even notice the pain. She entered the stairwell and clambered upwards.
The deck-one door had ceased shut. She wasted no time trying to force it open and charged up another story in the dark. Koji fell through the stairwell exit onto deck two. Now on her knees, she fumbled for her torch and flicked it on.
Bodies.
And blood.
The insurgents she’d met earlier littered the hallway.
Wes…
Koji charged down the corridor checking every lifeless face hoping none of them belonged to her childhood friend. As she neared the last corpse, a knife cut the air before her face. She flinched backwards and stumbled. Lifting her torch, she found a black-hooded figure approaching, brandishing a gleaming blade. Again the figure slashed for her, and again it missed.
Koji wasted no time in making her escape. However, as she ran, more assassins appeared from every hallway door, each of them swinging a knife as she passed. Koji dodged them all, but the enemies took chase. Glancing back when she could, Koji saw the corridor fill with more and more characterless foes until the many reflections from the knives they carried strobed like a fireworks display.
But then she hit it – the corridor’s end.
Koji had nowhere left to run.
“Get back!” she yelled, and threw her torch at the approaching sea of hooded adversaries. Koji backed up against the wall. “Please,” she begged, “I don’t want to die.”
The assassins encircled her slowly and then they lunged. They thrust the knives into her repeatedly, and Koji screamed.
Koji was alone.
What the hell just happened? she thought.
Koji had fallen to the floor. Inspecting herself, she found no wounds. Not one. She took several deep breaths and tried to calm her pulse.
Was that real?
She crawled forward, grabbed her torch and searched the hallway. There’s nobody here…a hallucination?
The insurgents’ bodies had also vanished.
Koji got to her feet and crept forwards. How can I be hallucinating? What’s going on?!
After several paces, another hooded silhouette coalesced in the distance. It pointed a pistol at her.
Koji froze.
Is this one real?
The muzzle flashed, the shot rang in her ears, though she was unharmed.
It’s not real…
The bullets kept on coming but never hit Koji. Confidently, she approached the hallucination and swung her torch at it. She expected the mirage to dissipate like smoke, but instead, it disappeared without transition, like a sudden shift in reality.
I’ve heard stories that the Maen soldiers, the Ghosts, could make you see things. But they can’t possibly produce hallucinations this vivid…
Regardless of whether Koji was losing her mind or if a real Maen assassin awaited her somewhere in the darkness, she had to escape Ark.
Retracing her steps once more, Koji found the stairwell with ease. She was careful, collect. She only had one lingering woe – Weeskind. Koji had no idea if he’d escaped, or if he was even alive. She wished he was still by her side to help her out of this mess.
And then, there he was. Right behind the door to the ground-floor deck. He leaned against the wall opposite, clutching a knife lodged in his stomach. His hands and shirt were stained red, his face was pale. With tearful eyes, he said, “Koji, help me.”
He collapsed.
“Koji, I don’t have long…”
Of course Wes is magically here, Koji thought. And, of course, he’s dying. “I don’t want to see this.”
Koji ignored the imaginary Wes completely and left him to bleed out as he called her name over and over and sobbed.
Just another hallucination. I don’t have time for this.
Koji headed for the exit. She took several sturdy steps forwards and was hit.
The floor under her back was cold, uneven. Koji’s windpipe had been crushed and she struggled to breathe. Illuminated in the faint moonlight was a woman looking over her. At first, Koji thought it was a grey-haired wraith like those in the horror stories passed around her school, but then she noticed the woman’s hair was, in fact, blonde, and fell over a military uniform of some kind.
Gracelessly, the soldier stepped over Koji like she was part of the scenery. Realising this foe wasn’t a hallucination, Koji did her best to back away towards the exit and watched in horror as the soldier callously ripped the knife from Wes’ stomach. And then it dawned on her…
Wes too is real. He’s real. And I…I just passed him by like he was nobody. When my oldest friend needed me the most, I…
Weeskind was dead. In his final moments, he had slid down Ark’s corridor wall onto his side and closed his eyes. He’d spent his final moments terrified.
And alone.
“No, no, no,” Koji mumbled, scrambling to her feet as the Maen assassin stomped after her in heavy boots. She didn’t get far – Koji was grabbed by the scruff of her shirt and hurled backwards like a small animal. She landed face first on her front.
Looking up, her heart pounding and her body shaking with fear, she saw Wes. In those few moments she relived their important memories together: when they first became childhood friends because Wes took the blame for Koji when she smashed a school window while they were playing, when Koji got dumped by her first girlfriend in high school and Wes had moved heaven and earth to stop her crying; right up until yesterday, when Weeskind had tried to nudge Koji’s career back on track, lost a bet in the process, and ended up with a god-awful tattoo. A tattoo which now stared Koji in the face a hair’s breadth away.
As Koji felt the cold pinch of steel cross her throat, she wondered why Lady Luck had punished them so.
Haven’t we suffered enough?
Deathkat Media 